That fob watch was staring at him again- truly ridiculous to personify an inanimate object- but still, Sherlock could feel its gaze on the back of his neck.

"Did you get milk?" John asked, snapping Sherlock out of his thoughts, he listened to the sound of the fridge opening and then closing sharply. "Oh god… did you have to arrange the body parts like that? Seriously, you'll give Mrs Hudson a heart attack if she goes to clean the fridge. Sherlock didn't reply but allowed himself a smirk of amusement.

John was staying at 221B for a few weeks as his fiancée Mary was away on a Medical course, being thrown into Sherlock's world again was surprisingly welcome, except for when Sherlock was bored and irritable that is.

"How was the case today? The banker in the basement wasn't it?" John asked as he collapsed down into his comfy arm chair. It was seven o'clock in the evening, Sherlock had been home since lunch time and the boredom was already flourishing.

"Fine," Sherlock waved a hand dismissively, " It was the flooding from the nearby river into the basement that caused the body to float up the stairs, the idiots of Scotland yard were adamant he'd come back to life and crawled a flight of stairs for no good reason." John laughed and opened his laptop.

"Have you changed my password?" He said incredulously. Sherlock smirked in reply which grew into a small grin after John's seventh failed attempt to log onto his own laptop. He let out a huff.

"Bored!"

"What's the password Sherlock?"

"Begins with an A ends with an M."

"It's not a crossword puzzle! Ok how many letters?"

"Twenty eight. One word."

"Twenty eight? What the?..."

"Antidisestablishmentarianism. Obviously."

"Oh yeah of course I should have got that (!) Don't do it again or I'll throw your head in the bin." Sherlock glared over at his flatmate, but didn't rise to the empty threat of destroying his experiment.

There it was again that feeling on the back of his neck, like all the hairs were standing to attention, viewing something he couldn't see. He rose swiftly from his chair and stalked behind it to the window, there stood his music stand –ram rod straight and reliable as ever – and sitting on top of it innocently was the watch with swirling symbols on its case. It was an old watch, apparently an heirloom from his grandfather – though he had never believed that – nothing curious or mysterious, just a broken watch that he didn't care about or even bother to throw away.

It all started yesterday, as per John's instruction, he had been clearing out the boxes from John's bedroom cupboard, it was all rubbish as far as he was concerned, left over stuff he'd boxed away when he first moved in. He simply tipped the contents of each box straight into the awaiting black sack at his feet, not caring what was there or how many memories each object potentially held. However one item refused to be binned, it fell with a gentle thump onto the carpeted floor and silently waited for its owner to retrieve it. That was when Sherlock received the first "Strange feeling"-like the watch was luring him in its direction.

"What are you?" He said aloud as he flipped the watch over in his palm, the symbols were concentric circles and straight lines; he felt no desire to open it, just slipped it into his trouser pocket and forgot about it.

Now however, it having appeared on his music stand, he felt a slight need -nothing overpowering- but some instinctive feeling that told him there was something more than clockwork within its casing. Sherlock huffed in annoyance and pushed the thoughts of the timepiece to the side of the hallway in his mind palace.

But what is it? His thoughts would not be contained; they loomed to the forefront of his mind and threatened to overwhelm him. Overwhelm Sherlock Holmes, no this was ridiculous!

"I NEED A CASE!" He shouted sharp and loud, he stood and picked up the watch from his music stand and threw it harshly towards the wall already peppered with dents and bullet holes. John looked up from his laptop in alarm.

"Text Lestrade? He might have something for you tomorrow." He replied, eyebrows furrowed in concern, he gained no reply for his trouble. Sherlock only huffed and grabbed his coat and scarf as he stalked out of the flat down the seventeen stairs and out the front door. He paused as he pulled the black door shut behind him.

