By the time the two of them had made it back to Baker Street they were exhausted and out of breath. Scottie and Emily stumbled up the stairs and pushed open the unlocked door to 221B, finally throwing their jackets to the ground in a hurry and flopping down on the sofa in defeat. Gladstone, who had previously been sleeping on the floor next to the couch, lifted his chin toward them. Satisfied, the dog stretched out his hind legs and shut his eyes again. John had been sitting in his armchair and also glanced up as they entered.
"Took your time, did you?"
"We walked," Emily wheezed.
"What? Why? Did another cab not come?"
"Oh, it came alright… Say, you guys didn't happen to have anything… strange happen while in your cab, did you?"
Sherlock squinted at them from across the room. "Strange how?"
Scottie looked away. "Oh, you know. Like children's storytime with a serial killer." Sherlock had an odd way of squinting even harder than he originally had been. "Never mind. Don't worry about it." Scottie then suddenly threw his friend a serious look. "Hey, Emily? Can I have a word with you in private?"
The boy took Emily by her wrist and led her to the kitchen, past Sherlock and John, who didn't question this. "I think we broke the episode," he announced once they were no longer within earshot.
"Oh, so now it's okay to talk about this?"
"Sherlock never saw Moriarty's video. Because he never saw the video, he never got out of the cab. He wasn't out in the street to nearly get run over and then rescued by one of the assassins, who gets shot afterwards. He didn't meet the assassin and now he isn't in here searching for cameras! You see what I'm getting at, Emily? It's a chain reaction. Except that it took a left turn somewhere and never got set off!"
"Yeah," Emily agreed, "I started gathering as much as soon as we were featured in creepy storytelling with Richard Brook. Also back at the Yard, why I dropped my hot chocolate… That was because I saw something. The message I thought was supposed to be intended for Sherlock."
"And what Sherlock said earlier, about the killers being young and one of them definitely female - do think instead of making it look like Sherlock was involved, Moriarty is instead targeting... us?"
The kids fell silent again, now picking up on a second conversation going on in the living room. They filed back in to find Sherlock, John, and Lestrade talking in hushed voices near the front door.
"No," Sherlock said louder now, eyeing Scottie and Emily from across the living room.
"What?"
"The answer's no. They're not coming with you."
Lestrade shot a sidelong glance at the onlookers and then back at Sherlock guiltily. "Great," the Detective Inspector huffed. "Now I'm the bad guy." The man scratched at behind his ear as he turned to leave. Lestrade took a couple steps, stopped, and then backtracked once more. "I've grown fond of them too, you know," he spoke up again. "But this isn't my call. And... you have to admit, when you look at it from their perspective-"
"Goodbye, Inspector. Give my regards to Sergeant Donovan."
Lestrade stood biting his lower lip for a moment before slipping out again without a response. An uneasy quiet hung over the room before Scottie blurted out: "Secrets secrets are no fun, secrets are for everyone!"
"They'll be deciding," Sherlock said after a while.
John frowned. "Deciding?"
"Whether to come back with a warrant." He paced in the direction of the window, hands behind his back.
"Are we... under arrest?" Emily's voice cracked.
"No," John said rather quickly. "No. They can't. The charges are ridiculous! You're just kids! I know they're for real."
Sherlock glanced over a shoulder. "A hundred percent?"
"Well, nobody could fake being such obnoxious, irresponsible di-" John stopped himself from very nearly saying 'dicks' "-derps all the time!"
Sherlock pursed his lips into a tense smile. "Well. I'm sure they appreciate your unwavering loyalty." The man's straight face returned and he went on. "However, if I am going to take a side I can't afford to have any doubts." The detective lunged forward suddenly, throwing both hands over Emily's shoulders and frightening her. "Emily. To what extent are you and Scottie affiliated with Jim Moriarty?"
Emily pulled away, offended. "He had me shot, might I remind you! But you're right, what does that prove? Jim and I probably meet up every Saturday morning for coffee and discuss the most interesting murders we orchestrated that week!"
"So you aren't on friendly terms, then?"
"No shit, Sherlock!"
Now Sherlock turned to Scottie: "And your friend, Willow - she does work for him, correct?"
The boy held up a defensive index finger. "Alright, I can understand why this looks suspicious," Scottie answered, "but we were pretty damn surprised to learn that as well. Not to mention we haven't seen her since… well, yeah. The pool incident and everything."
"And 'the devil wears Westwood'? What did you mean by that?" Scottie went pale at this. Sherlock's voice seemingly dropped a full octave. "Come now, it's been two years but I know you haven't forgotten," pressed Sherlock. "And that wasn't your first or only outburst that was relevant."
"What is he going on about now?" John asked no one in particular.
"That's what Scottie said to me when I first inquired about Moriarty, back on the night you shot that cabbie. It wasn't relevant at the time, and so I left it alone, but now it might be crucial."
Scottie and Emily were at a loss for words. Flustered, even. "I, uh… I plead the fifth?" Emily said softly. John tilted his head in confusion at this.
"It's um. I-I-It's ah… ah… uhm…" Scottie stuttered. "It's c-complicated? Of course, there's ah, uh, a p-perfectly logical reason behind everything that's happened, but to explain so…"
John sunk down on the sofa, rubbing at his forehead in utter shock. "Oh my God…"
"What? No! No, it's not like that!" Scottie tried desperately, suddenly seeming to regain the ability to speak clearly. "Moriarty is playing with both of your minds, too! Can't you see what's going on?" Getting angry and frustrated, Scottie slammed a fist over a table. John looked away.
"He's right," Emily nodded vigorously. "You have to know he's right. Moriarty wants to turn you against us. Against each other. That's his plan."
"I can't do this," John said, shaking his head in disbelieve. "I… I'm going to call Lestrade. See if I can figure out what they know, or something. I… I'll be back." The man took out his cell phone and disappeared into the kitchen.
Sherlock slowly sank into his armchair and pressed his fingertips together in his usual fashion. "And pray tell," he went on, "just why would he want to do that? What pleasure does a person get out of causing a family feud?"
Emily shrugged. "Uh, maybe because he's evil? Evil is as evil does; I don't fucking know what he's getting out of it."
Scottie glanced at Emily and exhaled. "Well, uh, see... we don't actually know what his plan is anymore, because so much has changed by now."
"Changed?" Sherlock questioned, eyes narrowing. "What has changed?"
"Us. We aren't supposed to be here."
There was a brief pause in the conversation.
"And I think Moriarty has figured that out," Scottie added, breaking the silence. "And I think he is either morbidly curious about the hows and whys, or is angered by us getting in the way."
"It is kind of hard to tell with him," Emily agreed.
"Either way it's bad news for us."
"Getting in the way?" echoed Sherlock.
