Did you miss me? It has been MONTHS since the last update, and I'm SO SORRY FOR MAKING YOU WAIT! I'm trying to get a somewhat-normal update schedule going, so you can expect to see the next chapter soon! See you in the next chapter!
The Doctor blinked slowly, squinting at the light filtering through the curtains. He moved an arm to block the brightness, dust flying from his suit as he got his bearings. He slowly stood, stretching out his legs, giving a slight yawn, and idly checking the disc for the time. He nearly dropped his projection when he read it, shooting to the couch to wake up the sleeping detective.
02:00
"SHERLOCK!" The detective jolted upright, his eyes wild, messy hair hanging over his eyes in curls.
"What?!" The Doctor tossed him the disc, watching as his pupils dilated in the light, realization dawning on his features. His hearts were beating in double time, each beat making him painfully aware of the time as it passed.
01:45
"Any idea what to expect?" He asked, trying not to let his nervousness show in his voice. Sherlock shook his head, but didn't speak, fixated on the numbers as they ticked down.
01:30
01:29
He took a couple of deep breaths, all of the worst-case scenarios imaginable playing out in his head. What if it blew up? What if they had to choose who would die? He shot Sherlock a sideways glance. He couldn't be the one to end Donna's life, and he knew that Sherlock felt the same way about John, even if he refused to admit it. He forced himself to keep calm. He could get through it. For her. He had to.
01:15
Sherlock took a couple of deep breaths, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes. The Doctor felt a pang of sympathy for him. The drugs had taken quite the toll. They made eye contact and nodded slightly, just to acknowledge that they were both in for the long haul, not going to give up, and willing to do some pretty insane things if it meant saving their friends. He let his gaze change, watching the clock with anticipation.
00:57
He wrung his hands together, taking another deep breath. They could do this.
00:50
Sherlock readjusted his hands under his chin and The Doctor held his breath, the tension killing him from the inside.
00:45
"We'll save them." Sherlock jumped at the sudden noise, but nodded once he understood the words.
"Obviously." He was trying not to seem worried, nine-hundred-odd years telling him that he had survived worse, and a voice in the back of his head listing off all the ways that this was going to blow up in his face.
00:30
00:25
He rubbed his hands together and shifted his feet nervously.
00:20
00:15
00:10
00:05
"Ready?"
"Ready."
00:00
A video sparked to life, John addressing them with weary eyes.
"Good morning, sleep well?" He looked off camera for a moment before continuing. "Anyway, we're down to one day. Clock's ticking Sherly." The video fizzled for a moment, the speaker shifting as it did so. The Doctor struggled not to react at seeing his companion in such a sorry state.
"Well, we've got something that should occupy your time. Your good friend Lestrade is currently at a crime scene. If he says three nice things about you, he lives." John took her place once more.
"The catch? Every time he says something undesirable, a bullet gets shot at him. You can't tell him what's wrong, and they have to be directed at Sherlock. Three nice things and he lives. You have half an hour." With that, the display clicked off. Sherlock sprang to his feet, The Doctor following suit.
"Any idea where he is?" He asked, shouldering his brown coat and retying his shoelaces.
"Home break in. Texted last night but I ignored him." The Doctor nodded, bounding down the stairs in a flurry of motion.
"Right then, this shouldn't be so bad." Sherlock threw open the door, stopping to shoot The Doctor a deadpan look. The alien frowned. "So, it will be bad?" They stepped out onto the sidewalk, not stopping their conversation as they took off down the street.
"We don't exactly have the best track record together." The Doctor felt his hearts sink. This wasn't going to be easy. Sherlock led the way through the bustling street, people around them stopping to stare. The Doctor looked to Sherlock, who seemed to be trying to ignore them and half-smiled.
Fame and Fortune...
Sherlock suddenly veered down an alleyway, checking over his shoulder to see if The Doctor was following before picking up speed, feet pounding the pavement below. The darkness of the alley was surprising, everything out on the street bright in comparison. Dull, tightly-packed bricks lined either side, moss clinging to the gray stone. A few open windows were visible from their current position, different personalities reflected in each one. A piano solo drifted from behind a pair of checkered curtains, a voice accompanying it, nailing every note. The Doctor wanted to stay but knew he couldn't waste any more time on things that didn't matter to the case.
