John

John burst through the manor doors, ducking his head as would splintered from where his foot had collided with its frame. After just taking a few steps inside he was horrified to find Mycroft's agents lying dead against the floor. Their necks had all been snapped and some had even been suffocated by the giant monsters. Mycroft was pinned to the wall in the sitting room, struggling as hard as he could and calling out to someone only a small distance away. John's eyes fallowed Mycroft's and his heart clenched. Sherlock was lying on the floor surrounded by Slitheen. He was partially awake, but not enough to protect himself. John shouted out at Sherlock, earning the many eyes of the green creatures. They chuckled at him cruelly, running their claws down Sherlock's pale skin and opening up a thin long red line down his face. Sherlock moaned under the pain, but he was so drugged that's all he could manage to do. Clara and The Doctor finally made their way in, holding the bottles of vinegar in their hands and breathing heavy.

"Give us the screwdrivers and we shall let the detective go," hissed a Slitheen.

"Never!" The Doctor spat, clutching the screwdrivers in his hands. The Slitheen shrugged its huge shoulders and clasped its claws around Sherlock's throat, pulling him from the floor and into the air. Sherlock gasped, trying to choke down a breath, but the big green hand was crushing his airway.

"We know you, Doctor, you would never risk the life of one of your companions," hissed the Slitheen. The Doctor gritted his teeth together, glancing at the screwdriver and then to Sherlock, whose lips were starting to go blue. Visions of Sherlock dying in St. Bart's sent tears burning John's face. Oh, God! It was going to happen for real this time! Sherlock was going to die!

"Doctor, do it," Clara whispered, squeezing his shoulder gently. "It's ok. You and I have are fun, but your time with Sherlock has only just begun." The Doctor nodded solemnly and chucked the screwdrivers at the Slitheen, keeping his head low. The Slitheen grabbed the screwdrivers, dropping Sherlock. The consulting detective gasped for air as he hit the floor and John rushed to his side, rubbing a hand gently against his friends back in attempt to help calm him. They also dropped Mycroft and now stood off to the side grinning widely.

"What's so funny?" John spat, pulling Sherlock's arm over his shoulder and hoisting the detective to his feet. Sherlock gasped as a flash of pain spread through his head at the quick movement, but he bit his bottom lip to push back the pain. The Slitheen all began to cackle and one lifted a strange looking remote with a big threatening button on it.

"We have the manor littered with explosives. It appears we have the upper hands," the Slitheen hissed. Mycroft's eyes widened as he looked around the manor. John gritted his teeth and the creature slammed its green fist against the button. "Farewell, Doctor!" the Slitheen chuckled before being beamed up to their ship. Just as they left the manor shook and fires blazed up through the doors and windows. Clara let out a shriek at the sudden explosion and The Doctor wrapped an arm around her.

"Everyone out!"


Clara

They ran down the halls, fire burning all around them and beams falling heavily to the floors. Mycroft pushed the door open, and the fled through it. Smoke billowed from behind them and flames licked up at their clothes, but they all still made it out alright. Clara sighed, glancing around only to see that not all of them had made it out alright.

"Where are John and Sherlock?" Clara gasped, looking around frantically. Mycroft's eyes widened as he looked back to the manor and The Doctor threw himself through one of the windows, back inside the burning building. Clara made to follow him, but Mycroft grabbed her before she could get anywhere. She pulled away harshly and threw herself after her Doctor. She looked around, eyes stinging from the thick smoke, but she soon caught a glimpse of that ridiculous bow tie. She rushed over gasping when she saw John pinned under the fallen stair railing. Sherlock was lying next to him, trying to free his friend.

"He…pushed me out of the way," Sherlock croaked, looking sick with worry. The Doctor kneeled down pushing the railing from John's body. The railing was not all that heavy, but Sherlock had been drugged after all. It wasn't his fault he was to weary to lift it off his friend. The Doctor swung John over his shoulder and Clara wrapped Sherlock's arm over her so he could lean against her for support.

"Let's get out of here!" The Doctor screeched, running forward. Clara and Sherlock followed, stumbling over the rubble. When they finally found their way back out Mycroft was at their side, along with a handful of policemen and an ambulance.

"John!" Sherlock coughed, watching as an air mask was pushed onto his friend's face. John's head rolled to the side and Sherlock bit his tongue when he saw how much blood was flowing from his friend's head. The detective fell to his knees, eyes wide. His mask shattering to pieces. Clara pulled Sherlock into her, realizing that he was in shock. Mycroft stood next to them, hand clasped over his face as he took in deep breaths. "It's happening," Sherlock whimpered, burying his face in Clara's shoulder. She shushed him, running a gentle hand through his hair. What was he going on about? Was it just the shock talking or was there something she didn't know about? She glanced up at Mycroft, who was now holding a journal in his hands. It was partially burnt, but you could still read the writing scribbled on it. It looked almost like a child's writing.

"What is that?" Clara asked, rocking the detective back and forth in her arms. Mycroft, flipped to the page John had shown him earlier.

"It's Sherlock's journal," Mycroft whispered. "He…learned a secret he was never meant to know when he first began traveling with The Doctor. He wrote it down in here," the usually cold man croaked.

"What does it say?" Clara asked, remembering now what she had overheard John and Mycroft talking about. Mycroft lowered his head and pointed at today's date. Clara's eyes scanned over the journal and a hand flew to her mouth.

July 14, 1992

I've just left a planet with a name even English teachers wouldn't be able to spell. My distant travels with The Doctor and his assistant Clara are amazing, but now I feel a part of me has been ripped away. I had found The Doctor's diary today and I didn't mean to read it. I was just curious to see how long I'm with him. When I came to the date January 23, 2013 everything came crashing down. That date is the date that I lose my future best friend forever and his name is Dr. John Hamish Watson.

-SH