"What the hell-" But Sherlock's words were cut off by a sound.
A sound he had heard but once in is life, a sound he had longed to hear for the past four months. As he felt his curls blow into his face due to the breeze coming from behind him, Sherlock forgot all about his friend who had followed him to Cardiff and turned around. The wheezing sound of the materializing TARDIS felt like a symphony to him, and as it played, he closed his eyes and walked back into the room towards it.
The horrible things McAdams had said about The Oncoming Storm washed away and subconsciously Sherlock lifted his arms to touch the magnificent blue wood. It was bluer than the last time. He was sure. He felt his mouth stretch and stretch and stretch until his smile could not be wider. The world around him ceased to exist. Some time past and the door opened.
"Doctor," Sherlock whispered.
And there he was. The bow tie man, The Oncoming Storm, the Doctor. His Doctor. Sherlock's heart felt lighter; lighter than it ever had before. Seeing this beautiful man's face again brought him into a state of such euphoria that he forgot all the things he wanted to say for a moment and just looked at him:
Not a thing about him had changed. Still the same bowtie, the same waistcoat, the same dark tweed jacket covering it. Still perfect.
"I..." He struggled to put the words together, "I missed you." He took a step closer and stared into the Time Lord's blue-hazel eyes. He was so beautiful.
But.
Why wasn't he smiling? Was he not happy to see Sherlock? No... it can't be.
"You said I am needed. What's going on?" the Doctor said, his tone worried.
"I... that's all. I need you." He could feel the tears swelling up again and he hated it but still it happened.
"Sherlock Holmes needs me? Now, what sort of a case could you have that needs my help?" He said with a grin. Sherlock did not find that funny.
"I'm not on a case. I just need you." The Doctor's smile disappeared and he looked at Sherlock carefully.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," Sherlock took a deep breath and said a thing he would have never said if he had remembered that both McAdams and John were watching, "I mean I love you." It was the most liberating thing to tell him this, and Sherlock closed his eyes waiting for the other's reply.
The bow tie man said nothing.
The consulting detective opened them again and saw the Doctor sadly - no guiltily - looking past him to the wall. The idea of something upsetting The Oncoming Storm made Sherlock uneasy. After some time he dared say something:
"What's wrong?"
"I've done it again," said the Doctor and walked past him, looking around the room, looking at everything except for Sherlock.
"What have you done again?" He took his chance to wipe his eyes while the Time Lord wasn't looking.
"I let a human fall in love with me again."
Sherlock did not think about what that probably meant about the Doctor's feelings for him. He didn't think about the bleeding wound in his heart the man opposite him had cut open with those words. He refused to think about anything, but the one thing he wanted to do most now, the one thing that would make all the hurt go away;
he grabbed the man by the waistcoat and pulled him towards him, not trying very hard to do this in a gentle manner. He then took the bow tie man by the head and pulled him even closer so that he could press his lips on him.
Sherlock's body burst into flames as he felt The Oncoming Storm's warm breath against his face. It was as if he was breathing life into him, as if up until now he hadn't been alive. The kiss was like lightning. Beautiful, electrifying, frightening–
–And it only lasted a fraction of a second, because almost immediately after making mouth-to-mouth contact with the consulting detective the Doctor flinched away.
And that was the worst part. He flinched. He tried to leave. He did not enjoy it. The wound in Sherlock's heart ripped some more, until it wasn't ripping, it was tearing and whatever the Doctor had fixed in him before, broke again. The bow tie man took a step back and in that moment Sherlock burst into tears, heartbroken, alone. He cried and cried and cried, because the bow tie man was here and well and perfect but didn't want him. It hurt him. Hurt him more than being apart from him. More than those terrible things McAdams had told him about him. He just sat on the floor snorting on the floor waiting for the pain of love to end. But that's the thing about pain. It never ends. It just takes a new form.
He finally understood that name he had researched so thoroughly and so often. He had always been a storm, constantly approaching, promising to put an end to the drought, only to flood him, drown him and hold him under water.
"This is exactly what I wanted to avoid." It wasn't the Doctor speaking.
