Harry took the controls. The TARDIS spun in space and dematerialised, landing in the dalek ship.
John stepped out first, Harry close behind. Sherlock followed them both cautiously, peering out of the door before joining them in the dalek control room.
He looked around. The room was round and gold, with plenty of shiny, curved surfaces. There were circles everywhere, on the walls, on the floor, in the lighting. The floor sounded like a thick metal as they walked over it, and the whole room was smoother than any Earth surface Sherlock had ever encountered.
He approached the control panel, covered with more round things: lights, button, and screens displaying rotating patterns of circles. John was checking some readouts on a screen above their heads, while Harry was hunting around the walls, pressing on circles and tapping as if trying to find something.
Sherlock decided to go over to Harry. "What are you looking for?" he asked.
"Green box," she said, then added, "Your people call it a black box, I think. Never got the hang of Earth colours. Red alert, indeed," she scoffed, then went back to poking around the walls.
Sherlock gave up, and went over to John. "Don't mind her," he said, "she's just tense because she's worried about Dad." He turned to Sherlock. "Look, no offence, but there's really not much for you to do here. If you like, you could take a look around at the ship? It's perfectly safe, there's only the three of us here. I checked." He tapped the screen above them, and Sherlock nodded.
He walked off quickly, trying not to let either of them see his face, so they wouldn't know how hurt he was feeling at being sent away like one might a child. Sherlock was not used to not being the smartest in a room (unless Mycroft was there, of course), and it irked him especially that John was more knowledgeable than him about something, other than women. He had always seen John as somewhat inferior, at least in intelligence; and to have him suddenly prove to be just as intelligent, if not more so, was discombobulating to say the least.
Sherlock paused when he came across a bubble-shaped window, set deep into the wall of the corridor. Outside, there was nothing but darkness, and the moon's surface. He found if he looked far to the left, he could just see the edge of a large, light-coloured shape in the distance, which he presumed was the Earth, millions upon millions of miles away. Sherlock stared at this sight for a while, one he surely would never see again, before sighing and continuing his trip around the corridors.
He wandered around the ship for a while, at least an hour, contemplating what he had learned about his friend. John had kept a secret from the whole world, even him, for years. He wondered just how much of John's past life was real.
The detective started thinking about what they had said about him being a book character. How much of his life was real? How did he exist in a Victorian book as well as in real life? Was that possible, in any reality?
Then Sherlock saw something that made him stop in his tracks. He froze for a full minute, breathing shallowly; then spun around and hightailed it back to the control room, where John and Harry were.
Sherlock skidded to a halt on the smooth flooring about a foot from the door, then took a breath to compose himself before calmly walking in.
He tapped John on the shoulder. "Yeah?" John said, without looking away from what he was doing.
"There are no daleks on this ship, correct? Just us."
"Mm-hmm," John said.
"These daleks, they are incredibly dangerous, and capable of destroying the universe?" Sherlock asked casually.
"Yep."
"And when they move around, they wouldn't happen to say, 'Exterminate', would they?"
"That's right-what? How do you know that?" John said, turning around in panic. For the first time, he took in Sherlock's flushed face and shortness of breath. Harry turned around as well, staring at Sherlock as if scared of the answer he would give.
"The truth is," Sherlock said cautiously, "I think I just saw one of them. A dalek, I mean." He saw the twin looks of horror on John and Harry's faces, and stopped talking.
"Please tell me you're joking," John said desperately.
Sherlock grimly shook his head.
"How did you survive?" Harry asked.
"I ducked down a side corridor. It didn't see me," he answered.
"Where was it?" John asked. He pulled up a three-dimensional map of the ship on the screen.
Sherlock considered the map, selecting a floor and zooming in upon it. "I went down there," he tracked his route with his finger, "and around that bend. I remember that bend. I think it was here," he said, pointing out a corridor. "Yes, that's right."
"Over the other side of the ship," Harry noted. "You ran all the way back?"
