"We're here!" said Snow breathlessly. Sherlock smiled in relief. No more boring walking.
The sight of the city strengthened Snow a little, and they made for the city as fast as her legs would allow. When they finally reached the door, Sherlock knocked on it and, to his surprise, it swung open on its own.
They went inside; the city was stunning and marvelous, but there was no one there.
"Shouldn't there be people here?" he asked Snow White.
"I would expect so, but there must be a reasonable explanation for this."
"I suppose we'll just have to ask the Wizard. If he's even here." If the Wizard wasn't in Emerald City, if they'd come all this way for nothing, to say Sherlock would be annoyed would be the understatement of the century.
They went farther in, but still there was no one. Not one person in a place that should have been overflowing with people.
They went until they came to a very extravagant door, the kind you'd expect a king to be behind. Sherlock knocked on the door, but this one didn't open on its own like the first. He found the handle and pulled. It wasn't locked, but it was very heavy. It took the two of them to open it.
They looked inside; there was no light inside, they couldn't see a thing.
"Hello?" called Sherlock. "Wizard?"
"Who has come to see the Wizard?" a powerful, booming voice demanded.
All of a sudden, the room was illuminated by a giant face that burned like fire. It scowled at them as though they had disturbed its nap. The walls were made of glass, and they reflected the face to make it look like there were dozens in the room.
"Sherlock Holmes, and my friend Snow White. We-"
"Why have you come here?!"
Sherlock felt fear creep through him, but he forced it away and said valiantly, "Snow White told me that you can show me how to bring this place to life, to make it real so that I never have to go home again. Is it true?"
"Is it true? You are asking if I have the power to grant this wish of yours?" the face shouted. "I do indeed possess this power, but you are not worthy of it. I shall not grant your wish."
"But I created this world! I created you! If anyone is worthy, it's me!"
"Leave now, or you shall perish."
"I don't think so!" Any fear he had felt vanished; the little boy ran up to the face and went behind it. He knew how it worked in the book; there was an odd little man hiding behind it, controlling the illusion to make himself seem powerful.
But there was nothing behind the face. No curtain, no controls, no odd little man. It was just the face.
"Are you satisfied?" it asked with a cruel laugh.
"This isn't right," he murmured to himself. He went back to stand before the face and said, "I won't leave until you do what I ask. Try to kill me if you want, but I won't leave willingly."
The face roared and exploded; Sherlock closed his eyes shut tightly and covered his face with his hands against the searing heat as flames spread around the room. The blast knocked him onto his back.
When he opened his eyes and uncovered his face, he saw that the fire was gone. The room was lit, but now with green tinted candles instead of the fiery face.
"Let me help you up," a kind voice said to him. He saw a hand being offered to him, but he didn't take it.
"There, there, it's all right now," said a man with silver hair and a bowtie. On his face was a gentle smile.
"What just happened?" asked Sherlock as he shakily got back to his feet.
"I'm sorry if I scared you, but I had to make sure you were worthy of my gift. Not many are."
"That was a test?"
"And you passed with flying colors." The man offered his hand again, this time to shake his hand. "I am the Wizard you've been seeking, and I will gladly grant your wish."
"You will?" said Sherlock, not quite sure what to make of all this. "But there must be some kind of catch."
"No catch. To make this place a reality, so that you never have to leave, you must do just one thing. Wait just one moment."
The Wizard produced a small black pouch and reached his hand inside. He pulled out a ruby necklace with a golden chain.
"Wear this, and you will never be forced to return home again."
The Wizard held it out to Sherlock, who took it and held it in the palm of his hand.
"This is really all I have to do to? To stay here forever? Just wear this necklace?"
The Wizard smiled. "It doesn't seem possible, does it? But I can promise you, you won't regret it."
Sherlock turned to look at Snow, who hadn't said a word this entire time. She gave him an encouraging smile.
"Okay, I'll do it," said Sherlock as he raised the chain to slip it around his neck.
"Sherlock! No!" someone shouted.
He spun around, and saw Shadowheart at the door.
"Stay away from me!" he shouted at him.
The beast looked worse than ever. His face looked like it had been hit repeatedly with a metal bat. His skin was black and looked like it was melting off his skin. He had no teeth left, and even some of his fingers were missing. The smell of him could knock you down, he made rotting corpses look pretty. He was limping badly, every movement seemed to require all his strength.
"Sherlock, whatever you do, don't put on that necklace. If you do, you'll be trapped here forever."