The smell of paint drying hit him like a slap in the face. Looking upward, he could see an easel sitting out on an overhanging balcony, the rooftops of London created with a few brush strokes. A man sat next to his masterpiece, hands under his chin, piano music reaching his ears as he worked. The Doctor hardly realized that he had slowed until Sherlock shouted at him to hurry. Quickening his pace, he pressed on. Past more personalities and lives. Past more humans he would never meet, and somehow, in another world, it felt just like his own.
The sound of voices suddenly rose up through the hammering of footsteps, ones that The Doctor recognized. Sherlock's next word confirmed his suspicions.
"Lestrade." They dashed the remaining distance to the front of a building with green curtains billowing from shattered windows. Lestrade stood in the doorway, just leaving from the look of it. Sherlock straightened his back, trying to seem confident as Lestrade made eye contact with him.
"What the hell are you doing here?" His tone was impatient, causing Sherlock to flinch.
"You texted..." Lestrade groaned.
"I expected that you'd show up on time." The Doctor took a deep breath. Getting a compliment was going to be quite the challenge.
"At least he showed up!" He supplied, causing Sherlock to nod rather forcefully. Lestrade snorted.
"Yeah, what's the occasion?" Sherlock blanched, but was quick to regain his composure.
"It's actually for an experiment." Lestrade's eyebrows shot up on his forehead, but he didn't interrupt as Sherlock continued with his explanation. "I need you to say three nice things about me."
"I'd rather die." The Doctor grit his teeth, eyes darting around frantically. That had to count as something less-than-desireable. His question was answered in the sound of a bullet hitting brick, causing all of them to jump.
BANG
The disc in his pocket vibrated as if to say: That was a warning shot. "The hell was that?" Sherlock and The Doctor both looked at each other, not wanting to say the words. Lestrade seemed to pick up on this, his forehead becoming creased with wrinkles as worry blossomed on his face.
"Probably just the wind..." Mumbled The Doctor. Sherlock cleared his throat.
"Yes, yes you're right. Certainly. Now Lestrade, I need three compliments from you." Lestrade eyed the pair closely, waiting for one of them to cave and tell him what was wrong, but neither one did. The Doctor set his jaw, nervously wringing his hands behind his back.
"It's about complimenting things you dislike." Lestrade chuckled.
"Yeah, that's for sure. He does count as something I dislike I suppose." The device buzzed in his pocket again. Sherlock noticed it this time as well, both scanning the surrounding rooftops, looking for something to give them the position of the mystery sniper.
BANG
The glass shattered in a nearby window, not close enough for the humans to hear it, but loud enough for the one alien. Lestrade closely examined The Doctor's nervous expression, trying his best to figure out what exactly they were hiding from him without success.
"Alright, you two need to explain what's going on." He snapped. The Doctor closed his eyes, trying hard not to let his worry show.
"Just an experiment!" Sherlock insisted, tightening his scarf. "Saying nice things about something you don't like."
"Yes, I'm aware of that. Things like you."
CRASH
The window of Lestrade's car fell into a flurry of shards, raining down on the sidewalk. That got his attention, hand flying to the gun at his waist. "Please." That caught him off guard, slowly lowering the weapon back into the holster. He was beginning to seem nervous, not responding in the sarcastic manner that he had been before.
"Why?" Sherlock took another deep breath in a way that showed just how irritated he was.
"Just don't ask questions." Cautioned The Doctor, letting the sentence out as one big breath.
"If I do it will you leave me alone?" The detective and the alien both nodded. "Fine." Lestrade then began to examine Sherlock with a critical eye, a frown tugging down on the corners of his mouth. "You're clever." The disc buzzed, affirming that the statement counted. "You always manage to help somehow." Twice... Sherlock continued watching the rooftops, not making eye contact with the inspector, keeping a watchful eye out for snipers. The Doctor nervously rubbed the back of his neck, shuffling his converse-clad feet to try and keep his knees from locking in place. Just one more... Lestrade narrowed his eyes. "You..." That's when The Doctor heard it. Nearly inaudible, but still present.
