Chapter 7: Breakdown for the Takedown

It wasn't the first one-night stand the Doctor ever had, but it was a memorable one.

He'd been newly regenerated after an encounter with some Aridians, and he was just getting used to his ninth regeneration. He was enjoying the haircut- it would be easy to manage- but ugh, the ears.

Her name had been Violet. She'd been very pretty, all strawberry-blond hair and bright green eyes, when the Doctor saved her from the threat of death by vaporization at the hands of a particularly violent group of Sycorax- Sycoraxes? Sycoraxi? Or maybe just Sycorax? No one really knows- and took her home in the TARDIS.

Strange things happen in the TARDIS sometimes. Well, quite often, really.

In any case, Violet had left the next morning with a big smile and the words "don't be a stranger" on her lips. The Doctor had known that he'd never see her again-

-at least until about three months later, when he got a call from her. She actually called him from her landline in the mid-seventies to break the news.

Violet was pregnant.

He'd sped off back to 1975 as quickly as possible, only he got sidetracked by a load of escaped prisoners from an intergalactic prison in the year 17435, and landed in 1976, where he found Violet nine months pregnant.

"I thought you'd never come," she says, a huge smile on her lips. "They all said you wouldn't come."

"Looks like I proved them wrong," he says back, holding out his hand, which she takes.

The Doctor had taken her to the best hospital in all of space and time, on New New Earth many thousand years from her time, but even the best doctors can't keep everyone alive. Violet died in his arms, leaving him with a newborn and a swirling storm of rage and guilt that wasn't calmed until he met Rose Tyler many years later.

He'd called the baby- his son- simply "the Child", because he would be part Time Lord, and would be allowed to choose his own name as soon as he could comprehend the concept. The Child lived with him in the TARDIS until he was three, at which point he'd begun calling himself "Stormageddon, Dark Lord of All" as a joke, and also because he enjoyed thunderstorms and liked being called "Stormy". (Stormy managed to escape the TARDIS once, but the Doctor found him quickly enough, and didn't learn where he'd been until his eleventh regeneration- living with Craig in modern day Britain.) The Doctor would smile and laugh, but in reality the name frightened him, because it reminded him far too much of another Time Lord, one who had stepped off the marked path and died in his arms.

When Stormy was three, the Doctor took him aside.

"I've arranged for you to live with someone else for a while," the Doctor says, trying to sound cheery while falling apart inside.

"What d'you mean?" Stormy asks suspiciously.

"It's too dangerous for you to stay with me for a while. I'll come back for you," he adds quickly, when Stormy begins shaking his head in panic, his dark curls bouncing above his clear blue eyes. "I promise, I'm not leaving you. I might not look the same, but I'll always come back."

"I want to stay with you."

"You can't," the Doctor says with finality. "You could get hurt, or die. I don't want that to happen. There's a very nice family in London willing to take you in."

"I don't want to live in London, I want to live here!"

"Stormy." The Doctor takes his son by the shoulders and holds him at arm's length. "You have to. I'm sorry."

Tears are cascading down Stormy's face by this point, and the Doctor cradles him against his chest. "Father, I don't want to."

"I know." The Doctor gives Stormy a moment to calm down, then continues, "Their last name is Holmes. You'll have an older brother, his name is Mycroft. What would you like your name to be?"

Stormy thinks about this for a moment, then his face settles as he decides upon a name. "Sherlock."

The Doctor left Stormy- Sherlock- at the doorstep of the Holmes' estate, where a seven-year-old boy had opened the door to meet him. Sherlock had looked back, but by that point the Doctor was gone.

Sherlock Holmes eventually made a vow never to love anyone as he had his father again, and the Doctor never stopped blaming himself for that.

No one currently in the TARDIS really likes talking about their childhoods. It's understandable, seeing as they were all fairly traumatic.

Birds of a feather flock together, I guess.

On their way back to England, Sherlock is silent. This would be normal for him if he didn't look quite so deathly pale. More pale than usual, anyway. The Winchesters just take turns looking worried and River starts cursing at the Doctor under her breath.

Sherlock doesn't notice; he's too busy remembering the various visits from his father during his childhood. When he'd escaped the TARDIS as an infant, he had been met by his eleventh regeneration in Craig's house, and his ninth regeneration had taken him home. The time before his father had met Rose, still in his ninth regeneration, he'd been ten. The time after he'd lost Rose, he'd been fifteen. He'd been in his tenth regeneration, and Sherlock had been reluctant to believe that he'd been the same person, but in the end, the evidence had been obvious. When Sherlock turned 20 and had gotten into his habit of taking heroin, his father had visited in his tenth regeneration again and been… well, not angry, but disappointed. This was the reason he had gotten clean the first time.

