Time Lord

Juanita Van Meter

1

"Molly, have you seen my old fob watch?"

"It was in your coat pocket last time I saw it, you picked it up at the flat when we left to go investigate that one case together, before you got John back."

"Well, it's not in my pocket now. And I can't find it anywhere in the flat. By the way, sorry about your dog."

"Oh, erm, thank you…" I pause and almost walk away, but I'm always curious as to how he knows these things. "I don't know why I even ask anymore…but how did you know this time?" He answered without looking up as he dashed around. "Actually, I just saw your tweet about it." He looked up at me and pushed his lips into a line, shrugging. He then sat and started doing his marvelous little mind palace thing, where he puts his fingers to his temples, squeezes his eyes shut, and searches his mind. I watched him for a moment. I almost come to tears then. He really has forgotten. All the time we had together, everywhere we've gone…I'm just so grateful every day that he didn't forget me. Even if he does treat me like shit…I'm not smart, not a bit. I'm awkward and I love him, but I know he could never love me back. Maybe I'm just selfish…but I want to tell him. I want to awaken the watch, so it speaks to him and tells him to open himself…I just want him back. I walk away after about a minute. Before I reach the door, he calls, "Molly! I just remembered where I've gone and left it! I take it out of my pocket sometimes when I'm working, and I left it in that bloody cellar. I'm very, very busy with this case at the moment, but if you wouldn't mind, since you're off work, can you call Lestrade and tell him to go pick it up for me? I…I don't like working without it…" I know he's still in there by the way he's attached to the watch, so I'd do anything to make sure he still has it. But his attachment to it has heightened in the past year since he's been back…I wonder if it's started speaking to him, all on its own. That would mean…that it's almost Time. "Alright, I'll phone him." Then he lets me leave. As much chaos as will be brought about when he awakes, I can't wait much longer like this.

"John! John, are you in?" Sherlock taps his foot impatiently and looks around anxiously. He doesn't like being anxious. He's not used to it, and doesn't want to become so. He fingers the fob watch in his pocket cautiously. "Not yet….not time….wait…" He gasps and quickly draws his hand out of his pocket at the thought that was his…but not. "John!" He raps on the door again. Mary opens it frantically, the baby fussing in her arms. "For Christ sakes, Sherlock, it's 11 pm! What on earth!?" As soon as she's got the door open, he shoves in. "John! John I need you! I need to tell you something!"

"He's out, for heaven's sake, Sherlock. You could've phoned him! The baby was asleep…" He ran over and kissed Mary's cheek in apology, grabbing her shoulders in desperate urgency. "WHERE, Mary? I need him desperately, tell me where HE IS!" She was looking scared. She had never once seen Sherlock behave like this, not even on one of his biggest, most dangerous cases. "He's at the pub with some mates from work," she finally mumbled out, in a bit of a daze.

"Thank you." And with that, he dashed out. As soon as he'd gone, Mary snapped out her phone.

John, Sherley's gone berserk. Brace yourself, he's coming for you

MW

She sighed after she sent it, and went back to getting Jr. asleep.

Sherlock ran. He ran and ran and ran to that pub like it was his salvation, and it might as well have been. During the entire exchange with Mary, the Voice had been in his head as he thumbed at the mysterious watch in his pocket. "Not yet…not time…wait…don't open me…resist…not time…" With every word the Voice spoke, he wanted to open it more, but he couldn't keep himself from continuing to fiddle with it in his pocket. He burst into the pub, and found John there with some of his friends (imbeciles) from the hospital. "John! John I need you, please, come outside with me. Please." John looked up from his drink; before he could answer Sherlock, a little muffled beep went off. John reached into his coat, which was draped over vacant chair at his side. When he opened it, the text from Mary came up. He replied;

Yep, got that from his rapid eye movement and the fact that he forgot his bloody scarf. Code red I think. Call Lestrade to search the flat

JW

"For goodness sakes John, I'm clean! I just need to talk to you. NOW," Sherlock exclaimed as John finished the text. John sent it all the same, just in case. He stood, dismissing his friends, who were, by now, quite used to John being whisked away at the whims of this tall stranger. "Alright, alright, I'll come with you, just-calm down. I'll see you later boys." He slipped into his jacket and stepped outside with Sherlock. They began to walk the couple of blocks to the flat. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Sherlock finally spoke."John…I- I'm hearing things."

"Oh, now! Don't start. How many nicotine patches have you got?"

"Nicotine overdose does not cause hallucination, John. And five. It's a five patch case."

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock!"

"Yes, I am aware. At the moment, I'm serious John. My fob watch…I think…I think it's talking to me." John looked sidelong at Sherlock with a quizzical frown. He could see in Sherlock's face he wasn't lying. Just as John was thinking maybe Sherlock wasn't crazy, and this was really happening, Sherlock cried out. "Shut up, shut up SHUT UP!" Maybe Sherlock was crazy after all. He's finally gone completely bonkers. John grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders; he was now crouching on the sidewalk, holding his head in his hands, shaking. "Do you have the watch with you? Why do you think it's the watch?"