"I won't be trapped, I want to stay here."
"You don't realize what this place is. You're blind to the truth; you see only what you want to see. You're so observant, yet you don't see what's right in front of you."
Shadowheart reached beneath his filthy shirt and pulled a hidden chain from beneath it. It was a ruby necklace, identical to the one in his hand.
Sherlock did a double take. "How can this be?"
"I told you, I was like you. I didn't see the trap either, until it was too late. Snow White and the Wizard, you didn't create them. They invaded your mind and have been using you, manipulating you since the beginning."
"That can't be! Snow White is my friend! I trust her," said Sherlock, willing it to be true. Something else occurred to him then. "You launched the fireball at Smaug, you're the one that killed him! You were trying to kill me, weren't you?"
"I built the catapult and I launched the fireball, but it was not to hurt you. It was to slow you down, keep you from coming here. You can't die in this world, but you are dying in the real world. You're dying Sherlock, can't you feel it? Every second that passes, you come closer and closer to death. Do you know how long you've been here?"
"About three days."
"Time is an illusion here. For every day that passes, a week goes by in the real world. You've been here for three weeks."
"You're lying. I'm not listening to you anymore. I won't go back, and I won't let you destroy me!"
Sherlock was about to put the necklace on, when Shadowheart screamed, "If you don't believe me, look in a mirror! See yourself for what you really are!"
"Don't do it Sherlock, he's trying to trick you," warned Snow White.
But Sherlock had to know the truth, needed to know what the monster was talking about. Reluctantly, he walked toward one of the mirrors. Snow grabbed his hand to stop him, but he pulled away from her hold and kept going.
When he reached the mirror, he gasped in horror and stumbled backwards when he saw his reflection. At first he thought he was seeing someone else, because that couldn't be his face looking back at him. But there was no one else, it was just him.
His face was covered in sores and lesions. His hair was falling out and missing in patches. His eyes were bloodshot, and blood dripped from them like tears. He looked down at his hands and saw that they were also covered in sores. The tips of his fingers had turned black, like they were slowly dying and about to fall off.
"How can this be?" he whispered.
"Snow White and the Wizard are not of this world," explained Shadowheart. "They are called the Vale; they are parasites who feast on the thoughts and minds of others. They have always been an endangered species, but these two are the only ones left. They want to bring their species back to life, and to do that they needed the greatest minds in the universe, and they found them in you and me.
"They invaded your mind and made this place seem real. You imagined it, but they gave it life. They did this to keep you from noticing that you're being eaten from the inside out. Everything they told you about me, it's what they're doing to you. It's too late for me, but you can still survive. You just need to wake up."
"What do you mean, it's too late for you?"
"I've been here too long, much longer than you have. My name is not Shadowheart, that's the name they gave me to frighten you, because they knew that if you and I work together we can beat them."
Shadowheart fell to the floor. His entire body shook as he gasped for air.
"This place is a prison," he whispered. "You may choose not to believe it, but there really is no place like home, Sherlock."
"Wait!" cried Sherlock. But it was too late. Shadowheart stiffened, and then breathed his last breath.
Sherlock realized then that he had been telling the truth, that this whole place was a lie.
Snow White took his hand. "It's all right now. Go ahead, put on the necklace. And then we can be together forever."
He ripped his hand away and threw the necklace across the room. Her expression went from kind and gentle to furious and vicious in an instant. She grabbed him and held him in place as the Wizard picked up the necklace.
"This is your home now," she cooed, though her voice had taken on a hysterical edge that he was not familiar with. "You can live in happiness for the rest of your days, even if you don't have many left."
"We brought the Shadowheart's little paradise to life, just like we did yours," said the Wizard as he lifted the necklace to put it around his neck. "All we asked in return was your minds. Isn't that a fair trade?"
Now Sherlock was truly afraid. If they won, he'd become just like Shadowheart, a dying monster with no escape. But he wasn't done fighting yet.
He sank his teeth into Snow's arm, and she cried out in pain and released him. Sherlock ran from her and pulled the apple out of his pocket, the one she'd made him save. He reared back his arm and threw it at her, hitting her in the temple and knocking her out cold.
The Wizard chased him, rage blazing in his eyes. Sherlock ran out of the room, back into Emerald City. As he did, he pinched and slapped himself, trying to wake up. It had been so easy before, but this time it wasn't working. Even without the necklace, would he be trapped here forever?
