"Tardis...?" John questioned uncertainly, raising one brow.
With a nod of his head, Sherlock continued. "Yes, 'tardis.' It stands for Time And Relative Dimension(s) In Space. T-A-R-D-I-S, tardis."
"Well what the bloody hell does that mean?"
"You'd probably call it a time machine or something..." Sherlock said flatly, as if the name had been repeated to him so many times it left a nasty aftertaste anytime he had to say it himself.
"A time machine?"
"Oh, but John, it's so much more!" Sherlock rebutted, his bright eyes going wide as he took his friend by the shoulders, spinning him around and holding him still. Pointing with one hand, Sherlock began rattling off at high speed, "I know it's hard to grasp, but in easy-to-understand terms the TARDIS travels through both time and space simultaneously. I can go back to Neptune seventy three years and three days ago from this point if I so choose. Or other planets I'm sure you've never heard of. Planets in other galaxies and other solar systems."
"But I thought you said you never learned about the solar system!" John butted in.
"Come now, John- Do you really think I could explain everything I knew about time and space in a few sentences?"
When the shorter man didn't respond but with a sigh, Sherlock glanced around at anything he could show off and briefly explain. "This lever here," he pointed to a red one, "is the final step to starting her up!"
"So how exactly... how..." John stuttered, eyes focused on the red lever but paying it no mind. "How does it work? Wouldn't this mess something up?"
"What do you mean?"
"Mm... If you were to save someone's life that had died, couldn't that affect the future?"
Sherlock chuckled dryly, removing his grasp and nodding slowly. "Obviously, John. But a smart deduction nonetheless." He took a few steps, continuing with, "There have been times when I've tried to meddle with the laws of the universe..." he trailed off, eyes and memory becoming distant, faces swirling around in the fog of his mind. "Though I don't exactly believe in fate and that things are how they will always be, I will not hesitate to make the best of history that history can manage to make. It's tricky business, John..."
John scratched the back of his neck with an exasperated expression. "I just... Can I get some air? I'm finding it a little hard to breathe..."
Sherlock let his head fall slightly to the side, raising his brows and mumbling, "I wouldn't advise doing that just yet, John."
"And why not?"
Sherlock averted his eyes and quietly admitted, "Just... Be careful and don't wander off. I'm not quite sure where we are."
The army doctor shook his head and went for the double doors, swinging them inward despite the note saying "push." A gust of chilly night air whooshed in, freezing John mid-step over the threshold with his hand curled around the handle.
Slowly, as if if was truly frozen into a John-sicle, he turned his head to the side and whispered, "Sher... lock...?"
The dark-haired man strode towards the exit, brows furrowing slightly until he too could see outside. "Ah," he concluded somewhat calmly, "Seems we're in Poland."
An eerie whistling crescendoed off in the distance, followed by a faint rumbling explosion, the bomb lighting up the smoky sky with vibrant yellows, oranges, reds, and whites. Besides the light provided from falling air attacks, neither Sherlock or John could see too far in front of them in the pitch black darkness. Screams echoed as if they were trapped inside a glass bowl, reaching the ears of anyone within a few hundred feet.
"Sherlock... I checked the daily paper this morning and there was nothing about Poland under attack. Where are we?" John inquired.
"Mm, wrong question to ask, John," Sherlock tut-tutted, stone-faced. "I believe you mean when are we, and from there I would promptly answer..." he faded away as he trotted off to the large circuit board in the middle of the TARDIS' main room, stooping over a screen. "1939. We've just seen the start of World War Two. The invasion of Warsaw, I'd assume."
"World W-War..." John tried to say the whole thing, but his breath was becoming rather shallow at this point, his face lighting up now at a large house catching fire in the city.
"Army man like yourself shouldn't be too shocked by this," Sherlock noted, watching the fire bloom into a raging wall of heat and light.
"This isn't nearly the same thing, Sherlock..."
"Isn't it...?"
Both kept quiet for a few moments, their hearts racing, until the buzzing of a plane and a high-pitched squeal broke out from absolutely nowhere and came screaming down. John instinctively ducked, shoving Sherlock's shoulder to have him to the same.
"GET DOWN!"
The bomb flew over the heads of the Englishmen and into the woods behind them, an explosion not far behind. The whole room shook, the sheer volume of the explosion making ears ring.
A man's yell could be heard, and Sherlock's eyes went wide. He flung off John's grip and raced outside into the blackness, squinting and trying to see where the voice had come from. Another, different voice yelled out into the night, this time much closer.
"Help! Help us, please!" the voice suddenly cried, now running up to Sherlock and taking him by the shoulders. "Please, help us! Are you a doctor?!"
John sprinted over, seeing the desperation in the man's eyes. "Yes, I am. What's wrong?"
Sherlock watched John's face carefully before adding, "As am I. What can we do?"
The brows on John's forehead scrunched up, but he made no comment so the man in need could explain his situation, speaking as if his own life depended on it. "My children were sprayed with shrapnel from a bomb just a moment ago and you have... My daughter is only four years old and just barely still alive! Please, tell me you ca-"
A shot was fired a good few feet away, the sound of the bullet hitting the man's chest resurrecting John's war memories. Sherlock attempted to catch the man, his chest now dribbling blood down his front, but missed and ended up latching his arms around John in the midst of the dark and the frenzy of the situation as a whole. The body fell to the ground with a muffled thud, sounds of a group of people running towards them, yelling something indiscernible.
"John, we've got to leave. Right now," Sherlock muttered quickly, aiming John back towards the light emanating from the TARDIS.
"But he could still be alive! We can save him!" John protested, squirming against the tight grip.
"No, it's too late. If we don't hurry we'll end up the same."
"Then what of his children?!"
"They're probably already dead by now!"
"Sherlo-"
"NO! Now run!"
The two ran, hearing a final, "HALT!" before slamming the doors behind them. Sherlock skidded over to the control panel and began pushing buttons and pulling levers, the blue column beginning to whir, all the noises combined now deafening. John steadied the doors, one hand on each just in case any of those thugs decided to try and barge in. Another rumble shook the room, wires swinging to and fro from the ceiling as Sherlock shoved one final lever down - the red one - and, before John could turn around, the war noises and whirring of the glowing column simply faded away until the only noises he could hear were his heart pounding in his ears, his short and raspy breaths, and a faint buzzing that came from the mess of wires beneath his feet.
Both stood as they were, held in silence for a few moments, lost in thought with their rush of adrenaline beginning to slow back to a normal level.
"I'm... sorry we couldn't save him, John," Sherlock then mumbled, blinking once and taking a step or two over towards his friend.
John, still staring straight ahead, straightened his back and inhaled deeply. He turned on his heel to face Sherlock, both watching the other's face intently.
He barely parted his lips to utter, "There was no way we could have, I suppose... That's just how war is." With a distant gaze, John whispered, "You can't save anyone."
Goosebumps found their way up the arms of both men despite the warmth the TARDIS generated as silence befell them once more, their thoughts consuming their minds.
