Disclaimer: I don't own a thing A.N. Yes, the title is an intentional Mofftiss quote. Actually, I wanted to make Mycroft a Slitheen, but him being a Zygon allowed me not to kill him, because he doesn't deserve death just because Gatiss played him.
Insane wish fulfillment
The Doctor was used, by now, to hoping to go visit Hemingway in Cuba and have a drink together and instead ending up…pretty much anywhere and anywhen else. Sexy (errr, the TARDIS, but she was lovely, you had to admit) knew better, and would just ignore his wishes to bring him to where and when he was needed.
Occasionally, he'd skipped universes too, and that always had interesting consequences – and usually meant that the situation was particularly dire, whether that entailed cybermen, utterly lost travellers, or something else. So going out in flip flops and a light flower shirt and finding himself in London in winter was par for the course. Getting back inside quickly to change to something more weather-appropriate, he huffed at the TARDIS, "So, what's it going to be this time, uh? Couldn't we have an emergency somewhere warm at least?"
The time machine beeped an annoyed, "I don't create the emergencies, you know," and lit up one of her screens, to make sure he would notice that this wasn't just London, it was Parallel Universe London. Not the same parallel universe where Rose resided, more is the pity, infinite parallel options existed… and clearly, in this one was happening something so horrific and far-reaching that it risked having repercussions in his usual one, or the TARDIS wouldn't have found her way to here.
Now, what could be going on… The TARDIS had parked in Regent's Park, and once he left again, a blonde child of about four or five years barrelled towards him, hugging his knees and saying, "Careful! That wathn't here today! It might be dangerouth."
The Doctor couldn't help it. He smiled and crouched at his new friend's side, saying, "Don't worry, dear. I promise, she wouldn't ever hurt me."
"She?" the child asked, frowning.
"It. Sorry. I get confused sometimes," he corrected himself.
A man – obviously the child's father, the likeness was unmistakable – walked toward him and said loudly, "Rosie, let the man alone. Sorry, she is impulsive – everyone in the family is, I suspect."
"Oh, it was no trouble. She is a very kind and observant child," the Doctor replied.
Rosie beamed like the sun, repeating proudly, "I obtherve! Like uncle 'Lock."
"Yes, yes, love, you do. Though hopefully you won't get too many of his characteristics. One is more than enough," the man confirmed, ruffling her hair. "Now let's continue our stroll, eh?"
"But daddy! It'th a mythtery!" she complained, jumping on the spot and pointing at the police box. "We have to call uncle 'Lock!"
"I doubt that Sherlock will care about additions to the landscape, however amazingly quickly they were built. Unless it's full of murder victims, that is," the blond retorted, with a half-smile.
"Sherlock? As in…Sherlock Holmes?" the Doctor asked, his eyes glittering with as much enthusiasm as Rosie.
Oh, he loved the TARDIS! She gave him the best gifts. So there was an universe where Sherlock Holmes was an actual person! He'd always been a fan, tried to talk ol' Arthur into seeing how amazing it was…and actually prompted that most awkward quote, "If in 100 years I am known only as the man who invented Sherlock Holmes, then I will have considered my life a failure." Why hadn't he come before?
"Are there any other?" Rosie's dad quipped.
"No, no, of course. Which would make you John Watson, right?" the Doctor asked, barely stopping himself from jumping on the spot, too, and instead extending a hand.
John frowned, but took it. If he knew of Sherlock, shouldn't the man know his face too? Whether on the blog, or on other media, the doctor was always in photos next to the consulting detective. Or almost always. After all, the sleuth should not be allowed to face the journalists without supervision. "Yeah," he said.
"And…could I meet him?" the Doctor queried. "Is he at 221B or on a case somewhere?"
"No cathe," Rosie piped in. John swore mentally.
"As Rosie said, we have no case at present…but unless you have something very interesting to say, I'd suggest not bothering if you don't want to be disappointed. I don't know if you are part of Anderson's fan club, but Sherlock doesn't have much patience for small talk," John warned, with a shrug.