"It only started happening when I started investigating this Doctor fellow, and then whenever I touch it, I can feel it speaking in my head…my own voice but not my thought. John, it's so quiet…but it's so loud…" Sherlock winced. John was beginning to become seriously concerned for his friend, whom he had never seen in this bad of shape before. "Just, give me the watch. Alright? Let me see it."

"No, I don't want to touch it."

"Well, where is it?"

"In my coat pocket."

"Stand up. I'll get it out myself."

"Alright." Sherlock stood, slowly, unsurely, as though the world was reeling beneath his feet. John reached into his coat pocket, grabbing for the watch. As soon as he felt its smooth surface, he heard Sherlock's voice in his mind, whispering with utter exigency, "ITS TIME." John shouted and leapt away from Sherlock. "God! Oh my God, Sherlock it was your voice in my head!" Sherlock, who had been standing with his head down, rubbing his hands in his hair, looked up and grabbed John by the shoulders, as had become his habbit in the past 24 hours. "You heard it too? What did it say? What did it SAY?! Tell me!" John shook himself out of the frantic grasp of Sherlock's spindly hands. "Just, 'It's time.' What does that mean? Sherlock?" He had begun to step back from John. "No, it..it can't…"

"What, Sherlock?"

"This…" Sherlock swallowed hard and blinked rapidly, pulling his hand over his face and squeezing the bridge of his nose in confusion, trying with all his might to collect his thoughts. "This whole time…it's been saying 'No, not time, don't open me, not time, not yet'…."

"Have you ever tried to open it?"

"its generations old…it would never open, its rusted shut." He became dazed, slowly reaching his hand into his pocket. When his fingers touched the watch, a flood of words came into his mind. At first, as if he had touched a flame, his hand recoiled; but he drew it slowly, deliberately, out of his coat . "It's time, open me, get molly …then let me go…it's time…let me go…get Molly…let me go…" John watched as Sherlock palmed the watch in his hands, glaring at it with all the intensity of a man who had discovered the secrets of the cosmos.

"I need to find Molly."

I was just getting into work, and I unlocked the door to my office. Sherlock was in my little chair, feet up on the desk, palming the fob watch. I didn't say anything; I was expecting him, subconsciously. After an uncomfortable few moments, he looked up at me. "Should I open this." He said it like a statement, not a question.

"Please."

"Why?"

"Because…I need you to."

"WHY?!" He slammed his fist on the desk, causing me to jump. " Why is it speaking to me Molly? It keeps saying your name…telling me…telling me 'It's time'. What does that mean?"

"It means you need to open the watch, Sherlock." He looked from me to the watch, then back to me, then to the watch. He held it in front of him, his thumb posed over the button that would bring Him back to me. "I…I'm afraid, Molly."

"Don't be…Please, I need you to do this." He had started shaking, and a tear went down his cheek. He was at his most vulnerable now, and I was almost in tears myself. "I don't understand. I don't like not understanding. I don't like not knowing." He laughed bitterly at the past part, and looked back down at the watch. I was two heart beats away from begging on my knees for him to open the watch, or just doing it myself. I'd miss this Sherlock, but I needed HIM even more.

"I don't know if I can do it, Mol. It keeps telling me I'll be a better man. That I'll become…something more. How could I be more than a man? What does it mean Molly? Why does it keep saying your name?"

"I can't…I can't tell you, Sherlock. I can't try to explain. You just need to open the watch and find out yourself." I hated myself. I hated that I was going to take Sherlock away from John, and Mary, and Lestrade and England in general, for Christ sakes. Mycroft already knew the situation; He had always been part of the plan. "Could you do it for me," he asked, almost inaudibly, without looking at anything in particular.

"Yes." He glanced at the watch, and tossed it to me, with visible hesitation in his eyes. I began to shake now, and dropped the watch on the floor. I fumbled to pick it up, and stood with it in my hands, Sherlock's voice in my head, begging me to let Him out.

So I obeyed.

John walked to 221b Baker Street, hesitating at the door. Sherlock hadn't been answering his calls all week. Or his emails, or his texts or his letter, even. John was desperate. He picked up the knocker, but Mrs. Hudson opened the door before he could let it fall. "John! Good gracious, what are you doing, just standing there? Its bitter cold out here, get inside. Sherlock's upstairs, but he hasn't left his room all week." She began to walk away, but turned back before John got inside. "I'm worried about him, John."

"So am I."

John made his way up to the flat; slowly and deliberately, a flood of memories crashing into his mind. He didn't knock, but walked into the apartment. "Sherlock? Sherlock are you here? Get off your bloody arse and come out of your room." No answer. "Sherlock?" John tried he door. Locked. After about five more minutes of calling and begging, John began to think the worst. It was too much, the watch, and he's gone and off'd himself. After taking in a huge breath, John kicked the door in. What he saw in the room was…not special at all. It was the same tidy, organized, indexed and labeled room it had always been when John was living there. He almost walked out, except for that there was a slip of paper on the bed. All that was on it was a small note that read;

Come at once if convenient.

John frowned at the note. It was in Sherlock's sloppy scrawl. He flipped it over.

If inconvenient, come all the same.

