New story! Wrote this awhile back, been debating whether or not to post it. This is just a test to see if people like it. If they do, I'll continue it. If not, I'll delete.

Disclaimer: I own! I my dreams. Steve Moffat owns both.

"Bye Sweetie!" Rose called out. "We should be back soon!"

"Mother, I'm 10, not 5."

"I know, Sherly. Especially if we measure it by that brain of yours. You definitely take after your father."

"Did I hear someone talking about me?" John Tyler asked, sticking his head in.

"Nope, it was just your big ego."

"Oi! You ready to go yet? Torchwood'll be pissed if we miss our flight. Agan."

"Right. Remember what I told you..." she said facing Sherlock. He rolled his eyes.

"No using the weapons, no time jumps, and no aliens. Got it."

Rose leaned down and kissed his cheek. "See you in a few days."

John mussed his hair. "Don't go blowing up the universe."

"It was one time!" Sherlock said, pouting. John laughed, closing the door behind him.

For the last time.

It wasn't the police who came to his door later. Why would it be? Torchwood was above the police, above the military, even beyond the prime minister's clearance.

Instead it was Abbey Delangio, head of Torchwood's "human" resources. Sherlock had only ever seen her outside of Torchwood once before. When she came to tell his mom about the death of Peter and Jacqueline Tyler. Tears were running down his face before he opened the door.

Seeing them, Abbey reached a hand out to comfort him, but he pushed her away. Wiping away his tears, he spoke.

"How?"

"Explosion. Took every last Cyberman with them."

"When?"

"Two days ago."

The tears he had just wiped away came flowing down again, harder than before as every feeling Sherlock had ever felt poured out. Abbey stood next to him awkwardly, not sure how to comfort him. Sherlock to in a shuddery breath.

"Where am I going to go now?"

"Mrs. Tyler's family is gone, and Mr. Tyler's is... well, you know. Torchwood's looking at other options."

"You mean they're going to stick me in a foster home?" Sherlock asked, clearly annoyed. "Am I even allowed to live with other... humans?"

"Officially, as you are only 1/4 extraterrestrial, you are considered human enough to be put in a full human society."

Sherlock fixed her with an icy glare. "There is no possible way I will ever go anywhere else. I refuse to go to a foster home."

"Unfortunately, you have little choice in the matter. Hopefully, a more suitable situation can be formed soon." Abbey replied, assuming her full Torchwood voice.

Sherlock glanced at her, fully prepared to fight back, but realized it was useless. He was leaving, but not the house. The universe.

"Then allow me to gather my things, and I'll meet you here soon." Sherlock said in what he thought was a resigned and sad voice. Abbey raised her eyebrows at his simple surrender.

"Collect what you need immediately, the rest can be picked up later. You have..." She glanced at her watch. "Three minutes."

Sherlock ran up the stairs, not to his room but to his parents'. Putting in the code on the hidden entry pad, he walked into the armory and walked over immediately to one thing. The dimension cannon. Seeing it was locked in an extra case, Sherlock groaned in frustration. Of course they put in new security, after what happened last time. He put up a mental barrier to prevent all the memories threatening to flow through, and focused his attention to the pad.

It was set up like a normal pin code entry, but Sherlock knew one mistake might lead to god knows what trapping him. He searched through his mind, looking for what might possibly be the code. Glancing at the pad, he noticed a slight sheen of oil on a few specific numbers. 2, 3, 5, 6, and 9. Sherlock facepalmed. Of course! 2239653! His mom had used it alot, always saying she would tell him the story behind it one day. Something about a wolf. Now she never would.

It hit Sherlock. He was never going to see his parents again. Hell, if he went through with this, he would never see this world again. He would never be able to return. He couldn't even go to their funeral... Still. He had to. He couldn't stay here, and he refused to live with someone who would never know him.

Before his resolve could crack, Sherlock put in the code, grabbed the cannon, and powered it up. Aiming at the wall, he fired. A portal opened, almost like a tear in fabric, shaking the house. He knew Abbey was going to come up and investigate. Now or never.

A small smile graced his face as he stepped through.

"Allons-y."

Mycroft walked home, his mind wandering, noticing things no other person would. As he walked past an alley, a small but bright flash of light caught his attention. He walked in, ignoring the common sense that it was most likely some creep with a torch. How many torches had a golden bulb?

"Hello?" he called out. He heard a shuddering reply. reaching into his school bag, he pulled out a small light, shining it in front of him. He stopped. In front of him was a pale boy with thick black curls and icy blue eyes, who scowled back at him.

"What do you want?" the boy asked sharply. Mycroft detected a slight wavering in his voice, definitely pointing to recent loss. A runway, then, not wanting to face foster care. As Mycroft looked the boy up and down, he saw something else. A spark of intelligence, like nothing he had ever seen before. He held out his hand, pulling the boy up.

"Mycroft Holmes. And you?"

"Sherlock." Mycroft noted the fact that he didn't give a last name.

"Are you a runaway?" he asked, straight to the point.

"I don't know... I can't remember." Sherlock replied, looking confused.

"How can you not remember? Were you in an accident? No, definitely not, there's no sign of injury, which you certainly would have gained had you been in an accident so severe that it caused amnesia."

"It wasn't an accident, I just... can't remember anything that happened before this alleyway. Since I am forming new memories, this is certainly retrograde amnesia."

Mycroft raised his eyebrow. "How old are you, can you remember?"

Sherlock nodded. "Ten."

Mycroft nodded, looking thoughtful. "Since I assume you have no place to stay, you can live with me for the time being."

"Won't your parents mind?" Sherlock said, suddenly feeling the urge to cry. That made no sense, he wasn't sad.

"Mummy shouldn't mind, I can convince her to do practically anything."

"And your father?"

"He's gone."

Sherlock nodded, not prying. "Which way?"

"Left."

Sherlock walked out of the alley, turning left.

Mycroft followed him. Marvelous. He had another puzzle to solve.

So, what did people think? Yes, no, maybe so? Review plz, I welcome criticism.