AN:
Just a quick note before you read this, please note that the aliens described in this chapter are entirely of our own invention, so don't think that you've missed a weird episode or something. XD The rest of course all belongs to the BBC and Moffat and Gatiss etc.
3. The Doctor in Baker Street
'What is it?' Sherlock asked. 'Molly told me they were frozen from the inside out, but... How is that possible? Doctor?'
'They did not die of hypothermia; they froze, they literally froze, from the inside out, like Molly told you.' The Doctor looked serious, picking up readings from his sonic screwdriver.
'But how?' Rose asked. 'How was it done?'
'It's like they injected liquid nitrogen in their bodies,' John mused. 'But that isn't possible. Who – or what – did it, then?'
'It's an extremely aggressive and hateful species,' the Doctor said. 'They are called the Koel. They come from a planet of ice, planet of severe cold temperatures. That being said, it's not like them to suddenly attack random humans.'
'How were they killed?' Sherlock asked, interested. The Doctor studied the bodies a bit longer before answering. 'The Koel have extendable fangs,' he said with a humourless laugh. 'A bit like vampires they are, really. They bite down on a preferable vein in any body – human or alien – and inject a substance that immediately spreads to the major organs, numbing everything. The blood isn't warm and circulated enough and it begins to clot. It's a painful death. Poor chaps.'
Sherlock was fascinated and stepped forward. 'If they'd bitten in the neck, I'd have seen it at the crime scene,' he said. 'I'd have noticed. Then where did they bite?'
'They prefer the inside of the elbows or wrists,' the Doctor supplied. 'Sometimes even at the back of the knee or, if their hatred is deep, directly above the heart.'
Sherlock took out his little magnifying glass, and he saw the Doctor stare at it rather disappointedly.
'What?'
'Oh, just... the magnifying glass,' the Doctor said, pointing at the tiny thing. 'Thought it'd be a little bit bigger.' Rose sniggered.
'Practicality, Doctor,' Sherlock said, waving with the little object. 'These pockets aren't bigger on the inside.'
And with those wise words, he set to work, determining the place where the mysterious substance had entered the bloodstream.
'What is it called? The substance?' John asked when Sherlock found the first bite marks.
'It's called the Ice,' the Doctor said. 'In their language of course, but the waves of the TARDIS convert all languages to one you can understand. It sort of translates.'
'Is this Ice their only way of attack?' John queried next.
'I've only seen them once in over a century,' the Doctor murmured. 'They could temporarily numb their victims with the Ice, coming from other places than their teeth; their very pores. It's very quick and they don't need much else to defend themselves.'
It was quiet for a while and Sherlock found the bite mark on the other body. He muttered a few unintelligible words to himself and joined the Doctor, John and Rose again.
'Bite marks. Alien bite marks, and Ice. This is going to be interesting... Anything to add, Doctor?'
The Doctor looked delighted and smiled, revealing his teeth. 'Oh, yes. Lots. But this is not the place to discuss it... Shall we get back to the TARDIS, or...?'
'Let's go to our flat,' John said, the idea suddenly occurring to him. 'I don't know about you, Sherlock but I need to have a little rest now instead of being in a space that can't be possible according to basic laws of physics.'
Sherlock nodded and shrugged. 'Doctor, can you take us there? I don't think it's safe to leave the TARDIS here and hop off on a cab with the four of us.'
'Of course!' the Doctor said in his ever so jubilant voice. 'It will only take a second, John.'
John grumbled under his breath but by then the Doctor and Sherlock had already turned to the door, a whirlwind of grey and brown coats. Rose went to walk beside him again, her hands in her pockets as a comfortable silence fell between them. As always, John didn't break it; he was a man who appreciated his rest. Rose was a young, twenty year-old girl though, full of energy, especially after travelling with the Doctor. So it didn't take long for her to start talking, knowing that if she didn't do it before they got to the TARDIS, finding time to talk alone with John would be difficult.
