THIS DISCLAIMER STANDS FOR THE FIC IN IT'S ENTIRETY.
I DO NOT OWN DOCTOR WHO OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS THEREIN, NOR DO I OWN SHERLOCK. THIS STEMS FROM ME NOT BEING STEVEN MOFFAT, WHICH IS A DAMN SHAME. THERE WILL BE ORIGINAL CHARACTERS HERE AND THERE IN MINOR ROLES, BUT MOSTLY I OWN NOTHING. I AM NOT WRITING THIS FOR PROFIT, I AM WRITING THIS FOR SHIZ AND GIGGLES AND ALSO FOR HATTIE. THANKS TO THE EVERY LOVELY VICKY FOR RETURNING AS MY BETA.
John was writing his blog. He hadn't for a while now, not since the swimming pool, but he thought it was about time that he got back into the habit – or else his therapist might actually try and get back in touch again.
Sherlock said that it has nothing to do with his therapist and everything to do with John just wanting attention from his readers, attention he got from embarrassing him and exploiting all of his hard work, but then again, Sherlock had been in a bad mood ever since they had run out of chocolate digestives. John rolled his eyes at the memory of his flatmates tantrum and returned his focus to the empty word document in front of him.
'What are you going to write?' came a monotonous reply from behind him, 'It's not as though I've had any new cases.' John turned to reply as Sherlock aimlessly drifted into the room and settled on the sofa, but his response died in his throat as he took in the other man's dishevelled appearance. Sherlock was shirtless; his dressing gown hanging open, exposing the white hospital dressing that hid the still healing bullet wounds that Moriarty had left him. John cleared his throat and looked away before Sherlock caught him staring.
'I meant to write it for my therapy, not just for your cases.' He snapped, trying to block out the image of what was under the bandages; he had so many memories from the war – so many flickers in his mind's eye of blood and limbs and death. But none of them compared to Sherlock floating face down in that swimming pool, his blood leaking in the chlorinated water as Moriarty and his men escaped. 'You hate it anyway,' he added, his voice softening, 'you know everyone at the Yard reads it.' Sherlock made a dismissive noise, pulling a small box of Nicorette patches out of his dressing gown pocket.
'There's no sense in us both being bored to death.' He muttered darkly, peeling off the patch that had been on his arm since last night, flicking it in the vague direction of the waste paper bin, and smoothing another down in its place. John continued to just stare at his screen, but as he heard Sherlock let out a deep sigh and bury himself deeper into the pile of cushions on the sofa, signalling that the detective wasn't going to be talking to him right now, he clicked out of that window and went to check his emails for the tenth time that day.
1 New Message.
John clicked on it far too eagerly, but then again this was his private email – so the chances of it being something worthwhile were favourable. As it happened, it just read; 'Click your IM' and surely enough, the tab for the instant messenger service at the top of the window had begun to flash. He looked at it wearily, and turned around to see Sherlock facing away from him, curled up on the sofa.
'Are you texting my email just so you don't have to talk to me face to face?' he asked incredulously, but there was no reply, so John turned back to the screen with a frown, clicking on the flashing tab.
AMYZBOI2 says: Are you there Doctor Watson?
John blinked, there was no way someone could have just started talking to him on here – Sherlock had set up their internet security himself, it was infallible.
AMYZBOI2 says: We know you're there Doctor Watson – we need you to respond; it's kind of important.
AMYZBOI2 says: And it's really important that you don't turn around again, trust me.
He just stared at the screen now, every instinct desperate to spin straight back around on the chair, but his experience over the last couple of months telling him that he should probably do what the computer was saying. For now at least.
JOHNWATSON says: Who is this?
AMYZBIO2 says: Finally!
AMYZBOI2 says: And I'm a friend.
JOHNWATSON says: Do I know you?
AMYZBOI2 says: Not yet, but you will – it's complicated. For now we just have to talk.
JOHNWATSON says: Tell me who you are if we're talking.
AMYZBOI2 says: I can't, you'll Google me.
John paused at that, did they think he was going to Facebook them or something?
JOHNWATSON says: I take it you're not one of Mycroft's then.
AMYZBOI2 says: Nope.
JOHNWATSON: And no one from the yard could contact me on this email.
AMYZBOI2 says: I didn't do it – a friend sorted it for me, and told me that I just have to stop you from turning around.
Once again John had to use all of his self-control to keep looking at the screen.
JOHNWATSON says: Why can't I turn around?
AMYZBOI2 says: You can do, in about 30 seconds.
JOHNWATSON says: But why not now?
AMYZBOI2 says: Because if you see the thing that is taking Sherlock Holmes, then it will kill you.
John snapped, twisting around in the chair and throwing himself to his feet. Sherlock was gone. Nothing had changed, nothing had been disturbed – even the little box of patches was still balanced on the arm of the sofa, the cushions still moulded into the shape of a reclining man. The doors were locked and the windows shut.
And Sherlock Holmes was gone.
John didn't even need to look around to know that he was gone, the flat always felt different when Sherlock wasn't there – giving off his own personal aura of potential energy – and it couldn't have felt more empty in that moment.
Slowly, he turned back to the computer.
AMYZBOI2 says: Sorry.
AMYZBOI2 says: I know this must be hard.
John clenched his jaw.
JOHNWATSON says: Where is he? And who are you?
AMYZBOI2 says: Now that he's gone we can tell you everything.
JOHNWATSON says: Now.
AMYZBOI2 says: You'll have to come to us. But we're only across the road.
John jumped to his feet and stared out of the window for a moment, Baker Street was as plain and grey as usual. He turned back to the screen, impatient for the next response, and typed a short; 'Where?' as an unearthly groaning rattled through the windows; organic and mechanical at the same time.
AMYZBOI2 says: Can you see the blue box?
Hey everyone, Strictly here - returning after my long absence with some new projects. Hope some of you are still around, or if you're new then hi.
This is just the prolouge of this little adventure through time, space and sanity, the first chapter is written already though and should go up on friday, so watch the fic if you're interested.
And reviews please, it's hard to write without crit ;)