I do not own any of the characters used. Feedback would be wonderful, and if any of you spot any mistakes worth fixing, then please let me know! I'm not so great at editing. :)
"Come with me. Be my last companion before I leave. Please." The Doctor pleaded softly as he stood just outside the T.A.R.D.I.S, door wide open. Sherlock, unsure as he's ever been, looks back at 221B before turning back around to look The Doctor in the eyes.
"I can't just leave him. Not again. Two years was enough, God only knows how long I'd be away from home, being with you." Sherlock looked down at his left hand and smiled at the ring that was placed on his ring finger. Then a slight frown appeared upon his face. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if anything were to happen."
The Doctor smiled softly. "Ten minutes. Ten minutes as my companion, and you'll be right back where I found you. That's a promise."
Sherlock looked back at his flat once more before finally caving in. "Ten minutes, not a minute more. Not even a second. Do you understand me? I won't - I can't leave him for too long. Not again." His eyes glimmered with unshed tears.
The Doctor joined him in his moment of sadness. "Believe me, I know how you feel. I lost someone years ago, and I regret it immensely."
Sherlock looked up at him, his eyebrows furrowing. "Who, if you don't mind me asking?"
The Doctor gave the most beautiful of smiles. "She was a beautiful rose, that one. So beautiful. I loved her, but I never got to tell her in time." He looked down at his shoes. "She's in a better place now, though."
Sherlock looked up at him. "I'm sorry to hear that."
The Doctor only grinned. "We should get going. After all, time is important." He winked and stepped aside so Sherlock could enter before him. Walking in after the detective, he shut the door behind him and began to put in his coordinates.
They landed, and The Doctor opened the door so that Sherlock could exit first. As Sherlock walked out of the giant blue box, he looked around, eyes wide in amazement. "Where are we?" He asked.
The Doctor just smirked. "London. Fifty years back."
Sherlock's jaw dropped as he took in his surroundings. Everything looked so . . . Different. Amazing. He looked around and stopped short when he recognized one area.
"Is that - is that my flat?" Sherlock slowly but surely made his way over to 221B and looked inside the windows. The door was different, and the number hung on a wooden sign above the door.
"There's nothing inside. It's completely empty," Sherlock said.
The Doctor nodded as he approached him. "No one ever moved in until a few years before you were born; which, I believe, were your parents. It was said to be haunted by a man who killed whoever lived here. But when your parents bought it, the ghost, or whatever it was, stopped. For some odd reason, it never once harmed or did anything to your parents. Want to know why?" He whispered.
Sherlock turned to look at the man.
"Why?" he asked, turning to look back into the windows.
The Doctor grinned. "Because your mother was pregnant. None of the other people were, nor were they parents at the time, either. But yours were. Odd, isn't it? A killer ghost, letting the pregnant slide. Kind of touching, actually."
Sherlock chuckled softly, then frowned. "How long have we been standing here?" he asked, anxious to get back to his John.
The Doctor looked down at his watch. "Five minutes exact. We should probably go anyways, it takes another minute or two just to get back into your time-line." He then began to walk back to the T.A.R.D.I.S.
Sherlock followed quickly behind.
Not even a minute after they took off, the T.A.R.D.I.S began to shake and bump into things on the outside.
"What's going on?" Sherlock asked. "Doctor, what's going on?" he panicked, fear evident in his voice.
The Doctor's eyes roamed the T.A.R.D.I.S. "She's thrown us off balance."
Sherlock looked over at him. "Off balance? What? How?" He held onto the railings tightly.
The Doctor shrugged his shoulders as he tried to figure out how to make it all stop. "She does this quite often, so there's no telling where we'll end up." The Doctor looked over at Sherlock with an apologetic look in his eyes before flying up into the air a few feet, then landing on the floor. "She's landed," he groaned as he stood up. "I'm getting too old for this," he sighed before opening the door, peaking his head out.
The Doctor furrowed his eyebrows. "We're back where we were, but there seems to be a problem," he said, his voice merely a whisper.
Sherlock walked over to him and gasped at what he saw in front of his flat. He slowly walked out of the T.A.R.D.I.S then made a run for it towards the gurney that held a black body bag.
"Who are you? What is that thing? It just came out of nowhere!" Everyone around them all talked at once, but neither Sherlock or The Doctor answered.
"Open the bag," Sherlock said softly. The medic tried to pull Sherlock aside, but Sherlock protested. "Open the bloody bag!" He clenched his hands into fists, hoping to whatever God there be out there that this was just some stranger that happened to die near where he lived.
Mrs. Hudson, busy talking with another medic, turned sharply at the familiar voice. She gasped. "Sherlock..." She whispered to herself. Then she began walking towards him, and the next thing he knew, she had slapped him, and hard at that. "I don't curse often, Sherlock Holmes, but now is not the time for formality! Where the bloody hell have you been?! Ten years, Sherlock! Ten years you've been gone! Two years I understand, but ten? Ten just did it, Sherlock..." She fell to the ground on her knees and began to weep. "He couldn't handle it. He went mad searching for you, you know. He couldn't handle it, and he gave up. He shot himself in the - in the head. I found him in your chair, bleeding to death."
Sherlock froze in place before he turned back towards the body bag and looked up at the medic.
"Open the bag. Please." The medic sighed and did so, leaving Sherlock in peace. Sherlock looked down upon his husband's face and began to cry, which soon turned into deep sobs of guilt and sadness. "I'm so, so sorry, John," he picked up John's left hand and kissed his ring finger which held his own wedding band.
"I never meant to be gone for so long. Things happened. We tried to get back on time, I swear. But I guess time had other plans for us. Oh god, I should have never gone with him. I should have gone back inside, back to bed, with you. I shouldn't have left you. I've failed you, and I'm so, so sorry, my dear Watson." He snuffled.
Sherlock then looked over at The Doctor and wiped his eyes. "Can't you take us back to my original time?"
The Doctor looked down and shook his head. "If I do all of London would disappear. The T.A.R.D.I.S; she, well, she over-lapsed. Meaning if I were to take you back to your time, at this exact place, at the exact time that we left, nothing would be here but you and me. And this old brood." He pointed to the T.A.R.D.I.S. "I am sorry, though. I am so, so sorry." He walked closer to Sherlock and placed a hand on his shoulder.
Sherlock shrugged him off. "YOU SAID TEN MINUTES, NOT TEN YEARS, NOW YOU FIX THIS RIGHT NOW!"
The Doctor shed a tear or two before shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but I can't. God, I wish I could, but I can't. Not unless you wish to be alone forever."
Sherlock looked him dead in the eye. "I'm already going to be alone forever, now, thanks to you and that bloody box! I should have never gone with you!" He turned back towards John's body and wept.
The Doctor, feeling guilty as ever, went back inside the T.A.R.D.I.S and flew off to God knows where, leaving behind a very distraught Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock went over to Mrs. Hudson and held her close. "I'm so bloody sorry," he wept into her shoulder.
She held him tight and began to weep as well. "It's not your fault. Not really, I suppose. You don't have to explain it, but promise me one thing; please, just give me this, Sherlock. Don't. You. Ever. Leave. With. A. Strange. Man. Again!" She punctuated each word with a slap to the shoulder. "Or so help me God, I will hunt you down myself, and kill you if they haven't already." She said softly, her face in the crook of his neck.
Sherlock looked at John's body over Mrs. Hudson's shoulder and shook, and wept, and regretted.