"Oh, I think I can manage to keep him entertained," the Time Lord retorted smugly. "Will you accompany me? I'm sorry if I came off as a Holmes fan only, I really admire your stories so much," he added earnestly. If Doyle's stories were real in this universe, there was no way that this Watson didn't spread the word about his Holmes someway.
"Yeth, daddy! We have to go! I need to tell uncle 'Lock about the mythtery box!" Rosie chirped, pulling on her father's hand.
John smiled. Between his daughter's enthusiasm and the praise, he felt much less irritated by the disruption of his stroll, which he used to let go of the day's annoyances.
The group turned back towards Baker Street, and Rosie ran up first, as soon as John opened the door, her father following at a more sedate pace, and the Doctor respectfully behind him but eager just like the child for the meeting.
"We found a cathe!" Rosie yelled, climbing over Sherlock who, in his lethargy, was lying on the sofa.
"Well, I'm not sure. It might be just one of your fans," John corrected her.
Sherlock glared at the new visitor. "So? Which one is it? Client or follower?" he asked.
"Why don't you decide for yourself?" the Doctor replied, opening his arms in an obvious invitation to deduce.
After a few minutes of silence, the sleuth stated, "Oh, this is even better. Rosie is definitely right. You're not a client – you're a mystery in your own right."
He was obviously fascinated, and John snapped loudly, "Oh, no! We're not going back to that!"
The consulting detective flinched minutely, which the Time Lord didn't miss. Sherlock Holmes should never, ever flinch because of John Watson. No wonder the TARDIS brought him here. This universe needed massive intervention. "Back to what, exactly?" he queried, voice level.
"Every time this one gets excited about someone, it ends up being a terrorist-associated woman, or a consulting criminal, or some other kind of person I don't want anywhere close to my child, and our lives are eventually) messed up. I don't know how many people you've killed, or why, but we're not playing this game again. Not with Rosie who clearly trusts you too much already," John ranted, frowning.
"Well, take Rosie away, if you think so. I promise I won't attack anyone in the meantime. You can even frisk me if you want," the Doctor suggested, with a conciliatory smile.
"But I want to know the mythtery!" she complained loudly.
"And you will, bee, later, I promise. I have to solve it first, though," Sherlock murmured.
John glared at them, but he complied, scooping up his daughter and marched upstairs. Possibly also to get his gun from the set of his shoulders, the Doctor couldn't rule that out.
The Time Lord didn't waste time in pleasantries. "You winced," he remarked, "when he yelled."
"It's not what you think. Stupid transport," the consulting detective groused, "I tried and tried to delete it, but I can't seem to control it. We're way past that. And I deserved it anyway."
"No you didn't," the Doctor declared sternly. "Nobody ever does, I thought you'd figured that out with your work. I can get you out of here. Out of his reach. Out of anyone's reach. Know why you couldn't figure me out? Because I've literally seen all of time and space. What do you fancy? Victorian era? Ancient Greece? On second thought, better not, people would start another war of Troy over you."
"I've already been away from him more than I can stand," Sherlock whispered with fervour.
The Doctor sighed deeply. This wouldn't make things any easier. "I understand. Then, I'll have to find another solution. Because I can promise you, Sherlock Holmes, this is not how things are supposed to go. Someone messed it up. And I'll get to the bottom of it," he swore earnestly.
"You don't have to, you know. What if you mess it up further?" the detective retorted, frowning.
"Have a bit of trust in me. I'm the Doctor…and in this case, your Doctor," the Time Lord said, grinning.
"I already have one," the sleuth mentioned, almost off-handedly. It might not be the best possible, but it was the one he'd earned. The one he loved.
The one who was now strolling back, huffing, "Finally managed to get Rosie to settle down. Hope no murders have been committed in my absence."
"We wouldn't want you to miss it," the Doctor quipped. Maybe he had been too long with his old friend the Master, lately. Or maybe he's just always been a bit of an asshole with a taste for provoking people he disapproved of. "That said – apparently my brand of adventure is not something Sherlock is interested in. I don't often get a no, but I admit, my usual day can be much more on the 'run for your life' than the 'here is a puzzle, solve it,' side. I usually have some companion, but she couldn't be here today, so…do you want to come along, Watson? Time machine. You won't even worry about Rosie. We'll be back in…oh, about five minutes, considering we must go to where I parked it."