Just as he was about to escape Emerald City, a pair of strong hands grabbed him from behind and lifted him into the air. Sherlock kicked and screamed, but he couldn't escape.
"There, there now, this will all be over soon," said the Wizard. "You should be flattered, you have one of the greatest minds the universe has ever seen. With it, you will save our kind, and you will be hailed as a hero by our children. It would selfish of you to deny us the chance to resurrect our people."
"Let me go!" he yelled.
"Such a stubborn child," tsked the Wizard. He took the necklace in his hand and made to slip it around Sherlock's neck, when he suddenly remembered what Shadowheart had said:
"You would have to destroy this part of your mind. You would have to close it off and let it and everyone in it die. Then you must wake up, and never come back."
Sherlock closed his eyes and focused on the story room of his mind palace. He imagined it being engulfed in flames, swallowed by floods, crumbled by earthquakes, ripped apart by tornadoes. He let the images of its destruction fill and consume his every thought, until it seemed there was nothing else.
"What's going on?" said the Wizard, momentarily pausing in what he was doing.
Sherlock didn't stop. He imagined every wall falling down, every plant wilting, every character dying. He then imagined himself stepping out of the room and closing the door on it.
"No! No, I've come too far, this can't happen!" the Wizard screeched.
Sherlock could hear the sounds of his little world crumbling and dying, but he kept going. He didn't look at the man, didn't open his eyes to see what was happening. He didn't want to.
The Wizard let out one long, final cry of defeat, and then was silenced. Sherlock no longer felt his hold on him, but felt something else. He felt like he was being pulled out of water, as though he had been drowning.
He gasped as his eyes flew open, and he was no longer in his story room. He was sitting on a long white table. He was not strapped down, but his limbs felt like lead. His head throbbed, and he felt sick to his stomach.
With some effort, he swung his legs off the table and stood on his feet. He wobbled and nearly fell over, and had to grip the table for support. He looked down and noticed that he was still in the same clothes he'd been wearing on his birthday. But his hands were no longer covered in sores and lesions, they looked as healthy as ever. He felt his face and hair, it was all just as it had been before. He breathed a sigh of relief.
On the bed next to him, he saw a man wearing a bowtie, like the Wizard had been. But this man was younger, and very sickly looking. His face was gaunt and his eyes were sunken in. Sherlock touched two fingers to his wrist; no pulse. The man was dead.
Before he could remove his fingers, however, a brilliant glowing light began emanating from the man. Sherlock let out a yell of shock as the glow seemed to burst like an explosion, knocking him down on the floor. The light was brighter than the sun, practically blinding.
Ever a curious child, Sherlock quickly got back on his feet to watch what was going on. His mouth dropped open and he gaped at the man as his face began to change. His dark hair lightened and grew a few inches and curled. His face shifted and changed, and inexplicably became younger before his very eyes. The rest of his body changed too; it became short, tiny even, until he seemed to be swallowed up by his clothing.
Just as quickly as it had appeared, the light disappeared, and Sherlock was left staring at a child no older than himself who, less than a minute ago, had been a dead man. If his eyes had been any wider, they'd have reached the moon.
The child's eyes fluttered open. "Oh, I'm alive," he said in a high, Scottish lilt. "That's good, wasn't sure regeneration would kick in this time. It's always nice to be pleasantly surprised."
Sherlock watched as the child sat up and performed an inventory of his new body, feeling his arms and legs, fingers and toes, and even his tongue, exclaiming excitedly over each part. He ruffled his hair to make sure it was still there.
After he was done with that, he turned to look at Sherlock, and a wild grin spread across his face. "Good job, kid. You had me worried there for a bit, but I knew you'd pull through in the end."
"Who are you?" asked Sherlock. He already knew exactly who he was, but he needed to hear it said before he could believe it, if he could believe it at all.
"Don't you recognize me? No wait, sorry, stupid question. I'm Shadowheart, though I prefer Doctor."
"Doctor what?"
"Just the Doct-" he grabbed the right side of his chest and his face contorted in agony. "Oh wonderful."
"What's wrong?" asked Sherlock.
"My heart's given out. I need you to help me."
"How are you still talking and sitting upright if your heart's not working?"
The Doctor laid back down on the table. His breathing was short and erratic. "You're going to have to pump it for me, like CPR."
"But I've never done CPR before!" said Sherlock, on the verge of panicking.
"No better time to learn! Quickly Sherlock, I haven't got all day."
Sherlock tentatively put his hands on the left side of his chest and began to pump. He'd done three compressions when the Doctor stopped him.
