2. Doctor Who?

"Who are you?"

The man's eyes glinted, and a friendly smile grew across his face. "A friend."

The boy looked down, amusement showing on his face. "I don't have friends."

They were sitting on a park bench, the boy on the right and the man on the left, who couldn't take his eyes of the small child sitting beside him. His gaze was full of sadness. The boy, trying his hardest to ignore the man, was attempting to solve a rubix cube. They stayed this way for a good five minutes before the boy threw the puzzle on the ground. "What the hell are you doing, staring at me like that!? It must be so boring inside that tiny little head of yours!"

Despite the reaction the boy thought he was going to get, the man stayed very still, as if he hadn't heard a word the boy just said. Finally he raised his head. "Sherlock, there's something I need to give you. And I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry."


Sherlock's hand clutched the door, and he steadied himself. John rushed over, but before he got there Sherlock's scream filled the room, making John step back in surprise. "GET OUT! GET OUT OF HERE AND NEVER COME BACK!"

"Come on, Clara." The man quickly stalked out of the room, followed by the girl. John was about to follow, when Sherlock grabbed his arm.

"John, I..." Sherlock trailed off. John could feel his hand shaking, and looking up, his eyes locked with Sherlock's, and... were those tears in his eyes? No. No. This is Sherlock we're talking about here. Come on, John.

"John, I had forgotten about what he said to me that day. I had forgotten everything. I'm so sorry. I really am."

Yep, John decided. This time he really has gone round the bend.

"Sherlock, I have no idea what you're talking about, but I can see you're upset, so..." So? What could John do to settle the almighty Sherlock? Sherlock could never hear him speaking, no matter what he said. He could never hear anyone.

"I'm so sorry John. I just need some time-" Before John could reply Sherlock had marched quickly into his room and slammed the door behind him. For the first time, John felt completely useless. Sherlock was upset. Strangely, John was the one being the unemphatic one. He always thought that Sherlock didn't care about anything or anyone. Now he realized that he had been wrong, and yet, there was nothing he could do about it. For the first time ever John wished that Sherlock really was a psychopath. It would be less painful.

Think, John, think. What should I do? What would Sherlock do?

And he ran, as fast as he could, down the steps and into the street, ignoring Mrs. Hudson's calls. He spun around. The street was completely empty. And as he turned to the corner of the street, he saw...

Nothing? Wait, what? The police box was there before.

A kind voice interrupted his thinking. "He's gone. Don't worry, he'll be back soon."

John turned in surprise to see Clara standing in front of him. He gulped. "He's gone...where?"

"He said he needed to do something very important." Clara shrugged. "Said he needed to find a skull, and then find a boy." She looked up at him, and smiled at his stupefied face. "Don't worry, he never makes sense. Come on", she smiled, turning to the flat. "I'll explain what's going on now. Including who me and 'Mr. Smith' really are."

John looked confused. "So...you are married then?"

"No!" The girl blushed, and turned away. "No. Will you just listen to me?"


"What do you mean we're 'not real'?"

The girl was tucked up on the sofa, blowing on her cup of tea. She acted as if what she was saying made perfect sense. But even more worrying, for the first time ever, Sherlock didn't seem to be interested at all about what was being said. He just sat there. Empty. Alone. He certainly wouldn't make eye contact with John. Despite how hard it was, John dragged his attention away from Sherlock's sorry self, and continued to listen to the girl. "Ok, I may have to explain this from the beginning...

"In my world, or dimension, if you like, you are made up. You are fictional characters. I remember when I was a teenager I read all of the Sherlock Holmes books, about the clever detective and his assistant, Dr. Watson." She smiled at that point. "Of course, some things are different. You and John were both from Victorian times in the books, for example. And in the books you weren't together, either-"

"We aren't together!", John snapped at her. The girl raised her eyebrows.

"Alright, alright! All I'm saying is that you should never ignore a coincidence, especially not one this big.

"Here I suppose there are no Sherlock Holmes books, right? I mean, nothing about 'The Study in Scarlet 'or 'The Adventure of the Speckled Band? Oh, actually, my favorite was 'A Scandal in Bohemia'"

A Study in Pink.

The Speckled Blonde.

A Scandal in Belgravia.

Neither John nor Sherlock (who had finally started to stop acting deaf) knew what to say. After five minutes of silence, Sherlock got up and strode to the window. John's eye's followed Sherlock and stopped as he opened the window and gazed out of it. "You've probably just read John's blog and changed it to trick us."

"I'm afraid not." The girl shrugged and looked out of the window, not bothering to walk to it. Then she froze. "Ermm, you don't have any books or TV programs to do with us here, do you? Me and the Doctor, I mean."

Assuming that the doctor was the mysterious man with the bow tie, John turned to Sherlock. "I don't think so. Sherlock, have you heard of something that has a 'Clara' and a 'Doctor'..?" Then he realized how stupid he was sounding. He didn't actually believe this girls story, did he?

Doctor. Doctor. "Doctor..."

"What?" John had heard what Sherlock had just murmured, but he wasn't commenting on that, anyway. He was just so surprised that Sherlock had started to talk again. It usually came as a surprise, because sometimes Sherlock would sit there, not moving, not saying a word, for days on end. And that was sad, really. However much John denied it, he did enjoy Sherlock's company. Maybe he couldn't admit it because Sherlock didn't act as if he liked John's. And that hurt. A lot.

Sherlock turned from the window, and John could see that strange sideways smile spread across his face. He walked steadily across the room, stopping to stand right in front of Clara. "What do you mean, 'the Doctor'? What Doctor? Doctor who?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" They all turned to see Smith leaning on the door. Even Sherlock hadn't noticed him return.

Sherlock looked straight into the man's eyes, and he returned the favor. For a moment John felt a stab of jealousy. He looked away.

What the hell is wrong with you John? Get a grip!

Totally oblivious to John's reaction, Sherlock walked towards the man. "What you said to me back then, is it true?"

"Yes." The man looked so sorrowful, and so old. "I need you to trust me." His put his hand out. "I believe in Sherlock Holmes. Do you believe in me?"

Sherlock didn't bother to grab the doctor's hand. "I don't know. But I would like my questions answered. Starting with the box."