AN: Sorry I'm a few days late. Am I the only one who gets like, a bazillion fanfic story ideas and starts a bunch of them at once? Then you're trying to write and update them all at once and it is ridiculously impossible.

No? Just me?

Alright then.

Chapter Five

Poke It With a Stick?

I blinked, attempting to make sense of my situation, but my thoughts felt jumbled and I couldn't string words together. There were still arms around me, hands dancing over my coat. On reflex I shoved the hands away and realized I was standing up. Stumbling, I scraped my hands on the concrete beneath my feet.

Everything felt strange, like I wasn't quite there, in two places at once. My stomach heaved and I just managed to keep Mrs. Hudson's meal within me.

"Hey, are you alright?" the male voice spoke, concern laced in between the words.

Attempting to nod, I pushed him away again and ground my hands into the floor. Or was that a wall? My sense of direction was so out of whack, I didn't have the slightest clue.

As it was, I lay gasping like a fish, hoping that I didn't know the person currently placing me in a sitting position.

Suddenly, like popping elastic, the world zoomed into focus. I exhaled heavily.

I was drugged somehow.

Or this is a dream.

Or I've been kidnapped.

Drugged. Has to be it.

I gasped, forcing my eyes open. The light seared my retinas, but as I looked, it slowly faded. Soon I could hear normally and distinguish the blurry form of a man. My mind scrambled for an explanation and I tried to jump to my feet. However, a pounding headache set behind my eyes and I fell against the wall once more. Jeez. My eyes felt like they were on fire! Blinking away the pain, I focused on my surroundings and the pain faded. Some sort of... bookshop? I was currently leaning against a plaster wall. Hideous wallpaper covered the walls around the room, and in turn was written over with graffiti. Bookshelves tilted drunkenly,, and books were strewn across the cracked concrete, their pages flipping lazily. What?

How did I get here?

"You mister, have a heck of a lot of explaining to do," Stated the voice, masculine and young. "Co-ordinance into a parallel universe, Oo you're clever. Even I'm not sure how you managed that." There was a resigned sigh, "I'm stuck in this world until the TARDIS decides to cooperate- she doesn't like traveling parallel- but I suppose I can hang around for a bit…"

At that moment all of my attention focused on the man in front of me. He had an electric charge about him, like he'd just guzzled six cups of coffee. Immediately I knew he was the sort of person people looked up to.. Of course, the man was unaware of this charge, which just added to his gravity. He couldn't have been older than myself, but he wore the attire of someone in their sixties. My mind began deductions immediately.

Bow-tie and suspenders, odd choice.

Not too tall, but carries himself with confidence. Brave.

Brow furrowed slightly- confusion, awe, possibly both.

Recognizes me. How?

Never met him.

Something odd about his shoes...

I blinked and ended the stream of information. There was a sense of wrongness about him along with that magnetism, but I couldn't quite place it. Somehow I knew he didn't belong. Not here, not anywhere. He was the personification of displacement. But why? "Your shoes," I murmured.

The man coughed, "What?" He trying to touch me again, but I pushed him away. He reached into his pocket and then sighed sardonically, "This is brilliant. Now my screwdriver is with that balding idiot of a human." he looked at me like it was my fault. "Why did I listen to you anyways?" he thought for a moment, "Oh yes! displacement of time and all that jazz." He rolled his eyes dismissively and glanced back at me.

"The soles of your shoes are worn," I muttered, ignoring his grumblings.

The man blinked, "Um, yeah… What does-"

"You must travel- constantly in motion. However, your clothes are totally clean, even though you've not changed out of them for quite a while." I frowned, more certain of the man's wrongness as I spoke.

The man bit his lip, and ran his hand through his hair,, "Look, I did what you told me to do, now I expect you to give me some answers."

I was silent, which the man apparently took as compliance.

"Good. Are you hurt?"

I ignored the question, asking one of my own. Now that I'd mostly recovered, confusion and panic boiled just beneath my skin. "How did I get here?"

