The wait was horrible. More horrible than the four months before he'd been waiting, because at least then he hadn't known so much about him. The message had to go out to the Torchwood computer in the parallel universe, and create a virus that would send the message out to the Doctor. But there was no guarantee it would arrive to him and even if so, he didn't have to answer.
But deep down Sherlock knew, he just knew, that the Doctor was, like him, doing everything in his power to find his better half. He would show up.
Soon.
There were no chairs in the small room so all McAdams and Holmes did was sit against the damp walls of the cellar and wait some more. For something to happen. But nothing did. Sherlock took it upon himself to finally ask the other man a question he'd been wanting to ask for a long time:
"What exactly makes you believe that the Doctor is dangerous, may I ask?" McAdams looked up at him with the most serious of faces Sherlock had seen on him.
"His records."
"There are no records." McAdams gave a weak smile at that. "Not here, no."
"Okay, what kind of 'terrible' things are written in his records on the other side of the rift?" The man looked at him quite seriously.
"The Doctor has saved countless lives, rescued millions of civilizations and stopped the destruction of billions of planets from ever happening."
"So why-"
"But half of those destructions were originally planned out because of him. Half of those civilizations were endangered because of rage against him and..." Sherlock couldn't take much more of this. He didn't want to hear the rest.
"I told you he was the last of his kind."
"Stop it." He said harshly but his voice was cracking. Sherlock blinked a couple of times to keep his burning eyes from tearing.
"The blood of an entire species, trillions of them at least, is on his hands. His species. His family!"
"SHUT UP!"
McAdams was silent but the room didn't fill with silence.
Because in shock of how loudly Sherlock had screamed, someone who had been listening in fell backwards from the corner of the still opened door he had been peeking through. Sherlock was already angry enough, but being able to avoid the previous subject was relieving. He ran towards the doorway to see who had been eavesdropping them from the hallway.
"Who are y..." Finally followed the silence as the consulting detective stared at the man lying on the ground beneath him.
"John?!"