"Well… I mean, we assumed he was going to come after you, actually. Because of The Great Game and everything. But then that didn't exactly pan out and instead, here we are, desperately trying to explain to you that we're not who he's got everyone convinced that we are."
"If not that, then who are you really? I can tell that neither of you are lying, but you obviously aren't telling the full truth, either, and you haven't been for as long as we've both known you."
"Uhm. On a scale of one to ten, to what extent do you believe in parallel universes? Like, one being 'not at all what a ridiculous theory,' ten being 'oh yes absolutely in fact I was just in one last week,' and five probably like… 'well to be honest I'm not sure why do you ask'?"
Sherlock blinked. "Pardon?"
"It's a… long story."
"I have all night."
Emily flung her arms out to the side dramatically. "Okay, yeah, but unfortunately we don't, so you're just gonna have to bear with us on this one and give us the benefit of the doubt!"
"Look, never mind the full story. Everything will make sense in time. I promise. But for now, if there is one thing I am definitely sure of," Scottie began, his eyes darting around nervously, "it's that Moriarty is going to try to solve the problem by killing one to three of the people in this room. And John is not one of those people. Probably."
Sherlock sat up straighter at this. The detective opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by John, who reentered the room. The doctor had just gotten off the phone, shoving it into a jacket pocket.
"Well, we've still got some friends at Scotland Yard. That was Lestrade. He says they're on their way down here to make the arrest - everyone Sherlock ever made feel like a tit, which is quite a lot of people." Scottie snorted, which was responded to by an unamused frown from John. "I'm sorry, is this whole ordeal funny to you?"
"You said 'tit.'"
John sighed. Sherlock looked away, an almost eerie calm about him. "How comforting to know they'd so eagerly ruin the lives of two young people just to get back at me. Of course, that would be assuming the Yard isn't barking up the wrong tree for once."
Mrs. Hudson suddenly came into the room carrying an envelope. The older woman paused, apparently feeling the tension in the air. "Oh, sorry, am I interrupting?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked away, so instead the woman turned her attention to Emily, who was closest out of the bunch. "Some chap delivered a parcel. I forgot. Marked 'perishable' - I had to sign for it. Lewis and Claus... Is that right? You never did mention your surnames before, did you?"
Emily took the envelope from Mrs. Hudson with a confused countenance. Sure enough, her and Scottie's last names were scribbled on the front side of it. Scottie came closer and peered over Emily's shoulder with interest.
"Funny name, too," Mrs. Hudson was saying. "German. Like the fairy tales."
The girl ripped open the thing and pulled from it two gingerbread men, thick and burnt.
"Um."
"I dare you to lick one," Scottie murmured.
"What?" Emily spun around and smacked his upper arm with her hand. "Ew, no! Das gross!"
"Burnt to a crisp," Sherlock muttered seemingly to himself, peering from over their shoulders. He offered out a hand towards Emily. Stuffing the cookies back into their envelope, Emily gave the thing to him so that the detective could have a closer look at its seal.
They could hear several police sirens from outside now. "What does it mean?" John asked, presumably still referring to the gingerbread men.
The sirens got louder and louder and then stopped all at once. Within mere seconds there was both a pounding at the door and the doorbell went off. "Police!" a man's voice called out.
"I'll go," Mrs. Hudson offered. She hurried downstairs as the banging went on uninterrupted.
The others stood in a tense silence and waited. The conversation downstairs was difficult to make out, but a few words stuck out, among them Scottie and Emily's names and an "Evening, Mrs. Hudson."
"We need to talk to you!" a woman's voice called up the stairs.
John disappeared through the doorway without a word.
"Don't barge in like that!" came Mrs. Hudson's voice.
"Quick, I think we might be able to get through the window in time if we go right now," Scottie tried, beginning to look worried as he tugged at Emily's arm.
"We're on the second story," the girl protested.
Without a word Sherlock set down the mail on the coffee table and picked up their two jackets from where they'd left them. He handed each to their owners. Scottie and Emily took them and put them on slowly.
"Have you got a warrant?" John was saying from a little ways away. "Have you?"
"Leave it, John," Lestrade warned.
"Really! It matters!" insisted Mrs. Hudson.
Moments later they were in the flat. A couple of armed officers came right up to Scottie and Emily and slapped a pair of handcuffs on their wrists, attaching the teenagers to one another.
"Uh, what are their surnames, exactly?" Lestrade asked.
"Lewis and Claus," Mrs. Hudson answered knowingly. "Almost like those explorers." Her eyes then widened all of a sudden and she held a hand up over her mouth. "Oh! Sorry - was I not supposed to say? Was that a secret?"
"It's fine," Scottie said weakly. "I'm… I'm Scottie Lewis."
"Emily Claus," Emily said at about the same volume.
"Well then. Scottie Lewis and Emily Claus," Lestrade started to read, "I'm arresting you both on suspicion of abduction and kidnapping."
"They're not resisting." John sounded panicked.
To be perfectly honest, Scottie and Emily were both too stunned to do much of anything, much less give the policemen a hard time.
"It's alright, John," Sherlock assured his flatmate.
John shook his head profusely. "They're not resisting. No, it's not alright. This is ridiculous!"
"John-"
"They're children for fuck's sake!"
"Get them downstairs now," Lestrade instructed one of the officers. The other man nodded and took Emily by her shoulder, ushering her towards the door as a second officer held onto Scottie and pushed him in the same direction. As they passed by Mrs. Hudson they saw that she was beginning to cry.
"Take care of Gladstone for us," Scottie told the woman. She nodded, having to turn away to keep them from seeing her sobbing more.
John came up to Lestrade, hoping to stop him from leaving. "You know you don't have to-"
"Don't try to interfere, or I shall arrest you too!" Lestrade threatened. In all honesty he sounded just as upset by the whole thing as anyone else involved.
"John, don't," Sherlock urged.
John blinked quickly, obviously trying to keep from tearing up. "They're my kids," he said to Sherlock, dropping his voice. "Our kids. No matter how you look at it, despite all they've put us through… We're the closest thing they've got to parents. And as a parent, I can't just stand by and let something like this happen to them! I would take a bullet for them! You know I would!"
"They're adults, John. They can take care of themselves."
"It's not about whether or not they'll take care of themselves. It's about us always being there for them."
"And if it's true?" Sherlock shot back, his voice dead serious. "If they really are connected to Moriarty? Sentiment is only going to hurt you in the end."
The doctor shook his head defiantly. "I don't care. Whether or not what they're saying about them is true, I'm not going to abandon them. And neither should you." And with that, John pushed past his flatmate and followed the police officers downstairs.
Their wrists still cuffed together, Scottie and Emily were told to wait pressed up against the police vehicle outside the building while the adults finished discussing matters just out of earshot. Emily was scared, as was obvious from the way her eyes darted around aimlessly.