"Maybe not murderous, I'm not even sure if he's taking the piss, but decidedly insane. Why are all your fans like that, Sherlock?" John asked, not expecting an answer – and not receiving one.
Instead, the sleuth queried back, "Do you want to go?" Had someone more interesting finally come to whisk John away – again?
"Don't be silly. I'll just… go along and ensure he's actually left and we can go back to our life," the blond assured, waving his hands.
The Doctor had invited enough companions in that he could see when one was hooked at the idea (to be fair, most of them were). The consulting detective might be angry with him now, but once this whole mess was fixed back into nonexistence as it should, he was pretty sure they'd be good friends. (And yes, he would so brag about knowing the genius sleuth). "Come along, then," he prompted.
The reverse trip was even quicker than the first one, but John had to be literally – if gently – dragged to enter the TARDIS, thinking the other was taking the piss. Once in, though, he gaped and blurted out, "You weren't fucking kidding!"
"What reason would I have to?" the Time Lord replied, shrugging. "You know, most people remark on its size."
"Yeah, but Sherlock trained stating the obvious out of me. You don't really want to get his disappointed look any more than you have to. And now that I think about it, for all we talked I didn't get your name. Am I supposed to call you 'Oi!'?" John said.
"I know you're a doctor, too, but just Doctor will do. We are colleagues of a sort, and my people are… private, I suppose you'd say. I can call you doctor Watson if you prefer," the Doctor explained.
"Don't be ridiculous. If there's going to be any running for our lives, John is much more practical, Doctor. So? Where are we going?" the man replied, still looking around in awe.
"Surprise!" the alien answered, way too cheerfully. It really would be – even for him. Instead of putting coordinates in, he connected himself with the core of the TARDIS and asked her to bring them to where the ripple, that destroyed how this universe should have been, started. Usually, she'd do just that, skipping showing him the complete ruin that would happen if he failed. She must have had her reasons.
Today seemed to be the day for exceptions to the rules. The TARDIS knew what a nightmare meeting one's past self usually turned into. And yet, it took John only a look to grumble, "All of time and space and we go back to this miserable bedsit? Been there, done that. I know what's there. Beige walls. Beige furniture. Sheer shit all around. This is a huge disappointment, I'll have you know."
"Don't be rude!" the Time Lord chided. "She always brings you where you need to go, even if possibly not where you wanted to be. This is not Baker Street, so…how far back in your past are we?"
"Just before. And this she business is making you look more and more like a creep, I'll have you know. I mean, if that's alive, riding inside her sounds very disturbing, and if she's not, you need some good meds," John pointed out.
"Why are you so much of an asshole? Are you getting paid for it?" the Doctor asked, frowning.
"You promised me adventure. I didn't think it would be a reheated one," his companion retorted, shrugging.
At that very moment, another John came hobbling down the road, before stopping abruptly to stare at them. "And I was complaining just yesterday that nothing happened to me. Now the day is getting weirder and weirder," he blurted. Whether it was wariness or wisdom, he didn't try to touch either of them. Paradox avoided for the moment. "Look, I'm not sure who you are, but if you're here for a cup of tea, just follow me," he offered. Ah, and the good old Watson recklessness. It might be understated in the books, but the Doctor had always loved it.
Seeing his cab-driver (as he had mentally dubbed his companion) follow his past self, John shrugged and joined the queue. At the very least he was sure that the tea would be good. He just wondered if the three of them would even fit into the tiny bedsit.
"So… do I get to ask questions or are you here just by chance?" his past self asked, busying himself with the kettle.
"Not by chance, no," the Time Lord replied, "this is…an attempt to help. Because your future will be so utterly wrong, I couldn't let it be."
"Oi! Life is what it is, and sure, I'm not perfect, but 'utterly'? Who are you to judge anyway, Mr. Fanboy?" the latest John retorted angrily.