Sherlock nodded. "What do we do?"
John puffed out his cheeks. "I've found nothing," he admitted.
"Me neither," Harry said. "Confrontation?"
John nodded regretfully. "Looks like we'll have to."
Sherlock's eyes flicked from one sibling to the other. "You're going to confront it?" he asked cautiously. "One of the most feared creatures in the universe?"
"How else are we going to find anything out, Sherlock?" John demanded back. "We've got nothing to go on. We have no idea where or when Dad is. All we know is that the daleks may have him. So, don't you think the best thing to do might be ask a dalek?"
"It's not ideal," Harry admitted, "but if Sherlock Holmes has any ideas, I for one would love to hear them."
"I have nothing," Sherlock said. Then a thought occurred to him. "Do you speak the same language as the daleks?"
"The TARDIS has an inbuilt translation filter. Works for everything except Gallifreyan," John said. "So, are we ready to face a dalek?"
"No," Harry admitted.
"Me neither," said her brother. "Let's go." And with that, they stepped out of the control room, prepared to go on a dalek-hunt.
"Hold up a sec," Harry said as they passed the TARDIS. She disappeared inside, returning a few moments later with two large guns. She tossed one to John, and he caught it, stumbling slightly under the unexpected weight.
"Where did you get these?" he demanded. "Dad never allows guns in his TARDIS!"
"There's a room full of weapons, all catalogued by date," Harry explained. "I think the TARDIS likes keeping spoils of war. He's never found the room, but she showed me."
John appraised the gun. "Will this work on daleks?"
"Should do," she said. "They had a picture of a dalek next to them."
John appraised the gun. It was large, large enough that it had to be to be held with two hands, and the barrel resembled a dalek's gunstick. He guessed it had been modified from a dalek somehow. "Do you know where this came from?" he asked.
"No idea," she shrugged. "You?"
"Nope."
Sherlock had been watching the exchange silently, but at this point he spoke up. "Were there only two dalek guns in the room, then?" he asked casually. Too casually.
Harry's eyes flicked guiltily towards him. "Um, yes," she said quickly. "Sorry about that."
He shrugged it off. "Shall we go then?"
"Yes," John agreed, and hurried out. The other two followed close behind.
It didn't take them long to find the dalek. They were walking down the third corridor of the second floor when there was a noise nearby. John motioned for the others to stop, and peered around the corner cautiously.
He jerked his head back and leaned against the wall. "It's there," he mouthed, signalling with his head.
Harry wordlessly held up five fingers, then four, counting down. When she got to zero, she and John leaped out into the corridor with practised timing, levelling their guns at the dalek. Sherlock stood behind them, staring the dalek down and trying not to look too useless.
The dalek didn't notice them at first. It kept rolling towards them until its eyestalk swivelled around to face them. Then it stopped in its tracks, ten feet or so away from them. "Identify yourselves!" it called out in an emotionless, robotic voice.
"John and Harry Watson," John said.
"We are the children of the Oncoming Storm," Harry added.
The dalek seemed to nod in recognition. "You are associates of the Doctor?"
"That's right," John said loudly. "We come in the name of the Doctor."
"You are companions of the Doctor. It is confirmed that companions of the Doctor will show mercy to the daleks."
"Oh, yeah?" Harry asked, and aimed a shot over the dalek's head. A bright beam flew out the barrel of her gun and scorched the corridor wall. It moved backwards slightly as if flinching. "Check your records again," she said. "We're not companions. We're family."
The dalek paused, checking the records. "Negative," it said eventually. "The Doctor has no family."
"Yes, well, he would say that, wouldn't he?" John said impatiently. "Look, our identities don't matter. It's two on one. Three on one," he corrected himself hastily, glancing back at Sherlock. "We've got some questions for you, and our records state that you will answer them, unless you want my sister to shoot lower down next time." Harry raised her gun in confirmation.