"I'm sorry," she kept saying. "I'm so, so sorry…"
"Don't be. 'Sides, guess who has a plan? That's right. This guy."
Emily met Scottie's eyes, her own wide with a mix between worry and interest. "You do? What is it?"
Scottie forced a smile. "Well. You remember what happened in the original episode…?"
"Wh-no! Absolutely not! I say we just let things run their course. If it comes down to it, a jury isn't likely to condemn a couple of kids as cute as us, right? Right?"
"And what if they do?" Scottie's face became grim again.
Emily looked away. "I… I don't know."
"I'm gonna do it," decided Scottie regardless. Before Emily could stop him, he reached for the radio inside the police car and activated it, setting off a high pitched noise that temporarily crippled a few of the policemen. While they were distracted he stole a handgun from one of their belts and held it out, hands shaking profusely. Emily probably would've been impressed at his managing to pull it off the same way Sherlock had if she weren't so frightened in that moment. "Everybody on your knees!" Scottie yelled.
The police exchanged glances but didn't obey. A few of them laughed audibly. John took a couple cautious steps towards the now armed boy. "Scottie," he pleaded, "don't do this. Just… set the gun down. Please. You don't want to make your situation any worse than it already is."
But Scottie didn't drop his weapon. Instead he fired a warning shot into the pavement a foot or so away from John's feet. The entire crowd jumped, smiles now wiped off their faces. John scrambled backwards. "I'm not fucking around!" he yelled again, louder than before. And then a bit more calmly: "I don't want to kill anyone, but I'm a very easily startled person and my aim is pretty bad, so if I were you I wouldn't make any sudden movements or, y'know, that sort of thing."
The men looked to one another stupidly.
"Do as he says," Lestrade finally instructed. Although reluctant, the group did so with minimal complaint.
Emily lifted a hand nervously as if she were volunteering to answer a question in class. "Uh, let it be said right now that this was entirely his idea and I have absolutely nothing to do with it. Again for you slower folk: he's the madman here, I'm… I'm just, um…"
"My hostage," Scottie finished and brought the gun to Emily's head.
The girl nodded vigorously. "Yes. His… Wait, no!" Her nodding quickly turned to shaking. "No no no no no, I don't like this plan anymore! As you said, you're far too jumpy to be trusted with that thing aimed at me!"
The teenagers inched backwards, away from the kneeling clump of policemen and Sherlock and John. Scottie and Emily were now halfway across the street and no one seemed to be making an attempt to stop them. It was at this point that Scottie decided it was time to make a run for it. He lowered the gun and took Emily's hand in his own. "C'mon," he instructed, pulling her forward.
"I'm never gonna forgive you for this!" Emily hissed, hurrying alongside Scottie as they bolted around the corner.
Not once looking behind them to see if they were actually being pursued, the boy and girl ran until they felt as if their legs were going to give out, at which point they dove into an alleyway, crouching behind a large metal garbage bin just in case. "Where are we even going?" panted Emily as she hunched forward. "The only people who are ever willing to lend us a hand or return a favor live on Baker Street, and that's exactly where we're fleeing from!"
Scottie pressed his back against the wall behind him. He had shoved the gun into his pocket, hoping to avoid drawing any unwanted attention because of it, but kept his hand firmly around the thing just in case. His other wrist was stinging where the handcuff had been rubbing against it as he ran, but he didn't complain about this to avoid looking like a wuss to Emily. "Well, that isn't necessarily true," he answered, "because I can think of at least one person we ought to try."
Emily furrowed her brows at the boy. "Who, Willow? I hate to burst your bubble, but we don't exactly know where to find her even if she weren't a probable cause of all this. Which if she isn't she's still probably involved one way or another."
"That's not who I meant."
"No? Who else, then? Obviously not anyone at Scotland Yard. I hesitate to say Mycroft…"
Scottie shook his head. "Think closer to the original episode."
"...yeah um, we didn't exactly meet Kitty ourselves. Or know her address."
"Molly," sighed Scottie. "We're going to Saint Bart's to find Molly."
Emily's eyes lifted with realization. "Oh. Right. Because we know she's there right now. But, how do we know for sure Molly can and is willing to do anything for us?"
Scottie shrugged. He was currently trying to twist his hand out of its metal prison but having no such luck. "Unless you've got any better ideas…"
Picking herself up (and jerking Scottie to his feet along with her), Emily squeezed her eyes shut tightly and tapped her heels together three times, chanting "There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home." Once the girl had finished she opened her eyes again, scanned them across the alley, and let out a defeated sigh.
"What was that?" asked Scottie.
"My last idea. I am officially out of ideas. Shall we, then?"
"To Saint Bart's it is!" Scottie exclaimed with a decisive nod.
Still stuck less than a foot apart from each other at all times, Scottie and Emily made their way towards Saint Bart's. They held hands in an attempt to hide the handcuffs, the chain balled up between their palms and their jacket sleeves pulled as far down down their arms as possible. Just in case, the teenagers kept pressed next to one another while waiting for a cab, frantically looking over their shoulders every so often. Luckily they didn't run into the police at all and the few people that were on the streets didn't recognize them. A taxi did come eventually and they slipped into it, handcuffs still hidden.
Not wanting to draw any suspicion from the driver (who they double checked wasn't Moriarty beforehand), Scottie and Emily avoided talking about their current predicament. Instead they discussed various TV shows, forcing themselves to laugh as if nothing was wrong all the way. Once at Saint Bart's, Emily paid the cabbie with her free hand and they darted inside of the building as quickly as possible.
Upon entering the facility the kids immediately let go of one another's hands. They were quiet, and as such the sounds of their breathing and echoing footsteps were twice as loud as usual. The place was spooky at night. Although it had been unlocked, very few of the lights remained on aside from the long and winding hallway through the structure.
They were just rounding the corner when they heard a third pair of footsteps coming towards them. Scottie and Emily stopped just as Molly rounded the corner. The woman let out a surprised shriek upon seeing them. Embarrassed, she held a hand over her mouth and was silent for some time.
"Uh... hi," Scottie greeted her awkwardly.
"You... You startled me," Molly breathed. "Twice in one day, no less. H-Hello. Um. Sorry, but what are you doing here so late? I was going to lock up soon. Did Sherlock send you for something?"
"What? Oh, no, um... Actually we came because we need a favor." Emily smiled weakly.
"A favor?" echoed Molly. "What sort of favor?"
Scottie and Emily lifted their arm enough to show the woman their problem.
"And we may or may not need a place to crash tonight," Scottie added. "Because we're kind of maybe fugitives."
"Scottie!"
"What? I'm sick of lying to everyone all the time. Is that not what got us into this position in the first place?"
