Author's note: Written for the Let's Write Sherlock challenge on tumblr. This time, the theme was "crossover" and I decided to do it with Life on Mars. Enjoy!
"Dorothy, it was your idea, so take the Prodigy and come back when you have results. Me, I'm going to book Chesters".
Sam Tyler threw up his hand with a sigh that spoke of resignation and said, "Come on, Sherlock".
The newest addition to their team was still taking everything in, but he was doing a better job at adjusting than he had when he had first arrived.
They had met him yesterday standing over a body, studying it. It was clear that he was not paying attention to his surroundings – he was talking to someone who wasn't there, someone named "John" and when Sam had touched his shoulder, rather than let the DCI take a swing at him, he'd turned around and started at him for a few seconds before shaking his head and introducing himself as "Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective".
Naturally, Gene Hunt had been less than impressed, resulting in him getting arrested; Sherlock had huffed, annoyed, and observed, as he was shoved into the car, "This isn't London".
"Tyler, you go with him. The whole "We're not in Kansas anymore" talk is your speciality".
He barely paid attention to his boss. He shared a look with his wife and got into the car, Annie's expression telling him that she was thinking the same thing he was.
Sherlock Holmes had come here just like Sam had, five years ago. It had taken Annie some time to believe him, but when he had told her that he had chosen this, chosen her instead of his life in the future, she hadn't been able to uphold her objections, even though it probably had more to do with her being flattered and happy than her being convinced.
If he had made his way here, then so could Sherlock Holmes. Thankfully, the others had opted to drive with Hunt, not keen on being stuck in a car with a "madman", and Annie had decided that it would be better if they could talk in private.
"Where are you from?" Sam asked. Sherlock was looking out of the window, his hands lying in his lap. They had cuffed him, although Sam couldn't help but think that, if he chose to, the consulting detective would be free in a matter of seconds. The things he had told them about the murderer before Hunt had had enough and ordered him arrested were nothing short of amazing.
"Where are we?" Sherlock demanded. He was remarkably calm. Sam in his stead had almost punched a hole in the wall before Gene Hunt had thrown him against it.
"Manchester" he answered, "1978".
Sherlock looked at him for the first time, his eyes wide.
"I know the feeling" Sam supplied. "I'm from Manchester, 2007".
Even Sherlock, who had told them how to identify the victim and that the murderer was a colleague of the man, wearing glasses and limping as soon as he had noticed them, needed a few moments to process this information.
Eventually, he mumbled, "It explains the obvious paradox...", more to himself than the DI.
His gaze returned to Sam's face.
"How did I get here?"
"What is the last thing you remember?"
Sherlock dropped his gaze.
"I jumped off a building."
"That will do it" Sam replied, surprised at how similar their stories were. Unless –
"Were you trying to..." he trailed off when Sherlock shot him an indecipherable look. "I am sorry. I shouldn't have asked".
"I wasn't" Sherlock answered matter-of-factly. "I was supposed to stay unharmed".
How this was possible when one jumped off a building was anyone's guess, but Sam decided against inquiring about that for now.
"The same happened to you" Sherlock stated. "You committed suicide".
It wasn't a question. Sam never referred to the choice he had made like that, not even in his own thoughts; it hadn't felt like suicide.
It had felt like he was returning to life.
He couldn't explain that now, however, and he doubted that Sherlock would understand.
"So I assume I am dead" Sherlock continued. His voice was flat. Sam looked at him. He had dropped his head in his hands. He was muttering something that sounded like "He won after all".
"You don't have to be" he supplied. Sherlock's head shot up.
He was scrutinizing him, searching for any indication that he was lying.
"Do you hear... noises? Voices? Are there strange smells?"
Sherlock frowned. "There is – beeping, sometimes. And I thought I could hear a – friend before you found me".
Probably the John he had been speaking to.
"Then you are still alive, probably."
"Unconscious?"
Sam shrugged his shoulders, because in a way, Sherlock was right, but in another – this was more than a hallucination. This was a different world, a world he had quickly grown to love more than his own.
"Do you have any idea as to if and how I can wake up?"
"I'm afraid you'll have to be patient" Sam told him. "And concentrate on where you want to be" he added finally. He had come to the conclusion that the tumour had not been the only reason he had needed so long to wake up from the coma; it was that he had felt, right from the start, subconsciously, that this was where he belonged. He had never felt so at home in the time he had lived in since he had been a child – which, of course, had been this time.
Sherlock looked incredulous.
Sam cleared his throat.
"I mean – did you leave anyone behind?"
He hadn't, not really, only his mother, who he felt sure would understand, even if he hadn't explained everything to her, because she had always understood everything. He had never really had any close friends, and his relationship with Mia had practically been over before he got hit by the car.