It hadn't taken very long for Sherlock to fall back into his habits, so that by the time he turned 25, it was a full-on issue. Lestrade, bless his soul, had taken a liking to Sherlock and helped get him clean permanently. Lestrade had later found a note on his doorstep, written in deep blue ink on thick paper, with the simple message "Thank you" inscribed on it.

John Watson had been a presence in Sherlock's life the most recent time the Doctor had come to Sherlock's door. There had been a lot of arguing and shouting, mostly over Sherlock's life habits and the life he could have had, until finally the Doctor had left and Sherlock had sat on the couch, not speaking to anyone, for a day and a half. John had had to send any clients and visitors away.

Sherlock doesn't like the feeling of disappointing his father. It's worse than any anger could be.

When the TARDIS stops at Baker Street, everyone exits and Dean pulls Sherlock aside on the pretext of needing to get something from the bag he'd left in the flat.

"He's not disappointed in you," Dean says urgently, knowing that Sam is probably suspicious already.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock raises an eyebrow and removes his coat and scarf.

"The Doctor. Your dad. He's not disappointed in you, whether you think that or not."

Sherlock shakes his head. "He's been disappointed in me since I turned three." He draws out the vial from inside his coat and moves into the kitchen, where the microscope sits on the table.

"No, see, I know that look. I always thought my dad didn't want me around, and that's why I did what I did- I took care of Sam, I listened to his music, I dressed like him. It didn't matter, because Dad never did feel that way," Dean explains. Sherlock looks at Dean- who's at eye-level now that he's seated- and takes in the new information. Dean's telling the truth.

"And I know you think whatever happened to John is your fault, but the Doctor's right, it's not." Dean frowns, remembering something. "Cas went off the deep end, not just because his plan was stupid and dangerous, but we didn't try to help him. I've been replaying it over and over and really, everyone's to blame. It's a different thing with you, you couldn't have known what was going on."

Sherlock shakes his head and buries his face in his hands. He feels like he's been losing his ability to bottle his emotions and form intelligent statements since the Winchesters showed up.

"I can't help thinking… that I could have done something," Sherlock says finally, gesturing agitatedly.

"You know, uh, this one guy I know, he'd be better suited for advice here, I think," Dean says, grinning. "He'd say something like, Well, you couldn't do nothin', so stop thinkin' about it and get on savin' the damn world. Idgit."

"Id… jit?" Sherlock asks, slowly rolling the word over his tongue.

"It's just what Bobby does," Dean explains. "I'm an idgit, you're an idgit, Sam's an idgit, everyone's an idgit."

"Ah," Sherlock says uninterestedly. He turns back to the table where the microscope in waiting for him to examine the contents of the vial. Dean gives up and turns to leave.

"Dean." He turns back to see Sherlock looking away from him. "Thank you."

"Um…" Dean is completely taken aback, because everything he's heard from Sherlock since they met hasn't sounded sincere or thankful in any way. "No problem, man."

"Yes it was. It's always hard to convince someone they're wrong," Sherlock corrected him. "Especially myself."

"Yeah, well, you really are pretty stubborn, aren't you." Sherlock smirks and continues preparing his newest experiment. Dean knows Sherlock is back under his mask and exits the flat, rejoining Sam and the Doctor outside the front door.

Of course, he's made himself think now- what he said to Sherlock is all completely true. Sherlock couldn't have helped John, but Dean could've helped Cas, back then and now.

Dean is sure he can help Cas in some way. Anything.

Back inside the flat, Sherlock is on the same wavelength, but it's taken a turn for the worse- he's sure Dean can't save Castiel, and he can't save John, and nothing good will come out of this. It would be better for everyone if Castiel died, so as to end his suffering, if John could simply-

But the thought hurts too much. A universe where John doesn't exist is a universe Sherlock refuses to live with. He knows Dean won't rest, won't forgive himself until Castiel is back safe with him.

Maybe all things don't have to come to an end.

The Doctor knows what Dean and Sherlock are talking about- of course he does. He also knows things that he can't tell anyone else, especially the people travelling with him at the moment.

He knows the Leviathan's origins, how they operate, and how to kill them. He knows why John is trapped, why River can't remember, and how to get him back.

Neither are anything good for anyone concerned.

Knowledge is a terrible burden, and no one knows that better than the Doctor.