'I talked to Sherlock earlier today,' she said.
'And that is any of my concern?' John asked, secretly curious.
'Well, I just figured you might want to know about the things he does,' she said lightly, keeping the air of a nonchalant conversation. 'You seem quite possessive of him.'
'I thought he was possessive of me,' John said, bewildered.
'Come on, have you seen the way you look at him?' Rose said, a grin around her lips. 'When he's off doing something without you, you look after him and you seem... concerned.'
'Well, I've got to keep an eye on him,' John said defiantly. 'You don't know half the stuff he gets up to. Once I actually had to tackle him to save him from his own acid exploding in the kitchen. Oh, and not to mention all the times he went off to find criminals unarmed.' He chuckled fondly. 'Oh, I do never get bored of that man.'
Rose raised an eyebrow. 'No?' she said slowly. 'I can imagine...'
John looked at her. 'What's that supposed to mean?' he asked, but they had reached the TARDIS and Rose only smiled enigmatically, following the Doctor in.
'So!' the Doctor said, spinning around. '221B Baker Street it is, then?'
'How do you know where we live?' Sherlock asked, suspicious. 'Have you read John's blog?'
'John's got a blog?' the Doctor said, sheer wonder on his face. 'That is amazing! I just thought – memoirs would get a bit old, anyway. A blog,' he muttered under his breath.
'How do you know where we live, then?' John asked.
'Oh, everybody knows where Sherlock Holmes and John Watson live!' the Doctor exclaimed. '221B Baker Street, most famous address in the universe.'
'What – universe? Doctor, is there something you're not telling us?'
The Doctor, who looked like his delightful expression was frozen on his face, as if he'd realised he said a bit too much, smiled quickly and set the TARDIS to work again. 'Baker Street it is,' he said and he deliberately gave his spaceship an extra shake to distract the crime solving duo from his slipup.
John was prepared for it this time, but Sherlock was still looking at the Doctor, suspicion crossing his face. He felt the metal floor of the TARDIS jerk a little beneath his feet and he fell against John, who put an arm around him to steady him.
'You all right?' he asked, trying not to pay attention to his increasing heart rate caused by the lovely dark curls in his neck.
'Fine,' Sherlock muttered in a husky voice, scrambling away from his friend. 'Uhm... Thank you.'
'No problem,' John said breathlessly. He pointedly did not look at Rose, who had her arms crossed in front of her chest and a knowing smirk on her face, shaking her head. 'Shall we go, then?'
And John led the way, Sherlock behind him, their new friends following them. As he opened the lock to their flat, he could feel the warmth of the tall detective behind him; he could practically feel his body radiating heat, he could almost feel his breath on his skin, he could envision him putting his long, graceful arms around him, his dark coat falling around John...
'John?' Sherlock asked, a worried undertone in his voice. 'Is there something wrong?'
'No,' John answered, finally opening the door, trying to hide his beetroot head. He stepped inside and quickly dashed for the stairs, storing this disturbing image of him and his flatmate in the back if his mind. He'd worry about it later; now, with the murders going on, was not the time.
'Nice,' the Doctor said as he stepped into the messy sitting room of 221B. He eyed the yellow smiley on the wall with a snigger and dragged his eyes across the desk, coated with papers and the two laptops of the boys, Sherlock's leather chair and John's red armchair, facing a fireplace with a white mantelpiece, a skull on top of it. 'A skull,' the Doctor said, fascinated as he walked up to it. He held it between his long fingers with a delicacy that Sherlock appreciated.
'Friend of mine,' Sherlock said.
'And when he says "friend"...' John added knowingly, stumbling around the kitchen cupboards for tea cups without a severed finger in them.
'And this is where you live,' Rose stated, looking around the place whilst nodding. 'I like it. So different from my mother's flat, though. But then, she never really was the type for skulls.'
