John had never believed in other worlds. He was very much a down- ‐to- ‐earth guy. Aliens and other planets were just a little too far into the fantasy world for him, and he believed the people who claimed to have seen aliens or believed that they were real were also too far into the fantasy world. But, as a doctor, he has met a lot of people who did not necessarily agree with this belief. The most peculiar of which was a older woman (in about her mid 40's). It was a classic English day. The sun was only just peaking out from behind a cloud and the rain was creating a steady rhythm on the ceiling of the hospital. John was relatively new there and, therefore, was still finding his way around the place. An elevator stopped at level 2 and a middle- ‐aged man stepped out with his bag in his left hand and his right at his side. He looked left, and then right before determining his route. He checked his watch and picked up his pace. He had short, blonde hair and was nicely dressed. He stopped at the desk and checked in. "John Watson. Sorry I'm late, I'm new here" he remarked as the lady sorted through the files on her desk in order to retrieve the right one. She found it eventually and led him to his room. "Your first patient is already in there." He smiled at her and walked through the door that she had opened for him. John was greeted by a mass of blonde, curly hair and sparkling, (yet mischievous) eyes. "Hello there" John was stunned for a moment at the situation. The woman seemed to radiate extremeness judging by her futuristic clothing choice and hair do alone and did not appear to have anything visibly wrong with her. He shook himself off and looked at his chart. "So how are you today, miss.." He looked up at her and back down at the chart. " miss. River song?" She smiled mischievously and looked him directly in the face. "That's mrs, Thank you. Just married. In another world. So it might not even count I guess. I mean to be honest I didn't really even marry him, it was a machine made to..." She had averted her gaze while she was talking and as she realized she was not making any sense to this doctor and was also rambling, she looked back up at him. "It's a long story." She simply remarked and seemed content to leave it at that. John looked at her, trying to decide whether to take her seriously or move her on to the mental ward. After a few long seconds had passed in silence, he decided to let her stay. For now. He put a note on his paper stating that she seemed to be a little delusional. "So, why are you here again, mrs, song?" He was careful to be sure to say mrs. Instead of miss. She pointed to her arm with surprising ease and calmly stated that she had been shot. John was stunned for a second time in the last 5 minutes. This woman was perfectly calm and very talkative. She was not showing any signs of physical pain, or at least that's what John had originally thought. When he looked closer, he could see plainly that her right arm was shaking a little and she kept clenching and unclenching her fist. Suddenly his training kicked in and he, gently but firmly, guided her towards the hospital bed. He instructed her to put on her robe and get on the bed. He turned away. "Done" she said, a few seconds later and John turned around. He used the phone in the room to call the desk and ask for an assistant. Then he slipped on his gloves and walked towards river. "Which arm? This one?" He lightly pressed her left arm and she moved away. Quietly, she nodded and he pulled her robe sleeve up to reveal the bullet wound. It was not bad as the bullet appeared not to have shattered. He grabbed the grabber things and the morphine. He gave her the shot and got to work. A few moments later, John had successfully pulled out the single bullet and had placed it on a tray. He was about to close the wound when he noticed something peculiar on the bullet. On the side was an engraving, simple but old, and it said S.H. He stopped and picked up the bullet again. After a few curious seconds, he remembered his patient and put down the bullet and began to close the wound. He could look into the bullet later. The rest of John's day was jam- ‐packed and he barely even had time for lunch. It seemed that on this particular day, the whole of London had decided to injure themselves, or get a temperature. He saw 3 broken arms, 2 broken legs, a fractured skull (which he quickly sent on to someone who had more time in this particular hospital, even though he could have treated it just as well), a flu, 5 abnormally high temperatures and a patient who claimed to have short- ‐term memory loss, but John was able to catch the guy off guard with an easy question that someone with short- ‐term memory loss would not be able to answer. By the time he got home he was shattered and just wanted to go to bed. But when one is living with the one and only Sherlock Holmes, one cannot simply, go to bed. As he