Yaay! Another chapter! Anyway, this author's note is different than it was when this was first posted, and here's why! The formatting on this chapter got reaaaallly screwed up somehow between my text document and this website, but that's all fixed up now :) Anyway, won't keep you waiting for any longer. Enjoy!

Sherlock paced the flat, the fact that he didn't know what to do driving him absolutely insane. He had tried to think of a way to get The Doctor to trust him again, but nothing seemed plausible. He was never good with emotions, the fact that an alien was better at dealing with them than he was making him even angrier than he was already. It was a weird mix between anger and confusion, one that he was quickly discovering to be a nuisance. He let out a noise of frustration, stopping his pacing to give the couch a hearty kick. He rubbed his sore foot, flopping on the couch. He placed his hands under his chin and tried to concentrate on finding a solution. John was always better at dealing with this sort of thing than he was.

What would John do?

Sherlock, of course, knew that John would make him apologize to The Doctor. Much to his annoyance, that was panning out to be the best option. He finally sprang to his feet, his mind made. As much as he hated to do it, The Doctor might give him a second chance if he asked for forgiveness. He planned out what he was going to say as he walked down the stairs.

Apologies were just a few words strung together, right?

For someone as smart as him, it couldn't be too challenging. He knocked on the door of The Doctor's flat, wondering if the alien would open the door or not. Much to his dismay, the door remained closed. Sherlock slowly turned the knob, surprised that it opened. He thought that The Doctor would've locked it, but he had been wrong quite a lot as of late. He could hear a good amount of banging coming from down the hall and he slowly strode into the flat, making his way toward the blue box sitting across from him. The door was propped open with what appeared to be a stack of books, untitled with swirls serving as the titles. He stuck his head through the door, and even though he had seen it before, it still amazed him. The sandy columns, the shining lights, the way the ship seemed to be... Alive... It hummed slightly when he entered as if to acknowledge his presence. His gaze dropped to see The Doctor's cream converses sticking out from under the console, hammering at the bottom of his machine with an alien tool. Sherlock was about to make his presence known when The Doctor stuck his hand out from under the controls.

"Pass me the wrench, would 'ya?" Sherlock stiffened, hardly daring to breathe. The Doctor slid out from his current position, his hair somehow messier than usual and his glasses askew on his face. He grabbed a slender silver tool with a glowing green end before disappearing back under the console, not looking too closely at the detective as he did so. Sherlock took a seat on the tattered yellow sofa in the corner, watching him work. The hand returned again. "Put this one on the console, switch it for the sonic screwdriver." Sherlock delicately took the tool, frowning as he looked at it.

It definitely wasn't a wrench from Earth...

He decided to put it down without fiddling with it, swapping it and the sonic screwdriver, giving The Doctor his device. He heard the familiar noise the tool emitted as the alien continued to work, the silence between them becoming uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock mumbled, his head hung. The Doctor tensed but didn't say anything, continuing his work, tension thick in the air. "I didn't want to hurt you." He heard a sigh from under the controls.

"I know." He stuck his hand back out. "Pliers." Sherlock gave him the tool without hesitation this time. A few snips were made before The Doctor spoke again. "I don't know if I should be mad at you or not." Another snip. "On one hand, you were doing what you thought was right, which is respectable." Snip. "On the other hand, you went behind my back and tried to get me hunted down..." His voice trailed off as he continued working. "Sledgehammer." Sherlock made to get the tool but stopped short when he heard what was said.

"What?"

"Sledgehammer. Big, heavy... You have them on Earth, don't you?" Sherlock saw it sitting on the floor and picked it up, trying not to drop it.

"Of course we have them," He said with a grunt. "I just didn't think you'd need one on a spaceship." He put it in The Doctor's outstretched hand, wincing when the banging started. The Doctor let out a noise of frustration, crawling back out and giving the console a whack with the tool. The machine hummed and he seemed satisfied, setting the sledgehammer down on the mesh flooring.

"There, that should keep us up and running for a while!" The machine hummed in approval again, causing The Doctor to smile. He suddenly turned to Sherlock. "Do you mind if I..." He then mimed claws with his fingers. Sherlock nodded.

