(Hello! I just wanted to make a note saying that this takes place before season 3 of Sherlock, so Moriarty is still around and all that. Also, the Doctor will be the tenth Doctor, just because I think his personality goes better with Sherlock's and such. Thanks for the read, I hope you enjoy! Please Let me know what I need to work on (Sherlock is really hard to write for, I've noticed) Any advice is welcome! Thank you!)
Probably one of the strongest, unexplainable feelings one can have in the world is the feeling of being watched, and this is not a feeling that was unfamiliar to Sherlock Holmes. Fairly recently, of course, this feeling could be easily explained due to the fact that he almost always was being watched. Being a famous detective did have it's downfalls, after all (Sherlock practically scoffed at the thought of him being famous in any sort of way, but he did seem to be gaining more and more attention and he couldn't deny the facts he observed.) Still, the feeling seemed to be stronger than just strangers staring at him as he passed by-no, this particular feeling has been following him around for as long as he could remember.
For the longest time, Sherlock had just assumed that it was simply Mycroft watching him, as he always did, (too closely, he might add) but the feeling wasn't always consistent, and it happened even if the elder of the Holmes brothers was countless miles away for work or a vacation or whatever Mycroft wasted his time with. Of course this didn't mean that Mycroft didn't just simply hire someone else to keep an eye on him-as he has been known to attempt in the past-but Sherlock had always found out about it fairly quickly and avoided anyone that could possibly be keeping tabs on him for his brother. This was something...different. Something not even the great Sherlock Holmes could put his finger on...and quite frankly, it was becoming more nettlesome than he would care to admit.
"Sherlock! Have you been listening to anything I've said?"
Sherlock sighed and focused his attention on John, who appeared to be quite exasperated, not an expression that Sherlock wasn't used to seeing on his friend's face. It never really fazed him, so obviously it wouldn't now. Honestly, he never understood why John even bothered to give him that look. "Now, John, you and I both know that I wasn't, so what's the point in asking such a tedious, rhetorical question?" Sherlock could see John forcing his frustration down, honestly he was getting better at doing so, but one would think that he wouldn't even bother anymore after all this time; he should just be used to how Sherlock is and not get all fussed up about nothing. "I mean, obviously you weren't talking about anything of particular importance or interest to me, so why on earth should I be expected to listen to every syllable that comes out of your mouth?"
John opened his mouth, ready to scold Sherlock about being polite or something of that nature, but he closed it and sighed, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He counted to ten mentally-something Sherlock was able to know he was doing every time he did it, based on his slow-breathing techniques (for calming) and the way he slightly moved his lips as he silently counted each number. Finally, John spoke, "You know, sometimes it amazes me how impossibly inconsiderate and rude you can be."
Sherlock's eyebrows knitted together, and the slightest frown appeared on his face. Only John had the ability to make him feel even remotely guilty about being the way he is, and he hated that. "I'm inconsiderate? You're the one prattling on and on about...whatever it is you were on about, when it's so obvious that I was in my mind palace. It's quite rude to pull me out of it, John, honestly." John sighed heavily, but said nothing, which meant, in Sherlock's mind, that he had won this argument-as he had won countless others-and the detective couldn't help but smile slightly in triumph. Little did he actually know, John had just learned when to give up, even if he was right and Sherlock was wrong, because it was just easier that way. After a moment or two of silence, Sherlock asked, "Well? Aren't you going to ask me why I was in my mind palace?"
"Are you going to ask me what I was trying to talk to you about?" John retorted.
"No"
"Then, no."
"Oh, come on, John!" Sherlock whined. He sometimes (often) reverted to childish ways and whining seemed to be a good way to get what he wanted out of John (simply because the ex military doctor found it so bloody annoying.) "You know as well as I do that whatever is going on in my head is much more interesting than what is going on in yours, so just ask me what I was thinking about."
