Hunted Detective ΙΙ
The Lonely Boy and the Lonely Madman
1982,
Dear Journal or however this is supposed to go,
I don't know why our butler Stanley got this journal for me. He said it may help me, but I don't understand what he means. He said I'd understand when I'm older, but for Pete's sake I am not a child anymore! I am six years old! I don't see this journal gaining anything at all. Nothing happens to me after all.
-SH
Sherlock swung his feet under him as he sat in the tall oak tree sitting smack dab in the very middle of the rose hedge maze running right outside Holmes Manor. He liked coming out here. Mycroft could never find his way to the center without cheating so that meant no annoying older brother. He stared up at the stars sitting high above, counting each and every one of them.
"Master Sherlock! Master Sherlock, it's time for bed!" Stanley shouted out from the entrance of the maze. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Bedtime was so trivial and dull. He gained nothing from sleep other than countless nightmares. The young boy with raven black curls slumped down further into his tree, closing his eyes and letting the sound of the wind and ruffling flower petals drowned out the sound of his butler.
"Ello there!" a cheery voice shouted from bellow. Sherlock jumped in surprise by the suddenness of the voice, losing his balance and slipping from his perch in the tree. He cried out, reaching for a branch to grab, but it was futile. He closed his eyes and let his arms spread out, welcoming death's arms. Arms then wrapped around Sherlock's small frame, but they were not death's. "You alright, Sherly?" his savior asked. Sherlock's blue eyes popped open, looking up into the face of a man with brown hair and a big bow tie. His big old eyes were warm to look in, but there was something frightening behind the warm glow.
"Don't call me that," Sherlock said simply, jumping from the man's arms and rushing to a bush being overpowered by the vines from the bushes. The man didn't move from his spot when Sherlock raced away. He simply stood where he was, smiling kindly at the six year old. Sherlock looked him over, using his power of deductions, but confusion instantly struck his brilliant mind. This man was utterly impossible to read. Granted, a fool could be able to tell that the man wasn't from here and that he was much older than he appeared, but other than that everything else was hidden to him and he really didn't like that. He's always been able to read a stranger's life story without even stopping for breath and now he has found the one person he could not.
Interesting.
"My name's The Doctor," the man stated simply, clearly knowing that Sherlock was trying to read him. "I've come to deliver a message." Sherlock frowned, tilting his head to the side.
"Doctor who?" the six year old asked. The Doctor's mouth quirked up with a bright smile and he gave Sherlock a quick wink.
"Spoilers." Sherlock frowned at the word. Spoilers? What was that supposed to mean? Shaking his head, Sherlock brought his attention back to the rest of the Doctor's sentence. Why would a stranger have a message for him? As if he had read the child's mind, The Doctor began speaking. He gave a time, date, and place. Sherlock felt the horrible emotion of confusion as the madman rattled off the date. This made no sense! It's 1982, not 1992! Was this man crazy or something? How could he be bringing a message for something ten years in the future? Sherlock popped open his mouth, but The Doctor was already walking down the maze. Without hesitation, Sherlock followed close behind. The Doctor smiled at the boy as they walked down the maze. The six year old watched the man turn through the maze with ease in surprise. He had been the only one in the Holmes manor who could actually find his way through this maze, but now here was a man who was walking though it like he was floating gracefully on air. "Why do you come out here, Sherlock?" Any normal child would have wondered how a stranger could know his name, but Sherlock was not one of these simple minded children with the common rule 'don't talk to strangers' drilled into his head. He was far more than that. His name and picture was plastered all over the papers of today. The Holmes family was one of the richest families in London so of course they would be in the media more than others so it was obvious this man knew his name. "Sherlock?" Sherlock snapped from his thoughts and turned his head up to The Doctor.
"Just…getting away," Sherlock said, choosing his words with care. The Doctor sent him a sympathetic smile.