"Doctor Fanboy, if anything," the alien remarked, just as snappishly. "And you know what you've done. I shouldn't be the one judging. You should be. I suppose that's why the TARDIS brought us here."
"Christ no, don't tell me," 2010 John begged, in a drawn-out groan. "I did it. You did it? How do the pronouns even work in this case?"
"Did what?" his future self echoed, challenging.
"Turned into him," his younger self spit, the last word a curse. "We'd sworn we never would."
"Sorry, turned into whom?" the Doctor asked. He hated when people had inside jokes he didn't understand. And well, nobody had more literal inside jokes that the same individual from two point in the same timeline. He should know. It happened, occasionally, that they'd meet.
"Dad," they chorused, twin grimaces of distaste on their faces.
"And honestly, I didn't. Well, not exactly. I mean, I had actual reasons…so unless you count - ," the future Watson started.
He was brutally interrupted, though. Before the Doctor could even finish yelling 'spoilers' to stop any undue revelations, 2010 John had drawn a gun and shot him down, scoffing, "I've grown soft, besides turning into a monster. I had reasons? As if we hadn't heard that before."
"This is why I don't like guns," the Doctor groaned. "It makes the first reaction always the most stupid."
"It's the most practical, though. It's not like I could let him go around. Not with what he – I – became. Not in case you might possibly mean to bring him back to wherever he was ruining someone's life. Now, the only question is: can I stop myself) turning into that thing on the floor in any way but with another bullet? You can be honest. Half the time I'm considering offing myself just for the heck of it. True, after today I was starting to reconsider the idea, but maybe this is my wake-up call not to," the remaining Watson countered. He didn't sound upset, angry, or threatening. Just very matter of fact.
"What? No! That's absolutely unacceptable. Someone needs you in their life. I have no idea what exactly would happen to them if you were to die now, but I'm sure it would be nothing good. Most probably, they wouldn't survive too long, either," the Time Lord yelled. This was one of the hardest cases of his career, and that was saying something.
"Well, nobody needs in their life that thing I've turned…will turn? into. So, what do we do, to fix that?" John retorted sharply.
"We think, to start with. And we try to figure out who – or what – is behind your change. Because the John Watson you just killed isn't the same John Watson I see now. The one who would rather die than hurt someone who has not amply earned it. I'm sorry that you had to see him. But as much as I didn't like your way to solve the problem, I admire how you recognised what he was. Too often people will be stern with the others and justify anything they do," the Doctor urged, pointedly not looking at the dead body.
"Think about what?" the veteran asked, ignoring the praise. It wasn't as if he deserved it. Not when he could still so easily become what he'd always hated.
"About what is wrong with this world. Someone who would influence you – and not only that, because this is clearly a bigger plan. Using you to destroy a force of good, meant that they could be unchecked. Now, who would plan this. What position would they aim for…" the alien mumbled, almost to himself, drawing his sonic screwdriver and waving it around. "Hopefully they're close enough that I can find them…I may have to hook it up to the TARDIS to amplify its strength… oh yes! Found it!" He started jumping in joy.
"Found what? Who's the fucker?" John growled.
"A Zygon. Of course they're Zygons… couldn't have an universe where they're not around… But if they are here, why didn't they just switch you, too?" the Doctor wondered.
"Switch?" the man queried, frowning.
"They can copy humans perfectly… no one, no matter how observant, would be able to find them out without the right technology, so why wouldn't they copy you?" the Time Lord explained, staring at John as if he held all the secrets of this universe.
"Maybe it was less trouble to corrupt me. Maybe it was fun. Who cares. Where are they? Whose ass need I kick?" John retorted, instinctively raising and brandishing his cane like a sword.
"You have a right to come, I suppose," the Doctor acknowledged, "but we're going to talk first. Kick later, and only if they staunchly refuse to cooperate. Is that clear, Captain?"
"Fine," the blond huffed. "Now lead the way. I have a few choice words for them."
The alien set the path, following the soft beeps of his tool with long strides. John hobbled along, hating tall gits, their giraffe legs and their inability to care about anyone else…but finding that he didn't have as much difficulty in keeping pace as he'd feared. Bless psychosomatic ailments.