"You don't need my permission." The Doctor took a step away from Sherlock before changing shapes, which Sherlock appreciated. The beast sat and curled its tail, one ear flopped at an odd angle.

"I don't show people what I really am easily, just so you know. But I think..." The Doctor took a deep breath. "I think I can give you a second chance. You did try and fix what you had done." Sherlock felt relief wash over him like a wave.

"Good." The Doctor smiled.

"Yes, it is good, isn't it? But we have more pressing matters to deal with!" The Doctor sprung toward the disc which he had left on the console, giving the button a light tap. "Four hours..." He mumbled. "I can work with four hours!" He bounded to the other side of the controls, using his four legs to his advantage as he hit multiple buttons at once, using his tail to keep his balance.

It seemed weirdly... Natural, like it was normal to see a dragon in a spaceship! "Sherlock! Red button!" Sherlock's eyes flew across the controls, trying to pinpoint the button. "Anytime now!" He finally found the button, hammering his fist into it.

"Got it!" The Doctor leapt to the monitor, hauling it in his direction. He peered closely at it, Sherlock leaning in to get a better look. "What exactly are you trying to do?" The Doctor flattened his ears against his head upon seeing the results, a faint growl of frustration escaping from his throat.

"Well, I was TRYING to trace the signal, as this is updated live. But every single letter in the message comes from somewhere different!" His claws scraped down the outside of the console, his head low. "I know who he's working with Sherlock. I've known since the note." Sherlock frowned.

"So I wasn't the only one concealing information then." The Doctor's body went completely slack, right to the tip of his tail.

"Only because I wanted to keep you safe." Sherlock didn't speak, waiting for The Doctor to say the next word. "The thing he's working with is called a Dalek, a creature born of pure hate. They exist only to kill and have no emotions at all. They are the reason I'm the only Timelord left." He said the last sentence quietly, it was clearly a sensitive topic. The Doctor suddenly leapt up, fumbling with his machine again. "Maybe it's a code!" Sherlock frowned, that seemed highly unlikely. He looked at The Doctor and realized that he knew it was hopeless as well. That didn't keep him from trying though, which Sherlock had to admit was admirable, even if it was pointless.

The console flashed red and The Doctor let his body go completely slack, his ears low and his eyes closed. Sherlock didn't know what to do, and it was killing him. The Doctor started pacing around the console, his tail thrashing like that of an agitated cat. The Doctor suddenly sprung back to the console, explaining what he was trying to do at a million miles per-hour while flipping switches. "Coordinates! They could be a set of coordinates! Or maybe more than one set, like a puzzle!" A desperate tone had entered his voice, and Sherlock took a step toward him.

They held eye contact for a few seconds too long, long enough for the detective to figure out exactly how the alien felt. Even though he wasn't human, he knew the expression on the scaled face well. He knew The Doctor knew it was hopeless, that there weren't any hidden messages in the numbers because the expression he saw matched the one he had seen in the mirror mere moments ago. It wasn't the way he held his head that gave it away, it was the desperate look in his eyes. A mix between anger, confusion, and... guilt. Sherlock was slowly coming to the same terrifying conclusion and he felt his heart grow heavy.

He knew The Doctor knew it was hopeless, that there weren't any hidden messages in the numbers because the expression he saw matched the one he had seen in the mirror mere moments ago. It wasn't the way he held his head that gave it away, it was the desperate look in his eyes. A mix between anger, confusion, and... guilt. Sherlock was slowly coming to the same terrifying conclusion and he felt his heart grow heavy.

"We both know there's nothing there." The Doctor quickly looked away, confirming Sherlock's statement. The Doctor idly checked the time again. Sherlock knew he only did it to distract himself, even for a moment.

"Five hours left. You would think that we'd have spent at LEAST two hours worrying..." His joke fell flat, his voice nowhere near the cheery tone he had come to expect from him.

"You would think..." Sherlock echoed, his mind going blank as he tried to figure out what he was going to do with himself for the next five hours. The Doctor cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had been enveloping them.

"You should get some sleep..." Sherlock narrowed his eyes. It was true that he was tired, but it wasn't something he wanted to admit.