It was John.
John was there too.
Sherlock looked up and he couldn't have cared less about what a mess his face must've looked like.
"What?" he asked while wiping his nose on his coat sleeve.
"I didn't want you to get hurt like this."
"You thought I was going on a case," he mumbled in such an incomprehensive way, but still John understood. He lent Sherlock his hand as he spoke.
"No, I knew you were going to meet someone." As Sherlock got up, the idea that John, his friend, whom he trusted had been reading his e-mails angered him.
"Those were private conversations!" he roared accusingly.
"I never read any of your 'oh so very secret' e-mails. I just knew that you were..." he didn't finish the sentence and stared at the Doctor, who wasn't saying a word, watching their conversation closely.
"How?! I never told anyone that I... love him."
"Sherlock, I think we both agree that I know a hell of a lot more about love than you do."
"Yes, but..."
"And that's the first rule about love: It goes without saying. I saw it in you, that emptiness, that hurt. You didn't need to tell me where it came from because I knew it. We all know it. Almost everyone knows it except you."
Sherlock rethought the past four months.
"So then... why did you never say a thing? Why didn't you ask me who I was so upset about?"
John gave him a half-smile.
"Because I'm your friend... and I figured that you would say it eventually. I was a little disappointed when you didn't and I guess I just had enough and decided to follow you. I wanted to make sure you'd be all right... but I was also being selfish and wanted to know who it was."
And, surprisingly, Sherlock understood.
"I forgive you... I should've told you." John smiled. Sherlock managed a smile as well and they hugged each other. Not a hug like the one he'd shared with the Doctor while their brief kiss. It didn't set him ablaze or make him feel like fireworks were inside him but it was warm and nice. His heart was still broken, but maybe not quite as broken.
Eventually he pulled away and turned back to the Doctor. He slightly gestured his mouth.
"I'm sorry for… all that."
"That's okay."
The Oncoming Storm smiled warmly and Sherlock could've swarm the whole room lit up a little.
"When I first met you... you said that I wasn't possible... I thought that by that you meant that you..." he finally asked, a tiny spark of hope still in him.
"That you were unique. Or something along those lines?"
He nodded lightly.
"Everyone's unique Sherlock."
"But that isn't what you meant," the consulting detective said harshly.
"Well... you see, in my universe there is a book. The name of the book is Sherlock Holmes." It upset me so much that he said that sentence for something as stupid as this.
"So someone in a book has the same name as me. So!?"
"It's more than that, he is you. He lives in 221B Baker Street, he has a friend called John Watson, he solves murders. The only things that do not coincide is that this Sherlock Holmes lives in Victorian England."
"So I'm not special to you or anything... I'm just a work of fiction brought to life to you," he spat the words out and took a step back.
"Sherlock, please, I just..." The Doctor lifted up his arms, trying to get Sherlock to come back.
"You just don't love me. I know." He stared at the floor, his expression hard.
"It's more complicated than that... People, good people, have died because they were too close to me."
"I might die if I'm too far from you." The Doctor gave a weak laugh and swung his arm around Sherlock. A small flame started burning again within him but he refused to let it go any further than that.
"Ah, Sherlock, look I may only know you from the books, but if you are anything like him, which we've previously established, then I know you're gonna be all right." He managed to look into the Time Lord's eyes again.
"I'll survive. That doesn't mean I'll be all right."
The Doctor looked down and didn't reply. A loud noise came from the police box. He turned his head to it and then back to Sherlock.
"Listen, Sherlock, I'm really sorry but... the TARDIS isn't really supposed to be in this universe and it would be much better for it to go back and-"
"Fine, then go," Sherlock said coldly.
"Well if you want I could show you the inside?" The consulting detective considered the offer for a moment.
"No."
"Why not?" the bow tie man asked. Sherlock turned away from him and was headed towards the exit of the building. He stopped in the doorway and turned to the side so that the Time Lord would hear him better but was still not visible to him:
"It's the eye of the storm; false hope that the pain is over now." He didn't look back when he heard the click of a door, or when the wheezing started again. The Doctor was gone.
That was the last time.