The Doctor hesitated at the door, then knocked four times.
"You're knocking?" Asked John, frowning. The Doctor turned back and shrugged slightly, and knocked again, louder this time. When no-one answered, he sighed, pulling out the psychic paper and holding it up against an ID card reader on the side of the door. A little green light came on with a beep, and the door hissed as it opened. Through the door, the three could clearly see the Torchwood base. Looking around, the Doctor began to wonder whether he was right to bring Sherlock with him. There was no telling what kind of information he could collect down here, but he shrugged it off when he remembered that someone had already died, and more deaths could possibly be on the way.
"Okay, it looks okay for the moment. You two just stay close - Torchwood isn't allowed to hurt British citizens, really - and you," the Doctor turned to face Sherlock, "no looking at anything." Sherlock scoffed in reply, clearly intending to completely ignore him. He was already surveying the room with some interest. It was cram packed with various pieces of alien technology, all neatly organised and packed into crisp, white shelves. There were desks in two lines down the side of the room, each overly tidy, stacks of paper exactly parallel with the edge of the desk, computer screens that lined up perfectly with keyboards. The six desks were identical, all facing away from the door. The Doctor stepped through the doorway. An odd sound began as soon as he took the step, and before anyone could react a yellow laser came from somewhere in room and hit the Doctor square on the chest. He gasped in surprise, stepping back into the corridor before falling to the ground, breathing heavily.
"Just a stun gun." He managed to wheeze. "Medbay… should be somewhere on this floor. Won't attack you, British citizens. I'll be fine." He gasped, before passing out.

Sherlock, wasting no time, immediately stepped through the door and looked around. John was squatting near the Doctor, not really knowing what to do.
"Medbay's this way." Said Sherlock from around the corner.
"A little help, then?" Asked John. Sherlock sighed and grabbed the Doctor's legs, while John grabbed his torso, and together they carried him through the door and around the corner. The medbay consisted of a single bed in the centre of the room, surrounded by benches and cupboards and machinery that John barely recognised. The two put the Doctor down on the bed gently. Sherlock started hunting through the cupboards and benches for medicines. John noticed that one of the machines looked like a heart rate monitor, and began to set it up. Soon the machine was up and running - but the Doctor's heartbeat was wrong. As the machine began to beep, Sherlock stopped what he was doing, looking over to John, checking that he was hearing right. The heartbeat was speeding up, and slowing down, but regularly. Two fast beats, then a pause, then another two beats, then another pause. John bit his lip worriedly, and began to do other checks.
"Sherlock, he's unwell. It's not good. Blood pressure's far too high, and his body temperature's only 15 degrees Celsius, not to mention the heartbeat… Breathing seems to be regular though." Just as he said this, the Doctor took a deep, ragged breath. He sat up, obviously in pain.
"Sherlock," he managed. Sherlock ran over to the bed. "No peeking." The Doctor grabbed Sherlock by the shirt, and pulled him forward suddenly. Their foreheads smashed together, and they both howled in pain, moving their hands up to their heads. Sherlock took a couple of steps backwards, bent over, and the Doctor lent back slightly. Neither moved for a second, then Sherlock groaned again, stumbling backwards, then stayed still. After another second, Sherlock breathed out in a huff, and the Doctor collapsed back into a coma. Sherlock straightened, rubbing his head slightly.
"What the hell was that?" Asked John, frowning.
"I need some supplies." He said, turning and heading straight for the medical cabinets. "Keep an eye on him, will you?"

"Sherlock," he managed. Sherlock ran over to the bed. "No peeking." The Doctor grabbed Sherlock by the shirt, and pulled him forward suddenly. Their foreheads smashed together, and they both howled in pain, moving their hands up to their heads.

Sherlock found himself being pulled forward suddenly, and his head smashed into the Doctor's with considerable force. He knew that he had stepped backwards, his hands flying to his head - but he didn't feel it. He was falling forward, tumbling downwards through blackness. When he realised he wasn't falling anymore, he looked around, only to find he was nowhere. Other people may have thought he was in a room, painted all the one colour, but Sherlock could tell it wasn't - it was like he was standing in a huge field, at night time, but with no stars, no light, the ground indistinguishable from the sky. He turned around, and saw the Doctor standing in front of him, hands in pockets, a few metres away. He didn't know how he could see him. There was no light source, just the blackness, which was really more of a grey, and the Doctor.