"You must be as well." The Doctor shook his head.

"Nope. I don't need to sleep as much as humans, and I've been sleeping more than normal lately." Sherlock frowned, furrowing his brow as he did so.

"Do you really expect me to sleep?" He tried to keep the tiredness out of his voice with little success. The Doctor sat, moving his head so it was level with Sherlock's.

"No, but it would be good if you tried. I promise I'll come and wake you when the timer runs out, or before if you wish but you should REALLY get some sleep. Can't have you falling asleep when we're saving the pair of them." Sherlock looked for a point to argue, but he couldn't find anything wrong with The Doctor's statement. That's because you're tired you dolt.

"Fine. Wake me up early." With that, he turned on a heel and left. He heard The Doctor sigh once more and glanced back to see him slump to the floor, fiddling with the disc with a claw and making cross noises in the back of his throat. He was clearly still incredibly puzzled by the disc, his left ear, and his tail twitching as he thought. Sherlock didn't look back again, closing the TARDIS door with a crash much louder than he had anticipated.

He winced at the loud noise, and he was quick in locking the door to The Doctor's flat before unlocking his own. He scaled the stairs without stopping to take off his heavy coat and scarf, both of which he had been wearing all day. His body moved of its own accord, his muscles stiff and sore from being on his feet for so long. He slumped onto the couch, closing his eyes, though he wasn't sleeping.

Sleep wasn't something he planned on having until John was safe.

There's a needle behind the skull...

And your nicotine patches aren't far...

He chased those thoughts out of his head.

John wouldn't want me to.

His eyes opened and drifted toward the mantle, the skull staring back at him as if daring him to take a step toward it.

John isn't here anymore...

Sherlock rolled over, trying to block out the noise of his own thoughts. Trying to escape from the temptation his mind offered. That didn't stop him from sitting up and pacing over to the mantle. From closing his fingers around the needle. He could feel his willpower crumbling as he moved throughout the flat, picking out the rest of his hidden stashes.

He sat back down, his lap full of items he had promised he would never use. He had promised John he would stop, but that didn't matter now.

Don't think like that.

You can save him.

But could he really? Could him and the alien manage to save him? He ran his finger along the edge of the needle, thinking of just how simple it would be to give in. It could help with the case, give you some new insight... No! That was the same as admitting defeat. That was, in fact, the same as giving up on The Doctor. He felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of giving up, and he knew that it was the same as giving up not only on The Doctor, but on John and Donna. He had to stay hopeful. The voice still nagged him.

Can you really trust him?

You hardly know him.

And do you really think they're even still alive?

They could be dead and neither of you would know.

His head throbbed as he tried to figure out what to do with himself. He couldn't give up, not yet. Still, the needle was tempting... He held his breath. One shot surely won't hurt... He took another look at his pile, memorizing the shape of each item as he took in the sheer amount of contraband. Maybe more... He did have quite the array of substances, and he knew that anyone who knew him would have his hide if they found out just what he was harboring in 221B. Still, he reached for the needle, taking a deep breath and preparing to plunge it into his waiting arm.

What's the worst that could happen?

The Doctor, admittedly, was surprised that Sherlock actually agreed to try and get some rest. The detective had been quite stubborn and it had come as a nice surprise to have him agree to something he had said regarding his health. He turned his attention back to the problem at hand, namely, the disc in his palm. He had run every protocol he could think of, trying his best to figure out what exactly it was without success. It was becoming incredibly frustrating not knowing what was going to happen next, and it was something The Doctor was hoping he could put an end to. That being said, nothing new had happened with the disc, much to his frustration. All the information from the scans had proven to be useless, telling him details he had already known.

Things like: Iron exterior. Dalekanium core. Copper wiring. Chip from the seventy-sixth century.

More like complete annoyance...

He tapped on it again. Four hours and forty-three minutes.

And twenty-six seconds. He added in his head. He decided that maybe a walk would do him some good and had just begun to stretch when the TARDIS let out a chime, lighting up a corridor that he was presumably supposed to walk down. The Doctor stood and stretched his legs, striding down the corridors of his ship, wondering where exactly it thought he should go.