Click.
Eyes widening, he spun around, trying his best to pinpoint the noise. His hearts pounded heavily against his ribcage, knowing that that sound could only mean one thing. The shooter was close, only... There was nobody there. Another quick circle confirmed it. Not a human in sight. Brown eyes frantically checking every nook and cranny, coming up empty each time. Shifting his weight from side to side, he waited. Sherlock made eye contact with him, mouthing the word what when their gazes met. The Doctor shook his head dismissively, deciding that it was better if he didn't know. "You have a nice smile when you aren't being creepy about it." The Doctor shut his eyes tightly, clutching the disc in hopes that it would count. To his confusion, it vibrated twice.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The clicking noise returned, startling him and causing him to spin around yet again as an unseen trigger was pulled.
BANG
Sherlock gasped, clutching his shoulder and gritting his teeth. It took The Doctor less than a second to fly to his aid, the detective leaning into his side, knuckles on his hand deathly white. Blood was slowly spreading on his coat, trickling between his fingers.
"Sherlock, let me see." The Doctor delicately removed his fingers, pulling them away to reveal a bloody hole. He bit his lip, pulling out his glasses and sonic screwdriver, completely ignoring Lestrade as he tried to see what was going on. He brought the sonic close, a quick buzz, and flash of light telling him what he already knew. It was bad. How bad? Well, it was a very, very, VERY long way from good. Sherlock picked up on his worry instantly.
"Not good?" The Doctor didn't meet his eyes.
"Very not good." Lestrade, meanwhile, was completely floored by their actions.
"What the hell are the pair of you doing!? We have to get him to a hospital!" The Doctor looked Sherlock dead in the eyes, his voice quiet enough so Lestrade wouldn't be able to hear.
"I can have you fixed up within the day if you can shake him off us." Sherlock inclined his head, and still leaning into The Doctor for support, he tried to properly stand.
"I'll be fine..." He mumbled weakly, trying to fake a smile without much success. Lestrade shook his head agitatedly.
"No. You need someone who knows what they're doing." The Doctor cleared his throat.
"I have all my equipment back at the flat, which is closer than the hospital. He'll be fine." Lestrade looked like he was about to argue for a split second, causing him to hold his breath. The Doctor had several options in that moment. One of them was to initiate a quick psychic link to push him in the direction they wanted him to go. He winced at the thought. That would have to be a last-resort and last-resort ONLY. Another, however, was to play his strengths. "You should go get your car fixed, I'll give him a lift." He stopped to consider the option being presented. After what seemed like a small eternity, he stepped back.
"On one condition." The alien replied without hesitation.
"Name it."
"Take care of him. Don't leave his bedside." The Doctor nodded.
"You go. He'll be fine." The Doctor watched him fly off down the street, pieces of his windshield falling off as he went. Sherlock tried to stand, knees rather wobbly, still using The Doctor for support. The Doctor quickly moved to brace him, ignoring the disc in favor of helping his friend.
"I can walk for a few blocks..." He took a step and promptly collapsed, a slight groan escaping his mouth when he collided with the concrete. The Doctor knelt beside him, gently helping him to his feet.
"Something tells me walking is out of the question. You're losing blood, fast."
"What else can I do?" He snapped, pulling away from the support the alien offered, using the cool bricks to hold himself up. The Doctor slowly started to walk alongside him, watching each and every step the other man took, ready to help him if he stumbled.
"I can carry you if you let me." Sherlock looked like he was going to put up a fight. "Please, just let me help you."
"Fine." The Doctor looked around cautiously, doing one final check to see if anyone was nearby before slowly lowering his barrier. Scaled form now in full view, he wasted no time in retreating around the corner, feeling incredibly vulnerable without his human appearance to shield him from any prying eyes. Sherlock slowly limped around the corner, falling into his scaly side with a grunt. The Doctor cocked his head, one ear flopped over as he tried to figure out the best way of helping him. Letting his legs splay from beneath him, he lay down like a dog.