Sherlock, on the other hand...
He had prattled on to "John", sharing his every thought. At the very least, they were close friends.
"Yes". Sherlock replied so quietly that Sam almost didn't hear it. "There are things I need to do".
"Keep on fighting, then" he advised him although it was clear he didn't have to. Sherlock was determined to return.
For now, after the real culprit had been arrested and Sherlock had been allowed to leave, he decided, after consulting Annie, that it would be best to take him to their house. They had a guest room, and maybe Sherlock would wake up soon; he had noticed more than once when he had visited him during the day that the consulting detective was listening to something, his head inclined towards his right.
Sherlock declined any offer of nourishment and immediately went to his room.
"Will he be alright?" Annie asked.
Sam shrugged.
"He's taking it differently than I did".
She laughed. "He's a lot less psychotic, that's true".
"I wasn't psychotic" he argued, "You analyzed me, you should know".
"Relax" she replied and kissed him, "you know I liked it enough to marry you".
He laughed and kissed her back.
The next morning, Sherlock was still there, to his obvious disappointment. It was Annie who suggested that he might continue to work as a consulting detective while he stayed, and Sherlock raised no objection.
Which was why, and hour later, he and Sam were on their way to another crime scene. Gene Hunt hadn't even bothered to go, but concluded that one "of the scumbags around 'ere did it. Know his method".
As they were driving, Sherlock asked, "What happened?"
"A murder" Sam answered, confused. Sherlock huffed.
"I mean, why are you here? I understand that you committed suicide – " he said it without flinching and apparently without considering whether or not mentioning his death would hurt Sam.
It didn't. He nodded.
"But you seem quite content."
"Here" he added automatically. When he saw Sherlock's questioning glance, he cleared his throat and repeated, "Here. I am happy here. I was in an accident, and I woke up in the Seventies, and after I returned to my time, I realized I had never felt more alive than I did then. So I decided to return. That I am dead in – another world doesn't matter".
Sherlock nodded.
He didn't ask questions, he didn't appear to be shocked. He simply accepted what Sam had told him.
He hadn't thought he would ever meet another person, aside from Annie, who would understand.
"I have to go back" Sherlock said softly, "I have to. There is – My friends are in danger".
"You can still hear it, can't you?"
Sherlock's expression was answer enough.
"As long as you can, there is hope".
He pulled the car up to the crime scene.
He would blame the surprising transition from London in 2010 to Manchester in 1978 for being so slow.
He had been busy paying so much attention to what he could hear from the real world – Sam seemed to be right, at least he wasn't dead yet – that he hadn't realized he had been talking to the wrong police man.
Sam Tyler was kind and knew what he was going through, but this wasn't, and would never be, his world.
It was Gene Hunt's.
As uninterested as he had seemed, he had not been in the least surprised to see Sherlock. He knew more then he let on.
So, despite the expressions of Sam and the other members of the team, Sherlock strolled right into Gene Hunt's office once they arrived at the PD and closed the door behind him.
The DCI was sitting at his desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand.
"What do you want, Albert?"
"How do I get back?" Sherlock asked simply.
Hunt raised an eyebrow, but before he could reply, he continued. "I know this isn't the real world, at least not the world I come from. You must be used to people arriving; how do I leave?"
"Never had one that demanded answers so quickly" Hunt mused. "Look, I don't even know all the rules. Don't know if it's possible to get back of your own free will. I help people to – "
"Move on?" Sherlock asked, and he nodded.
"There has to be a way. I am not dead yet" he insisted. Hunt chuckled.
"Look, no idea where you came from, but you don't always get a choice".
"I have to return."
"Guess how often I've heard that line."
"That doesn't matter to me – "
"What or what doesn't matter to you is not important, sunshine. If you survive, you might return. If not, I got a nice place for you to go – "
"There's no place for me to go but back to my own time!"
Sherlock might have been shouting, but he didn't care.
Suddenly, the noises he had heard in the background since he had arrived in the 1970s grew louder. There were shouts and the obnoxious beeping became almost too much to bear.
He collapsed as he saw Hunt's expression. He looked smug.
The first thing he saw when he woke up was John's face.
"Sherlock!"
The doctor sounded angry and relieved at the same time. "You almost died".
"I gathered as much" he mumbled, and John shook his head.
"Why couldn't you just tell me?"
"Too many risks".
His head was hurting and the medicaments he had received were making his mind move slower than normal. But he was still happy to be back where he belonged.
John shook his head.
"Just get better. And don't think about taking down Moriarty's network without me again".
Sherlock nodded.
And felt alive.
Author's note: Why not celebrate New Year's with a crossover?
As we say here, Guten Rutsch and here's to a wonderful 2015!