was walking home he saw a blue police box out of the corner of his eye. He kept walking. John unlocked the door and entered 221B Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson appeared to be out as she did not come to the door as she usually did. As John tiredly struggled to lift himself up onto each step, he began to notice that with each step he took, a louder screeching noise rang through his had. By the time he reached the top of the stairs the sound was almost unbearable. John was completely woken up and alert, even if his legs did ache a bit and he did want to just lie down and go to sleep. He quickly opened the door and looked around. Then he saw Sherlock. He was sitting on a chair with his "precious" violin in his hand. His cheap bow slid roughly across the top of the strings as Sherlock played a horrible note. No, that is not quite the right way to describe it. It wasn't even a note. It was simply high- ‐pitched, uneven, unbearable noise. John stormed over to Sherlock, snatched his violin away from him, and threw it into the sofa. "This is it, Sherlock, I've had it with you. All I wanted was to come home and have a relaxing evening. Maybe even watch some Telly. But no, I come back to hear this, this noise!" John stood up to leave and grabbed his coat. Sherlock looked him over. "Tough day at work?" John sighed loudly and annoyance filled his face. "No shit, Sherlock!" Was all he said a before he left, slamming the door behind him. As John walked around the streets of London that night he thought about his day at work. He thought about how each person he treated would be getting on with their lives, with only a minor, if any, inconvenience from having been to the hospital, while he had to bear the memory of every persons pain as they walked in the door, and the, often sad at the new discovery of having to wear a sling or take medication, faces of people as they left. While Dr. Watson was remembering his patients, he saw a blue police box out of the corner of his eye. He kept walking. It was at then when he remembered his first patient, mrs song. He was curious about her. She seemed to have an incredibly strong pain resistance and a very talkative personality, yet John had a feeling there was more to her background and that her story was much more interesting than a normal civilian living in London. Her eyes seemed so mature, like she had seen the world in its utmost beauty, but had also had damage dealt to her and the people around her. Just her, aside from her injury, made him intrigued. But then there was the bullet. It was fully intact, which was odd for a bullet that shallow into the skin, and it was heavier than a normal bullet. He would know. And the engraving. S.H was sherlock's initials. Granted, probably more than one person in the world had those initials, but it made him curious all the same. Surely it wasn't just a coincidence that she had happened to get shot by a bullet engraved with S.H, then go to a hospital in London when she clearly was not from around there, and then become a patient of the only friend of the only consulting detective on his first day. It just all seemed a little too planned out for John, so he decided to go past the hospital on the way home. - ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐ Sherlock woke up with a start. He was covered in sweat. He sat up and looked around. No one was there. Relieved, he lay back down and soon fell into a deep slumber, but his dream stayed the same. Sherlock walks down an empty street with John by his side. They are talking happily, laughing at Mycroft. Sherlock makes a comment on the most recent case which seems to offend John. John walks away from Sherlock and he is left alone in this dark, cold, empty street. Sherlock looks around to go and find John, and apologize, but Sherlock's knowledge of London and its places fails him and he ends up getting lost. Frantically, he looks around for any sign of John. While he was looking for john, he saw a blue police box out of the corner of his eye. He kept running. He finds Johns coat lying on the floor with obvious signs of struggle. Sherlock looks for John for months, but cannot find him. Each day Sherlock gets skinnier, his hair gets longer, and his posture gets worse, but he never gives up. The finally, one day he sees John, skinny and broken stumbling down a street. He runs up to him. John turns around and see's Sherlock but a look of anger grows on his face. He strides towards Sherlock and punches him in the face. "I waited for you to find me! I waited and hoped, all the while not even thinking for one second that you had abandoned me. Not doubting you one bit. But I waited, Sherlock, for soo long. They hurt me, and eventually I lost hope in you. How could you abandon me!" "I'm sorry John! I'm so sorry!" "No Sherlock. No more." John pulled out gun and placed it towards his head. "John, no!" Sherlock woke up with