"Can you get on?" Gingerly, Sherlock started to swing himself over the timelord's back, using his furred mane as something to hold onto. Inch by painful inch, he managed to grapple over the back of the creature, panting slightly as he lay there. The Doctor stood, making sure that the detective would stay on before breaking into a light jog. He felt Sherlock wrap his arms around his neck tightly, clinging to him for dear life as he picked up speed. Paws hitting the ground in a steady rhythm, he passed the pianist's window, music still resonating from the instrument being played. Looking up, he could still see the artist's easel set on the balcony. He sprinted on, jumping at every sudden noise, every shuffling step, every note on the piano.
Pealing out of the alleyway at a breakneck speed, he booked it for the last hundred yards to the flat, panting and out of breath by the time he reached the door. Sherlock slumped against the doorframe, sliding off the back of the alien, allowing him to boot up the projection and fish out his keys. Jamming them into the door, he swung it open with a crash. Together, they limped to the TARDIS doors. As Sherlock was still leaning heavily against him, he was forced to move slower than he would've liked through the winding corridors. Luckily, his ship seemed to have figured out the urgency that the situation presented, a chirping sounding in his ears before a corridor lit up for him. Murmuring a quick thanks, he continued pressing forwards.
"How you holding up?" Sherlock groaned in response. The Doctor grinned. "That's what I like to hear. C'mon, we're almost there." The few final steps were the hardest for them both, Sherlock constantly taking deep shaky breaths, all the while clutching at his shoulder like it was going to fall off. The Doctor finally threw open a white door, the detective stumbling inside, bracing himself against a bed. "Sit down." Sherlock sat without saying a word, slowly peeling off his coat, trying his best not to nudge his shoulder. Once he knew that Sherlock was sitting he began to search for something to help him. He began to rifle through a few cabinets lining the walls, shoving aside bottles of various sizes and colors.
"What exactly did you plan on doing?" The Doctor continued his search without pause.
"Well, I've got something in one of these bloody cabinets for dissolving projectiles like that one. Used in wars, but works really wel-HA!" Victoriously, he pulled out a bottle of a thick greenish goop and a roll of medical gauze. Quickly, he strode back over to the wounded man, unscrewing the cap of the salve as he did so. "It'll sting a little." He cautioned.
"Just do it." Taking a good dollop of the stuff, he began to apply it to the inflicted area, noting with disgust just how much of Sherlock's blood was now coating his fingers.
"Tell me if it hurts." Sherlock turned his head to drop him a dead-eyed stare.
"I've just been shot, do you really expect me to feel great?" Applying a bit of pressure, he began to count backward from twenty in his head. Sherlock closed his eyes, leaning up against his side. They sat quietly together in themed bayy. The ever-present hum of the TARDIS helping to calm the pair of them down after what they had just been through. As the twenty seconds passed, he continued pressing harder, hardly aware of the fact that he was holding his breath.
Three
Two
One
Withdrawing his fingers, he gently wrapped the gauze around Sherlock's shoulder. Tying it into a messy knot, he tucked in the ends and made sure it was secure.
"That should be good in about ten-ish minutes." Opening his eyes, the detective closely inspected The Doctor's handiwork, looking as if he wanted to complain. They met eyes and The Doctor was quick to notice the concern there.
"Did the disc say anything?" The Doctor felt his body start freezing up on him as he recalled the faint buzz he had ignored. He decided to let his actions speak for him. Pulling it out from his pocket, he set it down on the floor in front of them, tapping the button with his shoe. He could feel Sherlock's glare on his back and tried to sink into the bed beneath him.
"Trying to ignore me? Tough." They both stopped and stared. This wasn't a voice that they knew. A wide grin came into focus, a dark pair of eyes lit up with a maniac gleam staring at them. Unblinking. The Doctor felt a shiver run down his spine as his hearts sped up, the four-beat pulse thudding into his head. "I'm changing it up a bit! Here's the deal, so listen up." Sherlock was now sitting bolt upright, his shoulder forgotten as he took in the display. "I can hear every word you say, so feel free to ask questions, yes or no only. You get twenty." The Doctor slowly leaned forward, mind racing.
