Tiny little one-shot. I like it, though. Hope you do, too. It's clean, it's Sherlock's POV, and it's got Dr. Who elements. May help if you've seen the Eccleston 9th Doctor episode, "The Doctor Dances." It's not a true crossover, and I'm not listing it as one, but it's highly allusive. Comments welcome, as always.
Revenant
Sherlock himself was not a fan of the show—it was too often illogical, too often saturated with sentiment, and it too rarely offered a serious mystery to resolve. He worked out the secret of River Song, for example, far too quickly, and was left for entire episodes waiting impatiently for Amy and Rory to deduce the obvious and recognize their own child.
That said, he knew the three men currently present in the flat were all fond of it—and their presence allowed him to perform what he tried to convince himself was merely an experiment. It wasn't, really—at best it was reconfirmation of something he'd long since worked out. He repeated the key elements regularly in spite of that—sometimes on the various men individually. Best of all, though, were the rare moments he could check his results on all of them simultaneously. It had been years, now, since he'd had a chance—years of exile. He wanted to see it again. So when John suggested a party, and Lestrade agreed to come, and Mrs. Hudson chimed in that she'd be there, and Molly was duly invited—
Sherlock knew what he'd contribute. Not, of course, his winning personality. Booze? Well, all right, he did allow John to chivvy him into his coat and send him around for decent scotch and dark rum, plus some sodas. Food he left up to John and Mrs. Hudson. Music was, by common truce, classical instrumental, as there was nothing else everyone would agree to listen to.
But Sherlock did do his bit. Once everyone had arrived, he slipped the DVD into the player—and moved, quietly, to the back of the room. The quick, restless, uneasy music started, the spiral whirlpool swallowed the Big Blue Box and hurled it out again in space and time. Sherlock's companions noted it, smiled, settled where they could half-watch the show.
Sherlock watched a different show: he watched them—his guests. He waited, eyes particularly on John, and Lestrade, and Mycroft, waiting to see if it happened again, as it had before.
The party burbled along. Molly and Mrs. Hudson were openly enthusiastic over the eventual appearance of Captain Jack, with Mycroft a quieter, but no less appreciative admirer. The dinner was stolen. The children hid, terrified, from the stalking presence. Rose danced—and so did the Doctor. A piece at a time it played out—and most of the time the video was ignored. Sherlock knew this audience, and knew they knew the show well. They could afford to miss bits, chat over pizza, mix themselves new drinks, exchange the news of the season.
It occurred to Sherlock, suddenly, how much he'd missed them. The feelings were piercing in their sweetness and intensity. These were the people Moriarty would have killed—some he'd targeted, others he'd have killed if he'd only realized their worth to Sherlock. These were the people Sherlock had lived without for years...just for the comfort of knowing that they did live, and would keep on living. His sacrifice had been worth it. Moriarty had not won.
The story on the telly was coming to a close now, and Sherlock watched more closely, breath almost held, to see if his experiment was still repeatable. Part of him feared. Had they changed, since he left? Had this lost its power over them? He'd never fully understood their reaction, and did not share it in the least—it was all quite alien to him. But Sherlock wasn't a fool: he knew it was meaningful data, even if it was something he couldn't comprehend. The response to this one episode defined three men so completely, demonstrated so much.
Would it still have power, though?
Yes. It happened—first Mycroft trailed off, his attention leaving Mrs. Hudson and slowly focusing on the screen. He sipped delicately at his scotch and water, but his attention was on the video, not on the drink. Then John and Lestrade, almost in tandem, simply stopped talking, eyes fixed on Eccleston and the action.
Captain Jack. The bomb. The t-shirt. The glorious shower of gold...
And three voices, in unison, murmuring along with Eccleston, "Everybody lives, Rose! Just this once—everybody lives!" Murmuring? No. By the end, John, Lestrade, and Mycroft are all echoing the Doctor's triumph and joy, their faces alight, smiles blooming.
It is how he discovered, long ago, that they were in some sense brothers: the murder investigator, the army doctor, the "minor bureaucrat." Three men in their own endless wars, fighting to ensure that "everybody lives." They were still who they had been. The experiment had once more succeeded.
It was only a second later that he realized that, for the first time, there had been a fourth voice—a smaller voice, a more hesitant voice whispering along—his own voice. For the first time, he understood the victory of a two-hearted alien standing down death.
It was a terrifying new data point. Not one he was ready to share.
But he did understand. This time, this time, everybody lived!