a start. This time he decided to get up and take a shower. He rinsed off under the cold water and got dressed. He walked out and realized that John was not there. He started to panic, but then calmed himself down. It was just a dream. Even so he decided to make breakfast for when John came home. - ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐ John had spent the whole night analyzing the bullet. He had found that the bullet had been engraved in when it was first formed, and that the metal was not one that had been found yet in this world, yet it had been fired from a common pistol. The same kind Sherlock had. He walked out into the pouring rain at around 8 am. He had not brought a raincoat so by the time he got home, his clothes were soaked and his shirt was translucent. He came in and walked upstairs to go take a shower. Or at least that was his original destination because as he walked up he smelt bacon and pancakes. He then realized how hungry he was and, besides, he had a craving for bacon and maple syrup. He walked into the kitchen to see the surprising (and funny) sight of Sherlock making breakfast. He sat down and Sherlock served up. Sherlock hesitated when he saw Johns see through shirt. He stood for a few seconds after serving just watching John eat. He then ran into John's room and grabbed some clean clothes for him to wear. John ate and then slept. When he woke up it was 7pm and and Sherlock was in the kitchen, yet again cooking for John. Dinner was spaghetti and meatballs. John and Sherlock sat down together and ate in silence for a while. Finally Sherlock spoke up. "So, how was the hospital?" John was used to Sherlock knowing everything so this was not a surprise to him. "Good. I was just looking into a patients history." John smiled at this point. He prided himself on his ability to change the truth just a little so that Sherlock would not be able to realize that he was lying. "Was she pretty?" Sherlock seemed a little too curious. "She was married." Relief flashed across Sherlock's face before he could hide it. John laughed. Sherlock was confused at this and so he gave John an "explain what's so funny" look. John stopped laughing and smiled. "You're so unobservant at times." This made Sherlock even more confused as he prided himself on his powers of deduction. They stayed silent throughout the rest of the meal. After dinner, the two men sat on the sofa to watch some TV. It was some sappy romance movie which neither of them were really into. But neither man changed the channel. John was too busy thinking about the bullet and how he could get Sherlock to talk without suspecting something, and Sherlock was still trying to figure out how he was unobservant. Soon John felt something fall lightly onto his shoulder. Slowly John turned his head around to see a mass of brown curls. John softly smiled and put his head on top of Sherlock's. out of the corner of his eye he could see a blue police box in his garden. He kept drifting off. John slipped out from under sherlock's sleeping body. Once free, he looked back at his friend. Sherlock was sleeping peacefully enough and so John decided to make himself a cup of tea. Little did he know that when he left Sherlock, Sherlock started dreaming the dream again. - ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐ Maybe Something in sherlock's subconscious noticed when the warmth of johns body left sherlock's side, or maybe it was just a coincidence, but at that moment in sherlock's dream John got upset with Sherlock alone. The dream was the same as the last few weeks. Every detail stayed the same. - ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐ John was pouring the boiling water into his cup when he heard Sherlock shout "NO!". John dropped the kettle and the water flew out of it. The kettle hit his foot while the water had taken a detour by ending up soaking his shirt. He ran into the other room despite the painful burns that were forming on his stomach each time he moved. Sherlock's face was covered in sweat and his eyes flashed open when John sat on the sofa next to him, unsure of what to do. When Sherlock saw John, he relaxed and his deduction skills kicked in. He sat up and immediately stripped John of his shirt and went to John's room for a new one. When he re-entered he brought in a burn cream also to help John. John laughed. "I'm fine Sherlock, its just a little hot water" John smiled but Sherlock proceeded to apply the cream. John flinched but he wasn't sure whether it was from the pain coming from the burn, or whether it was from Sherlock's touch. After he had his shirt put on and had remade his tea and grabbed one for Sherlock, John decided that now was as good as time as any to ask him about the bullet. When he asked him, Sherlock sighed and put down his tea. "Tell me, what was this woman's name?" John searched his memory for a label for this patient. "Um... Song. River