As Sherlock walked through the archive, he was in deep thought. He walked to the 'T' section of the archives for 'Torchwood'. Though, the more he walked, he felt like there was another presence in the room. But, work was work so he quickly dismissed the feeling and continued his thought process.

Sherlock walked down the passage of shelving to the specific category in which he hoped to find a file, or any file connected to Torchwood. He looked through various categories until he found it; the Torchwood file. Sherlock opened it and began to read it.

"You really shouldn't be here." Said a voice. The consulting detective looked up. There in front of him stood a man he well recognized.

"You're…Captain Jack Harkness." He stated matter-of-factly.

"You're going to die." He had said.

"What?" Sherlock was confused.

"You're going to die!" he spoke up, enunciating his words. With that, the Captain left. Sherlock put the file down and went after him. "Wait" he called out. "What do you mean I'm going to die?" Just then, he heard a voice. Calling his name.

"Sherlock." He turned to see a little girl covered in Semtex. "Help me." She pleaded. He moved in to help her, but once he saw the red light on her chest, he stopped.

"It's alright…what's your name?" he asked softly. "Amanda." She replied, tears falling from her petite face.

"Mr Holmes please help me." She sobbed. He heard the steady beeping of a bomb rapidly increase in seconds.

"Please help me!" she cried. "Why are you just standing there?! Can't you help?!" Sherlock was at a loss for words. Why wasn't he helping her? As he stepped forward, he felt strong arms pull him away.

"That's not a good idea, Sherlock Holmes." The detective was looking into Jack Harkness' eyes.

"Run." He whispered. Sherlock didn't have the time to react before Jack pushed him, and himself out of the window as the bomb deteriorated the fraction of the archive.

They landed in a nearby fountain; Jack breaking Sherlock's fall. He got off him quickly, realizing their compromising position.

"I could have saved her!" Sherlock yelled, exasperated.

"You would have been blown up. I believe a thanks is in order." Jack replied snippily. Sherlock glared at him. This man was going to be a pain and he knew it well. He entered his mind palace, gazing at him absent-mindly. After a few minutes, he spoke up.

"You're hurt." Jack looked at his body. A broken arm.

"I'll be fine." He said as he stood; his arm falling limply beside him. As if in a flash, his arm began to piece itself back together.

"That's…not possible." Sherlock gaped. "I can explain." Jack interjected uncertainly. Sherlock looked at him questionably. He paused for a moment; as if gathering words to say.

"Well, go on." The detective pressed on. "Perhaps you know already?" the captain countered. "You're London's greatest detective. Why don't you deduce from the facts.

"American. Recently travelled from Cardiff…you're not human. Like me."

"That's where you're wrong, Mr. Holmes-"

"Sherlock." He quipped.

"-I'm very much human; just like you." Sherlock looked at him. Was he missing something? "I am an immortal man, Sherlock Holmes…I have seen many things that you cannot even begin to imagine." They hear the sound of footsteps and turn.

"She was the first of many. Be prepared Sherlock Holmes and Jack Harkness. They're coming." A man looking to be in his late teens said.

"Who are you?" Jack questioned.

Then man began to convulse violently, his speech became impaired and less fluent. A cloud of smoke black dust clouded around him and as soon as it appeared, it vanished into the sky. The boy collapsed on the ground. Jack rushed to his side. Cuts and gashes appeared on the boy; he was bleeding profoundly.

"Call an ambulance." He instructed Sherlock. The detective nodded and pulled out his mobile. "What's your name?" the captain asked calmly. "J-John…" a fit of coughs wracked his frail body, a dab of blood dribbling down the corner of his mouth. "John…Stamney."

"They're on their way." Jack nodded then turned back to questioning the boy. "Do you remember what you told us?" John shook his head. "There was this guy…in a suit."

"His name?" Sherlock queried. John swallowed hard.

"James Moriarty." He heaved another coughing fit and went completely still. Jack looked to Sherlock. "He's dead." He confirmed as he checked for a pulse at the man's wrist. The dark haired detective moved away from the scene. Suddenly, he was overcome with a wave of emotions. A tear fell, and then his lithe body wracked with sobs.

"Sherlock?" Jack questioned, concerned for the man. "Did you know him?" Sherlock shook his head.

"My partner…his name is John…I just…sorry." They heard the approaching sounds of sirens. He felt the warmth of the captain's embrace shroud him with tenderness as the sobs were brought to an end. "I know what it feels like." He responded plainly.

The paramedics did what they could but John Stamney was far from alive, that much they knew. It was then that Sherlock saw Greg's familiar face.

"The bloody hell happened?" he queried, clearly flabbergasted as to seeing Sherlock in the state he was in. The detective opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the captain. "Mr. Holmes is in shock, detective inspector Lestrade, perhaps now is not the best time." Gregory looked at him questionably, then turned to Sherlock, helping him to the nearest ambulance.

"I want to see John. Lestrade, take me home."

"Let the parameds do their procedure, Sherlock." He sighed shakily, nodding solemnly; like a child would. Greg had left him to talk to the other detectives that made themselves present. Jack went up to him with a bottle of water.

"You should drink something it'll help calm your nerves." Sherlock gave him a look.

"You've drugged it. I'm not drinking it."

"How could you tell?" the captain asked, suddenly intrigued. "The bottle is opened. Not that hard to figure out." He stated rather bored.

"You're very clever." Jack said calmly. He dumped the contents on the pavement. In one swift movement, Jack kissed the detective. Sherlock tensed as he felt the velvety soft lips gently touch his. Delicately he pushed away with ease.

"Captain. My partner would not be too pleased." He looked at him coldly. "Mr. Holmes, what is there to tell him if you don't remember?" And then, Captain Jack Harkness walked away. Greg went to Sherlock's side.

"What was that about?" he had asked, rather surprised as to what just happened. "I don't know." Sherlock replied simply.

Then it hit him; a wave of nausea and fatigue that caused him to stumble. "You alright?" Greg asked. The detective nodded. "I think I should be going home, Lestrade, I presume we're done here?"

"Yeah."

Sherlock stood up shakily. He got to the street side and called for a cab. To his fortune, one pulled up. As he got in, he spoke the words "221B Baker Street."

The cabbie drove on.

He was unsure of how long it took to get to the flat but he got out nonetheless. He went up the stairs, slamming the door shut.

"Sherlock? Is that you?" John called from the bedroom.

Sherlock had already passed out on the couch.