"Are they both still alive?"
Please... Please Donna, just hold on...
"Yes." Relief flooded him. He felt elated.
They're alive... Oh they're alive...
Sherlock asked the next question.
"Are they unharmed?"
"No." The Doctor inhaled sharply and balled his fists. He was about to speak again when Sherlock stopped him.
"We only get twenty and we know they're still alive. We don't need details."
"Good idea Sherly..." It taunted. The Doctor fought against his urge to throw the device. To shout in frustration. To give up. Well, maybe not that far. You don't give up. You're The Doctor. Forcing himself to keep his temper in check, he listened to Sherlock relay the next question.
"Are there going to be more puzzles?"
"Oh, yes!" The Doctor felt physically sick at the glee in the voice of the murderer. He spoke softly.
"Is anyone else going to die?" The killer in front of him halted.
"That depends if you do a good job."
Oh, ha ha ha.
"Don't test my patience." He growled, ignoring Sherlock's hand on his shoulder.
"Don't test mine." The eyes displayed became cold and heartless. "Follow my rules or they won't see another day."
"Can we save them?"
"Why of course! I think you should have a little more faith in my honsesty..." The Doctor grit his teeth. Stay strong. Get some useful information.
"Are you... Are you far away right now?"
"Not really. Smart question."
"Are we going to see them alive?"
"I suppose." Now, it was Sherlock's turn to be frustrated.
"That's not a real answer." He hissed, moving forward and accidentaly bumping shoulders with The Doctor. He fell back onto the bed with a loud thump and a groan.
"That sounds nasty. Hope it's nothing serious Sherly, I need you in prime condition when we hit the climax!"
"Your sniper put it there." He grumbled, though not too loudly.
"To answer you question 'Properly', yes. You will." The Doctor felt hope spark in his chest, a hope that maybe, just maybe, everything could be okay.
"Why are you doing this!?" He snapped.
"That's not a yes or no question, but I'm going to answer it anyway. BECAUSE. I. CAN."
The Doctor had to make a concious effort to keep from doing something rash, and truthfully, he knew he only managed to keep it together for her. "Thirteen questions left you two, better make it snappy!" Shifting uncomfortably, they continued to press him for answers.
"Are we going to see them exactly at the end of two days?"
"Yes."
"Both of them?"
"Rendundant, but yes." The Doctor heard Sherlock curse softly under his breath at the wasted question.
"Are you going to continue attacking people close to us?" He grinned.
"Why wouldn't I? I like watching you struggle. Although..." The Doctor felt himslef tensing up, setting his jaw as he watched the man pretend to consider something. "I may shake it up a bit, just to keep you on your toes." They shared a nervous glance, neither wanting to call him out for answering dishonestly.
"Are you within walking distance?"
"Not presently."
"Are you less than an hour away?
"Yes." The Doctor slowly started to reach for his pocket, attracting the attention of the detective. Putting a finger to his lips, he continued rifling through his pocket. Sherlock turned back to face the display, stealing a few sideways glances at the timelord as he searched.
"Will you be targeting the same person twice?" The Doctor's fingers closed around the sonic, fishing it out with one hand.
"No, you don't need to worry about them at the moment." Twisting the top of the screwdriver, he selected setting 73, pointing it at the disc and letting it begin to track the signal. The killer suddenly seemed to stare straight at him, anger flaring in his eyes. "If you're trying to track me, I might have to go back on my promise of keeping them alive!" He snarled, pulling closer to the camera. The Doctor froze, hand still clutching the tool. Sherlock tugged at The Doctor's arm, which he slowly lowered back to the bed, not putting away the screwdriver. Slowly, he relaxed his grip, putting the offending device back into his pocket. He could feel his hearts beating out of control, even though he was in no danger, every hair on the back of his neck stood on end, every muscle in his body tense and ready to run.
"We're down to seven." Sherlock whispered.