John chuckled and filled the cups with the hot water he'd just boiled, popped them on a tray along with some teabags, sugar and milk and placed it on the kitchen table. He sat down on one of the chairs, soon followed by the others. Sherlock said beside him while Rose and the Doctor sat opposite him, each reaching for a tea cup and a teabag.
They all prepared their tea in silence and when they were contentedly sipping it, Sherlock broke the silence, his low voice ripping through the silence of the flat.
'Doctor,' he began. 'I understand you have got some vital information concerning the Koel. Do please tell us; if we are to encounter them, which is certain, we must know how to recognise their movements and protect ourselves.'
'Right,' the Doctor said, straightening on his chair. 'The Koel is a species of alien that live on the planet of Vrysser. It is extremely cold there; the star it orbits is small and far away from it. The Koel have adapted to the severe cold temperatures, developing a thick skin and a protective layer underneath.'
'What does it look like?' John interjected. 'I'd like to prepare myself for an encounter with them, if you're so certain we're going to have it.'
'It's difficult to describe,' the Doctor said. 'Like quite a lot of aliens, they are human-like; the anatomy of the body definitely looks human – or Time Lord, since we came first. They walk on two legs and have two arms, but their skin is an icy white, coated with tiny little scales the size and shape of snow stars. It actually looks quite beautiful. Then you look at the face. The scales continue, but their eyes are black, and not just the irises and the pupils, the whole eyeball is black. Their lips are white, pulled over their fangs. All of them have black hair, coal black and straight. I've met them a few times, but the last time was so long ago they might already have evolved into something more; the Koel tend to do that, it doesn't take as long as with humans. I doubt it though, but you have to be prepared.'
Sherlock was nodding and John was staring. The longer they listened, the more ridiculous it seemed, but for some reason they believed the Doctor and were actually quite curious to meet the so dangerous aliens.
'But there is something I don't understand,' the Doctor said. 'The Koel are naturally angry creatures, resentful to any other species than that of themselves. And while they will kill without doubt, they'd rather avoid a fight and retreat to their own planet instead. They are quite harmonious creatures, beautiful to watch, but only with their own kind.'
'And the thing you don't understand is, why did they kill two perfectly ordinary and innocent humans for no reason?' Rose asked, playing with her cup.
'Exactly,' the Doctor and Sherlock said at the same time. They looked at each other, surprised, and then the Doctor continued. 'They wouldn't just get on their ship, fly all those light-years to earth to kill two strangers and go back again; they like to keep out of trouble, unless they have to fight – The Last Great Time War was one of those occasions. They sided with the Time Lords, but when their loss was too great, they turned on us and fled, closing themselves off from the universe even more than they had before.'
'So either this was necessary,' Sherlock said. 'Or...'
'Or they were blackmailed by someone. The only way to find out is to visit them,' the Doctor concluded.
John was shocked. 'But –' he spluttered, pouring himself another cup of tea to cope (he was English after all), 'but... I thought that planet was ice cold,' he finished lamely.
'We can dress warm,' the Doctor said. 'I've got two hearts, plenty to keep myself warm, though you can wear a thick coat to protect yourselves from frostbite. Seems like you've got one big enough,' he said, pointing to Sherlock's coat on the peg next to the door. 'No worries, John, the TARDIS has an extended wardrobe for any occasion and known planet.'
'Okay,' John sighed, defeated. 'When will we go?'
Before the Doctor could answer there was a loud grumble from Sherlock as he pushed back his chair, standing up in a flash. 'Not now,' he muttered angrily. He walked towards the door but before he could lock it, it swung open to reveal a tall man – a little taller than Sherlock, Rose noticed – in a fine, three-piece suit, with light, sparkling eyes that reminded Rose and the Doctor of Sherlock's, a hooked nose, a permanent scowl on his face and a plain, black umbrella by his side.
'Mycroft,' Sherlock growled. 'What are you doing here?'
'I came to verify your safety, Sherlock. It has come to my attention that you and John were seen in the presence of a very dangerous man... going under the codename of "the Doctor"...' his voice trailed off as he saw the young-looking man and his companion at the dinner table, waving goofily. Eyes sparkling with rage, Mycroft turned to his younger brother again.