"Well… I mean sort of? But they would've thought us crazy otherwise, and I don't see how that's any better."
Molly had a rather vacant look about her. "I'm… sorry, is this some kind of game or practical joke, maybe? You're absolutely sure Sherlock didn't put you up to this? Because I don't… I don't get it. It is supposed to be funny, right? That's the sort of thing you guys do - get into trouble and make people laugh while looking cute doing it."
Scottie raised an eyebrow. "And I'm… not exactly sure what you're implying, but I'm completely serious about what I said. Emily and I… Look, we got into a spot of trouble, okay? It's kind of a long story, but basically we came asking for your help. And also you're not allowed to tell anyone we're here."
"I'm going to call John," Molly announced, finding her phone. "It's late and he's probably worried sick about-"
"No!" Scottie and Emily both shouted frantically.
"Weren't you listening to what I just said?" Scottie went on. "He can't know we're here! I wasn't kidding about the whole fugitives in hiding thing!"
Molly was still gripping her mobile tightly with one hand, as if in the midst of debating whether to go through with the call or hear the boy out. "You're… You're not serious, are you? What did you two even do?"
Scottie looked to Emily, hoping that she would do a better job explaining.
"It's, um… As we said already, it's a long story. One that we'll be happy to completely lay out on the table just as soon as we're sure that we're somewhere safe enough to do so."
The woman waited just long enough to make them start to worry before finally putting the phone away. "Alright. Fine. You both can spend the night at my place, but I won't make any promises past that. After you've explained yourselves, then I'll decide what has to be done about it, even if that means calling Sherlock and John."
"And you also promise to not make any judgements on the matter until you've heard our side? No matter what you see or hear before then?"
"Uh."
"Just say deal."
"Um, okay? Deal. Now, should I help you out of those cuffs before we head out, or…?"
"Yes please."
Molly lived in a small second-story flat. Upon arrival, Scottie and Emily were immediately greeted by a white and brown cat. "I believe you've already met Toby," Molly said whilst locking the front door. "He's real friendly with strangers. Loves the attention."
"Yeah, I remember," Scottie smiled. Having been released from his metal bondage, the boy was now free to crouch down and pet the cat without worrying about taking Emily with him.
"Can I get you anything to drink?" offered Molly on her way past them. "There's water, milk, tea…"
"No thanks," both teenagers answered her.
"You sure? I've got some some biscuits, too. Made them this morning, so they should still taste very fresh. Would you like some?"
"Uh, no, I'm good."
"Same."
Molly nodded awkwardly. "Oh. Alright. Um, if that's it then, then why don't you… take a seat and we'll get right to it."
Forcing themselves to get up from where they'd planted themselves in order to bond with Toby, who was currently rolling around on the carpeted floor purring, Scottie and Emily made their way to the living room couch. It was facing a TV against the wall, which sat in front of several windows with drawn curtains. Molly joined them shortly after they'd taken a seat, first setting a plate of cookies down on the coffee table in front of them and then sitting at the opposite end of the couch from Scottie and Emily.
"I know you said you didn't want anything, but they're really good and I made a lot so I figured I ought to put them out anyway, y'know, just in case," Molly explained. "They're chocolate chip."
Emily stared at the tray in debate with herself for a couple seconds before finally reaching forward and taking one. "Whelp. I suppose since you already went through the trouble of bringing them out..."
Not wanting be rude but also in no mindset to be sitting on a couch enjoying cookies, Scottie followed his friend's example and took one as well. He inspected it in his hand for a bit until forcing himself to break off a piece and taste it.
"Well?" Molly pressed.
"They're good," Emily answered, swallowing. "The fact that half of London is currently searching for us? Not so much."
Molly took a deep breath and looked away. "Oh. Yeah. We should... probably talk about that. But first - Scottie - would you mind taking out your concealed weapon and putting it aside? Just... Just to give me some peace of mind. Please."
The boy's eyes widened. He obviously didn't expect Molly to know about that. Looking like a kid caught with his hand in a candy jar, Scottie took the gun out from his jacket pocket and carefully set it down on the short table in front of them. "I... Okay, yeah, I know that this looks bad. But. I promise you I never used it."
"Except for when he shot at the pavement," muttered Emily.
Scottie frowned. "I swear to God, Emily, either you're helping my case or SHUTTING THE FUCK UP."
"He had no intention of using it to hurt anyone," Emily elaborated. "Probably."
Molly pinched at the bridge of her nose. "Where did you get it? John?"
"Nicked it off a policeman."
The woman dropped her hand, stiffening. "Wait. You mean you stole a firearm off of a police officer?"
"...okay yeah I realize that sounds bad too. But you gotta understand, he had us handcuffed and they were going to take us in unless SOMEONE did something, and Sherlock and John weren't helping! I saw it on the original... well, on a TV show. A-And it worked, right? I mean, Emily and I are here, as opposed to locked up behind bars somewhere. Which is a good thing. I think."
"You shouldn't have done something like that if you were innocent in the first place," Molly pointed out sternly. "Now you've really committed a felony. What were you even being arrested for in the first place?"
Emily bit at her lower lip before answering. "Uh. Kidnapping and abduction, I believe?"
"Kidnapping?!"
"Well we didn't actually do the thing," Emily tried to explain. "That's just what Moriarty got everyone thinking. And that's just the tip of the iceberg! The police probably suspect us of every other crime Sherlock helped solve in the past two years, they just don't have enough evidence to pin them on us yet. But they will. When Moriarty wants something, he gets it."
"But... why would the Scotland Yard think a couple of kids were involved in an abduction? They know you both, too."
Emily shrugged. "It's... complicated, but apparently they have their reasons. From what I understand they believe that Jim Moriarty is a made up concept, and Scottie and I are actually responsible for everything he's done."
Molly made a face. "I hear what you're saying, but... I'm not sure I quite follow. Why would anyone buy that accusation? Surely you must have done something wrong, if even Sherlock couldn't get you out of it?"
"Alright, look," Scottie took over, "if you're not going to give her 'the talk,' then I will. Someone ought to know the full truth. Even if Molly can't do anything to help is out, then at least one person will know what really happened."
Emily let out a long, drawn-out sigh and turned to Molly. The poor woman looked more confused than ever.
"Whatever. Just... promise you won't... freak out on us or anything, alright?"
"Jesus Christ, you sound like you're about to show her you have super powers or something," Scottie said under his breath.
It was unclear as to whether Molly believed their story once they'd gotten to the end of it. She wanted too, but who could blame her for having doubt to some degree? Regardless, she offered up her flat to the two fugitives. At least until they could come up with some better plan of action in the morning.
"You still up?" Scottie asked, staring up at the dark ceiling.
"...yeah," came Emily's voice from a little ways away.
"Hey, Em…"
"Mm?"
