'A journal of impossible things'

His name sits at the bottom of the page.

'By Sherlock Holmes.'

Except, there is a line going through the start of it, as if he wasn't sure that was his name. Sherlock scoffs, this is tedious, how would someone not know their own name? He's had it since his birth; it's on his I.D. cards, birth certificate, driver's license, the different insurances that John made him get. It's on everything! Looking closer towards the bottom, Sherlock spots a new name. He brings the book closer in order to read it, it's been crossed out many times and he needs to squint in order to read the word properly but he could definitely see it.

'Lockie.'

Sherlock stares at the name and frowns slightly, only Lestrade calls him Lockie and that was a few years after they'd met. He only says the name as a chance to annoy Sherlock; he knows how much Sherlock despises nicknames like that. But this journal was written long before then; he was sixteen at the time. His parents and Mycroft never called him Lockie. His mother once gave him the nickname of Lock, but not Lockie. It is in his handwriting, so why is the name there? He can't once recall being called Lockie, before he met Lestrade, so why is it written within the book? Sherlock chooses to stop thinking about the name and turns the page over.

In the middle on top of the page is one word.

'Gallifrey.'

Just below this word is a picture of a planet, with lines indicating land, ice and sea. Words were written all around it.

'Old planet. Sparkling silver leaves. Twin suns. Fields of deep red grass. Burnt orange sky. Mountains that would shine. Houses on mountains. Different coloured rocks. The sky was dancing with light.'

The words soon became a sentence, the sentence made into a paragraph and it was almost like a story that was written at the bottom of the page.

'Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterborous, it was also known as the Shining World of the Seven Systems. It was roughly two hundred and fifty million light years away from Earth, but for them it would only take ten minutes. It was an old and ancient planet, featuring a burnt orange sky and twin suns, the leaves were sparkling silver and when a sun would rise to the south it looked as if they were on fire. There were golden field, green forests, and red deserts! The grass would be a deep red in colour, some of it would be capped with snow, and the snow would be a shining white when the sun shone down on it. Meteor showers would occur – blue, green, red, gold, purple, all kinds of colours appearing in the sky, the sky would be dancing with light!'

Sherlock closes the journal, there is more about the planet, but he doesn't want to read it any longer. The use of past tense doesn't go unnoticed by Sherlock, if Gallifrey is real and still around, then that would all be written in present tense, but no, it's written in past tense. It catches his attention, makes him want to read more, but he stops himself. Reading about a planet that clearly doesn't exist is waste of his time and energy.

He used to have a very active imagination as a child; he used to have all kinds of dreams – different planets, different people, different species, different colours, names, shapes, forms, sizes, everything. He stopped at twelve, though. Mycroft told him it wasn't normal, it was freakish, abnormal, something Holmes children did not do. Sherlock did what many little brothers would do; he listened to his older brother and stopped. Well, he tried to. He stopped daydreaming so much, he stopped telling people about the dreams, he tried to block out the dreams. It didn't work too well, the dreams kept coming, but not as much as before. A year later and it was a rare occurrence for Sherlock to have those dreams, his imagination quietened down, and he was able to focus on his education and his experiments. It was childish to have dreams or thoughts like that, and he was a very mature twelve year old! He was above childish things like that. But it wasn't until he was sixteen, when he started writing them down, that they finally stopped.

Sherlock places the journal in his coat pocket, he can look at it later, there's no need to stay in the flat for much longer. Sherlock walks swiftly out of the flat, locking the door, and walks outside and to call for a cab. He finds the journal rather interesting. Why is it so interesting? Why is he finding a journal of childish dreams so fascinating? He knows the answer, but he's not too sure he wants to admit it. It's from his imagination, his mind, his brain. It's a journal with childish dreams; there is no need for him to be so fascinated by it. Yet, he is. The great Sherlock Holmes. The man who finds murders fun and life boring, is fascinated by a child's dreams, his dreams.

His hand finds its way to his phone and he starts to text Lestrade.

'It's a journal. – SH'

'Great deduction, Sherlock. ~ GL'

'It's a journal of childish dreams. – SH'

'Your dreams. ~ GL'

'Why did you tell me about it? – SH'

'I thought you might find it interesting. ~ GL'

'Interesting? It's preposterous. A planet with twin suns and deep red grass? A burnt orange sky and silver leaves looking like fire when the sun rises? Lestrade, it's childish! It isn't interesting in the slightest! – SH'

Sherlock can practically see Lestrade smirking when he reads the reply.

'If you say so, "Lockie". ~GL'

Sherlock puts his phone away, pays the driver and enters 221. A thought hits him as he walks up the seventeen steps. Is the journal connected to the fob watch? Both have been with him for many years, he doesn't understand why he has them, he doesn't understand why he finds both fascinating, and they both contain a mysterious spark around them. He can't explain it. They just do.

He enters the flat and throws the journal onto the couch. That journey was a waste of time, he thinks to himself as he throws his coat and scarf onto his chair.

In Sherlock's bedroom, the fob watch is becoming active. A yellow light is emitting from it, a soft humming sound with it. The books on the shelf are no longer visible as it glows brighter and brighter. Quickly consuming the entire room. If anyone is around, they will think it's talking.

AN: I hope you enjoyed it. Have a nice day :)

~Steffii