song I think. Do you know her?" Sherlock sighed and put down his tea. "Ok. It's time you knew. I haven't always been a consulting detective. Before that I was part of a group..." - ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐ "Welcome to Torchwood!" Jack gave Sherlock his charming smile and Sherlock laughed. He had just graduated from college and was 17 years old. Sherlock had met Jack at his graduation. while he was awkwardly standing in the corner after the ceremony, Jack had come up to him and introduced himself. It was then that Jack offered Sherlock a job, and reluctantly, Sherlock had agreed. Sherlock originally wanted to be a detective and solve crimes. But, when the opportunity arose, Sherlock decided that this was pretty close to the police so he agreed - ‐ but only as a temp. Jack had just smiled and handed him a small piece of paper with an address on it before walking away. Just before he pushed the door open, he said "see you tomorrow" then he left. When Sherlock arrived the next day he was a little confused. Back then. He was no where near as observant as he is now. He stood there thinking that maybe this guy had tricked him. He was about to leave when he suddenly saw Jack appear out of no where. He smiled. "Hey jack! I was beginning to think that you had stood me up" Jack smiled and lead him into a information shop. Sherlock looked around but stayed quiet as jack talked to a tall skinny guy at the desk. He looked at the man and took some details in. It was obvious that he was part of jacks team because of the casual yet business-y manner in which jack talked to him. Sherlock also deduced that jack and this man have some kind of a relationship because of the way that jack is so natural. Around him, but the other man is not so easy going and feels awkward at flirting with jack in front of Sherlock. Sherlock noticed that he was of a minor position in the team and that he had suffered a great loss of someone close, not a relative, but closer? 'Ah yes' he thought, 'a partner'. He laughed at this relationship idea. He was never getting emotionally attached to someone and was proud of it. He was going to grow up, become part of the police, solve crimes, and... Jack interrupted his thought. " you ready to see the base?" Sherlock nodded eagerly and followed jack through a gap where the wall had once been. They went down a hallway, jack leading, Sherlock in the middle, and the other man following. Jack walked up to a door, entered a code, and the door started sliding away with a loud beeping noise. Sherlock was startled for a moment at the sight. In the centre of the room was a large tube like machine. At the top a externally large bird circled it. To one side he saw desks and an office room which he ruled out as jacks. to the other side of him was a medical looking area with a table and many cabinets. Jack led him underground to a series of rooms covered with glass. "These are the jail cells, so as to speak. Its where we put the….. Things…. we find." Sherlock nodded, his curiosity bubbling up inside. The 'tour' ended and Jack led him to a dest. "I presume this is mine?" Sherlock said, returning a little to his well- ‐known arrogance. He sat on the chair and spun around. "Now then, are you ever going to tell me what you do or am I just going to have to keep guessing." Jack smiled, showing his pearly white teeth. "Well, Mr. Holmes, why don't you tell us what you have worked out and Ill tell you how close you are!?" Sherlock once again looked around the room. " Well you are definitely part of a defence force, but not one that is well known. You basically run yourselves so it is something even most of the government doesn't know of. You capture escaped… Things…" The word feel uneasily off of his tongue. "And it is a high risk job. I am guessing that you capture escaped experiments gone wrong. Am I close?" Jack smiled at him again, as the other man entered the room again with a respectful nod in sherlocks direction. "Well done, Mr. Holmes! Very close! Would you care to enlighten us on your reasoning behind each of these presumptions?" Sherlock sighed. "Defence force because of the code, jail cells, weapon around your waist, and positioning of your base. Not well known because of the depth you have used to both protect it and keep it hidden as if it is keeping a secret that would ruin the world if it found out. Run yourselves because of the weapon strapped across your waist and your general set up. You yourself told me that the jail cells are to capture escaped things but that can easily be seen but the scratch marks and dents in the walls, though the glass is kept secure and unharmed. High risk job because of the medical bay that i saw on the way in. I gather that that is not just for the pray brought in, but also the field workers sent to retrieve them. Now am I right?" Jack sat down, looked sherlock in the eye and said, "We capture Aliens." John