"Blue…box." He said slowly, it meant something -obviously- but what? There was indeed a blue police box standing on the opposite side of the road to Speedy's café. Sherlock scowled at the box, and turned right and proceeded to the end of Baker Street. At the corner he briefly looked back, the police box had vanished. No don't be ridiculous, it has not vanished, it was moved. His logic berated him for such childish thoughts of disappearing magic tricks.

There was a chill in the early evening London air; Marylebone Road was quiet bar a few late rush hour workers. Dull. Man working overtime to pay the bills for his leaking bathroom, perhaps a kitchen sink, tried to fix It himself this morning, gave up, cheap suit didn't dry well from the water leakage, didn't have another suit, this one's well-worn re-hemmed twice, stain on his left elbow where a bottle of cleaning fluid was knocked over, tools for a botch DIY job sticking out of his carry bag.

Breathing the London air in, it always seemed the best method to alleviate stress or boredom, in a hectic life such as his, a quiet walk was a moment to return to reality and logic. Sherlock continued to walk - only pausing briefly outside the Royal Academy of Music- he eventually stopped just inside Regents Park. It had been a cloudy cold afternoon, the picnic goers and family types had long since gone as a hint of rain filled the air, Sherlock looked up into the sky and closed his eyes for a moment.

"You always did like the rain." Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at the man now standing on his right side, his apparel consisted of a long brown coat, brown pinstriped suit, blue tie and deep red trainers, an unusual but no doubt current fashion trend- he cared nothing for fads himself. He was two millimetres taller than Sherlock and looked like your average 30 something man, his eyes however were another matter entirely, they were old and wise-perhaps even wiser than Sherlock himself – the look in those old eyes was one of sadness and recognition, as though looking at an old friend. His flicked up brown hair struggled to hold its structure as the raindrops fell heavier upon the two men.

"Do I know you?" Sherlock queried as he turned to fully face the man, he knew of no association with him, why would he delete a man who was clearly a puzzle to unravel?

"No, you don't," The man with sad eyes said. "Although you did once, it's a little hard to explain." Sherlock's eyes narrowed, there was something nagging at him in the corner of his mind, something telling him he had met this stranger before.

"Who are you?" he said calmly.

"The Doctor."

"Doctor who?"

"Just the Doctor."

"The Doctor?"

"Yup."

Sherlock looked him up and down once more, zeroing in on every detail. His conclusions were… he'd want to say impossible, but there was the evidence a foot in front of him and he did not like it. There was a moment of silence before Sherlock turned away from the Doctor and began to walk further into Regents Park. He heard the man dither on the spot for a moment before jogging to catch up with him.

"Leave me alone." Sherlock said, he didn't look over at the man walking beside him.

"And here I was thinking I had a likeable, trustworthy face." The doctor said with a boyish grin.

"STOP IT." Sherlock turned to face the man toe to toe, the Doctor's grin sunk into a serious expression, Sherlock continued, starting directly into his eyes "I don't know what you are, but leave me alone. Do not contact me or anyone I know." lesser men would squirm under his gaze but the Doctor lifted his chin in confidence and faced the consulting detective straight on.

"There will be a time Sherlock Holmes, when you want answers, and you'll want to take that last statement back." This man was dangerous, but nothing like any human Sherlock had ever dealt with, and he had dealt with psychopaths.

"Why. What's so different about me?"

"I'm sorry; you have to find that out for yourself." He began to walk away again, this time the Doctor did not follow. Sherlock dug his hands deep into his coat pockets, something cold and metal bumped against his hand, and he slowed.

"What is this thing, you know don't you." Sherlock turned slowly to face the Doctor -he had not moved- pulling the fob watch he didn't remember picking up out of his pocket.

"Can you hear it?" He replied simply.

"Hear what?" Sherlock retorted sharply. The doctor didn't reply, but walked solemnly away from Sherlock, towards the blue police box that had been sitting just out of his peripheral vision.

A/N- Another thing I've been sitting on for months now, I was going to wait and get more of it done before uploading it, but I think it's better to get it out there. Enjoy SR x