A/N: Okay, I am officially horrible. I know. Life exploded into extra-curriculars, and homework, and finals, and family stuff, and on top of it, I thought it was a good idea to start another story. (spoiler alert—it wasn't) Anyways, as a sort of apology, here is a super long chapter, with a solid promise for the next one before the end of the month.
Chapter 9
Charlie bit his lip, and looked at the ground, then brought the sharp rock out of his pocket, gripping it with white knuckles. He looked back up at the Doctor with grim determination.
"Good."
Sherlock noted the boy's anger, thirst for revenge, and filed it away, since it may be of use later. The Doctor smiled a sad kind of smile, and patted the boy on the back.
"Well then, let's go." He said to the other two.
"Wait, don't we need to…prepare or something?" John asked.
"Well, I don't usually…" The Doctor said, drawing his eyebrows together in thought. "Do you think we should?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Well, we are about to make an offensive move on a dangerous alien scientist who has managed to keep multiple families captive, crush rebellions, and drain their life force for personal exploitation. Not to mention the fact that apart from the directions of a ten year old boy, we have no idea where we're going, how many henchmen may be about, or how heavily armed they may be. I think that warrants just a bit more preparation than a screwdriver and a fake ID."
John raised his eyebrows in surprise, as Sherlock was practically the poster child for going into a dangerous situation with no plan. The Doctor frowned as Sherlock listed the many odds stacked against them, but smiled again at the mention of his sonic screwdriver and psychic paper.
"Well, I've done more with less." He grinned impishly, and grabbing Charlie's hand, scooted around the console and out the door, Sherlock and John following close behind.
"You'd be surprised what I've accomplished with the psychic paper alone, not to mention my sonic screwdriver. And I think young Charlie here will be of more use than you know."
"Wait, sonic screwdriver? What's that?" John asked. The Doctor kept walking, not looking back.
"It's just like a screwdriver, except it's sonic!" He replied. John sighed, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He made a gun with his fingers and lifted his eyebrows at John, silently asking if he had his Browning with him. John nodded slightly.
"No guns!" The Doctor exclaimed suddenly. "I hate guns." John and Sherlock exchanged a glance, wondering how the Doctor knew what they were thinking without looking back, but just then, they reached a turn in the path. What they saw around the corner shocked them.
A large metal building stood, gleaming and rusting simultaneously in a large round crater, seemingly hollowed out of the canyon walls. It looked horrendously out of place in the darkened canyon, the last rays of the setting suns making it shine like a torch. But if it were at night, the unobtrusive shape of the thing and the tarnished metal would camouflage it quite well amidst the dull gray rock.
Sherlock glanced over it, deducing.
50 meters tall, round building, made of an immensely strong metal alloy, heavily guarded on the inside, no windows, except for the two large ones on the front. Then he made the most surprising deduction yet.
"It's not a building." He muttered.
"Nope." The Doctor agreed.
"So… what is it then? A Ship?" John asked.
Sherlock nodded, and started moving again, skirting along the outside of the ship and going over it with a critical eye from closer up. He looked around the clearing, and then called back. "The people will be inside. They're going to be lifting off soon."
"How does he know that?" The Doctor asked quietly, still amazed at the man's penchant for observation. John chuckled a bit, and replied "Haven't the foggiest. And don't ask him either, or we'll be out here for ages." Sherlock didn't say anything, instead focusing on the construction of the hull, looking for possible clues it might give to the corridors or stairwells inside.
"Three levels, no stairwells…" he murmured.
"Probably a lift then." The Doctor said quietly, hands in his pockets. John furrowed his eyebrows, confused.
"A lift?"
"Well, yes. That's generally how people get from one floor to another." The doctor whispered to John, grinning. John rolled his eyes.
"Well yeah, but that's an alien spaceship! Don't they usually have, you know, a teleport or something?" The Doctor frowned.
"No, teleports generally take up too much power. That looks like an old ship—they're generally not too compatible."
Just then, a quiet hum began to permeate the air, causing Charlie to gasp.
"That's what it sounds like when they're powering up the tubes." He whispered, then started running, darting around the three men, running straight on to the ship.
"Wait, Charlie!" John called, then was surprised by Sherlock taking off after the boy, kicking up gray sand and dust that swirled around the edges of his long coat, making him seem to glide over the ground. John gaped, then threw up his hands when the Doctor wordlessly took off after Sherlock, the same sand taking on a brownish tint against his coat, making him seem almost like an extension of the earth he sped across. John shook his head as he ran after them, cursing his short legs for the thousandth time. After five minutes of running, Charlie, Sherlock, and the Doctor had pulled so far ahead that they were only small smudges of dust against the sky. John pushed himself faster, but he was tiring, and the giant ship, which had seemed so close just a minute ago, only seemed to get farther and farther away. He finally stumbled to a halt and could only watch as the long-legged men ducked around a shelf of rock and out of sight.