"Yeah, like I don't know that." The Doctor growled. He could tell him exactly how many seconds they had wasted, how many minutes she had been missing, how many hours he had blamed himself.
"Have you chosen your victim?"
"Do I look like an amateur? Of course!"
"Is he someone that both of us have met?" Asked The Doctor, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.
"Not that I know of, you know him Sherly!" Sherlock grit his teeth at the use of that nickname, but stayed quiet.
"Is he somone Sherlock likes?"
"No!" He replied in a sing-song manner, the cheerful tone he displayed making The Doctor want to hurl the disc across the room.
"Are you going to reuse methods of death?"
"The other attempts have been less-than-successful, so no." The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief. He REALLY didn't want to have another dosage of cyanide, and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to take another.
"Will they both survive?"
"That's still pending." The gleam in his eyes was disorienting, like he enjoyed their helplessness. "I suppose it's up to me..." He taunted.
"Two left, we both get one." The Doctor nodded in response, putting on his glasses to try and help himself stay focused on what counted, shoving his emotions into a corner to deal with later.
"Do you know why the Dalek is afraid of me?" The maniac grin faltered for a minute.
"That's been a bit of a mystery to me..." He admitted. The victory, however, was short-lived. "Even if you are dangerous, you won't do anything as long as I have Donna, will you?" The Doctor growled deeply in the back of his throat, a noise that he ususally tried to keep from making with his projection enabled, as it caused more than a few sideways glances. Turning to Sherlock, he realized that it had done exactly what it always did.
"Did you just growl at him?" The tips of his ears glowed bright red.
"Maybe..." Sherlock half-smiled at him before getting back on track.
"Is it going to be as difficult as the others?" The killer chuckled, leaning forward. That's when it all clicked. That's when The Doctor realized exactly who he was staring at.
"Moriarty, I need you to answer!" He snapped. He should've known better! He had read the books, why had that taken so long?
"You wouldn't believe how hard it's going to get." With that, the display clicked off, leaving nothing but a timer for ten minutes.
Sherlock turned to face the alien next to him.
"When did you start calling him Moriarty?"
The Doctor's face fell, refusing to meet his eyes. "In fact," He continued. "You seem to know quite a lot about me." The Doctor sighed.
"Remember how I said I was from another world?" Sherlock nodded. "Well..." He trailed off, gazing into the far corner of the medbay. "You aren't exactly..."
"I'm not real, am I?" His tone of voice was soft. "That's why Donna didn't believe me when I said I was Sherlock Holmes." The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. "I'm a work of fiction..."
"I'm sorry." Sherlock smiled softly.
"It's not your fault." Thoughts raced through his head at a breakneck pace, each one more dizzying than the last. "What..." The Doctor tucked his glasses back into his pocket, still not looking at him. "What do people think of me?" He finally asked.
"That's what you want to know?" Sherlock shrugged.
"I can't change the fact that I don't exist in your world." The Doctor leaned back slightly.
"Well, they think you're brilliant. Though a bit of a jerk at times." Sherlock sighed.
"I suppose it can seem that way at times... What of Molly and John?"
"Molly... Molly doesn't exist." Sherlock sat bolt upright.
"What do you mean?"
"Our worlds are bound to be different in some ways."
"That's true." The Doctor began to search his pockets, pulling out a paperback novel.
"John's actually the one telling your tale in the book." He thumbed through it, eyes darting across the pages. Sherlock leaned in his direction, trying to read some of the words inscribed. Upon noticing this, The Doctor snapped the book shut.
"What was that for?" The Doctor touched the side of his nose.
"Spoilers. Don't know what you've done yet!" Setting the book down next to him, he pulled out the sonic screwdriver, inspecting it closely.
"Did you manage to lock onto his signal?" The Doctor hit it against his palm a few times.
"I'm going to go with no." He then directed his attention back to the bandage wrapped around his shoulder, poking at it a little. "I can take that off you now if you want." Sherlock nodded, watching with morbid curiosity as the bloodied bandage peeled off his skin, revealing a circular scar.
"That's impossible!" The Doctor smiled.