'Sherlock, what in the devil's name is going on?!'
'You tell me,' Sherlock said daringly, tilting up his chin so he could look his older brother in the eye.
'This man is dangerous!' Mycroft almost yelled. 'He is seen in different points of London, of the whole world in fact, with no means of transportation or identification...'
'And why should he be dangerous, then? I've met drug dealers before, Mycroft; I hate to remind you.'
'And in different points of time,' Mycroft finished with clenched teeth. 'There are pictures of this man from one hundred years back and he has not changed at all. There are references to him in books, there are paintings, there are obvious signs that this man...'
'Is a time traveller,' Sherlock finished his sentence, though not exactly as Mycroft had intended to.
'I beg your pardon?' he said softly as he looked his younger brother in the eyes. There was nothing but truth there, and of course a little bit of the usual sarcasm he had towards his brother, but Mycroft knew that he meant what he had said. He didn't believe it quite yet, though.
'Oh, come on, Sherlock! Time travelling, now? Another of your experiments?' he snorted.
Sherlock just rolled his eyes and waved his arm towards his new friend. 'Ask him yourself, brother.'
Mycroft turned to the Doctor and passed his eyes over him, pulling up his upper lip in a sneer. 'Mycroft Holmes,' he said as he extended his arm.
'I'm the Doctor,' the Doctor said, taking Mycroft's hand and shaking it firmly. 'Thought you'd be a little bit fatter, though.'
'Excuse me?' Mycroft said, flushing an angry red. John laughed silently and Sherlock chuckled. 'You have heard about me, then?' he asked next, looking at Sherlock with confusion and accusation.
'Oh, yeah,' the Doctor said. 'But not from him. Who wouldn't know Mycroft Holmes?'
Mycroft frowned. 'Everyone. My position in the British government is very discreet. Not anyone would know my name, Doctor.'
'Good thing I'm not "anyone", then,' the Doctor avoided the question. 'What Sherlock told you is true; I am a time traveller, and this is my companion, Rose Tyler. Surely you must have seen a blue Police Public Call Box from the 1950's around London on that CCTV footage of yours?'
'Indeed I have,' Mycroft said, refusing to let his eloquence abandon him.
'Well, that is my spaceship.'
'Your –?' Mycroft stuttered, failing miserably. 'I won't have this nonsense!' he suddenly shouted. 'Sherlock, is this some kind of practical joke?'
'Honestly, Mycroft – do you think I'd lower myself to such stupid and childish a thing as a practical joke?'
John watched the two brothers and the Doctor with amusement, the tray with the tea in his hands. He brought it to the counter and washed the cups in the sink, tutting to himself. Sherlock and Mycroft, it was always the same; they always had to bicker, they always had to be right. But, John said to himself, this time Mycroft had a point. If John hadn't walked into the TARDIS first to see the huge place inside of that box, he wouldn't have thought it possible either.
'Mycroft, we could show you but since the two victims I inspected this morning are killed by aliens, we don't have much time. And I'm not bringing you along to that planet; you'd only be a holdup.'
'He's not invited,' the Doctor said with a smile. 'Mr Holmes,' he said to Mycroft. 'There is another way to show you; you don't have to go into my TARDIS for it, I only need to touch your forehead.'
'And what good will that do?' Mycroft asked incredulously.
'I can transfer some of my memories to your mind,' the Doctor said, and Mycroft suddenly noticed how old the brown eyes staring at him were. Without remembering to give in, he nodded and felt the gentle fingertips of the alien touch his scalp, but he felt so much more; there was an energy, gliding over the fingers and into his mind. Mycroft closed his eyes and experienced the memories of the Time Lord. He saw horrible things; he saw strange creatures, he saw robots, he saw destruction and mayhem, but he also saw good things; he saw some of the Doctor's companions, he saw love and happiness, he saw the world rebuilding itself as if nothing had happened. Unwillingly, Mycroft gasped, standing back from the Doctor, who looked at him with one eyebrow arched up in an almost impossible way.
