PROLOGUE
A lone mountain coated in pine trees overlooks a green countryside dotted with low hills and stone paths and brightly colored with oak trees, wildflowers, and cheerfully painted round wooden doors. Then they slope off, gently lowering to a flat plain. Then there is a quiet, rustic little village with old stone houses and barely a thing to disturb its peace, only a post office and some shops. From there, it turns into a bustling city with red double-decker busses and the smell of fish and chips floating through the air, exciting and beautiful and interesting all at once. After the city ends, there is a long, seemingly indefinite road, and at the end, there is another quiet town that rarely sees newcomers, almost an entirely different world in itself.
Behind the mountain, there is an endless landscape, with mountain ranges, deserts, plains, woods, fields, fortresses, towns, kingdoms, armies, and magic. There are seas and suns and rivers and lakes and ponds and voices singing in different tones, creating a never-ending song. Trumpets blare over hundreds of castle walls, and flutes trill over countless tree branches and bridges in small, insignificant villages. Sometimes there are wondrous, glittering beasts soaring overhead, protecting the all the lands, and sometimes there are terrifying ones who ignite those wooden villages and burn them down into black dust. At other times, there are strange men in long coats travelling endlessly along roads and through the stars, overlooking everything and everyone, and then there are young men with blue swords and lithe elven women riding upon horses or dragons, keeping their precious cargo from thieving eyes. And sometimes two men discover dangerous secrets and solve frightening mysteries, sometimes because they can, and sometimes because they have to. Another pair of utterly different men drives down dusty roads and obliterate impossibly powerful entities, and yet somehow manage to joke along the way. Occasionally, there are troops of fourteen small wanderers seeking out what was once theirs, with an incredibly powerful item unknowingly in their midst, and then, sixty years later, that same item sometimes causes wars and mayhem, only to settle down into peace once more.
And sometimes the terrible, flying, scaled creature occupies the lonely mountain, and sometimes the small wanderers, growing old on mounds of riches, occupy it. At other times, a blue box sits at its top, with a lonely man to keep the mountain company, sometimes with a friend, sometimes on his own. And then the man will speak of other places, and once, of a great planet filled with book, the Library. Once it was great, and once it was dark, and then it was once again joyous, and then there was yet another world layered on top. He speaks of dreams and reality and never-ending impossibilities and journeys and laughter and tears and fire and ice and rage and relief. And sometimes he wonders when he will wake up, because this is one of the dreams, one of the parallel universes, one of the ones he created for himself from different, true realities and combined. And then there are times when he doesn't want to wake up, and he doesn't. Eventually, the dream is permanent, but only for him; the door in and out is open only for him. It doesn't delete the other realities where they originated, and yet it's real, and it makes him happy to know that sometimes, just sometimes, things work out, as they should.
CHAPTER ONE
"John?"
"Yes?"
"What have you been telling Sherlock? He must be getting frustrated as to why he can't deduce where you've been."
"Not anything, really. Just "out," is really what I've been telling him. I mean, what am I supposed to say?" John gives the Doctor a dry grin as he steps out of the TARDIS for the fifth time in the past week. Well, the past Earth-week, anyhow – he's traveled with the Doctor for about two weeks in the TARDIS, on and off. So far, he's been to only four different planets and six different time zones on Earth, and the rest of the time, he was just exploring the TARDIS with the Doctor. It was nice to have a friend who wasn't Sherlock and he could live with without feeling awkward or romantic with. But he still missed his consulting detective.
"I've got an idea." The pinstriped Doctor smirks back at John. A few minutes later, the TARDIS materializes in the middle of 221B Baker Street's living room just as Sherlock emerges from the kitchen. The look on his face is priceless as John steps out of the blue box with the Doctor at his heels.
"Hello, Sherlock." John says cheerfully, with a cheeky grin.
