Just a short oneshot that refused to get out of my head until I wrote it down. I know there are lots of similar stories out there, but hopefully mine is different enough to be interesting.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Doctor Who. They belong to the BBC.
It was an old thing, scratched and tarnished with age. He wasn't even sure why he had kept it all these years.
But there was something about it. Something that made him take it with him whenever he moved or planned on being gone for an extended period of time. Something that prevented him from ever throwing it out. Something that kept it constantly on the edge of his mind while simultaneously away from any conscious or analytical thoughts.
It was currently sitting on the mantle, near his skull and half hidden by a pile of papers, as it had been since moving into 221b.
John had asked about it once, in passing. He had muttered back something about a family heirloom, though the truth was, he didn't know where it came from. As long as he could remember, it had always been there.
As a general rule, he didn't like not knowing. If there was a mystery, you could be sure he was there, working hard to solve it. But this, though a mystery, was something he had never tried to solve. It was always there, right in front of him, and yet he had never thought to question it.
In his hectic life, filled with consulting criminals and exciting cases, this one object was a constant. Always the same, always there.
When he had faked his death, years ago, if John had thought to look closely at the mantle, he would noticed one thing was missing.
But, of course, John never noticed, caught up in his grief as he was. He did, however, notice that one of the first things he had done when he came back was to place it carefully back in it's proper spot, a look that could almost be described as sentiment on his face.
Now, months after he had revealed himself to John and life had turned back to normal, he stood in front of the mantle once more.
He picked the old fob watch up from its place and turned it over in his hands, examining every detail.
The surface was silver, and though tarnished, still shone dully in the afternoon light. On the face were carved many intricate symbols. Circles and lines, intersecting in a beautiful pattern that seemed to hold a deep and hidden meaning.
The watch itself was broken, the clasp stuck, sealing it closed. Why he had never tried to pry it open he could not say. But something had sparked his sudden interest in the watch, and that something was telling him that if he tried now, it would open.
John would be home soon, and part of his brain said that it would be safer to wait for him before opening this mysterious and possibly dangerous watch.
But that thought soon fled from his mind as the urge to open the watch became stronger and stronger.
Unable to resist any longer, he pressed down on the button.
With a click, the watched opened.
Golden light streamed outward, swirling around him and seeping into his skin. With it, came sudden thoughts. Memories and knowledge flooded his brain, telling him of a life he had once lived but long forgotten.
Facts and figures of things he had never known or understood suddenly became clear. Images of places far away and alien took over his senses. His mind was swirling with information, new thoughts and memories overtaking everything. He couldn't think straight, senses overwhelmed and brain in overdrive attempting to sort through the jumbled mess that had invaded his mind.
Then, as quick as it had come, it faded away. All coherent thoughts left him as his mind became focused on one thing and one thing alone: the constant, pounding rhythm of the drums.