"Nope." Sherlock frowned at that, which John seemed to find amusing, and John's amusement over Sherlock's distaste for his friend's lack of interest in what he was thinking about just bothered him even more.
"Well, I'm going to tell you anyway, so deal with it." Sherlock stuck out his tongue briefly at his blogger before going on, knowing that John wasn't rude enough to not listen to him talk. "Someone has been following me...watching me..."
That did seem to catch's John's interest. "What, like, Moriarty? The police? Mycroft, what?" he questioned, leaning forward in his chair a bit.
Sherlock scoffed. "Please, John, I know it's difficult, but do use your brain, will you?" He sighed and continued before John could show how offended he was by that, "If I knew who it was or had any idea of who it was I would have stated so. Obviously I don't know since I said someone is watching me...besides...it's not thing first time I've been watched by this person...It's like they've been around my whole life, just sort of...I don't know, looking out for me?" Sherlock shook his head, tossing his dark curls around, making them bounce as he did so. "No, no, that's ridiculous. But still...it's not a bad thing, it's just always sort of been there...always the same. I'm certain it's not Mycroft or anything to do with him...I can tell when it's him."
John didn't know what to say at first. What could he say? His friend was claiming to have been watched by the same person his entire life, and he was sure that it wasn't his brother, so who could it be? Why would anyone follow Sherlock for so long? And how could they for so long, without Sherlock eventually figuring it all out? It sounded rather strange, but Sherlock was very rarely ever wrong about, well, anything, so John chose to believe him. "So...if this person has been following you your whole life...why are you just now mentioning this? Does Mycroft know?"
"Yes, Mycroft knows...well, knew. I had confronted him about possibly hiring people to follow me, different people every time so that I wouldn't catch on, but he said that he didn't and I can always tell when he lies, and he wasn't lying. He was concerned at first but he eventually forgot about it since he found no evidence that anyone was following me at all. And to answer your first question, I didn't find it relevant until recently...since it's been happening much more often, and quite frankly, it's distracting me" Sherlock had placed his forefingers on his lips, with the rest of his fingers intertwined, a position he went in often when he was deep in thought. "Something's going to happen John, I know it."
Space can get awfully lonely, without a companion. Over his many, many years of life in this universe, the Doctor has seen just about all there is to see, and it get's quite boring without someone to show it to, precisely why he constantly chose to bring a companion or two along with him from time to time, it was always so much fun to show them all that is out there (or all that he can show them in the very little time they spend together.) It was like showing someone your favorite movie, one that you've seen a thousand times and know every line of; watching it alone for the thousandth and one time is boring and predictable, but watching it with someone who has never seen it before is exciting and fun, because you get to experience them experiencing it for the first time, which is the closest you will ever get to that first-time experience ever again.
After Rose, The Doctor didn't get the time to adjust to being alone, since Donna sort of just, jumped into his life (which was quite awkward for both of them) but she didn't want to travel with him, and honestly, that bummed The Doctor out more than he would like to admit. He liked Donna. She was smart and witty and rude at some points, and she put him in his place and called him out on things. He quite enjoyed that after being with Rose for so long, who would willingly go along with any silliness that he had happened to conjure up. Yes, Rose was smart, Rose was witty, but Rose was also in love with him, and would never question him or call him out about anything. She completely trusted him, and in the end, that was her downfall. He didn't want someone to completely trust him anymore. He wanted someone who would challenge him, and give him just as much of an adventure as he gave them...which was probably why he had been showing up around 221B Baker Street a little more often than he should be...
For quite some time now, the Doctor happened to stumble across a very curious fellow. It's happened several different times throughout his life, with many his many different faces, but it was always the same boy-er-man. Well, boy or man, it really depended on what time of his life The Doctor accidentally intruded on. It wasn't like he meant to continuously return to this particular person's life (until recently, of course,) the TARDIS just seemed to like the guy (though The Doctor has still yet to figure out why.) Over time, The Doctor learned that his name was Sherlock Holmes, and he was very intelligent indeed. He saw things that other people didn't, payed attention to things others looked over. Of course Sherlock thought this to be fairly simple and, at times, obvious, but to others (like his companion, John Watson) it was amazing, almost like magic.