Quickly, I struggled to my feet. The room tilted slightly, but I didn't fall.

The man gave me a look, "Tell me you're joking."

"I don't... joke."

Biting his lip again, the man ran a hand through floppy hair, "I was sort of counting on your knowledge of teleportation without a Vortex Manipulator or anything."

I blinked. What the heck was he talking about? Who was this man? If I was kidnapped, then he clearly wasn't the kidnapper. I could see that much. Was he taken also?

Then I remembered the events leading up to this moment and gulped. I remembered falling, waking up in a morgue, my impossible weight and the appearance of my blood. Unless this was all an insane dream or a crappy afterlife, which in my experiences was slightly probably, then this wasn't much stranger than the rest of my day.

"What are you talking about?" I coughed. My mouth felt like was full of sand. Taking a deep breath, I attempted to calm myself. "Look, you seem to know who I am, but I'm afraid I am at a disadvantage. Who are you?"

The man chuckled without humor, "Oh that's just beautiful." Shaking his head, he turned toward a large blue box that sat in the corner of the room. I wondered how I missed such a large item. "I try to find him again and you take me to a younger version that has no idea who I am or what a bloody teleport is!"

Suddenly the man froze. He was silent for a moment and the quickly swiveled around. "On second thought," the man murmured with a stumped look, "If you don't know what a teleport is, then how on Gallifrey are you doing it?" He paused, seeming to think, "Perhaps it's an unconscious thing- or something you've never experienced before…" He smiled.

I blinked, still not comprehending. I'm usually rather brilliant at getting a hand on a situation, but right now I was totally lost. Cut me some slack. I did just come back to life and then… teleport? As if...

This was getting a bit ridiculous.

"Maybe this isn't such a bad thing." the man murmured, "Maybe this is how it's suppose to be. The first time I met you, you knew me. Now I know you , but you've never met me. Falling stars, that's a mouthful…" He walked, or rather bounded toward me and extended a pale hand. "Hello, I'm the Doctor."

I frowned. "That's rubbish," I stated.

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully, rubbing a square chin, "It is a bit, isn't it? But that's alright. I'm a bit rubbish too." The Doctor replied, "Now. Enough about me. Who are you?"

I opened my mouth and then closed it again. "I thought you already knew me," I answered sarcastically. The man was either insane, or had mistaken me for someone else. I was leaning toward the insane side.

"Ah, yes." the Doctor tried to explain, scratching his chin, "I mean, I talked to you, but you weren't exactly forthcoming." He laughed nervously. "You were… or will be in a bit of a hurry."

Suddenly I was aware of my exhaustion. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? I gave a short laugh, "I'm Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes." I felt close to recovered now. "Now tell me what is going on here, because I haven't the faintest." I hated admitting I was lost, and this was at least the third time today.

Snorting the Doctor backed up a step. Was that disbelief in his eyes? Why? "Right, very funny. You might as well know I'm really Oliver Twist."

I blinked, "What."

Rolling his eyes, the Doctor gave me a condescending look, "Sherlock Holmes is-" He suddenly froze, a bulb seeming to light in his mind, "Wait. Parallel universe, ha!" He smacked his forehead and giggled like a child, "Oh that's amazing! I swear, the universe never ceases to amaze me!" Startlingly fast, the Doctor shot forward and began pumping my hand like his life depended on it.

An enthusiastic fellow, this one…

He grinned, "Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective to ever live! Oh, it is an honor!"he gave me a once over, "I suppose you do meet Arthur's description, lacking the hat and pipe thingy."

I cringed. Why did they always think I wore the hat? It's ridiculous, the things people come up with...

"You're not as tall as I thought," the Doctor continued, "But then again, most things are exaggerated…" His grin grew even large., "Look at me, meeting Sherlock Holmes."

I coughed in embarrassment, but quickly suppressed the emotion. Snatching my hand back, I placed it in my pocket. "Ah, alright." I wasn't sure what else to say. "I see you've heard of me."