"Sorry about that. Not pleasant." Said the Doctor with a slight smile.
"Where am I?" Sherlock asked. He didn't like asking that, because he had no clue.
"I had to bring you down quite far. Normally you wouldn't have to go through the falling thing, but it was the only way, really." He said, ignoring the question. "We've got about 10 minutes or so."
"Where am I?" Repeated Sherlock, starting to get annoyed.
"Still in the medbay, the both of us. Physically at least."
"Physically… is this your mind?" Sherlock asked, making the leap.
"Yes. Well, kind of. Good job, by the way. That was quick." The Doctor said. He was surprised, though he knew he shouldn't be. This was, after all, Sherlock Holmes.
"A bit drab." Sherlock commented, looking around at the nothing.
"What did you expect? That I'd give you free reign through my memories?" The Doctor said, taken aback. "Anyway, the point is, I'm going to tell you how to help me." Sherlock sighed.
"Not too long. John will be waiting."
"Ah, but that's the clever bit." Said the Doctor with a smile. "So far, this has taken… oh, I dunno, three milliseconds?" Sherlock's eyes widened. "I brought you down very far. See, you're pretty clever, which is lucky, otherwise we'd be further up and we'd have a quarter of the time. The deeper into your subconscious you go - which is what happens when you dream, and this is technically just a telepathic dream - the faster your brain processes information, therefore, the slower time seems to pass. I said this was my mind, but it's not, really. It's an in-between place, a bit of both of ours. Mainly mine."
"So why have you done this?" Sherlock asked.
"Ever since I passed out, I've been storing up energy. Five minutes gives me about 3 seconds of consciousness, which isn't enough time to tell you anything. And if I was out for too long, Torchwood may come back. Which wouldn't be good, as you may imagine. So, telepathic information share it is." The Doctor was oddly serious, despite the un-seriousness of his words, like he didn't really like Sherlock being so close to his mind.
"Yes. Information share." The Doctor repeated, smiling at Sherlock's silence. "But what I want you to do is fairly complex, and takes more than 10 minutes to explain. So, I'm going to put it straight into your head. Ready?" Asked the Doctor.
"Straight in?" Sherlock repeated.
"Yep. Like copy-pasting a word document, rather than typing it out. Hold on." Sherlock felt something odd in his mind, like a whisper of wind. "Ready?" Asked the Doctor, but his voice came from both his mouth and inside Sherlock's head. Sherlock took a deep breath.
"Yes."
The memories came fast, flying past, and Sherlock stumbled backwards from the shock, and felt his physical body do the same. If the Doctor hadn't explained what he was doing, he would've thought that the Doctor was just explaining to him normally, but then someone had pressed the 'fast-forward' button on his life. After it was over, Sherlock examined his new memories. It was impossible for him to tell the difference between these and his real ones.
"Incredible." Said Sherlock. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that you just spent 10 minutes explaining that, and we've been down here almost 20."
"That was the idea. Now, you'll be going soon. Don't worry about me, I can manage to keep my body systems normal, I think."
"Then you've got some work to do." Said Sherlock. "Blood pressure's too high, your body temperature's only 15 degrees and your heartbeat's not right." He said, but there was something in his eyes that made the Doctor smile.
"Right. No drugs, either, please."
"Allergies?" Asked Sherlock slyly, like he was expecting something else.
"Actually, yeah. Off you go."

Sherlock suddenly found himself leaning over, clutching his head. He let out a breath of air he hadn't realised he was holding, then heard a small thump as the Doctor lapsed back into unconsciousness. He straightened up, brushing down his jacket. He was once again surrounded by the clean, white medbay.
"What the hell was that?" Asked John, taking a step toward him.
"I need some supplies." Said Sherlock, effectively ignoring him. He headed straight to the cupboards and began looking through them. "Keep an eye on him, would you?"

Hey. Next chapter. Even though I really should be studying for the two tests I have Monday and finishing off my English work.
Thanks again to DrippingPen, who I can't PM to say thanks because s/he doesn't have an account. You were complaining about a cliffhanger? Imagine if I had've lumped the first paragraph in with that last chapter. Oh, some people may have murdered me. :D
I know it's a bit shorter than the other two chapters, sorry.

And thankyou to EVERYONE who has alerted or favourited this story. :D :D

Anyway, review as always. I like reviews. Reviews make me happy. :)