The dalek pointed its gun at Sherlock. "You are unarmed," it informed him. "You will be exterminated! Exterminate! Exterminate!"
It was interrupted by another warning shot, this time from John. "Shut it," he told the dalek firmly. "He may be unarmed, but we're not. Now, where is the Doctor?"
The dalek seemed to finally realise that it should answer. "The location of the doctor is unknown," it said haltingly.
"He went missing on this ship," Harry said. "This dalek ship. Am I seriously expected to believe that you don't know where he is?"
Sherlock cleared his throat. "Er, John?"
"Not now, Sherlock," John said apologetically, not looking around. "Where is he?" he demanded again of the dalek, holding up the gun again.
"The location of the doctor is unknown," the dalek repeated.
"Is that all you know how to say?" Harry demanded.
"John-" Sherlock began to say again, but was cut off.
"Okay," John said. "What is the last known location of the Doctor?"
This time, there was a pause as before the answer, as the dalek checked its internal records. "The last known location of the Doctor is the destruction of the Cult of Skaro," it said. "The current location of the Doctor is unknown."
"Yeah, I got that bit," John said. He puffed out his cheeks, thinking hard.
Sherlock took his pause as an opportunity to speak. He leaned towards John and quickly said, "John, I really feel you ought to know that that was not the dalek I saw earlier."
He nodded absent-mindedly. "Yeah, okay…what?" he demanded, jerking his head back to stare at Sherlock.
"This one has a dent in it," he explained quietly, pointing to the dalek's head. "The one I saw didn't."
Harry had heard their conversation. "How certain are you, on a scale of one to ten?" she muttered, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the dalek.
"Eleven," Sherlock said with certainty.
"Shit," John said. "There's more than one on board."
"You said the Cult of Skaro was wiped out," Harry called to the dalek. "How many were in the cult?"
"The Cult of Skaro was small," the dalek intoned. "Only five thousand daleks. A small fraction of our race!"
"Your race wiped out ours," John said. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you now."
"You are companions of the doctor," the dalek repeated. "You will show mercy, or you will be exterminated! Exterminate!" It began to wave its gun around, pointing it at each of them in turn. "Exterminate! Exterminate!"
"Go to Hell," Harry said, and squeezed the trigger. There was a flash and a bang, and then the dalek was no more.
Sherlock winced at the explosion. When the smoke cleared, he saw that the dalek had been completely blown apart, with shards of metal and some unpleasant-looking organic matter lying scattered around the corridor. Only the base was left standing.
John looked over at Harry. "Nice shot," he commented.
"Thanks," she said, leaning against the wall and breathing heavily.
John cautiously approached the remains of the dalek. He reached out with one foot and pushed the base away from him. It rolled a few inches before coming to a stop against the wall.
Meanwhile, Sherlock was listening intently to something in the distance. "John, these daleks…they wouldn't have a distress signal, would they?"
John's ears pricked up. He, too, heard a faint 'Exterminate!' sound. "Which way is it?"
Sherlock pointed behind him, the way that they had come. "That way, I think."
All three listened for a few moments. The sound was definitely getting louder.
"Right now, getting away from here is sounding like a good option," John said.
Harry nodded. "And fast."
They took off as one, heading down the way that the dalek had come. John was leading at the front, while Harry took up the rear, turning around every so often to check for approaching daleks. They ran for several minutes, taking as many corners and twists and turns as they could to try and throw the daleks off their trail. As they ran, Sherlock's breathing became ragged, while John's and Harry's remained normal.
With every step, John kept thinking, this is impossible. There were no signs of life on the ship. No one could enter. No one could leave. How are there daleks on board? They didn't know where Dad is. Where is Dad? Is he still alive? These thoughts kept running through his head, over and over again.
Eventually they arrived back in the control room. John tore through the TARDIS door without hesitation, holding it open for Sherlock and Harry before locking it safely behind them. He and Harry leaned against the door, while Sherlock bent over the railing, gasping for breath.