"Heard of you? The whole universe has read your adventures!"

Blinking, I stepped away from him.

Clearly some sort of fan… John's blog?

The entire universe, ha! Get real.

"Riiight…" I stalled as my mind raced in the background, "Look, maybe London, but no one reads John's blog outside of that..."

He wasn't talking about John's blog, and I knew it.

"And that's another interesting bit!" the Doctor interrupted to my annoyance, "This is the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth!"

"The 'fictional' me is from the nineteenth." I raised the last word to make it a question, but I was fairly certain of my assumption.

"Ah, yes. This might come as a shock but-" He stopped, realizing what I just said. "How did you even-"

"You mentioned being Oliver Twist after I said my name, implying that you think I'm fictional. You also said everyone has read my adventures, and if I'm suppose to be from the nineteenth century, then you aren't talking about John's blog.." I shook my head. "I can tell you, I actually haven't had that response to my name before…" Glancing over him, I continued, "You weren't that surprised to see that you were wrong about reality, which also implies that your definition of impossible is rather bendable…"

The Doctor blinked, and I could hear John's voice in the back of my mind.

Show off…

Oh shut up.

I could tell the Doctor was attempting to come up with a good comeback, but after a moment of staring at my raised eyebrows, he gave up. That wasn't even a difficult deduction.

Huffing, the Doctor turned from me, "Right. I'll get back to you once you've seen my mode of transportation." He leaned ever so slightly toward the blue box as he said this, which made me frown. A blue box was his mode of transportation?

There was a pause as we both took each other in. Finally the Doctor spoke, "This in no way explains how you could appear in my moving TARDIS at will." he paused, "Or teleport/time warp right in front of me."

I looked him over, "I didn't teleport…" I said slowly.

"I'm pretty sure you did." the Doctor countered, taking out a bouncey ball from his pocket and bouncing it on the ground.

Snorting, I caught his ball mid-air. "Dear 'Doctor', teleportation is impossible."

And there was John's voice again. It's also impossible to come back to life, weight one hundred pounds at your height and built, and have thousands of golden flecks ingrained in every one of your blood cells.

You're just a bit ridiculous lately.

Drat it. Why did I have to be so reasonable?

The Doctor watched me as I had my silent conversation. "This is going to be a bit harder than I originally thought, "he murmured, twisting his hands. "I thought you would know what you are…" He paused. "If I had my screwdriver, then I could confirm it, but you are human, right?"

"That's not exactly an option," I answered.

"Ah- well, you see, it sort of is."

I blinked. "It's really not. I'm pretty sure about that point."

But I wasn't- not any more. Not after today. I do believe this day was shredding every form of logic I managed to form. My entire life had been devoted to narrowing my vision so I saw only what was important. Actually, I couldn't remember the last time I looked at the stars… Honestly, I could care less about whether the Sun went around the Earth or the Earth went around the Sun. What does it matter?

I dealt with seeing what I couldn't believe at Baskerville, but this wasn't some drug induced demon-wolf-thing I was looking at. This was my identity, my mortality. I refused to believe it. None of it was real. That was the only explanation.

Maybe... Maybe the fall didn't kill me and I'm in a coma at some hospital.

Really? That's what I'm resorting to?

The Doctor opened his mouth to speak, but a sudden crash from outside the boarded up bookshop stopped his words. Glancing at each other, we both edged toward the window. "What was that?" I murmured to myself

"Trouble probably," the Doctor said with a grin, "Whaddaya say?" His blueish-green eyes locked with mine. "Poke it with a stick?"

I didn't smile, not now. However, I couldn't argue, that statement about summed up my entire career.

AN: Sherlock finally meets the Doctor! Tell me what you think. What do you like or dislike about this story? What do you think is up with Sherlock? To be honest, I will be truly shocked if someone guesses correctly. I'm welcome to constructive criticism! Follow, favorite and LEAVE A REVIEW! ...please?