It was a warm summer day in London, and the streets were as quiet as they ever are. Millions of Londoners were going about their lives in typical fashion. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were no exception to this. However, a typical day for these two extraordinary men was far from typical for most.
"Come on, John!" Sherlock cried, pulling his companion along. "We can lose him up here."
"That's what you said last time," John puffed, increasing his speed, "and then we ended up in the gardens of Buckingham Palace."
"It was foggy," Sherlock retorted, "and they changed the street signs on us. I know this part of town. This way!"
He yanked John around a corner, pelting down another city block. "None of this would have happened if you'd have kept your head," John yelled, dodging around a street vendor. "I told you your deductions would get us in trouble some day."
"It was accidental," Sherlock said, irritable and almost defensive. "It's not like I can shut it off."
"Telling the leader of the biggest gang in the city all the flaws in his chain of command while his whole gang was there?" John demanded. "Have a little common sense."
"If he's foolish enough to let flaws exist, he deserves to have them exploited."
"And then you had to go point out his bald spot-"
"Here!"
Sherlock grabbed John by the collar of his jacket and yanked him bodily aside, pulling him down an alley. At the end, invisible from the street, was a tiny opening, more of a hole than an actual doorway. It was in here that the two men went to hide.
"Have we lost them?" John whispered, peering around the corner. Sherlock hauled him back.
"The odds are good," he said softly. "We'll know soon."
And indeed, only moments later, they heard pounding footsteps first growing in volume, then fading as their pursuers passed them by.
John's sigh of relief was audible. "Jesus, Sherlock, it's too hot to be doing this," he muttered, wiping his brow. "Think next time."
"John, I do nothing but think." Sherlock pulled off his scarf, sweating.
"Well, think more, then." With a sigh, John stretched his back, ready to get up. "I guess we'd better get back. Should I call a cab?"
He received no answer.
"Sherlock?"
John turned around to see his friend peering further down the alley. It was what he was staring at, however, that truly caught John's attention.
On the wall at the end of the alley, a long, thick, v-shaped crack stretched through the brickwork. This in itself was nothing unusual - this was an old part of town and cracks of the sort were commonplace. What distinguished this crack was that through it shone a bright white light, pouring evenly through every part and illuminating the back of their hideout.
"Hold this," Sherlock said, tossing John his folded scarf as he pulled out his pocket magnifying glass. John complied, snatching the scarf out of the air without once taking his eyes off the glowing crack.
"What is it?" he asked in wonder. Sherlock glanced back at him.
"A crack," he replied with a hint of a grin, before turning back to the wall. "It's what's behind it that I'm interested in." He got down on his knees, putting his eyes level with the light. "It's completely uniform," he murmured, running a finger along the edge. "Not a natural light, then. And listen." Sherlock bent over, pressing his ear to the wall. "There's voices."
"Voices? What voices?"
"I don't know, I can't make any individual words out. Men's voices, I think."
"Sherlock, it's probably just the inside of the building," John said reasonably. "Let's go."
"No, there's definitely more," Sherlock murmured. "Look, John."
John looked - but saw more than he reckoned on. The light seemed to take shape, shining white tendrils snaking out of the crack to wrap around the man kneeling before them.
"Sherlock," he cried, "get away from there!" But Sherlock didn't move, didn't react, didn't even blink. "Get away!" John stepped forward, but the heat of the light pushed him back. He desperately wanted to pull him away, but some instinct told him that to touch the light would mean the same fate.
He hung back, helpless, and watched as his friend was slowly surrounded in glowing coils. The light grew brighter and brighter until John was forced to look away, shielding his eyes. When at last the alley darkened, Sherlock was gone.
"Sherlock?" John hurried forward, looking around the corner and into the alley, certain his friend had somehow ducked around him. "Sherlock, what's going on?" But the alley was clear, and still Sherlock didn't answer. "SHERLOCK!"
Completely baffled, John ducked back into their hideout, scanning the tiny area for anywhere his friend might be hiding. There was nowhere. He was suddenly terrified, though he couldn't pinpoint exactly why.
"He has to have gone through," he told himself, looking around the empty space. "Into the building. That'll be it." But upon returning to inspect the crack, John found to his further surprise that it was gone, the bricks as whole as if the crack had never existed.
"What the hell?" he muttered, fighting down panic. He ran his hands along the unquestionably solid wall. There was no way around it - Sherlock was gone, and it appeared that he'd gone through the crack.
Only now did the shock of the event begin to set in. Whatever John had witnessed, it was unlike anything he'd ever seen. He wasn't one to jump to conclusions, but the nagging feeling in the back of his mind whispered that the light was either extraterrestrial or supernatural. In this instance, he didn't have Sherlock here to reassure him.
Oh, God. He didn't have Sherlock. Here was the heart of the problem: Sherlock was gone, and John couldn't follow. He went to pound in the wall, determined to force it to yield up his friend, and only then did he realize that he still held Sherlock's scarf.
"Dammit, Sherlock," he whispered, clutching it tightly. "You said you wouldn't leave me again. I dealt with you dying once, and I-" His voice broke. "I'm not sure I can do it again."
Slowly, John put his back to the wall, skidding down until he was crouched on the dirty alley floor. The injustice of the thing, he realized, was that if he had been the one to vanish into thin air, Sherlock would undoubtedly be able to determine exactly what had happened and find a way to sort it out. John, however…
It should have been me, he thought, unconsciously wrapping the scarf around one hand. Not him. He could deal with this, no problem. And London needs him. He shook his head, smiling bitterly. I need him.
Then don't just stand there! another voice admonished him. Go find him! He could almost hear Sherlock mocking him for his doldrums. What good is moping, John? Is sitting there going to find me?
"I know, Sherlock," he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "I just-"
At least this time, you know I'm not dead. Sherlock's voice seemed to mock him. Giving up so easily?
"Bastard," he muttered. "Manipulative bastard." But he got to his feet with new determination, knotting the deep blue scarf around his neck precisely the way Sherlock always did. "Fine. You win." He sighed. "Let's go find Sherlock."
Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Welcome to my first foray into the world of Wholock! I'm guessing many of you are probably familiar with my writing, but I hope you're new. I love meeting new readers.
Anyway, I can't claim completely original ideas for this story. It is loosely based off of a Youtube fanmade preview called Elysium which is fabulous. Look it up and watch it if you're interested and aren't afraid off possible spoilers. I have embellished it tremendously, of course, but still. This is going to be a very complex plot, I think, so keep up. In addition, for those not well versed on their Greek mythology, Elysium is the paradise of the afterlife, achieved only by people who have lived worthy, good lives. In Elysium, one can be reborn to live another life as well. And yes, that is important.
I do actually have the first three chapters of this story written (I had a very productive trip to New York) but, of course, suspense is a thing, so I will post one every other day until I run out. So Monday (today), Wednesday, and Friday. So look forward to that. I can't say when exactly, but there's a nifty little thing called following a story that will send you a nice email once it gets updated... And, of course, if you need something else to read in the meantime, I've got plenty of other Doctor Who stories floating about.
Okay, shameless plug over. I'll stop. But thank you all for reading and giving me a chance. I do hope you'll stick with me, because this is gonna be a whopper.
-Forever the Optimist