"How?" Harry gasped when she was able. "How did they get onto the ship?"
John closed his eyes and slid his back down the door. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know."
Sherlock staggered upright. "You said there were no other signs of life on board," he said accusatorily. "You also said the daleks were alive, inside the armour."
"I know," John apologised, eyes still closed as if in pain. "I'm sorry. I put you in danger. You could have been killed. I'm sorry." He sighed and leaned his head back against the door.
-o0o-
After some time sitting in silence, Harry stood up and walked through the console room to the door, and disappeared down a corridor. Sherlock glanced over at John. He didn't appear to be moving, so Sherlock stood up and followed Harry through into the corridor.
The corridors, like the console room, were coloured in oranges and golds, with eerie green lights every couple of feet. Interestingly enough, the corridors seemed to be in a hexagonal shape, yet the doors set into the walls every so often appeared to be flat. Sherlock guessed it was an alien mind trick. He hated guessing.
Sherlock wandered down the many corridors, turning and twisting so often that even he became lost. Sometimes, he would poke his head into a room as he passed. He found an odd collection of rooms, including a swimming pool, an antique-looking library, a modern-looking library, several empty bedrooms, a broom closet, two kitchens, a prison cell, and a large artist's studio.
Eventually he found Harry, sitting on a washing machine in an otherwise empty room. Sherlock could find no explanation for someone having a room containing only a washing machine that did not seem to be connected to anything, but he decided not to say anything. Instead, he hovered just inside the door, clearing his throat awkwardly.
Harry glanced up. "Hi," she mumbled, then went back to tracing patterns on the ground with the toe of one boot.
Sherlock took this as an invitation, and walked cautiously over to the washing machine, perching on one corner. It was a squeeze, but they both fit. "You feel guilty." It wasn't a question.
"Yes," she admitted. "Of course I do. You nearly got killed. You're my responsibility, remember? Anything happens to you, it's my fault. And John would never forgive me if something did." She gave him a small smile. "Although, from what I've seen, you seem quite capable of taking responsibility for yourself." It wasn't a question.
Sherlock pursed his lips and nodded. "I think so," he said. "John doesn't, though. He seems worried about me."
Harry rolled her eyes. "Don't mind him. He gets like that sometimes, when someone's in danger. He always has to play the hero, running around, making everybody else is all right. He never gives a second thought to his own safety, though. If anything, it's us who should be worried about him, not the other way around."
Sherlock thought about John, and the things he had done. Shooting a cabbie on the day after they met. Grabbing Moriarty by the throat by the swimming pool, so Sherlock could escape. Chinning the chief superintendent. Opting to stay in a train carriage to try and stop other people dying, even though he could have saved himself. Storming into a house filled with druggies, to rescue a neighbour he hardly knew. There were so many times in which John had put others before himself, so many times that Sherlock had never given a second thought. Eventually, he answered Harry's statement with a nod.
She continued speaking. "He'll come around, you'll see. But if you ask me, we're getting nowhere with finding Dad. Do you have any ideas?"
He shook his head helplessly, a feeling he was still getting used to. "You're the alien expert," he told her.
Harry smiled sadly. "Not in this case. Anyway, I think John needs to think about something else. What do you think?"
"I'm only human," Sherlock said. "I'm just his flatmate."
Harry smiled sadly again. "No, you're not. Well, you are human, but you're not just his flatmate. You're also his best friend. Look, he hasn't told me much, but from what I can tell he went to Afghanistan soon after he left the Time War. And when he came back, he met you. You helped him to heal, from both wars. He's stubborn, you must know that. Why do you think he let himself be persuaded to keep you on board so easily? I'll tell you why. He needs you, and you need him. That's just how it is."
Sherlock glanced down, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"I remember, you're a sociopath. Well, John cares about you, and you care about him even if you don't know it. Now, come on. I know you have lots of questions. Why don't you ask some of them?"
