Authors Note: I'm so sorry for not uploading in forever, I moved so I had to switch schools and everything has been so chaotic, but I'm back to my usual upload schedule now. Sorry again -Selina.

Chapter 7

The cabs brakes screeched to a halt in front of 221 Baker Street. Sherlock paid and slammed the door shut. The baby shower went okay. All he really did was stick around with John and avoided him entirely their run-in with The Doctor. He stumbled up to the door and fumbled with keys. Damn it I need to get a better key, he stabbed the key in. It's late there in London already, but Sherlock already ate at Johns.

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson came out of the dimly lit kitchen with a batch of cookies balanced on a tray, "So how was it?"

"Fine," Sherlock mumbled. He just wanted to lie down or solve another murder. He tried imagined the police knocking at the door, or even Anderson. Instead, he could only replay the whole event, especially when the madman told him and John that his name was The Doctor. Why did it sound so familiar? The Doctor…

He collapsed on the sofa and tried to shut his brain off. Not surprisingly, it didn't work. A mind palace hardly ever shuts down at will. He opened his laptop; at least his mind can be focused on something else. He reached for his PC from the coffee table in front but instead found...

"ARGH WHAT THE HELL!" Red gooey substance almost entirely covered his entire laptop. His heart jumped at the sight. How am I supposed to stalk John's website now?! His heart skipped a beat at that thought. Even if John doesn't live here anymore I still get to stalk his blog okay.

Mrs. Hudson came rushing up as fast as an old lady can go. "Sherlock what is it with you and the screaming?!" No, no, no, she can't know about this.

"Ah, nothing John played a prank on my phone, ah silly old John" He faked a smile and tossed his phone onto the couch, then shifted himself to block the view of the laptop, which was still chilling on top of the coffee table.

Mrs. Hudson, being somewhat gullible, believed him. "Alright Sherlock, but remember the neighbors don't appreciate yelling or gunshots." She finally went back down.

Sherlock let him breath again after hearing her last steps down. Okay, looks like I'm cleaning this up myself. If only this was some sort of prank. To tired to even think this of a valuable piece of wanted to lightly bring it over to the counter near the sink, but it kept slipping. Instead, he had to grip it tightly to keep it from slipping and breaking.

Sherlock ripped a huge piece of paper towel out and attempted to carefully push/wipe/trying not to angrily slam all the crap that covered the damn laptop. When I find out who did this I'm going to… oh crap. This could have been evidence. CRAP. Sherlock got mad that he didn't even think about that earlier. Now 30% of the red substance or whatever it's supposed to be is gone and his hands have already destroyed what it once was. Whatever, this better be something lame.

10 minutes later and some luck. He only stopped to wipe his hands off the check his phone. It was John. Damn, did that ever make Sherlock's day better. Sadly it was only to inform him that if he remembers anything about the dream, John was the one who needed to know. Yes to him caring, no to the dream. Or whatever it was. Sherlock missed John, whether he was going to admit it or not. It left an abandoned feeling in his heart. He returned to the mess trying to shake off the feeling.

20 minutes later, 90% of that blood-like substance gone. Sherlock finally wiped the laptop clean and prayed that it is still working.

He slumped down onto the couch and finally was able to open his laptop. Clean and whatever-that-was free, the screen flickered on and an email appeared.

To: consultingdetective221 SHERLOCK HOLMES

From: Blocked ID

Well wasn't that a bloody mess, next time it won't be just fake blood. Cheers! –FTW

What the hell. One, whoever they are, clearly they don't know FTW stands for "for the way". And two, Sherlocks never blocked anyone. Instead whoever Sherlock wanted away from my side of the internet was to be gone, not just blocked.

This mess defiantly left a chill to his veins. First thing he did? Obviously he called John.

"Doctor? Doctor? DOCTOR!" The TARDIS's lights were out of control. Red, wispy mist was everywhere. And the console was gone. So was the doctor. All left Clara lying right in the middle of where the console once was, with a satin pillow tucked under her head. The smell of blood; freshly spilled blood, whirled all through the air. Soon red flashes took over her mind and unconsciousness overthrew her once more.

"Clara? Clara? CLARA!?" Who was saying that? A hazy, half-asleep Clara could only make out that the voices were screaming her name. The rest sounded so far away and blurry. There it went again; "CLARAAA!" Who was that? Was that the doctor?

Clara tried to call out his name. But she couldn't. All she was able to do is mouth his name. The TARDIS continued to scream. Clara's head continued to stay above the waters of sleep. She tried to open her eyes. She tried to call for the Doctor. Instead, all she was able to do is lie there and fall back to unconsciousness.