He didn't doubt its judgment, but he was curious. He kept his tail off the floor, his ears bolt upright, just listening to the sounds his ship made. He let thoughts of the kidnapping drift away, knowing what the TARDIS was trying to do. She knew him too well. His talons clicked on the floor and he made a mental note to try and keep them in check. They were becoming annoying as Donna always pointed out.

He half expected her to come waltzing around the corner to shout at him for leaving her for so long. He let himself live out that dream, and he realized just how much he wished that was true. He truly did miss his ginger companion, and his hearts hurt when he thought about the fact that she might be gone. He shook those thoughts off, deciding not to dwell on something he didn't have the power to change. He wasn't giving up, merely letting himself cool off before the next barrage of guilt hit him like a ton of bricks. He quickened his pace, letting the light from his ship lead him. To where he didn't know or care. All he knew was that his companion was in trouble, and he couldn't help at all. He felt his tail start to twitch in agitation and willed himself to stop, knowing that it irritated Donna to no end when she narrowly avoided getting hit. He recalled one particular incident where she had been hit (completely by accident) by his tail. She was cross, to say the least. She, of course, had hit him back. One thing

To where, he didn't know or care.

All he knew was that his companion was in trouble, and he couldn't help at all. He felt his tail start to twitch in agitation and willed himself to stop, knowing that it irritated Donna to no end when she narrowly avoided getting hit. He recalled one particular incident where she had been hit (completely by accident) by his tail. She was cross, to say the least. She, of course, had hit him back. One thing lead to another and by the end of the night they were both doubled over in laughter, the argument in the past. He found himself smiling at the memory, glad that she hadn't been offended by the accidental smack. He was so busy thinking that he didn't notice that he had run out of the hallway and had walked into a dark room. His eyes were quick to adjust to the light and he found himself giving a sad sigh as he realized where the TARDIS had brought him.

"Of course..." He ran his clawed hand over the wall, smiling when he found a lightswitch. It only took a quick flick to flood the room with light, causing him to squint as his eyes adjusted yet again.

The wooden floor creaked as he ventured further in, scanning the familiar items on shelves and messily scattered about. Photographs, old and new were plastered across the walls, some in better states than others. He found himself repositioning a newer one, making sure it wouldn't fall. It was a picture of him and Donna, after a particularly dangerous excursion to a planet The Doctor had sworn was safe. The bounty on their heads was quite a handsome fee, and she had jokingly suggested turning him in. She had taken a picture of the two of them next to their respective wanted posters, both pointing at the paper with ridiculous grins on their faces. Sure, their lives had been in peril, but it had been fun!

He smoothed it out on the wall, moving on to look at something else in the room. His companions had often joked about the fact that dragons had hoards, suggesting that he had a secret room dedicated to one thing. They seemed to find it endlessly amusing to try and guess what he had been hiding in the depths of his ship, and most of them had gone exploring to try and find his stash. Rose had managed to find his collection of bath sponges, which she had teased him about to no end, but the TARDIS had kept the third-level bathroom hidden to the rest of his companions since that incident.

He cringed at the thought of the bathroom stocked full of them, but it wasn't his fault that he had gone to a planet where they thought he needed... A lifetime supply of sponges (He had tried not to read too much into it).

He continued to look around, memories swirling around him and being replayed each time he saw a snap. He nearly tripped over a long woolen scarf and wrapped it around his neck with a smile, remembering the companions who had met his fourth incarnation. He tried to take a step forward but found that his untrimmed claws had hooked in the scarf. He hit the ground with a crash, nearly knocking over a small table containing who knows what. He delicately unwrapped the colorful accessory, carefully draping it over a bookshelf before continuing to walk, chuckling at memories of other times that had happened.

He spotted something out of the corner of his eye and turned to see what it was. A vase was propped up in the corner, dust coating the outside in a fine layer, a few green leaves visible. He lifted the plant from its place, making sure not to damage a certain stick of celery. A dull white hat leaned against the vase, and The Doctor dusted it off with a smile, the cheery red band around it helping him feel just a little bit better. He placed it between his ears, not caring how ridiculous he looked in that moment.

