'Sherlock,' I asked, looking around. I had never seen a place completely black and white before. Where was all the colour? I looked down at my clothes and hands; even they were truly colourless. 'Why in the hell are we here again? And what is this place? What's happened to us?'

In any case I was decidedly a little concerned.

'Storybrooke,' Sherlock answered as we walked. 'It's under a curse.'

I had to jog to catch up with him. 'A curse,' I repeated disbelievingly. 'Right. Is this some sort of fairy tale? Curses aren't real, Sherlock.'

He shoved his gloved hands in his pockets, smirking. 'You'd be surprised, John.'

My eyes drifted around, meeting nothing but black, white and grey. This was strange. And what kind of place was this Storybrooke?

'You haven't told me why we're here,' I stated, following Sherlock as he turned the corner.

'I'm meeting a friend of mine.'

I had to suppress a snigger. 'You? Friend?' I asked incredulously. 'I have to meet this friend then.'

'Don't look at me like that,' he replied. 'I helped him solve a case when I was first starting out and we've stayed in touch ever since.'

'How come you've never mentioned this friend before?'

'I just didn't think it was important.'

I sighed. I looked up at my best friend's colourless face as we walked, longing to get out of this place so he could be his bright self again.

'Why does this place have literally no colour?' I asked absent mindedly.

Sherlock sighed, shaking his head, but I could see the smile radiating off of him. 'I told you. This place is cursed.'

'And I told you that curses are fictional,' I countered.

He didn't reply. He was just so stubborn like this. If he believed something were true, then he wouldn't stop until he proved that thing was true. Yet it was one of the things that made him Sherlock, one of the things (among many others) that made my best friend so damn unique.

'Okay,' I said again, after a couple of minutes of comfortable silence (Silences were never awkward with me and Sherlock). 'Who cursed this place then?'

'No one knows. My friend and his family went to Wonderland on a mission and five months later, they're back here, not remembering what happened back in Wonderland.'

I couldn't stop the snigger this time around. 'Okay, Sherlock? You sound bloody ridiculous. Wonderland?'

Sherlock laughed. 'Believe what you will, John. When I prove to you I'm right, I'm going to say I told you so.'

'Whatever,' I replied, shaking my head.

'Here we are,' Sherlock indicated, turning into a driveway where a yellow bug was parked. 'At the residence of one Mr Killian Jones and Miss Emma Swan.'

I laughed fondly at his formality as he rang the doorbell.

A few seconds later the door opened to reveal a man dressed in all black (unsurprising, really, given the apparent circumstances) and… a hook in the place of his left hand…?

'Ah, Sherlock,' this 'Killian' said as he hugged Sherlock.

And I was met with an intense burn of jealousy. Sherlock was my best friend. This Killian Jones dude couldn't sweep in and take him from me.

'Killian, this is my best friend, John Watson. John, this my friend Killian,' Sherlock introduced and I slapped on a forced smile, though the burn of distrust was still there.

'Nice to meet you, Killian,' I said as I outstretched my hand.

Killian smiled, and even though I wasn't as good at deducing people as Sherlock was, I was experienced enough to know that his smile was genuine, with no malicious intentions behind it. 'Likewise, Mr Watson. Please, do come in,' he replied as he gestured inside.

Two hours later, and we were still inside Killian and his fiancée Emma's house.

'So, how is a curse broken?' I asked.

These people had apparently had three (almost four) curses previously put on their land, yet I was still sceptical about all of this fairy tale stuff.

'With an act of true love,' Emma replied, as she handed her son Henry his backpack. 'I broke the first curse because of my love for Henry.'

She hugged him and then he took his backpack and walked into the hallway. With a call of, 'Bye Mum, bye Dad!' he left the house.

'Well, why isn't that working now?' Sherlock asked.

'We don't know,' Emma replied. 'We've all tried. I guess someone has to be in a critical condition for it to work. That's how the rest of them were broken.'

'Hey, John, will you please come with me a second?' Killian asked suddenly, standing from his chair.

I followed his actions, glancing at Sherlock, who smiled, as I did so.

He led me upstairs, asking, 'So you really love him, don't you?'

I started. Not this again. 'Contrary to popular belief, I am not gay.'

'That's right,' he replied, walking up to a shelf where numerous ornaments stood. 'You're bisexual.'

'No, I'm not that, either. I'm perfectly straight. With all due respect, why are we here?' I asked, turning to face him.

'Ah, you say that, but you see, Mr Watson—'

smiled. 'John will do fine.'

'John, I'm actually quite perceptive, and you might not know it but I think you are. And you're in love with him.' He picked a glass statue of a man and on closer inspection, it turned out to be an intricate replica of… me?

'He's just my friend. My best friend.' Why did Killian have a statue of me? This wasn't making any sense. This was odd and slightly creepy.

'While Sherlock was solving my case,' Killian explained. 'I noticed he carried around with extreme care a glass statue. He dropped it once and he fled before I could return it. I've kept it ever since, waiting to give it back.'

'But why put it on display?' I asked.

He shrugged. 'Beats me. That was Emma's doing.'

'But… I didn't even know him then. This can't be me.' I shook my head, holding it in my hand.

'He mentioned a man called John before. I just didn't think it would ever come to be something of relevance.'

'But that's—'

'JOHN!' Sherlock yelled, his voice hoarse and croaky.

My eyes widened before I turned on my heel and ran at lightning speed down the stairs, two, three at a time.

My eyes nearly popped out of my head.

Sherlock was hovering in the air and something seemed to be strangling him. I looked around and I saw Emma's hand outstretched. It was clear that she was the one doing this.

