Author's Notes: SO, long day of work and my arm is about ready to fall off. But I was surprised to find that this was my last pre-written chapter! I only have half of a chapter written after this one! Guess I'll have to pick up the pace. Not that you have much to worry about since I have an outline of the rest of the story all written up. Anyways, enjoy the chapter and please review!
Sherlock's knuckles rapped against a door, catching John's attention. His head spun around to find his dark friend tracing a finger around the edge of the oddly shaped door. The small girl, Clara, also stopped, looking back around towards the genius.
"What are you doing?" She bounced over to him, following his finger with her eyes. Bouncing. She always seemed to be bouncing. She was young, full of life. How had she found herself in the company of that Doctor man? He was clearly an an old soldier, albeit one with a young face. It was probably some alien thing. Aliens. John found himself wondering more and more whether or not he was going insane.
"This door is hardly used." Sherlock noted.
"That's cause it gets jammed easily. We only ever use the other entrance." She noted.
"What's in there?" John joined the two of them. Clara had a wide smile as she bounded past him. The two men exchanged looks and followed her around the curve in the hallway. They soon came to another door of roughly the same shape. This one slid open smoothly as Clara stepped up to it. John and Sherlock followed warily behind.
"Oh you're going to love this!" Beyond the small girl were shelves seeming to go upwards forever, holding thousands upon thousands of books. There were aisles and some books in higher prominence than others but each book as beautiful as the last. A library. Not just a library, but the greatest one either of them had ever seen.
"What do you think?" Clara asked John eagerly. He was too flabbergasted to respond properly so he continued to gape. Sherlock recovered himself more quickly, spotting movement a few aisles down. He was after it immediately, following his hearing. He skidded around a corner to find a man with graying hair looking through a volume.
"The Doctor, I presume?"
"What do you want?" He flipped a page, looking with a bored eye over the pages.
"Your regenerations have been fractured. We were told to give you this." He dug into his pocket to find one of the squares. The Doctor took it from him at once and seeming to understand, sighed dramatically. He pushed the consulting detective aside, leaving the library. Clara and John soon joined the detective, glancing over their shoulders at the departing regeneration.
"Guess he wasn't always so cheerful." John commented making Clara smile. Sherlock said nothing, turning around. Something had caught his eye before cornering the Doctor. He made his way past several more aisles of books to find one laying in the open on a stand. There were bizarre circles over the front of the book but in small English letters were some worsd that caught Sherlock's eye.
His hand curled around the edge of the book, trying to pull the cover upwards to see a glimpse of the first page. He frowned when it wouldn't open. He pulled harder, a force that normally would have broken the binding of the book. It didn't budge. He pulled as hard as he could, muscles straining. Clara came over and watched him with an amused eye. He didn't even look at her as he struggled.
"That book only opens for the Doctor." She told him. "Why? What's it to you?"
"Nothing." Sherlock spun around and stalked angrily from the book. He was not used to having information denied to him. He didn't like it at all. John didn't say a word at the sight of the storm cloud that was his face. John knew that sometimes the genius was best left alone and Sherlock was grateful for that.
After all, what the book had denied him knowledge to was something Sherlock had been curious about for a good long while. Something he couldn't find any information on in his internet research. It was the greatest mystery according to the sources he had found. And the book said on the cover that it contained the answer. A puzzle Sherlock couldn't solve on his own.
The Doctor's name.
"I don't like it either but what are we supposed to do about it?"
"I don't know, maybe wake up and find out what the hell happened?"
"Dean, you know that only the Doctor can wake us up. We just have to put him together and then we'll wake up, okay? It's the only way."
"Doesn't mean I have to like it." Dean swept aside a tree branch irritably. Amy vanishing into thin air meant nothing good. He couldn't help but worry. One moment she had been joking with them and the next she had just vanished. Not even some shimmering lights indicating a teleport or some crap like that. She had just vanished.
"Maybe someone woke her up." Sam theorized, running over numerous scenarios in his mind.
"She and Clara said that no one could get into the TARDIS. It would have to be something they didn't know about getting in. That means nothing good. She could be getting attacked by an alien or something!" Dean was being dramatic, he knew it. But even his inexpiable sense of guilt wasn't smothering his worry. Nothing should be able to pull Amy up from the dream root. Nothing natural.
"Dean, you need to stop worrying. If aliens were on board we'd all be dead by now. I mean, we're all asleep. They would kill us on the spot."
"Thank you, Sammy. That's very reassuring." Sam rolled his eyes and punched his brother on the shoulder. "Sam, when you look at her, do you feel like there's something wrong?" Sam shrugged, thinking about it.
"No. Why, do you?" Dean thought carefully about his answer. He wasn't sure just how much of this to share with his brother. He trusted Sam but the whole thing seemed irrational.
"When I look at her, I just feel-"
"Oi! Keep it down would you!" Sam and Dean blinked in momentary surprise, looking around for the source of the interruption. They walked forward, coming to a small clearing in the trees. In the center of it sat a man surrounded by photographs. He kept picking them up, shuffling them, and putting them back down as though constantly dissatisfied with what he saw.
"Doctor?" Sam wondered hesitantly.
"Yes, what is it now?" He demanded, looking up. "Do I know you?"
"Uh, not yet." Sam said, watching as he stood. He pulled out some glasses from his pocket and after shoving them onto his face began to do a look over of the two boys.
"Blimey I travel with some odd company. But, wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey." He waved a hand airily.
"So you know about your conscious being split up then?" Sam wondered, not quite sure how to talk to the quirky brunet.
"Is that what it is then? Huh, thought it might be. I'm getting careless in my old age. What's your name then?"
"I'm Sam and this is my brother, Dean." Sam jabbed a thumb at Dean who was glancing down at the photos and papers strewn across the grass.
"Nice to meet you, Sam-bo. I'm the Doctor. Tenth face." He made a circular motion around his face with one finger.
"So you're who came right before our Doctor?" Dean asked, joining the conversation.
"Oh so you're with me in my next face? Good then, not long to wait. Or at least I haven't screwed up and had to regenerate yet. Tell me, Sam and Dean, if you're my new companions then where am I? Hmm? If my consciousness is split apart shouldn't I be with you so that I can put myself back together again?"
"Uh, you said, or your first self said that we should send you and the other...yous... I guess, back to the TARDIS." This whole topic of conversation was hurting Sam's head.
"What are these, Doc?" Dean picked up a stack of the photographs. He began leafing through them.
"Some old memories. That was my friend, Donna. Donna Noble. She was great, brilliant. Never quite believed it though." The Doctor's face was sad as he stared down at the woman.
"You got a thing for red heads?" Dean chuckled, thinking of Amy.
"That brings up another question." The Doctor turned to Sam very seriously and Sam looked at his brother with sudden discomfort. "In my next regeneration, what color is my hair?" Sam didn't know whether to laugh at the question or to answer back as seriously as it had been asked.
"Brown?" He said hesitantly.
"Is it too much to ask to be a ginger?" The Doctor protested, throwing his hands up.
"What's this?" Dean showed the Doctor another photograph and again his eyes grew sad.
"That was a sort of code word, I suppose. My friend, Rose. She came up with it. She was brilliant." Dena looked between the photo of the graffiti and the red hair of Donna Noble.
"Bad wolf." He said under his breath, something about it tickling his memory. Red hair. Bad wolf. Red hair. Wolf. Red. Wolf. Red wolf. One of his hands flew to his head, a painful shock going through his brain. Red wolf. Red wolf. Red wolf. A sort of rushing sound filled his ears as he felt himself being jerked from sleep. But that didn't stop the flood of images filling his brain.
Dean Winchester remembered.