They stopped abruptly in front of an ancient building, which proclaimed "Diogenes club". The Doctor groaned loudly. "It couldn't be someone else, could it? That's it, we're going, but you'll have to hold onto these choice words for a while. Don't say a word until I do. Let me do the communicating. Unless you know sign language?"
"Can't say I do, no. But why? Is this some sort of deaf club?" the veteran asked, curious.
"Might as well be. It would probably be better if it was, actually. Now, quiet," the Time Lord ordered, striding in and waving a document around, too quickly for John to read it.
John had no time to argue with the madman (what was with him and madmen lately?) so he stumbled along, watching his guide chat wildly with his hands, presumably directing the servants who wouldn't have been out of place in a period show.
They were both accompanied to a room, where two surprisingly young people, given the atmosphere of this place, both dressed in suits that possibly cost more than the whole building he lived in, were having tea.
"And you would be?" asked the older of the two, with a brolly hooked to his armchair despite the day having been sunny. His voice was utterly[EP1] frosty.
"Oh, I'm just the Doctor. I realise you might not have heard of me, because I'm a bit far from home…very far, in fact. But you're too, aren't you? In fact, John here is the only one who has a right to be here at all, long-term at least," the Time Lord replied, downright cheerily.
"Oh, I don't know about his right…I'm pretty sure he's not a member," the other posh git sniffed, looking at the blond as if he was a bit of dirt the dog dragged in.
"Ah, but you aren't either, are you? Clubs like this tend to be strict. If they accept literal aliens now, they've stooped very low," John retorted, with a smile that was rather more of a sneer.
"I'm afraid you're not feeling well, my man," Brolly man said, his voice dripping condescension.
"Let's lay our cards on the table," the Doctor urged, waving towards the other men, "you're not Mr. Mycroft Holmes and…you have an advantage over me here, mister. You're Zygons, and I could force you to take your own appearance back, and then…well, I'm pretty certain there will be a commotion the likes of which the very esteemed Diogenes club has never seen. But I'd rather have you free the people you're channeling and leave peacefully. I can even give you a lift, I certainly don't mind. In a different situation I would try to reach a compromise, but I've seen the result of your permanence here, and it simply can't be allowed."
"Are you honestly threatening Mycroft Holmes and James Moriarty and thinking you can win?" the second alien at the tea table asked, cocking his head to the side.
"I'm not sure about him, but I sure as fuck am," John hissed, aiming his gun to them. Of course he brought it along. It isn't like his temporary leader made any sense.
"For all you know, our vital points are completely different from human ones," not-Holmes pointed out.
"Oh well. I'll just have to start shooting you for a start and then beat you to a mush. I'll give you a suggestion, mates: do not go around pissing off an ex-soldier. I have many flaws, but not knowing how to hurt or being reticent to do so is not one of them. You've – will – how the fuck do time travel verbs work – taken advantage of that. So you should know I don't lie," the former Captain remarked, glaring.
"Keep your pet in line," Moriarty snapped at the Time Lord.
"Not my pet… or anyone's, really. Tell the man you're channeling, will you? With the both of you in cahoots, it's no wonder this world is about to go to hell. I'll reiterate it: you can either accept a lift, or face the consequences humans will choose to heap on you. You can think you can hide perfectly… but if word comes out of your powers, I'm afraid you'll discover men have absolutely no qualms attacking people who look just like them, in the off chance it might protect them," the Doctor replied, shrugging. "As always, it's your choice."
John's gun didn't waver, and he added, "You better pick quickly, though. I'm not really one for lengthy standoffs. This is not an American action movie, you know." If they wanted him to turn into a bloodthirsty monster, they might as well get a taste of what they thought was fine to unleash on innocent people. It's not like either of these two bastards was without guilt.
The two Zygons looked at each other, taking a sip of tea. "Do we watch the world burn?" 'Moriarty' asked, a smile stretching his lips.
"You've always been so hasty," 'Mycroft' replied, sounding very put upon. "Our very nature means that our strength is in overtaking planets sneakily, not starting a world war. Everyone loses in that case, if only because the Earth we'd get, in case of victory, could be a worthless radioactive mess. You've not been around politicians as much as I have."