'What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!' I thundered, going to stand in front of her. 'Let him go!'

'I can't. This is for your own good, John,' she replied.

'John, help,' Sherlock croaked out.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to help him.

'Let. Him. Go,' I instructed firmly. 'Killian, get your insane wife to stop this!'

'Fiancée, actually,' he replied casually.

Sherlock's face was getting worse. Even though he was colourless, I had spent enough time as an army doctor to know what the effects of strangulation were, what he would look like had he been un-cursed. And I didn't like it one bit.

I rushed over to Emma, who in anticipation stepped back, raising her arm that much higher. My head whipped round to look at Sherlock, who had stopped struggling.

'Emma! Please!'

Suddenly she dropped the hold on him and he dropped to the floor. I ran over to him, falling to my knees.

'Sherlock!' I yelled, shaking his unresponsive body. 'No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Sherlock, come on, wake up! Sherlock!'

It was no use. He was nearly (to my utter and absolute horror) gone.

I glared up at Emma, who had gone to join Killian. 'Bitch,' I spat out through gritted teeth.

So I did the only thing I could. I pulled his mouth open and pressed my lips to his in a rather feeble attempt to save him.

But it worked.

As life was sucked back into Sherlock's lungs, I was met with memories. Forgotten memories from what some people may have called 'a past life'.

Sherlock and I, only three years old, sitting on a rug with toys surrounding us.

Sherlock and I, nervous on the first day of school.

Sherlock and I sharing a kiss. I loved him.

Me walking across the road, only for a car to hit me, causing me to black out.

Sherlock sitting next to me on the hospital bed, him weeping, clutching my hand, telling me over and over again that he was sorry for being so careless.

A woman with blonde hair using magic to save my dislocated hip.

'… Sherlock?' I whispered, the word barely leaving my mouth.

He sat up instantly, elegantly, like the dancer he was, and immediately crashed our mouths together. And for the first time in what would most likely be years, I responded, my hand going to tangle itself in the hairs at the back of his neck.

He pulled back suddenly and his face was remorseful. 'Oh John, I'm so sorry. I just… I didn't want you to hate me,' he muttered.

It took me a couple of seconds to work that he meant putting me under a curse to forget what had happened.

I held his cheeks softly, shaking my head. 'No,' I whispered back. 'I could never hate you. Ever.'

'But I—'

'It was an accident, Sherlock. You didn't mean to. And look, I'm perfectly fine now.'

'Um, guys?' another voice said sceptically, reminding us that there was, indeed, other people in the room.

I looked over to Killian, who suddenly seemed very different.

'We broke the curse, John!' Sherlock suddenly cried.

And that's when I realised, that yes, we broke a curse. The world was full of colour once again. I looked around, my mouth stretching into a smile as I took on the true beauty of Storybrooke.

Suddenly, the front door burst open and Henry came in, yelling, 'Mum, Dad, I remember! I remember what happened in Wonderland!'

He ran into the living room to hug his parents who smiled at him. Suddenly, Killian's face went from an expression of joy to that of realisation and agony.

'Emma, we have to go check on Regina,' Killian told his fiancée. 'Her mother was the one who started all this.'

'Yes, we do. Let me just call my parents and then we'll head over there.'

I stood up from the floor, pulling Sherlock up with me. 'I guess that's our cue to leave, then,' I stated.

Emma looked at us, smiling. 'You could… meet us at Granny's, say hello to the rest of our family?' she asked hopefully.

I looked at Sherlock and he gave me the slightest, almost imperceptible nod.

'Yes, we'd like that, thank you.' I paused. 'And Emma, thank you for saving me all those years ago.'

She beamed. 'No problem. It's what friends do.' She smirked, adding, 'And boyfriends.'

I shook my head fondly, witheringly. 'Come on,' I said to Sherlock. 'Let's get a head start up to Granny's.'

We made our farewells and exited their house. 'So I guess you told me so, then,' I piped up as we walked along the street. 'Curses are real.'

Sherlock smiled, and I realised with comfort that at some point down the line, my hand had slipped into his. 'Of course they are. We broke one. Though I wasn't expecting to.'

Something seemed off about that last sentence. 'Hold on, wait. Expecting? Are you telling me you asked Emma to strangle you?'

'I had to,' he explained with a sad smile. 'I had to get you to remember. And I knew you wouldn't kiss me of your own accord since you kept protesting about not being gay. Which I guess is untrue.' He finished with a smirk.

I pretended to think about it. 'No, I think that it's true.' I had to hide a smirk at his horrified expression. 'I'm bisexual. There's a difference.'

He laughed and shook his head, wrapping his arm around my shoulders as we reached Granny's B&B.

Sherlock made to open the gate, but I kept hold of his hand, disallowing him to do so. 'Wait,' I whispered.

He looked at me, puzzled, before I grabbed a fistful of the lapels of his Belstaff and pulled him in for a kiss. After a few seconds, his (un-gloved) hands settled around my waist as the kiss deepened.

After minutes we pulled apart, our noses almost touching. 'There. Now I kissed you of my own accord,' I told him. 'I love you.'

Sherlock smiled, the smile that actually meant so much to me. 'And I love you,' he replied.

We turned back to Granny's and walked inside. I was so ready to restart my old life with Sherlock. So ready because we had all the time in the world.

I FINALLY GOT TO WRITE A FIC WITH ALL FOUR OF MY BEAUTIFUL, ADORABLE DORKS! What did you think? I know this has got a bit on the long side but hopefully that isn't too off-putting…? Hopefully…?

I would love to know what you thought of it!