Five would always hold a special place in his hearts, even if his fashion sense had been a bit... Off.

He set down the hat and returned the celery stalk to its place with an air of fondness. He didn't know half the contents of the room as it was constantly changing, the TARDIS picking certain items for it that he didn't notice until later, it sometimes took him years to find anything new.

He could see a brightly colored vest hanging in the corner courtesy of his sixth identity, a question-mark shaped umbrella propped against the side of it from his seventh. His gaze drifted to a recorder on an opposite shelf and he was quick to enable his projection and give it a try. After a few high-pitched shrieks, he got the hang of it, memories of how to play it flowing back to him. His second body had always played it to try and calm down, and now he could see why his younger self had done such a thing. He hesitated before he picked a melody. His fingers flew and he closed his eyes, letting the music carry him somewhere better. He had chosen a melody called 'River Flows in

He hesitated before he picked a melody. His fingers flew and he closed his eyes, letting the music carry him somewhere better. He had chosen a melody called 'River Flows in You', a song that originated on Earth. He remembered struggling to learn the notes and the movements, and yet now... Now he knew he would never forget how to play. He walked around absently, his eyes still closed, listening to the music he was creating. He found himself smiling at the claim he had once made that he couldn't dance, deciding that he would have to find the leather jacket soon. His shoes squeaked and he found himself spinning in circles, moving in time to the

His shoes squeaked and he found himself spinning in circles, moving in time to the rhythm of the music. His ninth self had been a good dancer, even if he had refused to admit it. He stayed twirling in his own world for a while, for how long exactly, he wasn't sure. His usual impeccable sense of time seemed to have left him on the exact second he entered the room, and he was okay with it. He held on to the last notes, his eyes opening as he finished. He returned the recorder to its rightful place on the shelf, deciding that he had to come back and try another song sometime soon. He was just about to leave when one more thing caught his attention. A purple jacket lay near the door, not a speck of dust on it. He felt a knot of guilt in his throat upon seeing it. He knew the TARDIS would never get rid of it, but it still hurt to see it lying there. He gently picked it up, letting himself remember a certain pink-and-yellow human.

Letting himself remember the girl he had died for.

He placed the jacket on the table next to the celery, smiling sadly as he did so. He abandoned the projection and left the room, knowing it would be there when he needed it again. It always was. Sometimes he chose to find it, but sometimes his ship moved it into his path when she thought he needed a pick-me-up. When he got to the console room he gave the controls a loving pat. "Thanks, I needed that."

The TARDIS hummed in response causing him to smile. He decided to check on the detective upstairs, knowing that he probably didn't sleep like he had been told to. The TARDIS doors swung open and he smiled upon realizing that Sherlock had been considerate enough to lock the flat, even in his less-than-stellar mood. He knocked on the door a few times, listening for movement. No answer. "Sherlock?" Still no answer. He cautiously tried the door handle. The door swung open with ease, much to the surprise of The Doctor. Something felt wrong, a feeling of unease not dissimilar to the one he had felt when Donna had been kidnapped. "Sherlock?" He kept his tread soft as he slowly crept up the stairs, ready to put up a fight if the detective had been attacked. The sight that met his eyes was not one he was prepared for. Sherlock was

No answer. "Sherlock?" Still no answer. He cautiously tried the door handle. The door swung open with ease, much to the surprise of The Doctor. Something felt wrong, a feeling of unease not dissimilar to the one he had felt when Donna had been kidnapped. "Sherlock?" He kept his tread soft as he slowly crept up the stairs, ready to put up a fight if the detective had been attacked. The sight that met his eyes was not one he was prepared for. Sherlock was

"Sherlock?" Still no answer. He cautiously tried the door handle. The door swung open with ease, much to the surprise of The Doctor. Something felt wrong, a feeling of unease not dissimilar to the one he had felt when Donna had been kidnapped. "Sherlock?" He kept his tread soft as he slowly crept up the stairs, ready to put up a fight if the detective had been attacked. The sight that met his eyes was not one he was prepared for. Sherlock was