He considered. "Tell me about Gallifrey," he said eventually. "Please," he added as an afterthought.
Harry's eyes took on a faraway look as she remembered her home of long ago. "The colours are the opposite of Earth," she said dreamily. "Vibrant oranges and reds and golds. There are two suns, but the air never gets too hot or too cold, like magic. And you can lie on the red grass and gaze up at the burnt orange sky as the suns set and the twin moons rise…but you don't care about all that," she suddenly said dismissively.
"Technical facts: it's the home world of the Time Lords, in the constellation of Kasterborous. Two suns because it's in a binary star system, and two moons and a ring system like Jupiter in your solar system. No, Saturn, not Jupiter. That's right." She paused, thinking. "Any other questions?"
"What you said about lying on the red grass…" Sherlock said carefully. "Does John like that as well?"
"Oh, yes," Harry said with a half-smile. "We used to have family picnics on this one hill overlooking the capitol, called Schlenk Rise. The whole planet was beautiful. There were so many different creatures and plants, and nothing ever went extinct. Of course, it's all gone now," she said in a suddenly businesslike tone, bringing them back to the present. She looked back down at her feet, going back to tracing patterns with one foot.
Sherlock watched her for a few moments. "You're writing something," he decided eventually.
She glanced up at him, concentrating on the floor. "I am," she admitted, and went back to writing.
A few more moments passed. "What are you writing?"
"Your name," Harry told him.
"Can I see it?"
In response, she dug in her back pocket and pulled out a small notebook and pen. She clicked the pen, and several sparks shot out of the tip before a nib appeared.
Harry opened the notepad to a random page and concentrated, drawing in large, swirling letters. Sherlock tried to see it, but she held it up so he couldn't see.
After a few moments, she held the notepad out to him. "Here you go."
Sherlock took it from her, the notepad looking smaller in his large hands. He studied the picture. There were circles upon circles, inside other circles, all drawn in one smooth, looping line.
"Interesting," he observed. "So this is what Gallifreyan looks like?"
"Yeah. If it was any other language in the universe, you'd be able to read it," Harry told him. "But Gallifreyan doesn't translate in any form, written or spoken."
"Why is that?"
She frowned. "I don't know. Security, I suppose, so no one can steal the TARDIS. There used to be an instruction manual, written in Gallifreyan. I wonder what happened to it?"
"So, Time Lords," Sherlock said, in an attempt to steer the conversation away from philosophical questions. "Are they biologically different from humans? I mean, if you can live for longer, there must be some differences."
Harry took a deep breath. "There are several," she began. "For one, we have two hearts, which is an excellent respiratory bypass system. But when we do die, we can regenerate into an entirely new body…"
They continued their conversation, in the small room that was completely bare save for one unexplained washing machine. And when they were done, when Sherlock knew all he needed to know and more, they walked together out to the console room, where John stood staring at the monitor.
He looked up when they walked in. "I think I've worked it out," he told them, as if nothing had happened. "The daleks tricked their own system into not counting them as life forms, so they didn't show up on the scans." His voice was thick with contempt for the species.
Harry and Sherlock exchanged a glance. "Then why didn't Sherlock or I see any, when we explored the ship?" Harry asked John. "At different times," she added.
He sighed deeply. "I don't know," he admitted. "But it's the best I can do."
"Maybe if you thought about something else for a while," she suggested. "Leave the daleks alone for a bit." John seemed unconvinced. "Look, I've been thinking," Harry pressed on. "Maybe the two things are interlinked somehow – Dad and Sherlock. I don't know how, but it just feels right, somehow."
John nodded grudgingly. "I agree," he said. "We're getting nowhere fast, and there's no way we can take on the daleks by ourselves. We need to regroup somewhere else, sort it out." He sighed. "I think Victorian England would be as good a place as any, don't you?"
Harry exchanged a triumphant glance with Sherlock. "That's a very good idea, John," she said.