had never believed in other worlds. He was very much a down- ‐to- ‐earth guy. Aliens and other planets were just a little too far into the fantasy world for him, and he believed the people who claimed to have seen aliens or believed that they were real were also too far into the fantasy world. But, as a doctor, he has met a lot of people who did not necessarily agree with this belief. The most peculiar of which was a older woman (in about her mid 40's). It was a classic English day. The sun was only just peaking out from behind a cloud and the rain was creating a steady rhythm on the ceiling of the hospital. John was relatively new there and, therefore, was still finding his way around the place. An elevator stopped at level 2 and a middle- ‐aged man stepped out with his bag in his left hand and his right at his side. He looked left, and then right before determining his route. He checked his watch and picked up his pace. He had short, blonde hair and was nicely dressed. He stopped at the desk and checked in. "John Watson. Sorry I'm late, I'm new here" he remarked as the lady sorted through the files on her desk in order to retrieve the right one. She found it eventually and led him to his room. "Your first patient is already in there." He smiled at her and walked through the door that she had opened for him. John was greeted by a mass of blonde, curly hair and sparkling, (yet mischievous) eyes. "Hello there" John was stunned for a moment at the situation. The woman seemed to radiate extremeness judging by her futuristic clothing choice and hair do alone and did not appear to have anything visibly wrong with her. He shook himself off and looked at his chart. "So how are you today, miss.." He looked up at her and back down at the chart. " miss. River song?" She smiled mischievously and looked him directly in the face. "That's mrs, Thank you. Just married. In another world. So it might not even count I guess. I mean to be honest I didn't really even marry him, it was a machine made to..." She had averted her gaze while she was talking and as she realized she was not making any sense to this doctor and was also rambling, she looked back up at him. "It's a long story." She simply remarked and seemed content to leave it at that. John looked at her, trying to decide whether to take her seriously or move her on to the mental ward. After a few long seconds had passed in silence, he decided to let her stay. For now. He put a note on his paper stating that she seemed to be a little delusional. "So, why are you here again, mrs, song?" He was careful to be sure to say mrs. Instead of miss. She pointed to her arm with surprising ease and calmly stated that she had been shot. John was stunned for a second time in the last 5 minutes. This woman was perfectly calm and very talkative. She was not showing any signs of physical pain, or at least that's what John had originally thought. When he looked closer, he could see plainly that her right arm was shaking a little and she kept clenching and unclenching her fist. Suddenly his training kicked in and he, gently but firmly, guided her towards the hospital bed. He instructed her to put on her robe and get on the bed. He turned away. "Done" she said, a few seconds later and John turned around. He used the phone in the room to call the desk and ask for an assistant. Then he slipped on his gloves and walked towards river. "Which arm? This one?" He lightly pressed her left arm and she moved away. Quietly, she nodded and he pulled her robe sleeve up to reveal the bullet wound. It was not bad as the bullet appeared not to have shattered. He grabbed the grabber things and the morphine. He gave her the shot and got to work. A few moments later, John had successfully pulled out the single bullet and had placed it on a tray. He was about to close the wound when he noticed something peculiar on the bullet. On the side was an engraving, simple but old, and it said S.H. He stopped and picked up the bullet again. After a few curious seconds, he remembered his patient and put down the bullet and began to close the wound. He could look into the bullet later. The rest of John's day was jam- ‐packed and he barely even had time for lunch. It seemed that on this particular day, the whole of London had decided to injure themselves, or get a temperature. He saw 3 broken arms, 2 broken legs, a fractured skull (which he quickly sent on to someone who had more time in this particular hospital, even though he could have treated it just as well), a flu, 5 abnormally high temperatures and a patient who claimed to have short- ‐term memory loss, but John was able to catch the guy off guard with an easy question that someone with short- ‐term memory loss would not be able to answer. By the time he got home he was shattered and just wanted to go to bed. But when one is living with the one and only Sherlock Holmes, one cannot simply, go to bed. As he