Still no answer. He cautiously tried the door handle. The door swung open with ease, much to the surprise of The Doctor. Something felt wrong, a feeling of unease not dissimilar to the one he had felt when Donna had been kidnapped. "Sherlock?" He kept his tread soft as he slowly crept up the stairs, ready to put up a fight if the detective had been attacked. The sight that met his eyes was not one he was prepared for. Sherlock was

He cautiously tried the door handle. The door swung open with ease, much to the surprise of The Doctor. Something felt wrong, a feeling of unease not dissimilar to the one he had felt when Donna had been kidnapped. "Sherlock?" He kept his tread soft as he slowly crept up the stairs, ready to put up a fight if the detective had been attacked. The sight that met his eyes was not one he was prepared for. Sherlock was

Something felt wrong, a feeling of unease not dissimilar to the one he had felt when Donna had been kidnapped. "Sherlock?" He kept his tread soft as he slowly crept up the stairs, ready to put up a fight if the detective had been attacked. The sight that met his eyes was not one he was prepared for. Sherlock was

He kept his tread soft as he slowly crept up the stairs, ready to put up a fight if the detective had been attacked. The sight that met his eyes was not one he was prepared for. Sherlock was alive, but in a sorry state. The bags under his eyes were incredibly pronounced and he was surrounded by half-empty bags, some still sealed. At first, The Doctor was just confused. "Sherlock... You alright?" Sherlock rolled over in response. That's when he noticed the needle. His hearts froze when he saw it. It had taken a moment for the smell to set in as well, but now he was unsure as to how he had missed it. "Sherlock..." His voice trailed off, unsure of what to say. What did you say to someone who was probably higher than a kite? He cursed himself for leaving him alone for so long. He had read the books and knew about Sherlock's drug habit, why hadn't he stopped him?! He finally decided to repeat himself. "Are you alright?" Sherlock blearily opened his eyes.

Sherlock rolled over in response. That's when he noticed the needle. His hearts froze when he saw it. It had taken a moment for the smell to set in as well, but now he was unsure as to how he had missed it. "Sherlock..." His voice trailed off, unsure of what to say. What did you say to someone who was probably higher than a kite? He cursed himself for leaving him alone for so long. He had read the books and knew about Sherlock's drug habit, why hadn't he stopped him?! He finally decided to repeat himself. "Are you alright?" Sherlock blearily opened his eyes.

"What do you think?!" He croaked, closing his eyes after giving The Doctor a fearsome glare. The Doctor grabbed his shoulder, being careful not to jar him too much, feeling sick as he saw the nicotine patches on his arm.

"Sherlock, what did you take?" Sherlock glared at him, gesturing to the bags as he hissed the next sentence.

"What didn't I take? Figure it out." The Doctor sighed in defeat, scanning the bags with the sonic. The results made him gag, but he kept it inward. Yelling wasn't going to solve anything and neither was overreacting.

"Why?" He spoke softly, as if he would startle him with just a word. "Why did you do this for yourself?" Sherlock's answer surprised him.

"I can't show you. It's..." Sherlock paused for a moment, The Doctor could practically hear him trying to think up an explanation. "It helps me think." He finally admitted. "Mind Palace. You can't see it but it's there." The Doctor slowly nodded, even though it was wrong, a mind palace was a useful tool.

"Alright." Sherlock opened one eye a crack.

"That's it? Usually, I'd get quite the lecture on it." The Doctor slowly sat beside him, knocking the bags and the needle to the floor.

"Am I allowed to see?" Sherlock looked like he was going to contradict him for a moment, but then he seemed to remember that the man he was talking to was an alien.

"Fine. But you better not touch anything." The Doctor slowly pressed his fingers against Sherlock's temples, closing his eyes and breaking the barrier between Sherlock's conciseness, and his own. The first thing he noticed, was that he actually seemed to have a shape. The second thing was just how remarkably... Clean everything was. He looked down at himself and realized that he was spotless, not a speck of dust on his suit or shoes. The room was white with arching doors and windows, bright light shining through each one. The Doctor was suddenly aware of a hand on his shoulder. He whirled around to face Sherlock, who was also looking much better, dressed in gray.