'Yes?' he said in a quiet whisper.
Mycroft was an intelligent man; he knew when the things he was told were the truth and he certainly knew when the things he was shown were the truth. He had no explanation for them whatsoever but he believed them, he believed the Doctor (even though it meant letting Sherlock win a discussion).
'Yes,' he said, back in a steady voice. Sherlock eyed them from a few feet back, obviously frustrated about the fact that the Doctor hadn't shown him any of those memories; Sherlock had to know everything.
Mycroft turned to him and whispered, 'You don't want to know.'
And for the first time since John had met Mycroft, he saw a crack in his cold demeanour. Mycroft looked at his brother with determined honesty and it left John wondering what the Doctor had been through in the nine hundred years he had lived. And Sherlock nodded; it was a tiny nod, which was invisible to the people who didn't know Sherlock well. But John saw it, and Mycroft did too, and even the Doctor might have noticed an understanding between them, but luckily he ignored it and grinned.
'You might be of use to us, Mycroft Holmes,' he said. 'You being the British government and all.'
'I will keep an eye out,' the man promised, swirling his umbrella. 'Is there any way I can contact you whilst on a different planet?'
'Oh, yeah! I meant to do this earlier. Sherlock, John, hand me your phones.'
John and Sherlock complied, Sherlock throwing it carelessly and John handing it to Rose, who was closer to him. The Doctor got two battery-like things out of his pocket, removed the backs of their phones and slid it in, pressing a few buttons and closing it again. He handed the phones back and Sherlock inspected his immediately.
'What've you done?' he asked curiously.
'Thanks to me, you always have a signal. And you can call back in time, and across the universe. Handy little Time Lord thing, this.'
'Seriously?' John asked. He nodded and grinned. 'Now that's technology.'
'Like you care about technology, John,' Sherlock sniggered.
John shrugged. 'Just saying it like it is. Problem?'
'None at all. Unless of course you say it wrong.'
'Oh, shut up, you,' John said with a grin, realising somewhere in the back of his mind that he was practically flirting with Sherlock Holmes. If Sherlock was going to play this game then so was he.
'Well, I think my business here in concluded,' Mycroft said, bouncing on the balls of his feet, leaning heavily on his umbrella. 'I better get going... And Sherlock? Do keep me up to date about your... adventures.'
Mycroft walked out the door, the eyes of the four people fixed on his back. They heard the door slam downstairs and when Sherlock walked over to the window he saw the sleek, shining black car drive around the corner.
'Funny bloke,' the Doctor said lightly, as if he hadn't just shown "the funny bloke" his entire life story. 'If any more murders happen, though, he can contact us. At least that's something.'
'Hmpff...' Sherlock huffed. He hated to admit it, but Mycroft was a valuable asset when it came to keeping an eye out.
'So...' the Doctor said. 'Shall we go now? Unless of course you want to make a few final arrangements...'
'Now that you mention it,' Sherlock muttered as he got out his mobile phone. 'I need to call Lestrade –'
'The Detective Inspector?' Rose piped up.
Sherlock shot her a wary look. 'Yes...' he said slowly. 'What about him?'
'Nothing,' Rose said quickly. 'It's just that I saw his name in the papers...'
Sherlock knew that she was lying but let it go, planning to worry about it later. 'I need to call him,' he continued. 'He's in the investigation, probably following non-existent leads. I should tell him that we're on it and he doesn't need to waste his time.
'Oh, by the way,' the Doctor said, 'if you have to talk to him, why don't we just go to Scotland Yard? I want to study the case files; I haven't seen the crime scene, you see.'
'Alright, then,' Sherlock said, a bit nonplussed as he realised he hadn't gone to the Yard yet to obtain the files himself; the Doctor and the sound of his TARDIS had distracted him. 'I'm sorry, John; it seems the TARDIS awaits us again.'