"Hello, John. I'm assuming this is the man you've been with all week? I didn't know you liked gay magicians now, but it's a nice change." Obnoxious as always; this time it's on purpose, judging from the ice in his eyes.
"I've told you before – I'm not gay!"
"I'm the Doctor, and I'm not gay either. We just became friends two weeks ago." John chuckles slightly as Sherlock's eyes narrow in confusion.
"John's only been disappearing since last week – that's not right. You've got your time wrong, Doctor."
"Ah, well, you see, this here is a time machine – I can show you if you like! And it's not magic; it's a TARDIS – Time And Relative Dimension(s) in Space! It rematerializes from one place to another!"
"Science doesn't allow that. You're just a magician. What on earth have you been doing with John, and what is going on?"
"Wrong. Magicians are stupid people who toy with magic. Wizards use staffs to control their power and can live practically forever, unless you're a Hogwarts wizard or witch, in which case they use wands and live a normal human lifespan. Sorcerers use objects and spirits, and necromancers do similar things to that but with dark magic. I, on the other hand, am a Time Lord. I've got two hearts and can regenerate into different bodies when I die, but only twelve times, and I'm on my tenth, and I can time travel, and space travel as well. John's human, don't worry. I don't think you'll have noticed, because you're at the eye of the storm, but the whole of London has been moved to an alternate universe along with Middle Earth, Leadworth, Alagaesia, and several other places. However, their original homes won't notice because they're still there – only now there are two versions. You just haven't really found out yet because you're one of the people I wanted specifically to see, so you're not just a copy who's meant for this different world. You're the one and only Sherlock Homes, and he's the one and only John Hamish Watson. Understand?"
Sherlock doesn't bat an eye.
"I've got it perfectly well, thank you very much. John, be careful, this man's a trickster and an idiot."
John chuckles and pulls Sherlock by the scarf towards the TARDIS. He looks at the Doctor for confirmation, and when he beams in return and rocks back onto the heels of his Converse high tops, John tugs Sherlock through the doors. The Doctor follows and locks them behind him.
Sherlock doesn't quite understand how a lowly brown-coated street magician with unusually fluffy hair could manage a trick like this one. It's bigger on the inside, a feat that no person could possibly manage. It's impossible.
Impossible.
No. No. No.
He runs his fingers along the curving coral columns, feeling the entirely real rough texture of every beam.
How can it not be a trick?
No. No. No!
Sherlock begins to shake uncontrollably. "But it's impossible, John. It's impossible. What are you doing to me? Did you drug me? It must have been in my cake this morning – you never let me have cake for breakfast! Oh, you're very clever, John, very clever! But you can't fool me, you can't…." He stumbles and falls onto the grated floor, eyes wide with shock.
Shuddering and breathing hard, Sherlock tries to compose himself.
"Doctor. Who are you, and why does John know you? I can't… why can't I see you? You're impossible to read! And… and this is…. Have you drugged me? How can it feel so real? It's not possible!"
The Doctor sighs. "This is harder than usual. Most people wouldn't react this strongly, but it seems that you're highly based off of logic. Shall I explain it to you?"
"Please." Sherlock tries to regain his composure, blue-green eyes wide.
The Doctor attempts to explain the race of Time Lords and how they made things bigger on the inside. Sherlock seems to be calming down, and he stands up again, somewhat shakily. He walks around, touching the walls and examining the console. He begins to talk to himself, trying to understand it.
"So. I suppose it makes sense, time travelling with John. But why would you create an entirely new dream world?"
"Well. You see, it was sort of a backup plan, in case something bad happens, because if something can be remembered, it can be brought back, especially with the TARDIS and me to help. And these were the worlds that I deemed most likely to survive if something bad were to happen, and as for John, well, I knew he could handle it quite well, and we can always take you back to your "real" Earth if you'd like."
"No, I think I'd like to stay. It'll keep me from being bored for a good long while, I think."
"Ah, good. So, John, where do you think Sherlock would like to go?"