"Impressive." He remarked, turning in a circle, taking in every detail of Sherlock's mind palace. Sherlock smiled. A real smile. It only lasted a moment before being replaced with the serious expression the detective normally wore.

"I should say so. Shall we?" The Doctor let Sherlock lead him through his mind, watching as the doors around them varied in size and shape. A few were open and he stole glances inside, some leading to leafy foliage, others to nothing but darkness. Sherlock noticed him looking into the doors and the corner of his mouth twitched downward. The Doctor suppressed a smile as more than a few doors around him swung shut and the corridors narrowed. Served him right for looking he supposed. Sherlock swung open a door which the pair of them walked through. The Doctor looked around. It seemed to be a replica of the hospital room they had been in when he was poisoned. He perched on the edge of the counter, swinging his legs as he waited for Sherlock to explain himself. "You can drop the projection if it helps you think." The Doctor slid to the floor.

Served him right for looking he supposed. Sherlock swung open a door which the pair of them walked through. The Doctor looked around. It seemed to be a replica of the hospital room they had been in when he was poisoned. He perched on the edge of the counter, swinging his legs as he waited for Sherlock to explain himself. "You can drop the projection if it helps you think." The Doctor slid to the floor.

Sherlock swung open a door which the pair of them walked through. The Doctor looked around. It seemed to be a replica of the hospital room they had been in when he was poisoned. He perched on the edge of the counter, swinging his legs as he waited for Sherlock to explain himself. "You can drop the projection if it helps you think." The Doctor slid to the floor.

"You sure?" Sherlock shot him a tired look.

"Do you really think I'd give you permission if I wasn't okay with it?" The Doctor grinned.

"Just checking!" He let his projection fall, giving a slight stretch. "Okay, what was it you wanted to show me?" Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and the room changed, now displaying pictures of people alongside their names. The Doctor, needless to say, was impressed. His tail started twitching involuntarily, but he didn't stop it from doing so, remaining focused on what he was seeing.

"I'm trying to narrow down the list of potential victims and was hoping that you would help." The Doctor read through the names listed, trying to recognize the faces. "He's going to try and hurt us as much as possible, meaning that anyone we know is in danger. Anybody missing?" The Doctor shook his head.

"Nope. Don't know many people here to begin with."

"Who do you recognize?" The Doctor stepped forward, tapping on the ones that he had met.

"Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, Molly..." He looked at Sherlock. "I haven't met many people..."

"He wouldn't target anyone close to us, meaning that Mrs. Hudson is out." Her picture disappeared. "And Molly wouldn't be targeted twice." Her picture faded as well. "And Mycroft is incredibly well protected, so he probably won't be a primary target either." The Doctor nodded and Mycroft's face left the display. "That leaves Lestrade in the overlapping category." The Doctor gestured to the rest of the faces.

"Who are the rest of them?" Sherlock did a quick summary of the rest of the faces.

"That's Sergeant Donovan, works with Lestrade on cases." He gave the picture of a woman with frizzy hair a quick tap. "And that's... That's Anderson." A note of sourness entered his voice. "Bit annoying he is. Waste of valuable oxygen." The Doctor decided not to argue his normal 'Every human is important' case, deciding to let Sherlock continue. "And those are my parents."

"I'll have to meet them eventually." Sherlock flinched.

"Depends on how long you stay."

"Fair enough." He agreed. "But we're getting off topic." Sherlock nodded.

"Quite right." Everyone else disappeared from The Doctor's view, leaving only Lestrade remaining. Bits of information on him was located next to the picture. "The poison tea trick probably won't be used again, and if it is, it will be with something much more lethal."

"I might not survive another dosage, I got lucky that it was cyanide. Though cyanide isn't really all that lucky for most..." He noticed Sherlock's stare and stopped talking, shuffling his claws a little as he apologized. "Getting off topic. Sorry."

"It's fine just... Try not to ramble, wastes time." The Doctor shuffled a bit more, his tail hitting the counter with a thump.

"Noted." Sherlock remained quiet, shooting The Doctor a sideways glance. The Doctor knew he was being read. "What?"

"How can you be here? In my head?" The Doctor blew out a long breath of air.