was walking home he saw a blue police box out of the corner of his eye. He kept walking. John unlocked the door and entered 221B Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson appeared to be out as she did not come to the door as she usually did. As John tiredly struggled to lift himself up onto each step, he began to notice that with each step he took, a louder screeching noise rang through his had. By the time he reached the top of the stairs the sound was almost unbearable. John was completely woken up and alert, even if his legs did ache a bit and he did want to just lie down and go to sleep. He quickly opened the door and looked around. Then he saw Sherlock. He was sitting on a chair with his "precious" violin in his hand. His cheap bow slid roughly across the top of the strings as Sherlock played a horrible note. No, that is not quite the right way to describe it. It wasn't even a note. It was simply high- ‐pitched, uneven, unbearable noise. John stormed over to Sherlock, snatched his violin away from him, and threw it into the sofa. "This is it, Sherlock, I've had it with you. All I wanted was to come home and have a relaxing evening. Maybe even watch some Telly. But no, I come back to hear this, this noise!" John stood up to leave and grabbed his coat. Sherlock looked him over. "Tough day at work?" John sighed loudly and annoyance filled his face. "No shit, Sherlock!" Was all he said a before he left, slamming the door behind him. As John walked around the streets of London that night he thought about his day at work. He thought about how each person he treated would be getting on with their lives, with only a minor, if any, inconvenience from having been to the hospital, while he had to bear the memory of every persons pain as they walked in the door, and the, often sad at the new discovery of having to wear a sling or take medication, faces of people as they left. While Dr. Watson was remembering his patients, he saw a blue police box out of the corner of his eye. He kept walking. It was at then when he remembered his first patient, mrs song. He was curious about her. She seemed to have an incredibly strong pain resistance and a very talkative personality, yet John had a feeling there was more to her background and that her story was much more interesting than a normal civilian living in London. Her eyes seemed so mature, like she had seen the world in its utmost beauty, but had also had damage dealt to her and the people around her. Just her, aside from her injury, made him intrigued. But then there was the bullet. It was fully intact, which was odd for a bullet that shallow into the skin, and it was heavier than a normal bullet. He would know. And the engraving. S.H was sherlock's initials. Granted, probably more than one person in the world had those initials, but it made him curious all the same. Surely it wasn't just a coincidence that she had happened to get shot by a bullet engraved with S.H, then go to a hospital in London when she clearly was not from around there, and then become a patient of the only friend of the only consulting detective on his first day. It just all seemed a little too planned out for John, so he decided to go past the hospital on the way home. - ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐ Sherlock woke up with a start. He was covered in sweat. He sat up and looked around. No one was there. Relieved, he lay back down and soon fell into a deep slumber, but his dream stayed the same. Sherlock walks down an empty street with John by his side. They are talking happily, laughing at Mycroft. Sherlock makes a comment on the most recent case which seems to offend John. John walks away from Sherlock and he is left alone in this dark, cold, empty street. Sherlock looks around to go and find John, and apologize, but Sherlock's knowledge of London and its places fails him and he ends up getting lost. Frantically, he looks around for any sign of John. While he was looking for john, he saw a blue police box out of the corner of his eye. He kept running. He finds Johns coat lying on the floor with obvious signs of struggle. Sherlock looks for John for months, but cannot find him. Each day Sherlock gets skinnier, his hair gets longer, and his posture gets worse, but he never gives up. The finally, one day he sees John, skinny and broken stumbling down a street. He runs up to him. John turns around and see's Sherlock but a look of anger grows on his face. He strides towards Sherlock and punches him in the face. "I waited for you to find me! I waited and hoped, all the while not even thinking for one second that you had abandoned me. Not doubting you one bit. But I waited, Sherlock, for soo long. They hurt me, and eventually I lost hope in you. How could you abandon me!" "I'm sorry John! I'm so sorry!" "No Sherlock. No more." John pulled out gun and placed it towards his head. "John, no!" Sherlock woke up with