"Did you ever think it would end like this?"
The girl thought for a moment, stroking Toby as he walked over her on the floor of Molly's living room. Toby stopped on top of the middle of her chest just long enough to stick his butt into Emily's face before continuing on his way. "Well. The cat is a surprise," she admitted.
Scottie smiled a little at this, but it quickly faded away once more. "What are we going to do?" he asked the ceiling quietly. "I mean, it's not like we can just hide away in Molly's flat like a couple of criminals forever, and the longer we hide, the more guilty we look…" The boy flopped over then, propping himself up by his elbows, and turned his head to Emily, despite hardly being able to see her in the dark room. "We should meet up with Moriarty."
"What are you, insane?!" she shot back with no hesitation.
"Find out why he's doing this. What he wants. Try to reason with him... It's what Sherlock would've done."
"That was different," Emily muttered. "First off, we're not Sherlock. We're not interesting or unique or super good at any one thing. Nobody would watch a show about us."
"I would," Scottie interrupted.
"Shh. I'm not finished. Secondly, there's no reasoning with Moriarty. I'm not sure he's even human. He's just a… an idea written down and put into print a hundred years ago or something, which was then adapted into a British TV character in a modern-day interpretation of the original books. And we don't stand a chance against something like that."
Scottie frowned. "By that same logic, so are Sherlock and John and everyone else here."
"They don't count."
"Why? Because they've never tried to have us killed? Gimme your phone. I know you still have his number on it."
Emily turned her head away. Scottie held out an expectant hand in the darkness.
"C'mon, Em - unless you've got a better idea…"
"Fine. I'll do it." Emily sat up and took out the pink phone. The screen was so bright in contrast that it lit up half the room. Emily squinted, turning down its brightness a bit. "Goddamn, it's like its only two settings at night are 'dim' and 'the Messiah has returned'," she mumbled to herself. "Alright, what do you want me to say? Meet on top of Molly's building? Do we even know how to get onto Molly's building? Or what the formal address is?"
It was just light enough now to see Scottie roll his eyes at this. "No need to get creative. We can make it atop Saint Bart's as well."
"I seriously doubt Molly is going to give us a ride back over there and then unlock the building for us. Especially after we tell her why we're going."
"Maybe not, but you've driven her car plenty of times before, and I happen to remember where she left her keys…"
"You're not serious." Emily's eyes widened. "Oh my God, you are serious!"
"Shhh!" Scottie leaned closer to her. "Not so loud; the last thing we want is for her to wake up and hear all of this… But yes, I am. There's already a warrant out for our arrest. And we've technically stolen Lestrade's car once before, so it's nothing new. What difference is one more little theft going to make?"
Emily stared frustratedly down at the phone before beginning the text. She paused after a moment and looked up. "What time should I say?"
"What time is it now?"
"3:56."
"No wonder I'm exhausted. Say seven. That should give us plenty of time to sneak out and get over there before Molly gets up."
Emily finished typing the message and let it send. The cell phone went dark after a bit and the room was once again engulfed in blackness. She heard Scottie roll over onto his side.
"You should try to get some sleep," he said softly. Almost in a whisper. "Might not get another chance."
"I know." Emily laid down again and stared up at the ceiling some more. "Scottie?" she said after a minute or so of silence. "I don't know if I can sleep, after everything that's happened."
"...I know."
By the time 6:00 rolled around, neither Scottie nor Emily were sure how much time they had actually spent sleeping and for how much of it they'd just laid awake. Like they'd talked about several hours earlier, they forced themselves to their feet just before the sun started to come up, grabbed a couple Poptarts for the road, took Molly's work and car keys from where she'd hung them up the night before and stole out of the flat. The London streets were mostly empty at that time, and, after having looked up the route to Saint Bart's Hospital, they had little trouble getting there and inside unnoticed.
"How are we on time?" Scottie asked as they navigated their way up a stairwell towards the top of the deserted building.
"A little more than ten minutes early, but I'm sure it's fine. I hope he does actually show up. He never texted back." Although despite these words, there was a part of her that actually hoped he didn't.
Moriarty did show up. He was there waiting for them on the rooftop, sitting at the ledge with his phone out and playing Staying Alive, just as they expected him to be.
"Ah. Here we are at last," the man said over the music. "Scottie, Emily and I, and our problem - the Final Problem." He lifted the phone even higher. "Stayin' alive! It's so boring, isn't it?" Moriarty then cut the music off and looked up at the kids for the first time. "It's just… staying. Is that why you left?"
Scottie and Emily came closer, but made sure to keep a good distance between themselves and the consulting criminal. "I'm sorry?" Scottie said weakly.
"All my life I've been searching for distractions. Sherlock was the best distraction I had for a while there, but then he led me to you. And now I don't even have the both of you. Because I've beaten you. And you know what? In the end it was easy. It was easy… Now I've got to go back to playing with the ordinary people."
"I wouldn't say Sherlock was ordinary," Emily pointed out.
Scottie put a hand on Emily's shoulder and stepped in front of her slightly. "Why are you doing this?" Scottie demanded. He narrowed his eyes at the older man.
It was strange how differently he felt about Moriarty now. Sure, he was a crazy consulting criminal with a thing for murder and being creepy, but as a fictional character he was much easier to admire. In person Moriarty's good looks and quirkiness were far less redeeming. And now, after everything he had put them through, Scottie and Emily were just finally starting to fear the man. And rightly so.
Moriarty grinned a too-wide grin and stood up, getting dangerously close to the others now. "Why?" he echoed. "Why, because it's fun. The most fun I've had in ages..."
"I-Isn't it Sherlock you want, though?" Emily tried again. She could feel hairs at the back of her neck standing up and didn't like it in the least.
Moriarty let out a forced laugh that died out towards the end. "Oh no... You thought you had me all figured out, hadn't you? My my, this is rather embarrassing," he purred. "I admit, I did have somewhat of an... obsession with Mr. Holmes last year, but that was before it occurred to me: what if Sherlock was merely a puppet, and there was really someone else pulling the strings?"
Scottie swallowed. "Sherlock isn't a fake."
"Oh, sure he's smart, I'll give him that much. But he's got nothing on either of you. Scottie Lewis and Emily Claus, the children who could see the future... Sherlock could keep up with the game. But you were always a step ahead. Almost like you've already seen it played out before. Isn't that right?"
Scottie glanced over at Emily, who shrugged helplessly. "Um. So like. Are you wondering how, or...? Because I mean if that's all you want from us..."
The man pursed his lips into a sly smile. "Still don't get it, do you? I couldn't care less about where you came from, how you got here… The fact of the matter is, you are here now, and you don't belong. You must realize that."
"We can't go back," Emily pleaded. "We don't know how."
