Disclaimer: Sherlock, Torchwood, and Doctor Who, are property of BBC One and their respective owners.
A/N: Because this is a NaNoWriMo entry, my inner editor has to take a break. I know. It kills me inside.
It was a cold and rainy September morning.
But then again, every day felt cold to him.
It must have been at least a year since the fall. The fall of his best friend and the most human man he had ever known.
He meant it when he said he was so alone and he owed him so much. John was on the brink of destruction before Sherlock entered the picture, breathing a new life into him. It was almost as if there was an invisible and unbreakable force that tied them together from the day that they met. One thing was certain from everything they've been through: They were absolutely two halves of a whole. With Sherlock gone, John isn't sure that he'll be able to fill in the void. He needed him, not just because Sherlock gave him the adrenaline that he needed, but because Sherlock was everything to him.
He was the midnight rows over the severed head.
He was the chases all over London.
He was the comfort when John woke up screaming from night terrors.
He was takeout dinners eaten on the stoops of crime scenes.
He was 221B Baker Street.
He was home.
John went and visited his grave every year on the anniversary of his death. Any other time he thought about going just made all the more too painful. After the fall, he had become significantly more withdrawn from everyone, especially those down at the Yard. He had stopped taking cases, despite Lestrade's pleas for him to come in and help out. He suspected that Lestrade wanted him to come in all the time to make himself forget about doubting Sherlock. John remembered seeing the look on Lestrade's face when he came in to arrest Sherlock; it was nothing short of self-loathing.
Anderson and Donovan had learned to stay away from John after he had made an appearance on BBC News, defending Sherlock and his credibility. He had this energy and this ferocity around him that the two of them learned not to trifle with.
Mrs. Hudson wasn't faring well after Sherlock's death. He had been like a son to her and his absence took a toll on her, both physically and emotionally. She was looking a lot more exhausted lately, and she felt so emotionally drained. Often times, her and John would have their meals together because they knew that they couldn't get through this alone.
The leaves crunched beneath his feet and the rain was softly pattering, echoing throughout the deserted cemetery. As he got closer to Sherlock's grave, he felt his lips twitch into something that could almost be considered a smile.
There were bouquets among bouquets surrounding the grave, all with cards loudly proclaiming "I BELIEVE IN SHERLOCK HOLMES", "MORIARTY WAS REAL", and "I AM FIGHTING JOHN WATSON'S WAR". Blue scarves, deerstalker hats, and even a couple of riding crops adorned the grave, making it more of a memorial. John snorted, imagining Sherlock's reaction to all of this. He was never one for sentiment.
His mobile beeped and he dug it out of his pocket without even looking at the contact, opening the message. "Don't blink. -MH". John rolled his eyes, thinking that it was a silly message, and shoved it back in his pocket.
As he got closer to the grave, something caught his eye. In the middle of the pile of tributes to Sherlock, there was an envelope with his name on it. Cautiously, he picked it up and turned it over. The weight was heavy, indicating that it was from someone on high and the handwriting was curly, indicating it was most likely a female.
He opened it and started reading.
"Dear John,
You don't know me yet but you will in time. You must read this VERY carefully. In this graveyard, there are angel statues all over, and they look like they're crying. Now, they look friendly, but don't be fooled. They're actually called Weeping Angels, and according to the Doctor, they're also known as "The Lonely Assassins." If you ever played Grandmother's Footsteps when you were little, that's how they work. When you see them, they freeze into rock. If you can't see them, they move incredibly fast. Faster than you can ever imagine. So know this, when you see one, DON'T BLINK. If you do, there are two things that can happen. They can send you back in time to die on the day you were born, feeding on the time energy difference. Or they can snap your neck."
John looked up and glanced at a statue and then back down to the letter.
"I hope you didn't look up, John. Because that means that they're coming for you. I wish I could come and help you out right now, but I promise you this, help is on the way. Remember. Don't blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back. Don't look away. And don't blink. Good Luck. Best wishes, Amy."
John was halfway torn between laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation and being absolutely terrified at the thought of being killed or sent back in time by a statue.
He suddenly felt a presence right in front of him, and the hair stood up on the back of his neck. His heart started pounding and he dared to look up.