a start. This time he decided to get up and take a shower. He rinsed off under the cold water and got dressed. He walked out and realized that John was not there. He started to panic, but then calmed himself down. It was just a dream. Even so he decided to make breakfast for when John came home. - ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐ John had spent the whole night analyzing the bullet. He had found that the bullet had been engraved in when it was first formed, and that the metal was not one that had been found yet in this world, yet it had been fired from a common pistol. The same kind Sherlock had. He walked out into the pouring rain at around 8 am. He had not brought a raincoat so by the time he got home, his clothes were soaked and his shirt was translucent. He came in and walked upstairs to go take a shower. Or at least that was his original destination because as he walked up he smelt bacon and pancakes. He then realized how hungry he was and, besides, he had a craving for bacon and maple syrup. He walked into the kitchen to see the surprising (and funny) sight of Sherlock making breakfast. He sat down and Sherlock served up. Sherlock hesitated when he saw Johns see through shirt. He stood for a few seconds after serving just watching John eat. He then ran into John's room and grabbed some clean clothes for him to wear. John ate and then slept. When he woke up it was 7pm and and Sherlock was in the kitchen, yet again cooking for John. Dinner was spaghetti and meatballs. John and Sherlock sat down together and ate in silence for a while. Finally Sherlock spoke up. "So, how was the hospital?" John was used to Sherlock knowing everything so this was not a surprise to him. "Good. I was just looking into a patients history." John smiled at this point. He prided himself on his ability to change the truth just a little so that Sherlock would not be able to realize that he was lying. "Was she pretty?" Sherlock seemed a little too curious. "She was married." Relief flashed across Sherlock's face before he could hide it. John laughed. Sherlock was confused at this and so he gave John an "explain what's so funny" look. John stopped laughing and smiled. "You're so unobservant at times." This made Sherlock even more confused as he prided himself on his powers of deduction. They stayed silent throughout the rest of the meal. After dinner, the two men sat on the sofa to watch some TV. It was some sappy romance movie which neither of them were really into. But neither man changed the channel. John was too busy thinking about the bullet and how he could get Sherlock to talk without suspecting something, and Sherlock was still trying to figure out how he was unobservant. Soon John felt something fall lightly onto his shoulder. Slowly John turned his head around to see a mass of brown curls. John softly smiled and put his head on top of Sherlock's. out of the corner of his eye he could see a blue police box in his garden. He kept drifting off. John slipped out from under sherlock's sleeping body. Once free, he looked back at his friend. Sherlock was sleeping peacefully enough and so John decided to make himself a cup of tea. Little did he know that when he left Sherlock, Sherlock started dreaming the dream again. - ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐ Maybe Something in sherlock's subconscious noticed when the warmth of johns body left sherlock's side, or maybe it was just a coincidence, but at that moment in sherlock's dream John got upset with Sherlock alone. The dream was the same as the last few weeks. Every detail stayed the same. - ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐ John was pouring the boiling water into his cup when he heard Sherlock shout "NO!". John dropped the kettle and the water flew out of it. The kettle hit his foot while the water had taken a detour by ending up soaking his shirt. He ran into the other room despite the painful burns that were forming on his stomach each time he moved. Sherlock's face was covered in sweat and his eyes flashed open when John sat on the sofa next to him, unsure of what to do. When Sherlock saw John, he relaxed and his deduction skills kicked in. He sat up and immediately stripped John of his shirt and went to John's room for a new one. When he re-entered he brought in a burn cream also to help John. John laughed. "I'm fine Sherlock, its just a little hot water" John smiled but Sherlock proceeded to apply the cream. John flinched but he wasn't sure whether it was from the pain coming from the burn, or whether it was from Sherlock's touch. After he had his shirt put on and had remade his tea and grabbed one for Sherlock, John decided that now was as good as time as any to ask him about the bullet. When he asked him, Sherlock sighed and put down his tea. "Tell me, what was this woman's name?" John searched his memory for a label for this patient. "Um... Song. River song