They materialised in a forlorn alley about a minute of walking from Scotland Yard. The Doctor stuck his head out the blue box first out of habit, looking around to see if they'd been noticed.
Sherlock led the way to Lestrade's office. He walked with a certain arrogance, chin held up high as he turned the collar of his long coat up, John walking beside him determinedly. They were stared at; usually, Sherlock and John attracted enough attention for themselves, but now there was another man behind them, wearing an old-looking brown duster – another coat – and a young girl beside him. They looked a bit like Sherlock Holmes and John Watson from another universe.
'Oh, look,' a sneering voice came from behind them. 'How nice, they're giving us a freak show –!'
Anderson's face went a bright red as his vocal cords refused to produce any sound. Sherlock looked at the Doctor, astounded; he had his finger over his pursed lips, shushing a deep 'Shhh...'
'You've got to teach me how to do that,' Sherlock said.
'You wouldn't be able to,' the Doctor said. 'And besides, it only works once in the lifetime of a living creature with underdeveloped brains.'
Sherlock sniggered. 'Thanks for the new insult, Doctor. "Lowering the IQ of the whole street" was getting old anyway.'
'Pleasure,' the Doctor grinned. 'Now, where is DI Lestrade?'
'Over here,' Sherlock pointed out.
Lestrade jumped up as his door flung open. 'Sherlock!' he bellowed. 'I locked that door for a reason! I'm up to my ears in paperwork and that bloody case... You haven't come to bring me news, have you?' he asked, suddenly sounding hopeful.
'I didn't open the door, the Doctor did,' Sherlock said, waving his hand towards his friend, who smiled and twirled a silvery stick in his hand. 'And no, I haven't got news on the case. I came to fetch the files and to tell you that you can stop trying to solve it. We're on it.'
'And with "we" you mean...?' Lestrade asked, searching for the key of his case-file cabinet. 'That drawer,' he said. 'But I can't find the bloody key...'
'I've got it,' the Doctor said. He pointed his stick at the drawer, lighting the end a bright blue. He opened the drawer before the eyes of a dumbstruck Lestrade.
'Lestrade, this is the Doctor,' Sherlock said. 'He and his companion Rose will try to solve the case with us; we need them. Something fishy is going on and we'll need their expertise.'
'You need someone else's expertise?' Lestrade sniggered sarcastically. 'And why is that?'
'It's not safe to tell you,' the Doctor chipped in. 'Perhaps once, you will know.'
DI Greg Lestrade frowned but returned to his paperwork grudgingly. 'Anything else?' he grumbled.
'Yes,' the Doctor said. 'If any of your men see a blue police box make a noise and disappear, ignore it.'
'O...kay,' Lestrade said, nodding. 'I take it you're not going to explain?'
'You guessed it.'
'Or why you're just called, "the Doctor"?'
Sherlock just smiled.
'Right,' Lestrade said again. 'You're on the case, ignore blue box...'
'And contact us or Mycroft if more bodies are found – or if suspicious things happen.'
They found themselves back in 221B (after quite the bumpy ride in the TARDIS) not long after that. The TARDIS had materialised on the same corner it had first appeared only hours earlier. The Doctor and Rose seemed very eager to leave, but Sherlock and, mostly John, had insisted they'd go home before leaving Earth behind for 'God knows how long! And Sherlock, what if we die on a different planet and our bodies are never found. And Jesus, Jesus, should we even be doing this?'
But, after pacing through the room for a while, John had finally sat down in the chair across Sherlock's and decided he was even looking forward to things to come.