There it was. A demonic angel, mouth wide open, and hands like claws ready to end him. Well, whoever Amy was, he could have told her there was no way he was blinking with this thing staring into his soul.
Help was on the way, she said. Who the hell was around that was going to help him out of this situation? His eyelids started twitching, fighting to close. Suddenly, something occurred to him. He could just blink one eyelid at a time so that he can stop worrying about his eyes drying out. Too bad he could only do it for so long.
That solved at least one of his problems.
There was no way that he could just stay here forever in fear of a bloody statue, but it didn't seem like he had any other options.
It felt like forever that he was just standing there, looking at this statue. It occurred to him that he could just start slowly backing away from the Weeping Angel. What a load of good that would do. It's a start, he thought. His anxiety only decreased by minimal increments as he slowly inched away from the statue, his eyes never leaving it.
His ears perked up when he heard a noise. It wasn't like anything he had ever heard before, but it almost sounded like an ancient machine wheezing. He was trained to snap his head to the source of the sound, but he was rooted to the spot. It took a split second before he realized that the sound wasn't coming from anywhere...but more like it was surrounding him. With that in mind, it took almost all of his strength to not look around as things started to materialize around him.
He could make out some sort of tall tower in front of the angel, while there were three faint figures surrounding it. Voices started fading in and out, as if from a dream. It was a mixture of frantic urgency and authoritative barking.
There was no way that this could all be happening. Nothing was supposed to happen to Dr. John H. Watson. His life was supposed to be ordinary. He supposed that that was an utter lie since Sherlock entered it.
Before long, the angel was gone and he was left standing in a control room. The three people in front of him collapsed in front of the tower, looking utterly relieved to see him, which puzzled him.
There were two men and a woman. One of the men was tall, thin, and blonde. His hair looked like it defied gravity with the way that it was standing up. The other man was taller than the first man, but a brunette, and wore an outfit that reminded John a lot of his history professor at Uni: A tweed jacket, a red bow tie, suspenders, and brown trousers. The woman was the shortest of the trio. She was very pretty with hair so red it could have rivaled Harry's hair.
They all looked at each other, seemingly silently communicating. John just stood there, awkwardly shuffling in place. The redhead nodded and the brunette's face lit up, like Christmas had come early for him.
"Ah, hello John! You're probably wondering where on earth you are and how this managed to appear around you. No matter, you'll learn about it in time. Now, Amy, I want you to ring up that nice lad that gave us the coordinates to John's location. We're going to have to meet up with everyone else. Rory, call River and let her know that we're going to pick her up on the way to Cardiff."
Rory and Amy started darting around the console, fiddling with everything on it.
John was about to demand exactly what this man had just said, but the words had gotten lost in the back of his throat as he heard the name Amy. He swallowed thickly and looked around. Was she the one who sent that letter?
The room was quite spacious and looked alien. He slowly backed towards the door, and was almost ready to run. The thought of that Weeping Angel still out there stopped him before his hand brushed the handle.
The man had returned to the console and started pulling a bunch of knobs and rotating various dials. The whole room violently jerked and everyone was thrown from one side to another.
"I thought you said that this could stand up to a Weeping Angel feeding on the time energy!" Amy shouted.
"Oi! I'm still working on that little bit!" He shouted back.
"Well, you didn't do a very good job with that now, did you?" Rory snapped.
They all squabbled like a family, which John thought was amusing and alarming, given that the Angel was still outside. Amy rolled her eyes and pushed the brunette aside, muttering nonsense as she fiddled with a few more things. The room stopped moving and Amy adjusted herself with a huff.
"I could've easily done that. And where on earth did you learn that?" the man frowned.
"Well you didn't now, did you? Also, I have your wife to thank for that." She glanced at John and did a double take. Apparently she had forgotten about him.
"You're so rude!" She smacked him in the arm. "You didn't even introduce yourself to John. I'm so sorry! I'm Amy, and that is my husband, Rory."
Rory peered from behind the tower and waved. John waved back.
She nudged the brunette.
"Hello, I'm the Doctor!"
John furrowed his eyebrows, confused.
"Doctor? Doctor Who?"