"Welcome to my world. You should be fine, that was just a small dosage." Sherlock frowned.
"What do you mean by 'should be'?" The Doctor stood.
"Well, it can cause vivid hallucinations and sometimes, sleep paralasis, body spasms..." Sherlock paled. The Doctor frantically backpedaled. "Don't worry, that doesn't affect humans as much as it affects things like me."
"You're sure about that?" The Doctor nodded.
"Don't worry about it. You'll be fine." Sherlock stole a glance at the timer.
5:00
"Any idea as to who he's targeting next?" The detective shook his head.
"The game of twenty questions wasn't exactly all that useful." The Doctor began to stick the book back in his pocket.
"Is there anything I should know? Anything that you know that could help us in the slightest?"
"Not really. The books take place in the eighteenth century, so nothing like this could really happen."
2:50
"Really? Eighteenth century?" The Doctor nodded.
"Yup!" Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to imagine himself in a setting like that. It seemed so absurd, and yet... It sounded... Right somehow, like it would be normal to find himself in such an old fashioned setting.
1:36
"There can't be too many puzzles left, he has less than a day left, and something tells me that he has some grand 'Final Puzzle' for us." The Doctor nodded his agreement.
1:00
"At least there's no more poison..." He remarked dryly.
"That's positive." Shelrock mumbled, an equal amount of enthusiasm in his voice.
0:25
0:15
They could do it. They HAD to do it.
0:05
0:00
The video played in the unsettling fashion they had both grown used to, neither of them quite able to get over the fact that their friends were being victimized.
"Welcome back to my little game, boys!" Donna looked quite a bit worse for the wear, the forced cheery tone in her voice making it all the more uncomfortable. "I'm going to get straight to the point this time!" The video flickered to show John, the state of him enough to make Sherlock clench his fists. The video began to cut between them more frequently.
"You have an hour to figure out something based on this riddle, and stop what it speaks of! Simple enough for you?"
"Good. Listen closely!"
"A waste of space in a certain mind, wants to be clever although most find, that inside his head it's rather dull, not much going on at all."
"Did he just rhyme dull and all?" Questioned The Doctor.
"I wouldn't call that rhyming."
"But in a library not far away, something will change this idiot's day. Shelves are unstable, blood on the ground, a crushed corpse soon will be found."
"You have an hour. Good luck!"
Sherlock and The Doctor both sprang to their feet in perfect sync.
"Nearest library?"
"Not sure." They began rushing down the corridor, The Doctor dropping his projection mid-stride in order to get there faster, tail nearly knocking the detective off his feet. The Doctor continued to fire questions at Sherlock as they burst into the console room.
"Any idea who the target-"
"Anderson."
"Method of death is going to be a bookshelf, any idea when exactly he'll be arriving?"
"I have no idea what his personal scedule is and really don't care to find out." The Doctor fiddled with various levers and buttons, using his four legs to better steady himself.
"Right!" Grabbing the monitor with his tail, he swung it around and into view. "Closest library, Church Street, five minutes away!" The two of them didn't stop running as they flung open the main doors of the TARDIS and dashed out onto the street, The Doctor taking a few steps into the light before hastily throwing on his projection. "Whic-"
"This way." Between each step, another way that this could all go horribly wrong sprung into Sherlock's head. But so did another reason to push himself harder, to perservere! He could do it. He had to. For John.
Moriarty bounced on the balls of his feet with glee, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He was breaking them, slowly, but surely. They were coming apart at the seams and he got to watch every painful moment. His captives had been... Less than agreeable. That being said, they were finally starting to lose spirit, like a balloon that had a small hole. Not enough to pop it, but enough to make it slowly deflate. A grin lit up his features. The pair of hostages were sitting upright again, though neither of them were speaking. Both staring off into their respective corners without saying a word. Their eyes, however, said it all. They wanted to be free. They wanted to have hope, but just like that balloon, it was seeping out of them, draining them until they had nothing left. The icing on the cake for Jim, however, was just how much worse it was going to get. Clasping his hands together in glee, he strode down the corridor, deciding to make a few last minute calls with his assassin.