He looked around the room, but saw nothing noteworthy. He then heard a very strange noise; a whooshing, whirring, windy noise from the living room. He ran out of the Sherlock's bedroom, and it was chaos. Papers were flying everywhere, and wind was blowing in his face, even though the windows were closed. Then the impossible. The shock. The amazement. It was the blue box. The blue box that belonged to the Doctor Sherlock had been investigating. It had appeared. Out of nowhere. Just like the stories, just like all the clients had said. John didn't think things could get any stranger; he was proven wrong when Sherlock stepped out of the box, followed by Molly and Mycroft.

"Hello, John. I am the Doctor."

2

"What….what do you mean, 'I'm the Doctor.' You're Sherlock Holmes."

"No, John. I had to become him, for a time. I…forgot who I was, I forgot everything I've known, all the people I've known, to remain in disguise. I can't begin to explain it to you, but that's what happened."

"No, no you are Sherlock Holmes. You look like him, you sound like him. You-" John put his head in his hands. "You're not some alien hero! You are perfectly human! I know! I've heard your heart! I know who you are. You're Sherlock Holmes…" John choked on the last words. The Doctor stepped fully out of the Tardis and took John into an embrace. Molly looked nervously at Mycroft, who was smoking. When they finally released, Sherlock took Johns face in his hands. "I've arranged Sherlock's death. His final, real, once and for all, death. Sherlock Holmes died. He died when I opened that watch, and I can never bring him back. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, John."

"He's really…he's really gone? He's not, inside you, somewhere?"

"He is still in me, a part of him. I am him and he is me, but I can't bring him back. Well, I could, but I won't. It's too dangerous, and it's not fair, to anyone."

"Then you are not who they say you are."

"What?"

"You are not a hero." He said it with venom in his voice, and darkness behind his bright eyes.

"John. I was never a hero. I aspire to help people. And often, a lot of people get hurt because of me. I'm trying my best; I really am, but there's only so much the last Time Lord can do." John was silent, stoic. He said nothing, he felt nothing and he had only one thought.

Mycroft knew.

The Doctor drew back from John. "Come with me."

"What?"

"Come with me. Come see everything. Just one trip. Let me show you why I do everything I do."

"I don't want to know."

"Ph, but you will, once you see it. The wonder of the universe, the crystal mountains and singing towers of Darillium. The triple moons of Cassius."

"I don't know what any of that means. I don't want to know what you do on your stupid adventures. I want you to give him back to me."

"I won't."

"I'll make you."

"You can't." They stood, starring at each other; the Doctor, with loving sadness in his icy, blue- green eyes, and John, with malice, utter loathing and contempt seeping out of every pore, bringing a hateful saturation into the atmosphere of the flat. When the silence finally broke, it was shattered by Mycroft. "Well, I suppose we are all just going to stand around and wait for the Cybermen to get here and then we'll all have tea, hmm? Or shall we get on with the important business at hand? Torchwood has been texting me none stop. They want to know when it's going to be done." The doctor and John did not break their glare. "I need to get John to understand, give me five minutes."

Before John could back away, the Doctor took John's temples in his fingers and closed his eyes. "Don't resist, open your mind. Let me explain this way, since you will not listen." John almost leapt away, but the Doctor held firm. After a moment of struggle, John finally stood still and closed his eyes.

Mary paced the floor of the hospital waiting room. It was cramped and stuffy, she was anxious, she was nervous. She hoped it was another joke, another fake. But she had a gut feeling that this time, it was for real.

She turned rapidly when she heard the doors swing open, and John stepped out with Molly's replacement, a tall young gentleman of about 24. "It's really him. He's really gone this time. For real." He hung his head, and Mary ran up to him, pulling him into a tender squeeze. "Oh, John…I'm so sorry." In a moment they were both weeping and the man was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the situation. He backed out of the room.

He was seriously beginning to regret his choice of degree. Working with bodies in a lab at the University was one thing, dealing with the people who once loved that body as a person; that was an entirely different matter, and one he was not so sure he could handle.

"I don't like leaving him behind." We had just stepped into the Tardis, and the Doctor was getting things ready to leave; twisting knobs, banging with his mallet, pushing buttons and working leavers. Mycroft was having another smoke, despite the Doctors rebukes, and was set comfortably on the little bench by the controls. The Doctor looked up when I spoke, for a moment pausing at his work, then back down his head went and he was busy again. "I don't either, Mol. But it had to be done, and he understands now. If I had left him in the state he was in, he could have very possibly ruined everything."

"I know…I just feel so horrible. He's lost Sherlock twice now. Twice."

"It is horrible. It's a horrible thing. But I have lost many people and worlds and been better in the end. I'm not glad I had to hurt him and Mary like that, but he's a better man because of it. If he hadn't met Sherlock, where would John be now? I'll tell you. He'd be limping solemnly around London with that silly cane and refusing to trust his bloody therapist. He's better off now." The doctor had been getting more intense with every word, until he was almost shouting at the end of his little speech. I knew he regretted this. But there was no turning back. What was done had been done, and John had Mary and the baby. He'll get on with his life now.