He didn't know who he was. He didn't know what had happened. He just knew he had to make it to Baker Street.
But what was Baker Street? He knew he had to make it there, but how could he get there if he didn't know what it was? Through his blurry eyesight he saw something, something black, with gold squiggles on. Were they numbers? What were numbers? Were they important? And then the blackness engulfed him.
He stretched. He couldn't see anything, but he knew he was led on a sofa, his head was propped up on a cushion, and he could feel his sonic screwdriver pressed against his chest.
His fingers were tingling. Well, he had just fought an unknown virus out of his body, a virus that would have been strong enough to cause a human to go into a coma, but not powerful enough to greatly incapacitate a Time Lord.
His other senses were beginning to return now; he could hear voices, but he couldn't make out what they were saying.
His eyesight was back now, so he raised his head, and could just about make out two men with their backs to him.
One of them had dirty grey/blond hair and was wearing a black and white stripy jumper. He was making wild gestures at the other man standing calmly before him.
This man had curly black hair and had a long black trench coat over his shoulders; he had his hands in his pockets, listening as the other man continued to point out the window.
He looked again at the taller bloke's coat, he seemed to remember something about trench coats, perhaps he had owned one at some point in his life. He smiled, trench coats were cool.
It took him a whole few seconds to register this. That wasn't brilliant; he should have been a lot faster.
Now everything was getting clearer and he was just able to distinguish the individual words. The shorter man was talking.
"…I don't know, I was just coming back from the surgery and I found him lying in the middle of the pavement!"
"Well," said the other man (the one with the cool coat) "that was a bit pathetic of him."
"Sherlock, you can't just go around insulting people you don't know,"
"Who says I don't know him?"
"Wait… Are you saying you do know him?"
"Bit of an old friend,"
"But you don't have any friends, you said so yourself."
"Yeah? Well you probably have to be a human being to class as a friend."
"You mean he's another sociopath?"
"Sort of." Sherlock agreed. "But one thing you have failed to notice, John, is that he has been awake and listening to our conversation for at least the last minute of so."
The Doctor stood up "You've still got it, Sherlock," he said, wobbling precariously on his feet.
"Doctor," Sherlock said in way of greeting.
John looked mystified "Is anyone going to explain what the hell is going on?" he asked "There's a strange man in our flat, who is apparently a sociopath, and who you apparently know!"
"John," the consulting detective began "this is the Doctor, he's a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey; he's the last of his kind and can cheat death by changing every single cell in his body."
John gave him the look.
"I know," the Doctor said "kinda hard to believe, but it's true, every word."
"Well then," Sherlock said "are you going to tell us how ended up led on a pavement in the middle of London?"
The Doctor looked the sleuth in the eye (tiptoeing ever so slightly) "Why don't you tell me?"
Sherlock smiled.
"You don't have any major physical injuries, which may have been healed, but that would only have happened in a full on regeneration, but you still have the same face so there's no chance that could have happened."
The Doctor nodded at Sherlock's deductions, he was probably doing well.
"Also I noticed you were glowing faintly when I came in, but it was all over your body, rather than in a concentrated area, indicating that whatever it was affected your entire body, probably in your blood stream, but it wasn't destructive enough to cause a full on regeneration.
"There is one small dot on your neck, so you were injected in some way, as there is only one dot you couldn't have been bitten by anything so it must have been a syringe. The cushions surrounding you are rather damp, so you must have been sweating quite a lot, and you were showing symptoms similar to humans what humans show when they have the flu virus.
"When you first woke up you had to stare at both of us for a while before you understood what was going on, suggesting you have a touch of amnesia, which has mainly affected your short term memory as you thoroughly explored your surroundings before attempting to talk to someone you couldn't remember. Once you did remember me you weren't afraid to speak up, also, as you love to talk you would happily have explained everything if you really could remember everything that happened."
The Doctor's face clouded over as he was able to think back to the events leading up to his collapse outside 221B. "You're right," he said "I couldn't remember, but you certainly seem to have jogged my memory."
"There's something else though," warned Sherlock "You've been clutching a red satchel in your hand for quite some time now…"
But before Sherlock could complete his deductions, the Doctor quite literally jumped into the air.
"Clara!" he cried.
"What?" said John, who had been stood in stunned silence for the last few minutes.
"Clara," the Doctor said again "she's the girl I'm travelling with; I think she's still on the space station!"
"What about the TARDIS?" asked Sherlock.
"The sexy thing dropped me off in the middle of London, knowing I'd be able to make it to 221B."
"Nope." said John, shaking his head "Can you explain the whole thing again, but really slowly and in English this time."
And so the Doctor started from the beginning, he told the detective and the ex-army doctor how he had landed on a space station in the Athina System, run by an illegal alien research team who were kidnapping other organisms to experiment on. When he and Clara had been found it was assumed that they had been beamed aboard as test subjects. They had been taken to a room and injected with Virium3.
Clara had gone straight into a coma, but the Doctor had managed to escape (he couldn't remember an awful lot about that part, but he knew it involved his Sonic Screwdriver and an awful lot of luck).
He had stumbled into the TARDIS, managed to push a few buttons, flip a few levers and hope that his beloved ship could figure out the rest.
The old girl had dropped him off on a street corner about a quarter of a mile away from Baker Street. He had fallen out of the Police Box and had somehow made his way to 221B before fainting on the pavement so his body could dedicate all its runtime to fighting the virus.
"Come on then," said Sherlock, who had already snatched up his blue scarf from the sofa, and was on his way out the door.
"Where are we going?" inquired John.
"TARDIS." Sherlock replied.