Author's Note: Stealing this prompt off of inkface because, you my friend, gave me a FANTASTIC prompt. It probably isn't what you were thinking when you gave it to me, but hey. I can do what I want. It helped with the whole 'I'm having mood and life issues right now' thing that I've been going through, so I thank you deeply for that! AND MOVING RIGHT ALONG! Enjoy!

Mischief Managed

-P


What if I were to do nothing? I ask myself as I roll my sleeves up. What if I just, didn't do anything, if I let myself stagnate, if I just sat down? What would happen if I just let go?

And I pause.

Nothing would happen. I'd hate it. I'd probably end up killing myself if I just stopped. No no no. I can't do that. That would be silly. I wrap the makeshift belt around my upper arm and position my needle. Anything to not be bored. DMT. Dimethyltryptamine. In my opinion, best drug on the market. I glance at my skin before pressing the needle into the crevice and injecting myself with the clear liquid. I tilt my head back and rest it against the wall as I feel it race through my veins. I discard the needle and lean against the wall, repositioning myself on my bed and staring at the ceiling as it starts to take effect.

And the drug starts to take effect…

I'm falling. Oh sweet Jesus, I'm falling. It's dark, I can't see, but I'm not scared. Is that normal? To not be scared when you're falling. And I'm falling slowly, how is that? Is it a hole at all? What is that, marmalade? Interesting. I reach to pluck the jar off the shelf but miss, and it tumbles through the void faster than I. Interesting.

How long have I been falling. I've been falling quite a while I should think.

Is that the-?

I hit the ground softly, like I had fallen down the stairs rather than a huge chasm. How did I-? I stand up and look about. I can see now, there's lights, a ceiling fan actually, and several lamps. Thousands of doors surround me. Most of them are locked. I try one of them, a red one, and the door swings open silently. I can see inside… Inside is… Well that's a bit odd. That's old news. My goldfish, Hugo. Well technically he was our goldfish, my roommate and I… I wave to Hugo, and he seems to smile, waving a fin at me.

"Bye Hugo!" I say, with a bit of sentiment as I close the door. Poor Hugo. I try another door, a normal looking one this time, no absurd colours. This one is locked. And so is the blue one. The magenta door, however, lets me leave this dismal room and into a place of psychedelic patterns. It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust.

Sherlock stands at the exit for this room, he's holding a gun, but it isn't pointed at me, or at anything in particular. He holds it out to me.

"Take it." I frown and make my way across the room, my footsteps echo. I take the gun and raise an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"You'll need it." He blows smoke in my face and disappears without a trace. I frown.

"Cryptic." I murmur before twisting the doorknob. The heat hits me before I have even opened the door all the way, and suddenly I feel as if the room has gone down in size, and I have grown larger. I can't reach the door, because it's at the end of my foot. The room is so hot, it's red. I can't move the hand holding the gun and I think back to what Sherlock said. "What did he mean I'd need it?" I wonder aloud, as I try to shift and get more comfortable in the tiny room. I manage to nudge the door open, a tiny bit, and suddenly I'm freezing and the room seems much too large. I race to the opposite wall, and leave the red room behind, entering a garden of sorts.

Well, I say garden.

When you're nine inches high, the grass then becomes a garden.

And so do mushrooms.

John sits atop a mushroom, skull in hand and he glares at me. I look at him, and he just stares at me before tossing Yorik to me.

On instinct, I catch.

He frowns and says, "Are you going to shoot me Jim?" I look at the gun and then back up to him, cocking my head to the side.

"Perhaps. But not with a gun. I want to make you suffer John Watson, I want to make Sherlock suffer. It's more fun that way." I make to give him the gun, but he shakes his head.

"You'll need it." And he slowly disappears. "Oh, and Jim, take the left road. The right one will only bring you misery." I stand at crossroads now. Left. Right. Forward. The dirt paths aren't much different from each other. What had John's voice said? Take the left? I spin on my heel and examine both the left and the right. He had said nothing about the middle path.

What is down the middle path? I wonder. I take a step forward.

And another one.

And soon I'm trotting down the road. The middle one of course. Not the left, not the right, the middle path.

And there's nothing there. I stick the gun in the back of my waistband and plod on.

The world shifts, it spins it dances. And Sherlock stands in front of me again. He holds his hand out.

"You're late." I frown and stare at his hand.

"What?"

"You're late. Give me the gun. It's too late. You didn't take the left path. Had you, you'd be you're normal height, and you'd probably be home."

My frown deepens and I hand over the gun. He smiles at me, an odd sight, and grabs my arm.

"Come on." He grabs my arm and drags me down the path. "You need to get home."

"Home?" There is a hole above our heads now and he grabs my waist, and tosses me, nearly effortlessly, upward. And I look up and the light comes closer and closer. And I close my eyes, and when I open them, the world spins and my room is back and it stares at me like John did, and then… Nothing.

Author's Note: Dear Gatiss, I'm a terrible person. This has taken FOREVER to write, not because I wasn't inspired, but I had emotional issues, school issues, and just… I'm on Tumblr and role-playing all the time now, and… Well things have gotten a bit crazy. Anyway, please forgive me. PLEASE! I LOVE YOU STILL! I'll try and put something up every Saturday. Maybe. I'll try.

Much love.

Until Gallifrey is free, I am yours,

Time Lord Victorious