The Doctor can still remember the first time he saw little Sherlock Holmes. He never really kept track of his regenerations but he did recall a really nice, long scarf that he was rather fond of at the time. Anyway, the TARDIS landed in some sort of manor, in a closet that could have been mistaken for a room itself. When he went off to explore and left the closet, he found himself in a dark room, the only light coming from the full moon just outside the window. It took The Doctor a while to realize the room belonged to a child. There were no toys, no childish decorations, the room looked as if it belonged to an adult, the only indication this room housed a little one was the fact that there was a child sleeping in the bed. He slept on top of the perfectly made bed, his pajamas were baggy, and his hair was a mess of tangled black curls. Not wanting to wake the child up and scare him (children did believe that monsters came out of their closets, after all) The Doctor decided to leave, confused as to why the TARDIS would bring him there. He saw Sherlock a few times after that with that same face, all when he was a child. It didn't take him long to realize that Sherlock Holmes was no ordinary child. He didn't have friends. He didn't play. He liked to watch people, and learn things, he was quiet for the most part, unless he was arguing with his older brother. He was mostly in his head, and not in the normal, childish, day-dreamy imagination way, either. He was just always thinking, and analyzing everything.
The Doctor didn't see him for a few faces. By the time he saw Sherlock in his young teenage years, The Doctor remembered taking a liking to a strange sort of sweater vest that had question marks on it. Thinking back on that now, he really didn't know what he was thinking wearing such a thing, but at the time it felt right. Sherlock hadn't changed much since his childhood, except of course he was taller, and (if possible) lankier, and kind of broody, in a way. The Doctor would land in the middle of London or wherever, and just happen to pass by Sherlock on the street, or in a coffee shop, or at the park. Always reading a book or writing observations down, keeping himself busy or trying to make himself look busy so no one would bother him. At this point The Doctor stopped questioning why he kept seeing this boy, his interest in the young man had peaked far beyond that. Instead he decided to follow him when he happened to cross paths with him. Sure, it sounded creepy, and very unlike him, but for some reason, he could never find it in him to actually speak to the boy. "Not now," he would say to himself, "Now is not the time."
After that, The Doctor didn't seem to ever have the time to see Sherlock. With the Time War and everything, then Rose took up a lot of his time and attention, he kind of forgot about the dark haired boy for a while. That is until after Donna turned down his offer. After that, for some reason unknown even to The Doctor, he went looking for Sherlock. He went to all the old places that he saw him, but, he realized that Sherlock must have gone on with his life, and The Doctor trusted the TARDIS to find him, just like she always did. And of course, without fail, she took him just outside 221B Baker Street. The Doctor didn't know where exactly Sherlock would be, so he just waited. After about three hours, two men approached the apartment, having a heated discussion about something or another. The shorter, blond one The Doctor didn't know, but it was pretty much impossible for him not to recognize Sherlock Holmes. He was at least a foot taller than when he saw him last, his hair was the same messy, black curls and his style was dark, yet simple and sophisticated, pretty much the same as always. He was most likely in his thirties now, though he was aging quite gracefully. Still, for some reason, it was not the time to talk to him.
The Doctor didn't want to move on and do something else. Almost every day he sought to see Sherlock, and learn about his life from afar. He was a sort of famous detective now, not so surprising. The only real friend he seemed to have was John Watson, which was only surprising because The Doctor hadn't expected the man to have any real friends at all. He hadn't changed much at all since the last time he saw him, except he was somehow even more intelligent and witty and smart-mouthed than he was before, and the urge to try and make Sherlock his companion was getting stronger and stronger.
Soon. Soon it will be time, but he can't just go up and strike a random conversation with him, no. Sherlock had to find him.