I think. Do you know her?" Sherlock sighed and put down his tea. "Ok. It's time you knew. I haven't always been a consulting detective. Before that I was part of a group..." - ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐- ‐ "Welcome to Torchwood!" Jack gave Sherlock his charming smile and Sherlock laughed. He had just graduated from college and was 17 years old. Sherlock had met Jack at his graduation. while he was awkwardly standing in the corner after the ceremony, Jack had come up to him and introduced himself. It was then that Jack offered Sherlock a job, and reluctantly, Sherlock had agreed. Sherlock originally wanted to be a detective and solve crimes. But, when the opportunity arose, Sherlock decided that this was pretty close to the police so he agreed - ‐ but only as a temp. Jack had just smiled and handed him a small piece of paper with an address on it before walking away. Just before he pushed the door open, he said "see you tomorrow" then he left. When Sherlock arrived the next day he was a little confused. Back then. He was no where near as observant as he is now. He stood there thinking that maybe this guy had tricked him. He was about to leave when he suddenly saw Jack appear out of no where. He smiled. "Hey jack! I was beginning to think that you had stood me up" Jack smiled and lead him into a information shop. Sherlock looked around but stayed quiet as jack talked to a tall skinny guy at the desk. He looked at the man and took some details in. It was obvious that he was part of jacks team because of the casual yet business-y manner in which jack talked to him. Sherlock also deduced that jack and this man have some kind of a relationship because of the way that jack is so natural. Around him, but the other man is not so easy going and feels awkward at flirting with jack in front of Sherlock. Sherlock noticed that he was of a minor position in the team and that he had suffered a great loss of someone close, not a relative, but closer? 'Ah yes' he thought, 'a partner'. He laughed at this relationship idea. He was never getting emotionally attached to someone and was proud of it. He was going to grow up, become part of the police, solve crimes, and... Jack interrupted his thought. " you ready to see the base?" Sherlock nodded eagerly and followed jack through a gap where the wall had once been. They went down a hallway, jack leading, Sherlock in the middle, and the other man following. Jack walked up to a door, entered a code, and the door started sliding away with a loud beeping noise. Sherlock was startled for a moment at the sight. In the centre of the room was a large tube like machine. At the top a externally large bird circled it. To one side he saw desks and an office room which he ruled out as jacks. to the other side of him was a medical looking area with a table and many cabinets. Jack led him underground to a series of rooms covered with glass. "These are the jail cells, so as to speak. Its where we put the….. Things…. we find." Sherlock nodded, his curiosity bubbling up inside. The 'tour' ended and Jack led him to a dest. "I presume this is mine?" Sherlock said, returning a little to his well- ‐known arrogance. He sat on the chair and spun around. "Now then, are you ever going to tell me what you do or am I just going to have to keep guessing." Jack smiled, showing his pearly white teeth. "Well, Mr. Holmes, why don't you tell us what you have worked out and Ill tell you how close you are!?" Sherlock once again looked around the room. " Well you are definitely part of a defence force, but not one that is well known. You basically run yourselves so it is something even most of the government doesn't know of. You capture escaped… Things…" The word feel uneasily off of his tongue. "And it is a high risk job. I am guessing that you capture escaped experiments gone wrong. Am I close?" Jack smiled at him again, as the other man entered the room again with a respectful nod in sherlocks direction. "Well done, Mr. Holmes! Very close! Would you care to enlighten us on your reasoning behind each of these presumptions?" Sherlock sighed. "Defence force because of the code, jail cells, weapon around your waist, and positioning of your base. Not well known because of the depth you have used to both protect it and keep it hidden as if it is keeping a secret that would ruin the world if it found out. Run yourselves because of the weapon strapped across your waist and your general set up. You yourself told me that the jail cells are to capture escaped things but that can easily be seen but the scratch marks and dents in the walls, though the glass is kept secure and unharmed. High risk job because of the medical bay that i saw on the way in. I gather that that is not just for the pray brought in, but also the field workers sent to retrieve them. Now am I right?" Jack sat down, looked sherlock in the eye and said, "We capture Aliens."