"No! That's the wrong side! The heart I'm talking about is on the right. If you pump that side you'll get that heart out of whack, too!"
"You can't have two hearts! That's impossible!"
"We'll discuss how impossible it is one you've got righty back in working order! Now pump, before I have to regenerate twice in the same ten minutes. I don't really think my body's up for that kind of thing."
Sherlock followed his order and pumped the other side, even though he had no idea what was going on. He had to do compressions for a solid minute before it finally kicked back in.
"Oh, that's so much better," said the Doctor, breathing a sigh of relief. "I hate it when my hearts give out, it really puts a damper on everything."
He sat up again and swung his legs over the edge of the table as he said, "Now, there's something I need to do, something important, what was it? It's right on the tip of my new tongue. Oh, I know! I need to take you home! Your parents are sure to be worried sick about you."
"Don't bet on it," muttered Sherlock. It was then that he noticed the two people at the other end of the room, if you could call them people. They were sitting in two seats, with several tubes connected to their heads. Their skin was like silver, and their heads had tentacles that resembled hair. They wore jumpsuits, but no shoes. Their hands and feet had seven fingers and seven toes each. Their mouths were lopsided, as though someone had twisted them. Their eyes were closed; they appeared to be sleeping.
"Those are the aliens that tried to kill us, the Vale. What are we going to do about them?"
"You trapped them when you destroyed your story world before they could leave. They didn't have to enter that way, but it was the easiest and most efficient way," the Doctor explained. "This is their ship. Once you had retreated deep enough into your mind, they kidnapped you and brought you here for convenience sake. You could kill them physically, but their minds would live on, inside my mind and yours. They can't hurt anyone else, so long as we never go back to those parts of our minds."
"Are they conscious? Do they know what's happening to them?"
"I don't know."
Sherlock felt a sudden wave of dizziness overtake him. His vision blurred and he was having trouble standing. His stomach did a flip, he felt very nauseas. He was very sleepy and just wanted to lie down and close his eyes, even if it meant sleeping on the floor of an alien ship, but he forced them to stay open.
The Doctor stood up from his table. His trousers were now so long that he had to roll them several times before he could walk without tripping. It was a good thing he had on suspenders, because they were the only things keeping his trousers from falling down. There was nothing he could do about the shoes, and so he had to go barefoot. He looked ridiculous and silly, like a child trying on his parent's clothes. It would have been humorous but for the fact that mere minutes ago those clothes had been a perfect fit, and it was almost frightening.
The Doctor swayed on his feet. He seemed to be in slightly better condition than Sherlock, but he was still pretty bad off. He came over to stand by Sherlock, even though he was having trouble standing upright. He looked very tipsy and woozy and slightly out of it.
"The regeneration's not gone quite right," he mumbled to himself. "Not that that's anything new, but it's different this time. I think I'm missing something big, Sherlock, something right under my nose that I'm not getting. What could it be?"
There was a lot Sherlock wasn't getting, but he was still too sick and too stunned by all that had happened to say anything.
"Come with me. I believe they stole my Tardis when they took me. They wouldn't know how to use it or get in, but they wouldn't let something that valuable go to waste. It should be around here somewhere."
Sherlock didn't know what he was talking about, but didn't question him. They put their arms around each other's shoulders and focused on not passing out before they could escape.
It didn't take them long to find the "Tardis," whatever that was, but he was confused when he saw it.
"A phone box? What's a phone box doing on a space ship?" he asked, on the verge of blacking out.
"It's not a phone box," said the Doctor breathlessly, that smile on his face growing wider in spite of his current physical state.
He unlocked the door, and Sherlock was shocked to see that it wasn't tiny inside, like he'd expected. The Doctor let go of Sherlock after he shut the door, and he instantly dropped to the floor. The Doctor stumbled like a drunk over to some kind of console in the center of the room and began flipping switches, twisting knobs, and pulling levers. He heard a mechanical wheezing sound, and wondered vaguely where it was coming from.
"Hey Sherlock, have you gotten taller?" asked the Doctor, just before he lost consciousness.
End of Part 1
Author's Note: You may have noticed that the Doctor has joined the party (Woo hoo!) And just in time for the announcement of the twelfth Doctor. So now this story will be moving to the Sherlock/Doctor Who crossover section when I post the next chapter. If you don't want to search for it there, you can follow it and get email updates. While you're at it, leave a review and tell me what you think.
Allonsy!