Sherlock shot John an annoyed look that practically said; 'are we sure we're going to travel with him.' He nodded towards the Doctor who, apparently, wasn't capable of sitting still. Or keeping his mouth shut, in fact. He was sitting on the couch, next to Rose, and had been drumming his knees for quite a while now. He kept moving his head around, too. Then to the left, then to the right, towards the ceiling and the floor as if he wanted to inspect every inch of the room. While doing so, he kept chatting about things that made no sense to Sherlock at all. 'Remember, Rose, when I showed you the City of New New York? The tall buildings, the smell of apple-grass…'
'Cassandra and people infected with all possible diseases running after us, trying to kill us. Oh yeah, how could I forget!' Rose laughed.
'Yeah, exactly. Exactly! Ah but, the planet of the Koel…' he whispered.
'Yeah?' she asked expectantly.
'Well, it's nothing like that,' he said, tilting his head to the left and crunching up his face in his quirky way again. But then, all of a sudden, his expression changed from cheerful, to a very serious look. He frowned and looked at Rose with penetrating eyes. 'In fact,' he whispered, 'It's unlike anything you've ever seen. And it's going to be dangerous. It's going to be oh-so dangerous…'
Rose's eyes widened and for a brief second she looked afraid, then that big, by now familiar, grin reappeared on her face and she said; 'Great! Looking forward to it.'
She burst out laughing (as did the Doctor) and rested her forehead on his shoulder, chuckling uncontrollably.
John, turning to face Sherlock again, shrugged and smiled. Somehow John couldn't wait to leave, however dangerous their adventures could become. He simply couldn't wait to tell stories just like the Doctor's. However, he knew he wouldn't be allowed to talk about aliens, or the future, to anyone. He had to keep everything he'd see with the Doctor a secret, to practically every other human being he knew. Except for Sherlock, of course.
John smiled when he thought of the days that would follow after their adventures. How they would be the only ones to know and how they could talk about what they'd seen while travelling with the Doctor… But either way, whatever had worried John only minutes ago, all his doubts had disappeared and he decided, he was ready to leave.
And so was the Doctor. Apparently he had done enough sitting for the day, so he got up and said, 'Well, better get your stuff. Stuff. I like that word. Stuff. Anyway, better get your stuff and then we're off. Allons-y!'
He took Rose's hand in his and sprinted towards the door, pulling her along. Just before he vanished down the stairs he called another, 'Go on. Hurry up!'
Without saying anything to Sherlock, John started rushing through the room. Picking up pieces of paper, throwing them on the ground and picking them up again. He ran upstairs, then to come back downstairs empty-handed. He shook his head and sighed, 'What do we pack?'
It was only then that he realised that Sherlock hadn't moved an inch. He was just sitting there, in his chair, staring at John as if he wasn't planning on going anywhere any time soon. Let alone travelling to a whole different planet. And then John saw it.
It hardly ever happened that Sherlock's emotions were readable on his face and even this time all John got was a teeny tiny glimpse. A glimpse of sadness and worry in his eyes and instantly John knew something was off. 'What's wrong?'
'Nothing. Nothing, really. I just –' he sighed and shrugged, then slowly got up from his chair. He stood completely still in the middle of the room, just for a while, and stared at his feet. Then his gaze went up and he looked at John. Whatever emotions had been readable on his face, they'd gone and, a bit dazed, he said, 'John…'
'Hm?'
'Promise me we'll make it out of this alive.'
John smiled when realisation hit him. 'Of course we will! No need to be scared. You'll be just fine, you're brilliant enough, anyway.' But to his amazement the consulting detective shook his head. 'I know I'll be fine. I just want…' he drew in a deep breath. 'I just want you to be safe too.'
John grinned. 'Don't worry. I will be.' He was surprised to find that Sherlock cared so much about him that he seriously went as far as saying it. John had to admit, he really did appreciate it.
Sherlock coughed, interrupting John's thoughts. 'So,' he said, 'What do we pack?'
We just had to bring Mycroft in. He's just too much fun to write. Okay, so we're sorry this updating isn't going all too regularly as we're studying for our testweek as we speak, and this is even ahead of our planning but we wanted to keep our readers happy. Anyway, do enjoy and we'd love to hear from you! X
