The Doctor peeked out of his TARDIS, taking in the woods and fog around him. It was very obviously a different night, in a different place, and almost definitely a different year. As he took in the landscape he noticed a man gaping at him, fear written all over his face. As he took in the features, the Doctor's own face began to look a bit troubled. "Sherlock?" The man just stood there, almost as if the shock of being scared was too much. "Sherlock!" Exclaimed the Doctor, hopping from his box and grabbing his face. "It's the Doc- it's John Watson. My ship must have read the coordinates wrong when she was fazing, not that I can blame her, poor thing." The Doctor took in Sherlock's face, and the pain that was there as he looked at his John half-hopefully. He shook his head, ashamed of what he'd done to this boy. "I'm so, so sorry."
"Maybe, um, maybe it's best if we took this somewhere else." Sherlock finally replied, uncomfortable in the other man's grip.
"I can't leave, my TARDIS has got to-" Worried the Doctor, before Sherlock grabbed his hand. Suddenly the bold, affirmative little boy was back.
"John, we need to leave. Come on." He tugged at the alien's hand and, had it not been so dark outside, Sherlock would've noticed a pink tinge to the Doctor's cheeks when he did it.
The walk back to Sherlock's hotel was silent and had no bounds of awkward; eventually the both of them got so nervous and sweaty that Sherlock eventually relinquished John's hand to wipe his own on his trousers. Finally, though, they got inside the inn. Sherlock headed straight for the fireplace, where two seats were and unceremoniously dumped himself into the chair. He pointed to the one across from him. Once John finally sat down, Sherlock prompted him.
"Explain."
"I did, my ship malfunctioned. It travels in space and ti-" The Doctor made an effort to explain, before being cut off.
"Of course it travels in space and time. It's a TARDIS, which stands for Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. A type fourty, if my assumptions are correct. You, John, are the Doctor, a time lord from the planet Gallifrey, and a proper genius, like me. You have a dark past, one that you make an effort to hide through your cheery demeanor and frankly heinous clothes." Sherlock looked down at the tattered suit covering the Doctor and frowned. "You're also lonely. You have a number of companions that accompany you, usually female, but none now. You've pushed them all away. Allow me to rephrase my question. Explain why you decided to land where you did? Why did you choose me?"
"How did you get all of that?" Asked the Doctor, eyes wide.
"I observed. Answer the question."
The Doctor shrugged simply. "I was crashing. Nothing was chosen, Sherlock. How did you escape the alien in your apartment though? You should have died."
"That was years ago, John. I figured it by the time I was twelve." Sherlock would have continued had he not seen a grey haired man walking into the inn. D.I. Lestrade strode into the room, eyes fixed on Sherlock. However, as he got closer, he blinked at the Doctor, before his eyes widened and his mouth opened in shock.
"Oh my god, that's him!" He said excitedly. "You're Doctor John Watson, and look. He hasn't even aged." Lestrade talked to Sherlock and John in intervals, excitement evident on his face. As it turned out, Sherlock had dedicated much of his time to making likenesses of the Doctor and showing them to everyone, asking whether or not they'd ever seen the man. Everyone who knew Sherlock knew of the Doctor, or Doctor John Watson, as Sherlock referred to him. Eventually, after he was done ogling over John, Lestrade turned to Sherlock. "I need to talk to you about the case."
Sherlock looked at the Doctor before replying. "That's fine, let's go up to my room? John, you'll be fine down here, won't you?"
"I might go out to find some clothes, but yes, I'm fine." John said, trying not to be put off that Sherlock was leaving after he'd just met him. Again. However, true to his word, he went off to the shops, looking for decent clothes. Simple trousers and a cream jumper stood out to him, strange enough, and he traded them, putting his own clothes on the rack in exchange. The girl at the counter looked at him, appalled, but made no move to stop him. He walked about the streets, tinkering with his screwdriver. Suddenly his screwdriver's end lit up, and when the Doctor turned the tool around to inspect it, a hologram showed up, showing a middle aged man leaning on an umbrella, a tolerant smile on his face.
"Hello, Doctor. I'd like to chat with you, I hope you aren't inconvenienced.. A car has just pulled up next to you." The Doctor looked, and yes, a sleek black car had pulled up and the driver had opened the door. "I'd add some threat, but I don't find it necessary, given the circumstances. Goodbye, Doctor." At this the screwdriver made a pitiful buzz, before completely shutting off; the Doctor was pretty sure the thing was spent.
He let out a deep sigh and a short shrug before climbing into the dark car. To his right sat a man who appeared to be in his early thirties. He had dark hair, bright eyes, and a suit. The Doctor, seeing as he wasn't going anywhere, decided to strike up conversation with the man. "What's your name?"
"Ianto Jones, sir." Said Ianto, nodding at the Doctor. It seemed that was all he was going to say, and he kept his eyes fixed strictly to the back of the seat in front of him. The trip, fortunately, was short. The Doctor found himself arriving at a small cabin on the outskirts of the woods. The driver opened the door, letting the Doctor out to walk happily to the front door, leaving Ianto in his wake. The interior of the cabin was illuminated by a single, bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. Standing directly underneath it stood the man from the hologram, umbrella still in hand, but no advanced technology in sight.
"Ah, John Watson. I hope you don't mind if I call you that, I like to believe 'Doctor' is no more than a title." Said the man conversationly. He had pulled a small book from his breast pocket and started flipping through it.
"Who are you?" Asked the Doctor, scowling. "What do you know about Sherlock?"
The man blatently ignored the question, instead consulting his little book. "Trust issues, it says here, Watson. I do believe that's your fault. He was never the same, after you left. He'd refused the few friends he had, and even-." The man cut himself off, before smiling a hollow smile and starting over. "Well, he doesn't have a lot of friends. I would, if you promised to stay with him, offer you a handsome fee for you to tolerate his companionship. You do seem to have an awful lot of them, those companions, don't you?"
The Doctor scrunched his face at the proposition. "I'd rather not." He said simply, wishing he wasn't in the situation.
"Oh," said the man, and it was almost a laugh. "You are very loyal, very fast."
"No... I'm just not interested. Is this all?" He said.
"Trust issues, it says here, John. You did that to him, you know. And, yet..." He cocked his head, as if he was above the fickleness of the human heart. "He still looks up to you, he still seems to thinks you're fantastic. Do you not find that strange, Doctor Watson?"
"Oh, very! If I was to pick a person to look up to it would be... well it would not be me. It would be Henry Allott, the inventor of pink lemonade. Or JK Rowling!" The Doctor agreed, before trading his grin for a more serious face. "However, I'm not taking your money to watch over Sherlock."
The man looked pleased. "So, you will watch over him?"
"Maybe. Are we done here?"
Ianto took the Doctor back to the inn and by the time he was inside, Sherlock was pacing, agitated, in front of the fire.
"There you are John, I thought you'd left again." Said Sherlock, hiding the hurt in his eyes. "There's a case to solve, and I need your help. Want to come along?"
"God, yes."