"Doesn't it get lonely?" the madman asked gently. Sherlock's heart clenched at that and he stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the man with big blue eyes. He could feel tears building up slowly behind his eyes, but he forced them back as much as he could. No, he was a Holmes. A Holmes does not show weakness. He turned away from the man he had been speaking to, not wanting to continue this conversation. The Doctor gently pressed a hand to Sherlock's shoulder. "I get lonely too," he whispered into Sherlock's ear. The six year old looked up at the man now, startled to see a flood of emotion burst from The Doctor's eyes and spread throughout the body. He saw pain and suffering, Loyalty and betrayal, pride and loss. They were all the emotions Sherlock tried so hard to hide behind the mask he made so young as a child. It hurt so much to let them out and sometimes Sherlock wondered if one day they would bring his doom. Sherlock's old nurse maid had always told him that he was too young to think like that, but he really wasn't. Everyday someone dies, is betrayed, hurt, and lost. Everyday someone suffers from pain. It's only a matter of time and thinking over such ideas may one day help him survive. That had always been what the child believed and now staring at this broken man in front of him Sherlock knew he was right.
"Doctor-"
"Here she is!" the Doctor exclaimed in excitement, rushing to a blue box resting on next to the entrance of the maze. Sherlock frowned at it, turning his head side to side. He had read about police boxes before, but what was one doing here? He watched as The Doctor clicked his fingers together, causing the great blue door to open wide, revealing the belly of the box. Sherlock's eyes widened and he rushed inside, staring at it with his mouth to the floor.
"It's…It's…"
"Bigger on the inside, smaller on the outside," The Doctor offered, smirking at Sherlock like this happens all the time. Sherlock swallowed, staring at the control panel before him.
"Impossible," Sherlock filled in, running his small hand gently against the edge of the control. The Doctor strolled to his side then, taking the child's hand and sliding it to a lever.
"This is my ship. It can take you anywhere you want, Sherlock. You can travel with me and never be lonely again." Sherlock stared at The Doctor with big eyes. Honesty was written all over the madman's face and Sherlock knew the man wasn't lying about this being a ship, but how could it be? He's never seen or read of such a find. It was impossible!
"What are you?" Sherlock asked, terror finally starting to boil through his blood as he began to piece things together. The Doctor didn't say anything. He just waited for Sherlock to answer his question. The small boy stared at their hands on the lever. He wanted to run away so bad. He wanted to leave the manor so much. He wanted to forget Mycroft and the others. "I can't," Sherlock murmured softly, stepping back to the doors. The Doctor didn't argue. He simply followed Sherlock out, leaning on the door.
"Are you sure?" he asked. Sherlock nodded, knowing that running away was never the answer. That was at least one thing that his parents had succeeded in teaching him. His heart clenched as the thought of his parents came to mind and he lowered his eyes to the grass bellow his shoes. The Doctor didn't make to argue or try to pull Sherlock on. The madman leaned down, pulling the child's chin up so he could stare into the ice blue irises. The Doctor brushed away a runaway tear from the small boy's cheek. He repeated his question one last time and Sherlock once again declined. "Alright then!" The Doctor shouted, straitening his bow tie. I shall see you again Sherlock, you can count on that. If you ever wish to travel with me all you have to do is follow those instructions I gave you previously," The Doctor told him. Sherlock nodded, knowing that it would be quite a long while before then.
"Goodbye, Doctor," Sherlock stated. The Doctor gave a quick wave before closing the doors. A noise erupted from the box and wind picked up around the area. Sherlock gasped as the box slowly de-materialized. This was impossible indeed.
1982,
Dear notebook that may be some use after all,
I met someone today. A madman. He left out of nowhere in a blue box, speaking of a fate for me ten years in my future. I hope I have made the right decision not to go with him. He's crazy, but there he did not lie to me once. But how do I know that he isn't going to just dump me off somewhere or hurt me?! It's not like this wouldn't be the first time I gave someone my trust and they left me. I'm not stupid. No, when the time comes I shall ignore his call.
-SH
So here is the prequel/sequel to The Hunted Detective. This story shall tell the tale of Sherlock's first meeting the Doctor to where Clara 'died' and then pick up again to right after where the last chapter left off in the first part ( I will let you know when that happens). Not sure how often I will be posting now that school is in just a few days, but I'll try. Just keep your eyes open! Anywho…hope you all enjoy!