AN: This is a SuperWhoLock fic that I'm collaboratively writing with a friend of mine, and the idea is loosely based on the fan video "The Time of Angels" by Deductism on Youtube.
Chapter One: The Lone Bells Ring Once More
He was deep within the labyrinth of his TARDIS when he heard it; that sound that he had never thought he would hear again, not after he'd let them go, the sound that was suddenly like music to his ears. The bells were ringing, and there was only one person in the entire universe that could be ringing them.
He pounded through the TARDIS, racing through corridors and bounding up and down stairs, with the intoxicating anticipation that always came before the best of adventures already beginning to build. The Doctor reached his phone at the center console of his beloved ship.
"Good to hear from you, Pond. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten abou-"
A panicked flood of words interrupted him, pouring out of the receiver at such rapid speed that even the Doctor could hardly keep up. After a couple moments of trying and failing to understand the stream of urgency coming through the phone, he interrupted.
"Yes, yes, now how about one more time a bit slower for us old chaps, eh? My ears aren't what they used to be." The Doctor heard a deep, shuddering breath taken.
"Doctor," Amelia Pond began falteringly. There was a pause in which two more deep breaths were heard. "You told me, back when I was seven, about the crack in my wall… you – you said they were 'parts of space and time that should never have touched,' yeah?"
The Doctor's eyebrows raised in bewilderment, uncertain of where her renewed interest stemmed from.
"Yes, of course, and everything near the crack, and eventually the whole universe, would be sucked in and cease to exist – ah, I remember like it was just yesterday," the Doctor smiled, unable to help himself from reminiscing about the adventures they had gone on together while trying to save the universe.
"Doctor." Amy's tightly strained voice jolted him out of his memories and sent an inexplicable chill down his spine. "It's back. There's another crack in my wall."
If the Doctor was at all startled, he didn't show it as he immediately replied lightly, "Right well, I'll just pop in and see if I can't seal that right up-"
"No," Amy interrupted sharply, and the Doctor could hear her voice trembling ever so slightly through the phone, "You can't seal it because… the crack, the- the light… it's taken him again. Rory – he's gone."
Rory hadn't expected the crack. In all honesty, he had stopped expecting anything out of the ordinary since he'd stopped travelling with the Doctor; and in even more honesty, he had found that he really didn't mind not expecting anything. Rory Williams had found his ideal life – finally. One that was settled and normal, one that followed rules and had structure. A life that was safe and happy. Of course, in the end he had enjoyed the adventures of time and space and alien worlds… but this was what he had always been looking toward. Yes, Rory Williams had expected all of the adventures to cease after stepping out of that blue box for the last time. How wrong he was.
He had only been rummaging through a cupboard – looking for the Wii remote of all things, as the Doctor had found a certain affinity for misplacing things in the oddest of areas during his stay throughout the Slow Invasion. As he pushed what finally seemed to be the last layer of canned goods out of the way, he turned to call over his shoulder to Amy, asking if she'd found it yet.
He didn't quite catch her answer, as he had already turned back to the cabinet, noticing all too late the familiarly shaped glow emanating from the back of cupboard.
Amelia Pond was never one to break easily, but she had never thought she could lose Rory, not after they had settled down for good. The Doctor had told her to wait for him, to not do anything reckless, and of course she had to listen to him. She sat on the couch in her living room, doing all she could to keep her eyes from trailing back towards the kitchen where a faint glow could be seen. However, something peculiar about this glow caught her attention, and her attempts at ignorance were crushed.
She remembered the glow being completely white, white as snow, and yet this glow was somehow... off, as if this slightly different hue meant something else –
The familiar whir of the TARDIS brakes echoed from somewhere outside, but before she could open the door the Doctor had already raced in, waving his sonic screwdriver at anything and everything, trying to locate the crack. Amy was about to tell the Doctor about her suspicion when he found the crack and voiced it for himself.
"There is definitely something.. not right about this. The shade is all wrong, same with the vibrancy, and that is definitely not the luminosity of your regular crack in the universe."
The Doctor rummaged past the canned goods to find the Wii remote still one-hundred percent existing.
"You did say he was looking for this, right?" he asked Amy as he stuck his head back out. She nodded.
"Well that's certainly interesting..." the Doctor mumbled to himself as he waved the sonic screwdriver in front of the crack once more. Pulling the device away, the Doctor stared quizzically at his sonic for a few silent minutes. The ring of the silence became too much for the hurricane in Amy's head, and she only had enough time to pull out a chair from the dinner table before falling into it. She rubbed her temples, trying to rid herself of the pain searing through her head. This always works in the films. Why can't it actually be practical for once?
