"John, I'm going to a case in Wales. Stay here and do whatever it is that you do while I'm gone usually." Sherlock turned around to find… no one. It appeared that John was gone and Sherlock hadn't noticed. Again.

Sherlock left the flat and got straight into a cab. He had taken his driving test once, but when he had actually corrected the instructor – rudely, several times in an annoying high pitched voice – he had been kicked out and told never to come back. That was when he was seventeen.

Now he was on his way to a spot just outside of Cardiff, Wales. His heart was thumping painfully and erratically against his ribs. He was about to meet the one man who actually made him feel… normal. That was a rather odd thing for Sherlock and in a sick sort of way he constantly craved it. He felt equal, perhaps actually less intelligent than this man.

The Doctor.

The first time he had met the Doctor he was ten and had run away from Mycroft into Sherwood Forest. In short the Doctor had saved him from the Vashtu Nerada and Sherlock had avoided forests ever since then. Sherlock hadn't even believed in aliens, had thought them impossible in fact. He had easily been proved wrong by this tall raggedy man in a blue suit and converses. He had been accompanied by a rather pretty woman named Rose who made Sherlock feel shy. He had never felt comfortable around girls. But she had been nice and made him feel like he belonged with them. When Sherlock had told them both that he thought aliens impossible, the Doctor looked disapprovingly down his glasses.

"Sherlock, once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." He had then turned his back on Sherlock, collected his lady companion and began to lope quickly and silently through the forest.

In an odd turn of events, this had become Sherlock's mantra. That was also what made him want to become a detective.

Sherlock now stood, leaning against a tree, in front of an empty field. He was waiting for the Doctor, he needed his help. He heard the unmistakable sound of the TARDIS and readied himself. He was ridiculously excited and determined not to show it.

Sherlock supressed an outright laugh when the Doctor fell right out of the TARDIS. For a Lord of Time, the man really was quite clumsy. Sherlock strode toward him and gave him a nod, wondering where his latest companion was. Last he knew he was travelling with a woman named Donna.

"Doctor, I see you've been in… America."

"Sherlock, honestly, I will never know how you do that. Over a hundred years of space and time travel and I can't even tell when someone's crying right in front of me."

"Actually, you're wearing a Dodge City badge on your left lapel. Not hard to deduce your recent travel habits from that." Sherlock said it with a genuine smile.

"Oh."

"It's been a long time Doctor."

"Yes it has, hasn't it? You've changed, Sherlock."

"As have you, am I to guess Miss Donna Noble doesn't travel with you anymore?" A shadow passed across the Doctor's face. Guilt, Sherlock thought.

"No."

"That is a shame, I liked her hair." The Doctor gave him a half-hearted grin and Sherlock could tell, by the man's eyes, he was in pain. Not physical pain, worse. Shame, regret, the worst feelings a man of his character could be feeling. Sherlock thought it best to steer the conversation in another direction.

"Do you remember the time in the woods, when I was little; you saved me from those shadows? I think we might have a case that is better suited to a man of your capabilities Doctor." As much as Sherlock hated to admit he was beat or that he needed help, it was different with the Doctor.

"This is not good. Very not good, my friend, tell me everything." Sherlock was telling him about the suicides – people had been going to the tops of buildings and simply leaping off. No warnings or signs, ordinary, seemingly happy people. And happy people don't just jump off of rooves. So, Sherlock had reached the point in this case where there was only one more possibility. Aliens.

The Doctor was nodding along to the story and then stopped at Sherlock's mention of sulphur.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, was that sulphur you just mentioned. This is bad. Go back to your flat, if I'm not there within five minutes of you being there, just wait longer." And with that the Doctor ran off at an awkward angle and threw himself into the TARDIS. Sherlock was thinking he was beginning to see what John meant when he said Sherlock was infuriatingly mysterious and vague.

Sherlock now had to make his way back to Baker Street, in a cab. Which usually wouldn't be hard but he was actually in the middle of nowhere, Cardiff. Spiffing.

He stopped on the way home. This seemed like a case where he might need some cigarettes. Obviously he wouldn't show them to John, he would only hide them again. Rude.

As he traipsed up the steps, he could hear Mrs. Hudson yelling below him. That would most likely be his fault, having let slip that Mr. Horne had a wife in Brighton. John had been furious. Sherlock had had to dodge a teacup aimed at his shoulder. It had been empty at least and John had then stormed off to his bedroom and left Sherlock to clean up the broken mug.

He still hadn't.

He opened the door, John was home.

"Hello, John. We'll have a visitor in, oh, four minutes or so." He said with a smile, not asking permission, merely stating a fact.

"I see, Sherlock. Don't actually ask or anything, it's not like I pay rent too or anything. What nutter is it this time? A hobo? A hooker from King's Cross again?"

"No," Sherlock murmured, knowing the gravity of the words about to leave his mouth.

"John, it's the Doctor."