"I have a few ideas," the consulting criminal purred. Moriarty came forward. Instinctively, Scottie and Emily huddled closer together, keeping their eyes fixed on the larger man as he circled them ever so slowly and full of confidence, like they were his prey and he was merely toying with them before the kill. "Two birds with one stone," he said in a sing-song voice, coming to a stop with most of his weight put onto one foot.
"I'm… sorry?"
"You don't belong here. You know it. I know it. And who knows? Ridding this world of you two might just be doing it a favor. At the same time, it would absolutely crush Sherlock Holmes. He pretends not to care, but, well." The corner of Moriarty's lip rose into a cold grin. "I think that we can all agree that that's not quite true."
"Look, why don't you quit monologuing and get to the punchline already?" Emily demanded, trying to look braver than she felt in that moment. "And we know all about your stunt with breaking into those places, with there not being a real key or whatever, so you can skip that bit while you're at it."
"Adopted Holmes children proved to be just a cover," the man went on. "I read it in the paper, so it must be true. I love newspapers. Fairytales." Moriarty paused for all of a moment before stepping closer to the edge of the roof and peering over it. The children followed after him uneasily. "And pretty Grimm ones too," Moriarty said, looking at them out of the corner of his eye.
"Oh, no no no no," Emily said, stumbling backwards. "Absolutely not, my friend."
"Okay Princess, let me give you a little extra incentive," pressed Moriarty, looking first down at the girl and then to Scottie, who was now a foot or so away. "Your friends will die if you don't."
"Sherlock," Scottie said, fear coming into his eyes.
"John," Emily said in an equal manner.
"Everyone." Moriarty's voice was a taunting whisper now.
"Mrs. Hudson?" asked Scottie.
"Everyone," Moriarty repeated.
"Lestrade?"
"Everyone."
"Molly?" "Mycroft?" each of the kids asked in succession.
Even Moriarty was looking a little ticked off now, but only just. "Okay, do you not know what 'everyone' means?" he seethed. "Because it quite literally means ev-ery-one!"
There was a pause before Scottie pointed out, "There's no way you have that many snipers set up at this very moment."
"You got me," Moriarty shrugged. "Not everyone, per say. Three bullets; three gunmen; three victims. There's no stopping them now… unless my people see you jump."
Scottie and Emily frowned at one another.
"Wait. So Sherlock and John are a given, but… which one was the third?"
"Someone who is probably rather offended that you didn't guess her name in your original batch," the consulting criminal told them. The teenagers' eyes widened in realization. "Mm, yes, you had forgotten about poor, innocent little Willow, hadn't you?" Moriarty mocked. "And to think, you were willing to take a bullet not all that long ago on her behalf. Some friends you really turned out to be, which only proves my point further still. Now, here's the deal: you can have me arrested. You can torture me. Even though I seriously doubt you are capable of any of these things, supposing you were, you can do anything you like with me. But nothing's gonna prevent them from pulling the trigger. The three friends you care about most in this world will die… unless…"
"Unless we kill ourselves," Scottie whimpered. "Yeah, yeah. You've made your point."
"And if that's not enough incentive, you did kindly provide me with a few more choice targets, should my selections not do the trick."
"No, no. That's… That's a tempting enough offer as it is."
"Then why the cold feet? If it meant saving your skins, Sherlock would be splattered across the pavement already."
Scottie fumed at this remark. "No. No, he wouldn't. You know what he would do in our position? I'll tell you what he'd do: he'd say something clever, get you to put a bullet in your own brain, and then fake his suicide to get your stupid cronies off of his friends! And you know how I know this? Because, as you hinted at already, I'VE ALREADY SEEN IT HAPPEN."
"Scottie!" Emily hissed through a clenched jaw.
"Oh, what's the point anymore!" Scottie let out, throwing his arms out to the side in exasperation. "This is a TV show, we're from the real world. There's no sense in trying to deny it at this point. Moriarty knows something's up, and that's what's got us in this mess in the first place!"
"And what's being open about it going to do anyway, huh?" Emily threw back. "It doesn't change our situation one bit! We're still here, on top of Saint Bart's, with Moriarty, who's going to have Sherlock, John, and Willow killed because we're not clever enough to outsmart him and also too chicken to do what he wants!" The girl huffed and turned her back to her friend.
"This whole thing is bloody fucking trainwreck," Scottie groaned, putting his head in his hands.
"You're just getting that now, DOOFUS?" Moriarty exclaimed, getting far to close past Scottie's personal comfort boundary and into the boy's face.
"That's Captain Sockarms to you!"
Without warning Scottie suddenly threw his leg forward, kicking Moriarty square in the chest. The consulting criminal went tumbling backwards and fell from the edge of the building. Scottie lost his footing and began to topple after him, but thankfully Emily lunged forward just in time to grab the boy by the back of his shirt collar and pull him in again. The friends both were knocked over backwards, landing one on top of the other.
"Impeccable timing, Cadet Lotionwrists," the boy wheezed.
They lay there on the rooftop for a couple moments breathing heavily before Scottie stood up again and dusted himself off. He offered a hand out to Emily.
"What the actual fuck were you thinking?!" the girl demanded, picking herself up with his assistance. "You just threw Jim Moriarty off of Saint Bart's!" Emily inched towards the edge again and peered over it. Sure enough, there was Moriarty's body, lying broken on the pavement in a pool of blood. She cupped a hand over her mouth and looked away again.
"I..." Scottie was at her side now looking somewhat guilty. "Yeah. I suppose I did... But he was being a jerk and we were in a bit of a jam and… Oh my God I can't believe I just totally murdered Moriarty… I mean. Holy SHIT, man."
"I know he was going to kill himself anyway, but STILL..." Emily sunk to the ground again and stared blankly ahead of herself.
"Actually I don't think he was now," Scottie disagreed. "He didn't feel like we posed as much of a threat to him as Sherlock would've. Plus, he was armed and we weren't, since Molly confiscated the gun and all. So I basically just saved your life. You're welcome."
Emily hesitated before reaching into her jacket pocket and pulling out the firearm, which she set down on the cement before her. Scottie looked down at it thoughtfully.
"Alert the media; it looks like we've got ourselves a badass over here."
"Insurance," Emily explained. "I didn't want to have to use it. But… thanks to you, I guess I didn't have to."
"Well you certainly took your time with it…"
"WHERE IS HE?" a third person's voice called out from somewhere behind them. Scottie whipped his head around and Emily scrambled to her feet to see a girl about their age standing near the ladder that had brought them up to the roof. She was wielding what appeared to be a machine gun and had it facing forwards as if she were ready to let loose with it at a moment's notice.
"WILLOW?!" the teenagers simultaneously choked.
"I SAID WHERE IS HE?" Willow repeated.
"Who?" asked Emily.
"JIM MORIARTY."