John openly checked the time on his phone.
Moriarty stood up, threw his arms in the air in annoyance, and growled, "Oh fine, have it your way! I don't know why I'm even here. It's so boring anyway!" Then, he shifted into something like a pinkish, disgusting, wrinkly leech. "Hope that ship of yours is big, because we have a few extra friends."
"Oh, no worries about that," the Time Lord assured, internally admiring how Watson hadn't even flinched at the sudden transformation. "Now you can go home, John, you don't want to go around inside the Diogenes club with your gun drawn. I'll take over things from here."
The veteran shrugged. "If you say so…just send me a message if you have troubles, and I'll always be ready for a bit of clean up." Talking of clean up…he'd acted on impulse, but how the heck was he going to get rid of his own dead body? Not that he regretted it, he'd never regret it, but shit would hit the fan – maybe it already had.
He was shocked to go home to find not only the body disappeared, but every last speck of blood too, and no 'crime scene' tape to mean that it had been removed by police. Who the fuck just swept dead bodies out of other people's homes?
In his puzzlement, he just stared out of the window, to see the Doctor lead a long line of apparent people inside that police box of his. Not even half of them should have fit in. A weird noise, and it disappeared. Okay, that was…probably not one for the blog, unless he wanted Ella to have him promptly sectioned. But he'd opened his computer already, almost by instinct, so he might as well look up the other madman he'd met earlier today.
He was shocked when, three hours later, he heard again the odd sound he'd never forget. He looked out, and sure enough, the Doctor was bounding out – alone, this time – and knocking on his door. He opened it, of course. What else could he do?
The Time Lord stared around his room, and John opened his arms. "I swear, I've not hidden a body… when I got home, it had just disappeared. As if it had never been here, in the first place," he mumbled.
"Because it hadn't," the alien agreed, grinning. "You never turn into him, so there's no need to bring him along to solve our little problem. Can I tell you just one thing, John Watson? Don't forget what you are. Don't ever forget it. It's important."
"I'm nothing special," he retorted, shrugging the praise away. He wasn't used to it. Not for not being awful when he easily could have been, at least. He expected a stern scolding, if anything.
The Doctor scoffed at that. "Hundreds of years, a handful of universes visited, and meeting more creatures that I care to count, and I've never met someone who wasn't special. Of course you're special! And from what the TARDIS tells me, you have a very, very special day ahead tomorrow. We need you to look the part. Not that we truly need to, he sees almost as deep as I do, of course he already knows you're special… but appearance matters, too. Or at least it doesn't hurt." And with that, he started rooting inside his wardrobe without so much as a 'by your leave', throwing things around as if a small-scale tornado had laid waste to the tiny bedsit.
John was, honestly, too baffled to protest. Finally there was a final 'selection' on his bed, including among other things a leather jacket of his younger, wilder days, and…were these the red pants Harry got him as gag gift three Christmases ago and he never wore?
"You'll look good enough to eat. Promise me you'll wear this tomorrow, John," the Time Lord beseeched fervently.
"No, I'm not…I mean, I'm just going to look at a flat, and I'm not going to…" the veteran rambled.
"Breathe. I'm not forcing you into anything, John. Just, who knows the future of us? I'm not saying why. I'm saying you'll want to look good, believe me," the Doctor cut in. Though, the fact that his new friend's mind went automatically to his new flatmate was a good sign. The universe had righted itself.
"If I do, will you leave me alone?" John snapped.
"Of course. Scout's honour, and I'll have you know I commanded the second ever Cub Pack. Well, not in this universe technically, but it still counts. Good luck, John Watson."
"See you never," the blogger huffed.
He could have sworn that he heard the alien madman, on his way out, mumble, "Hope you won't need me anymore."
The Time Lord wanted to go back to the future…well, the new future… and meet the new Holmes-Watson household. As usual, though, the TARDIS didn't listen to him and brought him back to his usual universe. Missy was acting up, after all. Oh well. Maybe he'd get to go back someday.