Okay, she told herself that first thing to do is to examine what the hell was going on. Yeah, how was she supposed to do that when she can't even look around? Or even get up.

Did the Doctor leave me? Did he leave me? Would he do that? Would he really do that? Anxiety slowly took over her and the whole theory about the Doctor leaving her started to get worse. No, he wouldn't do that. He'll save me. I know he will. Because this time there is no one else that can help me. Doctor, please. Please. Tears started to fill her eyes. What if something had happened to him? No, no, no, no. Then why hasn't he come yet? Maybe something was holding him up. She couldn't stand the idea of the Doctor already lost Danny. It would be too much.

I can't lose him too.

The Doctor watched her from the monitor. He was in the actual TARDIS. He managed to connect to the one Clara was in. Somehow, he managed to connect to some camera in there. That's it of what he could receive. And that's it what he has from what he doesn't remember. Ever since he heard what that… monster responded to him. The Memories are just gone. Not even a single bit of memory. He had woken up here, in the Tardis. The normal, feisty Tardis and with Clara on the monitor where ever she was.

Oh, Clara, I'm so sorry. But I promise, I. Will. Find. You.

"Sherlock," John's ragged voice sounded from the other side, "Bloody hell mate it's almost 10 pm"

"John how long have you known me again?" Sherlock exclaimed falling back onto the sofa, secretly extremely glad John had actually picked up. He almost felt giddy.

John, over at the other end, was laying on him and Mary's bed, feeling extremely hyper. He too missed Sherlock and the constant fighting with him. It was almost like flirting- The thoughts of Sherlock flooded his mind. Mary's gone maybe I could invite Sherlock over…

"John… are you still there?" Sherlock's voice broke the waters of John's thoughts.

"Yeah… yeah, what's up Sherlock?" He shook himself out of his Sherlock phase. He's just my friend, and I am not gay, he's just my friend- "and I am not gay-"

"Uh, John I know you are not gay?" Sherlock was concerned for his friend now.

"Ah, I'm sorry just thoughts I suppose," John's face was almost entirely bright with embarrassment. Thankfully they were not faced to face. John was trying to imagine Sherlock's face… his adorable little face would be a confused with his what-are-you-saying face ahhh…

"Okay so," Sherlock cut to the chase, not bothering to know more about John's sudden informant of his sexuality update, "I was going to do some research on how to tell how old a blood stain is without doing tests in the lab, when I realized my laptop cover was covered with this blood-jam like substance. It's red, much opaque and much, much, much like jam made out of blood-"

"Sherlock I didn't answer the phone so I could have jam ruined for me,"

"Yeah well I guess you now can't have strawberry jam,"

"But strawberry-"

"John listen," Sherlock interrupted not caring about Johns complaints of his food graphic explanations, "I thought this was some sort of stupid prank someone idiotic kid threw on me. So I didn't think it of valuable evidence of any sort. Then when I finally got to open it up, an email appeared. John, it knew,"

"Sorry, knew about what?"

"The damn so-called-prank, I'll send you a copy right now,"

"Ughhh," John was too lazy to get up to get his laptop, and who knows where it is now.

"Sorry, what?" Sherlock heard him over the phone whining, "Damn it, John, this is important and damn well creepy,"

"No nothing, going to grab my computer now," Fine, for Sherlock John thought as he dragged himself off the welcoming bed and looked around the bedroom for his laptop, then went everywhere until we winded up looking in the kitchen. With faith, he looked into the last spot that hasn't been looked yet; the fridge (unless you count the garage and basement, John decided there was no need to go there, nor did he have a willing desire to).

The fridge; It was dripping with blood from underneath the top door and over the freezer door. John didn't notice a thing. Or the pie on the kitchen counter, probably Mary's he thought. He was too busy hoping he wouldn't have to look again everywhere for his computer because someone was messing with Sherlock. Then it came to his senses when he pulled open the door. Everything, from the yogurt containers to the cabbage leftover from two days ago; was trashed. Blood, red, dripping blood was everywhere, from spilling out of the containers to drenching vegetables. And the strawberry jams. The glass jar was tipped over covering the surface of… his laptop.

"John? You still there?" John? JOHN?" Sherlock was practically yelling over the line, "Did you receive the email? Or you still haven't found your laptop? JOHN?"

Oh my god Sherlock. If only you're seeing this.

And his cell fell from his hand hitting the floor with a slam.

Sherlock who did you mess with now.