Chapter 4

John had expected to spend the usual six-to-eight-week recovery period in the usual cast-then-boot-then-crutches.

But he should have known better. What with Sherlock back from the dead, an alien in the next room, and the fact that he was on board a time machine that liked to change which corridor let out where ("Oh yea, she does that—If she's bored or wants to get my attention."), he probably should have guessed something would show up to get him back on his feet. Be it the Doctor, practically force-feeding him some kind of green liquid he claimed would help his bones knit faster, or Sherlock, pacing endlessly round and round the Tardis, obviously not used to being parked this long.

With the help of the Doctor's mysterious bone-knitting beverage, and a crutch he'd hoped to never see again, John was back on his feet within the week. It was a miracle, impossibly fast. But sociopaths in a time machine don't like to wait around, and Sherlock still said "Finally!" when the Doctor announced John was well enough for a trip.

"Where to, Doctor?" Sherlock asked, grinning like an idiot as John limped up the ramp to the consol.

"Well, let's see what Johnny thinks?" he replied. "All of time and space, any planet, any time, where do you wanna go?"

John's mind had been racing on the matter since Sherlock had explained exactly what this box could do, and he had a long list of things he wanted to see.

"What was that one you were telling me about, Sherlock? The one with the constant quadruple rainbow?"

"Aaaah, Chanabeles!" the Doctor cried. "Brilliant world! Off we go!" He leaned across the console, hauled on a lever, and the Tardis went spinning off into space.

Almost immediately there was a tremendous BANG and all three of them were thrown to the left. John's crutch went flying and he cried out as his bad knee struck the floor. The Tardis was shuddering, Sherlock was shouting, and the Doctor was practically lying on the controls, each appendage occupied in holding something down or flipping something or frantically pushing buttons.

Another few seconds and with one last, jarring impact, the ship fell still.

John clenched his teeth and got to his feet, holding onto the console for support. "I take it that wasn't supposed to happen?"

"No." the Doctor replied, pulling out a pair of thin glasses and moving to inspect the monitor. "Not sure what that was."

"Where are we?" Sherlock asked, appearing at John's elbow and holding out his crutch.

"A planet called Scadriel." He said, tapping the screen. "Not a place I normally visit, too depressing. What with the ash and all."

Sherlock and John looked at each other. Scadriel. The name had reappeared sooner than they'd thought.

He said we helped him, John thought. Guess we just need to be ready for anything.

"Well, something brought us here—let's have a look!" The Doctor whipped off his glasses and headed for the door.

"Uh, wait." John said as they were almost outside. "We're on another world. Won't our clothes stick out?"

The Doctor looked them over, Sherlock in his usual long dark coat and John in blue jeans and a sweater.

"Mine and Sherlock's no. But you . . . you better come with me."


"Stop it."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it, I know that face, stop it."

"Fine."

"Fine."

Truth was, Sherlock thought John cut quite a figure in the bottle-green tailcoat and vest the Doctor had found for him. Not that he wasn't laughing a little. Mostly at John's barely internal complaints.

"Right!" The Doctor cried, coming around to join them by the door. "Any questions? Say no. None? Then let's go!" Spinning around, he pulled open the Tardis doors and the three men stepped out onto the streets of Scadriel.

The Doctor had called it a depressing world. That was a bit of an understatement. The city around them was dark and grimy, everything stained black by the near-constant ashfall.

"Their planet suffered a cataclysmic event about a thousand years ago that knocked it too close to the sun." the Doctor had explained while John tried on different suits. "If it weren't for the constant cloud cover from the nearby volcano the whole planet would roast."

"So the people on this world, they're humans?" John had asked.

"Almost. They followed the same evolutionary pathway down to about the last million years. Now there are slight differences—height, lungs, and of course the metals."

"Metals?"

"Yes. They only discovered the phenomenon in the last millennium, but who knows how long the potential's been there. This world has more metallic ore than Earth, and it's always been an important part of the culture. And genetics, apparently. Certain individuals in the population have this . . . ability. They can . . . ingest different kinds of metal and then burn it in their stomachs. And depending on the alloy it gives them certain powers."

"Like?"

"Manipulating other's emotions, enhancing physical abilities. It's very rare outside the nobility."

John had started to shake his head in disbelief, but then he looked around at the immense wardrobe filled with clothes from every era on every planet, and stopped short.

Now they were walking along a narrow cobblestone street, the dark shapes of beggars huddled in every corner. Sherlock and the Doctor were slightly ahead, talking rapidly back and forth. John trailed slightly behind the two geniuses, his crutch catching in the rough stones of the road. His eyes followed a child crouched in the shadows. She was skinnier than he would have thought possible and still be alive.

And she wasn't alone. John didn't think he'd seen one well-fed person since they'd arrived. As they emerged onto a main road he sped up to walk next to the Doctor.

"Why is it like this?" he asked. "These people have nothing."

"It's their government." The Doctor replied, stone-faced. "Totalitarian. Brutal dictatorship and a sever class difference."

"What can we do?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing." John shot back. "The children are starving and we can't do anything?"

"No John." Sherlock interjected. "We try not to interfere in history. Visit and observe only."

"Exactly. I know it's hard, but we can't go meddling in big events. And don't worry about the Lord Ruler. He's due to be overthrown in oh, seven years?"

"But—"

"Doctor." Sherlock said suddenly, cutting him off. "Why don't we skip this and just go straight to the old friend you've brought us here to see?"

"What?" John said, taken aback.

The Doctor, however, was looking at Sherlock with a small smile on his face. "How did you know?" He asked. "I was very careful this time."

"Please." Sherlock laughed. "You never initiate take-off by pulling that lever if you have time. Makes it unnecessarily rough. And I saw you loosen the cap on the stabilizers."

"You threw us around to disguise the fact that we were coming here instead of Chanabeles." John realized.

"Also this." Sherlock pulled a small two-fold paper out of his pocket and held it open.

I need your help. Calling in that favor you owe me. Scadriel, 966-2-4.

-H.

"You—I told you to stop doing that!" The Doctor cried, snatching the paper back from Sherlock. "Pick-pocketing is very rude!"

Sherlock just smiled, knowing he'd won.

The Doctor sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine, let's go!" and he strode away down a side street to their left.

Sherlock winked at John and they set off after him.


AN:

So I was going to explain Sherlock's deduction from part 2 in here (how he knew where to find John) but I couldn't fit it into the conversation. So I decided that the first person to figure it out and put the answer in my tumblr ask box (.com/ask) I will write them a one-shot story request. Sherlock, Supernatural, Doctor Who, or any crossovers therein. If you want another fandom just let me know and if I know it I'll do it.

Hopefully I'm as smart as I think I am and someone can figure it out . . . if no one can I'll still put the answer in the AN of part 5.

Good luck!