John sighed, trying to regain his breath. He was used to being left behind by Sherlock, both physically and mentally, but the niggling sense of worry in his gut never got any easier. He grimaced and started moving forwards again, paying closer attention to his surroundings. As he ran, the rocks and brush around him seemed to warp and blur, stretching into odd shapes before snapping back to reality in a different location. John stopped and stared, wonderingly. He walked slowly towards a bush, watching as everything around it moved, but the bush never got any closer. He ran, but he couldn't cross the two meters to the bush. He stopped, then started walking again, glancing at the stretching scenery around him, then stopped as he felt the branches of the bush poke him.
John frowned, then backed up, staring at the bush. When he stopped, he was right where he started. He looked away, then walking backwards, found the distance between him and the bush increasing. Opening his eyes wide, he gasped as the realization hit him.
He got no closer to anything so long as he was looking at it. That's why he couldn't catch up to the others—he had been watching them as he ran.
But that meant that they wouldn't be able to catch each other, either.
John cursed, then stared at the ground next to him and started running, hoping he wasn't too late.
O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O
Charlie ran as fast as he could towards the ship, staring at the ground as he went, watching the various sticks and rocks and endless dust blur around his feet. It was getting hard to breathe, the sand was trying to choke him, and the Keep-Away Field around the ship was desperately pushing him away. But he knew the secret. He would get there soon, as long as he didn't look at it. He could almost hear his mother again. Daddy was gone, now it was his turn to save them.
He had to save them.
O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O
The Doctor chased after Sherlock, silent, wondering how on earth he always managed to get into these situations.
And why he always ended up dragging people who weren't supposed to be there with him.
He ran faster, his twin hearts beating at triple-speed, but Sherlock never got any closer. He frowned, realizing that something was off. Something in the air felt…paused. As if the world was distorted, and time was passing differently in different spots. That wasn't right…then he smacked his forehead. A Time Delusionement Anti-Focus Field! How had he missed that!? He looked down slightly, so he was watching the ground instead of Sherlock's back, and soon saw the whirling hem of Sherlock's black coat in his peripheral vision.
"Sherlock! Don't look at him, you'll never get anywhere!" The Doctor shouted over the wind. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, but didn't argue for once, focusing instead on the empty space above the horizon, and felt the air seem to move faster, granting him passage to the ship.
And so the two men chased the boy towards the Bad Doctor's ship.
O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O.O
John eventually reached the hull of the ship, panting and out of breath. He leaned against the ship, then hissed and jerked away from the hot metal. It had been baking in the sun all day, and he could see the heat coming off it in waves. He looked around for the others, but couldn't see them. He wondered whether he should wait or try to go on ahead. Looking at the ship, he figured he didn't have much of a choice—there didn't seem to be any way onto the ship. He was about twenty meters from the two large windows, and from what he could tell, there were no other windows or doors anywhere on the ship. Just then, there was a five-second screech that had john covering his ears and wincing, then a small figure appeared in front of the windows. John gaped in astonishment at the…goblin.
Charlie was right, there really was no other word that described them better.
Three-quarters of a meter tall, with a mis-proportioned torso and stick-thin arms and legs, oversized feet, and green, gnarled skin, it looked like something straight out of a picture book. The goblin, which had fallen upon fully materializing, stood up and dusted off its knees, then started jabbering in some strange language and banging on the windows with a misshapen fist.
Eventually, the windows slid open, and the goblin, still muttering angrily, walked in. John stared, unable to believe his luck. He began running towards the doors, staring at the ground as he ate up the meters, pushing himself faster and faster as the doors started to slid close again. With or without Sherlock and the Doctor, he was getting in that ship. Who knows if he, or anyone else, would get another chance?
He slowed down as he neared the doors, darting in just before they slid home. As he slipped between the pieces of glass, they closed on part of his jumper sleeve. He tugged on it, eventually pulling away, but not before unraveling a few threads of the right sleeve, and leaving some threads stuck between the doors.
John looked down the hallway, which went in two directions, and listened intently. Picking out the soft sound of footsteps coming towards him from the left, he moved quickly down the right corridor, hoping that Sherlock and the Doctor were okay, and that he would be able to find them again after this was all over.
A/N: So, this was borderline filler, but there will be MAJOR stuff happening in the next one, so stay tuned. And thank you all for still reading this, despite a hiatus of Sherlockian proportions.