Wary of the girl he hoped was still his friend and even more so of the gun she was carrying, Scottie took a cautious step forward with his hands raised slightly to show her that he was unarmed. "Willow… what are you doing here?" he asked slowly.
Willow blinked in surprise. Like the answer should have been obvious. "What does it look like? I came to say goodbye… and then promptly fire 27 holes into the bastard's chest with this baby."
"Uh. You're a little late for that," Emily started to explain. She looked from Willow to Scottie uneasily, and then back at Willow. "Scottie already kind of knocked him off the building all kung fu master-like." The girl nodded towards the edge of Saint Bart's, indicating where the event had occurred.
Lowering her firearm, Willow came closer and stood between the two of them near the roof's edge. She peered down at Moriarty's corpse.
"Well fuck."
Scottie rubbed at the back of his head guiltily. "Umm. Yeah. I… I did that. Surprised no one's noticed down there, either. At least I don't think the street would be sealed off this time."
"It's still early," Emily shrugged. "More so than it was in the show, anyway. Maybe no one's out and about yet?" She swallowed and met Willow's eyes. "For real though, what are you doing here? Why would you want Moriarty dead?"
"Because he was after you guys. Duh. I may've done some things I'm not so proud of in the past few months but I still consider you both dear friends of mine and I wasn't going to let Jim get to you if I could help it."
"So… you knew about what went down? How he… How we changed the episode?" Willow nodded and Emily went on: "It's just. It was hard to tell whose side you were on, you know? Last time we saw you you were with Moriarty, and then… I got shot and we didn't know if you were dead or… A-And then he was threatening to have you killed if we didn't jump, and-"
"I know," Willow cut her off. "I know and I'm sorry. I really am. It was... Things were complicated, alright? Can we just leave it at that?"
"I... Okay. I suppose." Emily took a deep breath and squinted out at the early morning view. "So what now?"
"We disappear," Scottie said softly, his eyes fixed on the ground.
"Contrary to what you might think, Scottie, you're not actually a miniature version of Sherlock. I happen to know for a fact that you don't have some elaborate fake suicide scheme planned out."
"Then it won't be faked." Scottie said, looking Emily dead in the eye.
"Wait, what?!" Willow let out from behind them. "No! Absolutely not! I didn't come all this way with the intention of murdering my enemy (and subsequently one of the closest people I had to a friend in the past year or more) only to have you both kill yourselves anyway!"
"Yeah, let's look at this rationally," Emily tried. "I couldn't bring myself to do the thing when Moriarty was here threatening the lives of people I care about. What makes you think I can go through with it now?"
"What choice do we have?" the boy threw back. "The assassins are still going to come after Sherlock and John if we don't."
"I can't watch this," Willow huffed, turning around. "I'll be inside if you change your minds. And if you don't, then… Well, I'm sorry, okay? About everything." Obviously trying to keep from crying in front of them, Willow hurried down the ladder without another word and disappeared.
Emily shuffled around where she was standing for a moment, avoiding Scottie's eyes. "You… really would die for a couple of fictional characters?"
"Fictional or not, Sherlock Holmes is real. They all are. You know that as well as I do." Scottie paused, trying to hold back tears. "Maybe… maybe after we're gone we'll wake up in our own beds," he went on. "Like you were saying all those months ago. Our real beds. Back home. Or maybe we won't, but… I'd be okay with that. It's the right thing to do."
"Shit." Emily bit at her lip and looked around helplessly. "That's really our only option, is it? Then. Then yeah, I… I guess we've gotta do what we've gotta do… I'm just scared, that's all." Her voiced cracked at the end of the sentence and Emily started sobbing.
Scottie threw an arm around his friend. "Hey hey hey - it's okay to be scared. And I totally get it if you don't want to."
"No, I'll do it," Emily said, pushing away and drying her eyes. She exhaled slowly and pulled out the pink cell phone from her jeans pocket, which she held out to Scottie. "Just how he would've, okay?"
"Okay."
The event played out very close to what should have happened. Scottie called Sherlock, and in a matter of minutes he and John arrived at the scene. He spotted their tiny figures down below from where he and Emily stood side by side at the edge of Saint Bart's.
"Stop there," Scottie instructed into the receiver.
"Scottie?" came John's voice. Apparently Sherlock had the thing on speaker phone.
"Look up now. Emily and I are on the rooftop."
"Oh God…"
"Scottie. What's this about? What are you and Emily doing?"
"Apologizing. It's all true. Everything they said about Emily and I… How we knew all those things… We invented Moriarty. Used our ages to take advantage of you. Thought it would be funny, watching you two run around, solving our puzzles. Getting attached."
"Stop it," John demanded. "Stop it. This isn't some big joke. Emily got shot remember? She wouldn't have done that to herself. And - And you've been with us all the time! Where the bloody hell was a couple of kids supposed to find the time and resources to pull something like this off?"
"Willow helped," Scottie lied. "She was our eyes and ears on the outside. The man you thought was Moriarty… He was just a puppet. Kept you off our backs. But as I'm sure you can see, we didn't have much use for him anymore."
There was a pause before: "Jesus Christ…"
"We can figure this out," Sherlock said slowly. "We'll talk about it. Find you a good lawyer. Whatever it takes."
"Just… Just stay right where you are." John took a step closer.
It was all Scottie had in him to keep from giving up the act and running to them. "No! No, you have to stay there! Don't move! Please. Will you do that for me?"
"...alright?"
Scottie squeezed onto Emily's hand tighter. "This phone call, it's… our note. That's what people do, isn't it? Leave a note?"
"Leave a note when?"
"Goodbye, Sherlock… John…"
Mirroring the actual episode, Scottie shut the cell phone with one hand and threw it down to the ground. He glanced over at Emily.
"So. This is it, then? We're really doing this?" she asked softly.
The boy gave her a grim nod.
Emily swallowed. Her face was wet from crying. "To die would be an awfully big adventure."
The words triggered a memory for Scottie, who tugged Emily's hand with a small, sad chuckle. "If it's any consolation, Emily... you made my life... an adventure."
Emily choked on a laugh and started crying harder. Between sobs, she just managed to say, "A-And if it's any consolation, Scottie, you m-made my life... r-rich."
Scottie forced a smile and turned away again. He peered down at the ground several stories below.
"Whelp. See you on the other side, or whatever."
"Scottie! Emily!" John shouted into the mobile, but the line was already dead. With one arm he held onto Sherlock as they both craned their necks up at Saint Bart's rooftop with horrified expressions.
John called out the teens' names again just as he helplessly watched them step off of the edge. Sherlock started to lunge forward but was stopped by John, who was unable to watch now that he knew what was happening and had spun around and clung tighter to Sherlock, his hands now gripping onto the man's coat, and planted his face into Sherlock's scarf. Sherlock instinctively threw a protective arm across John's backside but kept his head tilted upwards.
