Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, if I did I wouldn't be writing fanfiction.
When I was twenty-five, a man came looking for my dad. A man I had not seen in over twenty years and although his face was changed, I knew it was him. You never forget a man like that. A man like him. A man who can walk into your life with ease, change it completely, then leave with a similar amount of simplicity with which he entered it. The man who was my earliest memory.
He was my dad's friend, this man. He didn't even say 'hello' before he was asking after him; chatting away at one hundred miles per hour, giving me no chance of reply. I just stood there, seething. I was angry with him. When he finally became silent; I began to rant about maybe he should have visited before my dad died; let him know he was ok. Yes he may have pushed my parents together, but he could have let my dad know he was ok; he deserved that.
Last time he visited, he told my dad he was going to die, and until his dying day my father believed his friend dead.
It was now clear he was not.
This man just said; "No-one could know."
I met him then, when he told my father he was going to die. Even then I knew I was not the first child he had met; he was fluent in baby. He spoke to me, told me things that still have an impact on me; the baby he held in his arms and told about the stars, what life there could be He showed me what the universe is and made me dream of life beyond Earth.
He came for my father; he got me.
Stormageddon: Dark Lord of All; who even as an infant thought himself superior.
He let me come with him; just the one trip. For dad; for his friend. He took me away; showed me the stars, the ones he'd told me about in my room that night.
That madman with his blue box showed me the universe.
And then he brought me home; just as he'd said he would.
He dropped me off on a street corner. I stepped out onto the street, and turned back to say goodbye but the man was gone, and his box. Gone off into time and space. Maybe he was just a man who didn't like goodbyes.
I shuffled my way along the street, not really sure where I was, or how long I had been gone. It wasn't until I had turned several corners that I realised that I was in London. That wasn't a problem, I could get a train home from London.
The problem arose when I tried to use my debit card. Declined. Apparently my account didn't exist. It was then I checked the date. No wonder the card didn't work; the account was opened in 2029. My account wouldn't exist for another twenty nine years. That idiot dropped me off in London, in 2000; ten years before I was born.
For a man so incredibly clever; he can be unbelievably stupid.
In ten years time there would be two Alfie Owens running around, with the same parents, same birthday; same life. I had to change all of it. I had to re-write my life story. I couldn't go by Alfie anymore. My search for a new name brought me into the heart of London. To me, the best place to find a name worthy of this decade, would be Tussauds; home to all the famous celebrities of the day.
I walked around for awhile, trying to find a name that fitted. I was unsuccessful. I left the attraction and turned into Baker Street, hoping to get the tube. It was then I saw it; the recently-erected statue outside Bakerloo Station.
I looked at the inscription, and suddenly, everything fitted together perfectly.
From that moment, I was no longer Alfie Owens. I was Sherlock Holmes.