"It's complicated..." Sherlock opened his mouth but The Doctor cut him off. "It's really, really, REALLY complicated. Very alien and ancient, not something I'm wanting to talk about. And I know you're clever, but I'm not sure if I can even explain it in a way that isn't entirely nonsense to you. I'm not insulting your intelligence, but those things don't exist on Earth just yet and-" He noticed Sherlock's expression. "Am I rambling again?"

"You could say that." The Doctor's ears perked up.

"Intelligent ramble?"

"Don't push your luck." The Doctor grinned. That was nearly a compliment coming from Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock was cut off from his next statement by a yawn.

"You need to get some sleep. No use in you being wiped at the crime scene." Sherlock looked like he was about to argue, but even he knew if it was affecting him in his mind palace, it was bad.

"Ready to wake up?" The Doctor nodded.

"Yup." The Doctor could feel himself becoming conscious as the detective woke up, both of them back to their normal state when their eyes opened. Sherlock still seemed reluctant to go to sleep, despite The Doctor's reassurances that he would wake him. He eventually obliged, but The Doctor didn't leave until his breaths became even. Three hours of sleep was certainly better than none at all, especially for a human like Sherlock. He retreated to the TARDIS, setting the disc down and resigning himself to wait and watch the numbers slowly tick to zero. He didn't know what would happen when they ran out, but it would take him one step closer to freeing the pair of humans, and that was good enough for him.

John was tired of being useless. Unable to help Sherlock, unable to try and understand half of what Donna was telling him about aliens and other worlds. Well, he was trying his best, but it was so much to take in at once that he found himself getting lost in thought whenever she mentioned it. He was brought out of his thoughts by a nudge from Donna. "You awake?" He nodded before realizing that she couldn't see him. He corrected his mistake.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am." They had been tied back-to-back with thick chains bolted to the wall, which seemed more than a little bit excessive on their captor's part.

"What now?" The way she spoke the words made everything seem hopeless as though she had given up on their rescuers. John decided to throw a bit of a curve ball with his answer.

"Well, if I know Sherlock, he's probably halfway done figuring something out."

"Bet The Doctor helped him with the other half." John was surprised by this. He personally didn't think the detective and the alien had gotten along all that well.

"Really? It'd be a miracle if they weren't at each other's throats in my opinion." Donna laughed half-heartedly.

"Nah, he can work with anyone if it means he can save people. He won't let that get in the way of helping." He could practically hear her expression, one of hope and sadness, like when you think of someone far away. "He'll find us." She turned her head to try and make eye-contact with John. "Think we should try and get out again?" John took a moment to comprehend her question. One failed escape attempt was enough for him, and something told him that the chains would be a major setback.

"If you can get rid of these chains, we can go."

"Yeah, just gotta get my lazer eyes back in order."

"You're not serious." It took him about 0.5 seconds to realize that she was being sarcastic.

"Do you honestly think that I wouldn't have used them by now?!" John stayed silent, deciding not to make a bigger fool of himself than he already had. "Oh don't tell me you actually believed that!"

"To be honest, it's one of the least crazy things I've heard recently..." She, however, wasn't listening. She was too busy laughing at him to notice. He frowned and sighed, deciding that talking wasn't something that he should do. She finally managed to collect herself.

"Sorry, just needed a laugh..."

"That's fine. I'm used to being laughed at."

"You're clever, got yourself a proper job." She chuckled slightly. "Don't just call yourself 'Doctor' because it sounds important, do you?" That made him smile.

"Lots of hard work, got through it all eventually though!"

"He's probably gone through all that at least once. Nine-hundred odd years, that must've kept him busy for at least a week. Two days maybe." The last remark made John go stiff, and Donna realized her error immediately.

"We've got about one day left now. And he's targeting Lesterade next..."

"The Detective Inspector, right?"

"That would be him."

"Well, they've certainly figured it out by now! They're both geneiuses." John smiled.

"That's very true, though one is defienently more ego-driven than the other." Donna snorted.

"Give you three guesses which one." They talked for a while longer before deciding that it would be good to see either one of them in the dark cell. Preferably not emprisoned with them, of course. Though at this point, seeing another friendly face, alien or otherwise, would be a miracle in itself.