A/N: I am SO SO SO sorry! I can't even say how crazy my life has been recently. If any of you are in marching band, or have a friend in marching band, then you will understand. 12 hour rehearsals Saturdays and 3 to 5 hour rehearsals most other days makes any sort of writing extremely difficult. You have my humblest apologies, and a plateful of apology cookies. A quick note- this chapter is in Sherlock's POV, and starts a bit earlier than the other chapter left off. Thanks to anyone who is still reading this, and THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to the lovely review from Guest, that reminded me that I have an unfinished story!

Chapter 7 (Sherlock's POV)

Smack! Sherlock tensed as the child- Charlie- struck the Doctor. He watched, intrigued, as the Doctor did nothing. He didn't hit the child, or yell at him, or say anything. He just sighed.

Then the boy came up to the Doctor, and stared at him in such a way that would make most people uncomfortable, and the Doctor still did nothing. And it occurred to Sherlock, how often this must happen to the Doctor. He was obviously used to dealing with frightened people, or frightened creatures, or whatever. Sherlock wondered where exactly the Doctor went with his 'traveling' that would render him experienced with that.

As the Doctor and Charlie continued their wordless examination of each other, Sherlock felt that the air was somehow heavier, weighted with importance, like the moment before he pieced together a case. The moment of determination- what would happen now. If he were the Doctor, he would feel the pulling of a million different possible universes, where Charlie made different choices. As he was, Sherlock saw in his mind a list of all the possible outcomes, from the child running away, to attacking the Doctor with the sharp rock Sherlock had noticed in his pocket earlier.

But what he saw surprised him. It was one of the less probable scenarios, but that's what happened, nonetheless. As the Doctor and Charlie embraced, Sherlock wondered if the Doctor ever did encounter a 'probable scenario'. He didn't seem the type. It was something in his eyes, a thirst for the next new thing around the bend, the excitement of discovery, that seemed so completely at odds with anything at all predictable.

As Charlie walked over to John, and took his hand, John smiled at the boy, and Sherlock followed them, walking next to the Doctor. The boy looked up at John, smiling slightly. But that small smile spoke of absolute trust- Charlie knew that The Doctor was good, and that was good. But John, now John had helped him. The Doctor was strange, and new, and a bit frightening, even if he was kind. But John was just John. Simple. A lifeline, and Charlie knew he would never ever have a reason to doubt John.

Sherlock saw all this, and though his face wouldn't show it, he was amazed yet again, by his seemingly unremarkable blogger. Who 'cared' about some random child he found behind a rock. Sherlock didn't 'care'. It was illogical-there was no point to it. But occasionally, in times like these, something inside him wondered if it might be a good thing anyways. What it might feel like to care. Maybe it wasn't such a disadvantage...but that voice was weak, tentative, and he easily pushed it down, locking it away in a remote room in his mind palace. He would deal with it later.

As he stepped into the TARDIS, The Doctor glanced at him, a look that could've meant anything. Sherlock scowled and stepped into the TARDIS behind the Doctor, pulling the door shut. He watched Charlie, and realized that while the TARDIS was strange, it looked nothing like a lab. So why did it remind Charlie of one?

Obvious.

Stupid.

Why hadn't he realized it before?

Charlie might've been human, but this Bad Doctor, whose lab looked more like a time machine than an actual scientific laboratory, must be an alien, or at least worked with alien technology.

As John cleaned the wound, Sherlock watched, observing everything he could. But what he saw confused him. The boy's wound was substantial, but Sherlock could tell that it was recent, so it would still hurt. Based on the size and location of the cut, any normal boy would be writhing in pain, yet Charlie only sat, grim-faced as John cleaned and bandaged the wound. Curious.

And that was not the only other thing about the child that was... off. Honestly, if he knew nothing else about the child, Sherlock would have deduced that he was homeless, just another street rat. He was frightfully thin, but not emaciated, as if he was fed only enough to keep him healthy. He was dirty, and his clothes were old and worn, but mended well- there were no holes. Obviously someone cared about him. But all his nonsense talk about Goblins and Holding Places and Bad Doctors and getting 'drained of their life' whatever that was supposed to mean, told another story. It would seem that the child and his family, and maybe even others, were being held hostage. Kept alive just long enough for this Bad Doctor to get what he wanted from them.

Sherlock decided he needed more information.

"Charlie," he started, "What can you tell us about this Holding Place? Describe it, please."

John glared at him. "Sherlock, now is not the time. He's had a long day, and he needs to rest."

Sherlock frowned, but Charlie shook his head. "No, I'm okay John, thank you." he flexed his arm slightly, marveling at the stark white bandages. Then he turned to Sherlock.

"The walls are made of rock, and the floor is sandy, and there are only enough pallets for all of us."

"How many of you?"

"uhhmm... a lot." Sherlock rolled his eyes, and Charlie spoke up "Hey! It's not like I could get to know all of them! But... I think I remember the Goblins saying that they were getting less and less people in, they sounded worried about it."

"So, new people came in frequently?"

"Yeah, there was a new family every cycle, when another family gets...taken." He looked down at his feet.

"But you said your father got taken, but not you, or your mother?" John glared at Sherlock, who realized his blunder only a moment later, when the child looked away, eyes shining with tears.

"Yes." he whispered, still not looking at the detective. "They took daddy, because he was bad. He tried to find us a way out. But he wasn't bad, he was brave." at the last words, he looked up, staring Sherlock dead in the eye as if daring him to say any different. Sherlock only nodded.

"And these...Goblins?"

"yeah, they're servants, and they look just like the Goblins from mama's stories, so that's what we call them. They take people away, I think...I think they work for the Bad Doctor."

Sherlock noticed The Doctor quickly hide a grin, when the boy was careful to distinguish between the Doctor and whoever was doing this to the people.

"Alright." John said. "I think that's enough information for now, why don't you get some rest, okay?" giving Sherlock a look that told him not to argue. The boy nodded, and yawned hugely. The Doctor led him off to a bedroom, while John and Sherlock stayed behind in the control room, each lost in their own similar thoughts.

A/N: Again, so sorry for the crazy late update. The next chapter should be up within the next week or so, but I can't promise anything past that, I'm afraid. Thanks to anyone still reading, and I know I don't deserve to ask for reviews after my surprise hiatus, but I will anyways because I am shameless like that. Thanks!