"Aha! Yes, that must be it!" the Doctor exclaimed, the sudden noise startling Amy and she barely kept her seat. "The mere fact that this... remote thing still exists proves the fact that Rory still exists... somewhere. Where, I'm not sure, but don't you worry Pond, we'll get him back."
With a violent jerk, Rory was pulled forward into the crack.
Once the initial shock wore off, all he could really think was 'not again.' On the bright side though, it wasn't nearly as unpleasant as he remembered… not that he remembered all that much of his last tumble through the veil of nonexistence. However, he did remember – all too clearly – the flashes of memories. Rory remembered the vivid rewind of his entire life as he traveled through the crack; memories of first dates, birthday parties, and dress-up games that generally involved trainers and cardboard boxes painted blue.
This time, though, he saw no sign of his own life.
Rory could see the light even with his eyes shut, glowing white and seemingly unaffected by the tinge of his eyelids as it permeated them. It was hot and dry on his skin. He scratched at his arms, despite the instincts he had honed as a nurse ordering him not to fuss. He cracked his eyes open, only to be immediately discombobulated by his distance from the ground. He collapsed from where he had been hanging (had he been hanging? Or had he simply not noticed he was still falling?) mid-air, staring up at the now rapidly closing crack. As it did, the blinding light diminished, though what felt like a not-quite- natural sunlight remained.
Now able to see, Rory realized that he was in what looked to be a ravaged forest clearing; with sparse, dead trees closing in on all sides. Dead leaves and broken twigs littered the earthen floor. Rory briefly concerned himself with the scratches – were those claw marks? – on the trees. He stepped closer to inspect them, if only to gain some clue as to where he had ended up. The not-quite-sunlight made everything both difficult to see and eerily clear, and could only be described as dim and pale; not quite dark and not quite light.
Rory laid his hand over what he now could only hope was the work of a very, very large bear. Exhaling shakily, he breathed, "What the hell is this place?"
"This place?" a voice answered from behind him. Rory whipped around, falling back against the clawed tree in surprise. "This is Purgatory, brother."
John rolled over in bed, grabbing the nearest pillow and shoving as much of it into his ears as possible. Sherlock was, of course, experimenting again, and the moderately clamorous noise undoubtedly passed through much more than just a few walls if John was able to hear it from his bedroom upstairs. Letting out a frustrated groan, John threw the blankets off his body and searched for his clothes.
Clumsily walking down the staircase, John rubbed a sleepy eye as he met Sherlock in the kitchen of their flat. The kitchen table was completely covered in beakers, microscopes, and petri dishes. John despaired the notion that there might not be a sliver of space to sit down and have his routine morning tea. However, being that John was of average intelligence, he never picked up on the fact that Sherlock always left John his own little place on the table for tea. Sherlock knew that when John missed his tea in the mornings, he was more belligerent than normal, something Sherlock liked to avoid at all costs.
"Sleep well?" he asked as John put the kettle on to heat.
"As well as one can when there are minor explosions happening within hearing distance."
Sherlock shrugged without lifting his head from the microscope. John sighed internally and stood to watch the consulting detective work while waiting for his water to boil. "What's the experiment this time?"
"Molds."
John waited to see if Sherlock would give him any more details, but the following silence shocked absolutely no one. Luckily for John, the tea kettle began to whistle and he went about making his morning cuppa. Sitting across the table from Sherlock, John noticed that there were bags starting to form underneath Sherlock's ever-changing eyes.
"When was the last time you slept?"
A short pause. "Three days ago."
"Sherlock!" John exclaimed as he stood fast and knocked an empty petri dish from the table, shattering it to pieces on the floor. "I know you have the work to focus on, but you're still human, and humans need to sleep. Up you get."
John grabbed Sherlock by the shoulder as an indication that he was not messing around. Sherlock tensed, knowing that if he left his experiments, his mind would have free reign to think about anything and everything, and there was one thing that he didn't want to confront at this moment in time. But going against John's natural concern for his well-being was also something he didn't want to confront, so he obliged, albeit with a little reluctance. Sherlock placed his safety glasses on the kitchen counter behind him and closed the lid on the petri dish that was in the microscope, no need to infect the flat with mold, possibly making it uninhabitable for a few days. John followed Sherlock all the way to the doorway to his room, making sure Sherlock was actually getting some rest and not attempting to experiment from his bedroom. Conveniently, Sherlock was wearing his dressing robe and therefore there was no need to change into something more comfortable for "sleep." Stretching out on his bed, he rolled to his side so John could no longer see his face. Once he heard the click of the door shutting, Sherlock unearthed his mobile phone from the pocket of his robe.
There on the screen sat one unopened text message. The name of the sender was enough for Sherlock to want to toss his phone out the window. Surprisingly, Sherlock was enough of an adult to ignore this notion, and letting his instinct take over, he opened the message. The message was short, only four words:
I need your help.