And then there was a loud swooshing noise, and something blue and boxlike seemingly materialized out of the side of Saint Bart's. Scottie and Emily's silhouettes disappeared inside of it and the thing started to vanish just as suddenly as it had come with the same sound as before. John turned his head around upon hearing the noise. He pulled away from Sherlock and quickly scanned his eyes down the building looking for some trace of Scottie and Emily, but they were no longer there. He and Sherlock snapped their necks around to exchange confused and somewhat distressed looks.
"That…" Sherlock blinked, searching for words. "That was… from that show you and Emily watch."
John stared forward in disbelief.
"It was, wasn't it?"
"I… Yeah. That certainly sounded like the TARDIS."
"What the fuck," the consulting detective let out, putting his hands to his head and staring forward with his eyes wide and mouth still slightly ajar.
Moments later the swooshing noise started up for a third time, and a blue police box materialized up against the side of Saint Bart's, this time flat against the pavement. Without a word Sherlock and John darted towards it. As they got there, stopping a good several feet in front of the strange object, the front door to the hospital swung open and Willow came sprinting out of it.
"Holy fucking SHIT!" the girl gasped, stopping beside Sherlock and John. "Oh. He-llo there, boys."
"Um."
But before they had time to ask if she knew anything, the front door to the TARDIS burst open, releasing a thick cloud of black smoke.
An older man that none of them recognized came stumbled out of the TARDIS, coughing and gagging. "How many tries will it take you to land her properly?!" he hissed.
"Oh piss off," a second girl's voice said. She stepped out of the TARDIS after him and Willow's eyes lit up.
"BLAISE? Wh-What are you doing here? And in the TARDIS, no less!"
"I could ask you the same thing," her other internet friend pointed out. "AANers shouldn't typically be able to spontaneously appear in BBC's London."
The smoke had mostly cleared by now and Scottie and Emily took several cautious steps outside and joined the others in somewhat of a ring in front of the TARDIS.
Scottie swallowed. "So um. Am I right to assume that almost everyone here is just as confused as I am?"
There was a collective nod from the group.
"Oh, yes, hello," the stranger said, giving them all a little wave. "I'm the Doctor."
"T-That's impossible," Emily managed.
Scottie looked over at her. "I thought he looked much younger? This is just some random old British dude no one's ever heard of."
"Just because you aren't familiar with all of his regenerations," Blaise scoffed.
"So you're telling me this all real?" Emily asked excitedly. "Superwholock, that is? The ultimate crossover? Because this is, like, groundbreaking news for fangirls everywhere!"
"Calm down," Blaise told her sternly. "Just because it's possible doesn't mean that it should be. The two of you alone very nearly tore this entire storyline apart. And you didn't help," Blaise added to Willow. "Alternate universes aren't supposed to have any overlap. That's what fanfiction is for."
"I'm to take you three home," the Doctor said, stepping forward. "Now hurry it up! Into the TARDIS, quick-like now!"
"H-Hang on!" John came forward and place a hand on each of the children's shoulders. "What's the meaning of all this? I demand answers!"
"Well haven't they told you already? They don't belong in this world. They belong in a parallel universe in America, with their friends and family!"
"But we are their family," John pressed.
The Doctor nodded. "I know. And you've both done an excellent job raising them until I could get here."
"I think we deserve more of an explanation than that," Sherlock finally spoke up, looking every bit as concerned as John did.
"See this is what we were trying to tell you earlier," Emily tried. "We're not from this world. Everything that's happened up until this point - well, most of it anyway - it was generally supposed to happen, just without us in the picture."
"Oh my God you're aliens." John's eyes grew wide with realization.
Scottie frowned. "W-What? No! No, we're not aliens. Where we come from everything is exactly the same as here. Except, y'know, all this is a BBC TV show Emily and I were obsessed with."
"That's how we were able to say all those things at the same time as you, or know things about your cases that we couldn't possibly have otherwise figured out on our own," agreed Emily.
"That would also explain why I could never do a proper background check on either of you, or how you first came to London with no plausible explanation," Sherlock said thoughtfully.
"Yes! See? All the pieces are coming together and no one's crazy after all!"
The Doctor clasped his hands together enthusiastically. "Right! Yes! And now that we're all caught up and on the same page, might I suggest we get a move on?"
"Wh… No, wait!" John cried out again. "Things are only just beginning to make sense, and I'm sure we both still have so many questions to discuss! A-And you can't just, just drop off a couple of teenagers on our front doorstep like that, let us grow fond of them over the years, and then take them away again, just like that!"
The Doctor shrugged. "Well. I don't know if it was 'just like that'. It took two years to build up to this point and, might I add, Scottie and Emily were about to commit suicide had I not interfered just when I did. I saved their lives. You're welcome."
"Do you really have to go?" Sherlock asked softly.
Scottie glanced over to Emily, who nodded ever so slowly. "Yes," he told the detective, his voice sounding like he were fighting every last impulse to say otherwise. "There's nothing left for us here. We can't go back to the life we used to have together. Not… Not after everything that's happened in the last 24 hours."
"B-But if everything you're saying is true…" John said. "I mean, if that's the real TARDIS… It's a bloody time machine, for crying out loud! Why can't you just go back and get yourselves out of trouble? Undo whatever mistake it was that caused all this?"
"That's what the plan is," the Doctor told him. "We will use the TARDIS to undo not just one, but two mistakes. And they're standing right in front of you."
Scottie and Emily looked down guiltily, avoiding the other man's eyes. John started to tear up again. "I don't want to say goodbye," his voice cracked.
"I know," Emily said, holding back tears herself. "I love you."
She and Scottie both embraced John in a tight hug around the man's waist. Willow took a step, ready to jump in, but was held back by Blaise, who gave her a warning look. When they let go again, John was too busy sobbing to say anything else. Now Scottie and Emily went to give Sherlock a goodbye hug. The detective placed a loving hand over each of their backs and bent forward, planting a kiss on the tops of their hands.
"Try not to start any rivalries with unstable criminal masterminds back in the States, you hear?"
Scottie nodded, pulling away. "We'll try."
Sherlock ruffled his hair, half smiling. "That's my boy."
The Doctor, Blaise, and Willow got into the TARDIS and Scottie and Emily took their time following after them, walking backwards as to not miss a single moment of their last few minutes in London. Sherlock put an arm around John, who had composed himself just enough to wave one final time as the doors to the police box shut.
"The world just got a whole lot bigger, didn't it?"
"...yeah."
"Do you suppose we'll ever see them again?" Emily asked Scottie. She kept her eyes fixed on the shut door, as if frozen in place.
"We may yet," Scottie remarked wistfully and took her hand in his own.
