AN: SURPRISE. In recompense for being so neglectful and not updating last week . . . Or, um, the week before . . . I have produced this small chapter of ~1000 words so as not to keep you on edge from that last cliffhanger.
Also, I realised I'd been rude enough not to thank my reviewers (for SHAME). So, here's the weekly 'Spare My Blushes' list: lucy macgregor, Thisby Solo (x2), Neiraaa, Steffii (aka DalekCyberAngel), and madTARDIStraveller. Thanks a bunch!
Get on with the story already! - B.
"SHERLOCK!"
John gently touches the gravestone. Mycroft had chosen it but not without first subtly seeking John's approval. The two of them had never gotten along that well, but at times like this, petty feuds – even though they were the Holmes brothers' speciality – had to be put aside. So they'd gone with a black marble stone, shining and bright despite the lack of colour.
John winces at the poignancy.
"No one will ever convince me that you told a lie," He muttered. He began to walk away, feeling as if he were wading through some kind of bog, or quicksand – indeed, his entire life was just a never-ending marshland now. Tedious, drawn out; dragging him slowly down. He wasn't sure he'd be able to beat his fatigue to wade on.
"Just – one more thing," He surprises himself with the words: right from his too-human heart. "For me, Sherlock – one more miracle,"
He reaches out to touch the gravestone one more time. The canopy of spiny leaves above him gentle wavers in the grey wind. "Don't be . . . dead,"
"He's real!"
Sherlock is lying on the TARDIS floor, staring up at the ceiling far above him, his hands draped across his chest.
"What?" Asked the Doctor, his face suddenly appearing upside-down in the sleuth's field of vision, as he crouches by his head and looks down at his face. Sherlock huffs and pushes the Doctor out of the way, sitting up. "John. John is real,"
"I thought . . . Sherlock, you've chosen this world," The Doctor told him, grasping a handful of Sherlock's rolled-up shirt sleeve. "It's too late to change your mind now,"
Sherlock looked down quizzically at the Timelord's hand.
". . . What do you suppose we should do now, then?" Sherlock asked, watching the Doctor's face carefully.
"We get out of this situation," The Doctor began, about to continue on one of his rambling stream-of-consciousness speeches when Sherlock interrupted.
"Then?" He asked.
"Well, one step at a time!" The Doctor urged, going to pull away from the sleuth and towards the console, but Sherlock caught his wrist quickly.
"Humour me," Sherlock said in a low voice, which was almost a growl. The Doctor detected a hint of accusation in his words.
". . . We'll do what we always do, Sherlock," The Doctor said, looking wildly up and down at his companion; into his opal eyes. "We'll keep travelling,"
Sherlock smirked slightly, and let go of the Doctor's arm, backing away from him. He shook his head:
"No,"
"What?" The Doctor asked, confused.
"You heard perfectly well the first time, I'm not saying it again," Sherlock said in a bored tone, but there was a hint of excitement underneath it.
"Yes, but – I don't understand, you were happy enough to travel with me before this . . . This – debacle!" He floundered for words as he continued, "It doesn't make sense for you to want to stop travelling! You're strong, Sherlock – I didn't think that this would shake you! It's illogical, it's-"
"Christmas . . . A few subconscious clues, and some character inconsistencies? . . . It's Christmas!
"You see, Doctor, I first had my doubts and suspicions when you said you couldn't name the planet, or even the galaxy that we're currently residing in. Usually the TARDIS will give you the specifics, but you usually are able to tell me something about where we've ended up. Then, there's the TARDIS itself-"
The TARDIS light throbbed an angry red at that.
"Excuse me, herself-" Sherlock corrected, with a sly smile as he looked above him at the ceiling of the time and space machine, "She doesn't have her usual rapport with you. She wouldn't take you away from here because she was trying to tell me something. She wanted me not to get lost in this world. That, plus when I spoke of not trusting you, as well as not trusting the other world, she appeared to encourage me,"
"And your completely bonkers conclusion is?" The Doctor asked.
Sherlock had been backing towards the TARDIS door the entire time, with the Doctor edging closer.
"That this world isn't real, either," He breathed, with wide, bright eyes. The thrill of the chase was in him; the thrill of purpose.
"Sherlock," The Doctor said in a very low voice, as he reached into his inner jacket pocket, "You listen to me now. One of the worlds had to be right, and it wasn't the other world. So this must be real! Please, do not do something stupid, I cannot lose another companion," The Doctor begged, desperation in his eyes.
"See, that's what I thought, but then came the last clue. You're right, the other world wasn't real, but I know for a fact that John isn't just an imagined character created by the Dreamlord. John is real. I believe in him. And he doesn't exist in this world, meaning that this world isn't reality, either. Oh, looking for this?" He asked lightly, after his ardent confession about his faith in John.
The Doctor, flummoxed, watched as Sherlock took the Doctor's sonic screwdriver from his jacket pocket, and waved it in his face, "I pick-pocketed you as soon as I realised you weren't real, either. Now you can't lock the doors, and I'm free to leave,"
"But you'll die! We're about to crash into a planet; you'll burn up, and suffocate! Sherlock, I am real! I'm pleading with you now – the last of the Timelords to the world's only consulting detective – don't do this,"
"Don't you see, Doctor? It's because you're telling me not to leave that I need to go. It's the only way of getting out of this alive . . . It's the only way to see John again,"
Sherlock opened up the TARDIS door with a flourish, and put his arm up to his face to defend himself against the wave of heat that flew in; he could still breathe and survive due to the TARDIS' oxygen shields, but as soon as he took his leap of faith, they wouldn't protect him any longer.
"Now, what is it you always say, Doctor?" He asked, stepping to the threshold and clinging to the door to prevent himself falling out of the TARDIS prematurely.
The Doctor just shrugged. Oh, now Sherlock knewfor sure that he wasn't the real Doctor. The real Doctor would know that when about to do something crazy, something stupid, and dangerous, and foolish, and brave, one should always shout:
"GERONIMO!"
I think I might have lied about not keeping you on edge. This may actually be a worse cliffhanger than last time. Whoops, sorry! More on Monday - B.
