A/N: Apologies for the delay, but as I mentioned before, there's another fic I've been working on :P
This one is a bit longer than the first, but I promise it'll be worth it.
As usual, reviews are much appreciated! C:

The Spotted Band: Part One - The Experiment

Helen was woken by a scream.

Her eyes snapped open and she scrabbled at the ground for a moment, trying to ascertain what was happening. It was dark, but clumps of plants were glowing like peculiar creatures of the deep, giving off colorful neon lights and painting the night with patches of leaves and lichen. The stars above glittered coldly, one in particular twinkling a bright, merry red. Night creatures had been singing, but several spread their luminescent wings and took off at the sudden noise.

Helen looked over towards the sound, a rush of panic making her heart pound frantically. It was coming from her friend, Julia, whom she'd only met the night before. They'd been sleeping next to each other, their only comfort in the cold, unsheltered night. Julia had her phone out and was holding it in her hand to shed light on whatever had scared her, but now her hand had fallen against the ground, and whatever had caused her distress was now nothing more than a shifting shadow. Helen heard a rustle and struggled into a sitting position, but by the time her eyes focused, the thing was gone.

She scrambled over to her friend, who grabbed her shirt sleeve with the urgency of someone who had little time to speak. She glanced over her friend and saw nothing wrong—no blood or injuries of any kind—but the girl was gasping for breath and clutching desperately at Helen's clothes.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked in a trembling tone.

Her friend fought for air before choking out, "The band… The spotted band!" Nothing more coherent could she say and, a few minutes later, she ceased to say anything at all.

-x-

With a flourish, Sherlock pressed one last button before standing off to the side, watching as the temporal stabilizer slid steadily up and down in the central column. With a single resounding sound like the beat of a bass drum, the noises of the machine dropped back to their usual thrum, the ticking of the gears marking the beat of a mechanical song.

Sherlock seemed to have finished whatever he was doing, but when John looked about, he could feel nothing different. The man pulled the swiveling screen around and examined it closely, his lips forming a string of soundless words as if he were reading. When John looked over his shoulder at it, though, all he could see were the same circular designs he'd noticed before, so prevalent in the machine's interior design. "Are you reading that?" he asked in surprise.

"It's Gallifreyan, of course I'm reading it," said Sherlock, as though this were obvious.

"Gallifreyan…?"

"The language of Time Lords."

"Oh." He paused. "So, have we landed somewhere, then?"

"Yes. According to this, we're on an isolated jungle planet, mostly uninhabited by intelligent life. Though if I remember correctly—which I always do—there used to be a small population of tribal natives."

"What happened to them?" asked John.

"No one knows. Time, I suppose. They eventually died out."

"You have a time machine. You could go back and find out, couldn't you?"

Sherlock gave him a puzzled glance over his shoulder as he headed for the door. "Why would I want to do that?"

John shrugged. "It's one more mystery solved, isn't it?" Sherlock didn't answer, but John didn't press it, because just then the door was opened.

Wherever they were, it was night. Stars—very different stars, ones that John had never seen before—shimmered far above, but it's hard for one to focus on them when one is introduced to an alien jungle planet. The place was gorgeous—a bit eerie in the darkness, but beautiful nonetheless, with massive trees and looping vines stretching from one branch to the next. Exotic flowers gave off faint smoldering glows that attracted eight-winged insects with elaborately-curled antennae. Random, shifting patterns of moss illuminated aimless paths on the forest floor. As they watched, a bird—well, it appeared to be a bird, though it had webbed wings and scales instead of feathers—swooped from one tree to another, a glowing orb on the end of its long tail creating a streak of orange across the sky.

Sherlock had already crossed to the other side of the clearing. Suddenly realizing that John was not by his side, he turned to see the man still standing in the mouth of the TARDIS, which was currently disguised as a dilapidated log cabin. "What is it?" asked Sherlock, following John's gaze but seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

John lowered his gaze, jumping to his senses as he trotted quickly after Sherlock. "Sorry," he said. "It's just—it's beautiful."

Sherlock glanced about with the trivial expression of someone who'd seen this a thousand times. "Now is not the time for sentimentality, John," he scolded. "We have a most intriguing mystery before us."

John was a little hurt by this remark, but he said nothing of it. "Yes, remind me again what exactly is going on?" he said.

"A woman named Helen called. She was a native of the planet Andraxia, visiting a relative at a hospital. Yesterday she woke up with no recollection as to how she got here. There was another woman with her, another human also from New Earth who didn't—"

"Hang on," John interrupted, stopping. "'New Earth'?"

"Yes," replied Sherlock, as though it were obvious.

John paused, crossing his arms. "What year is it?" he asked suspiciously.

"Five billion one thousand thirty-five."

For a moment, John was speechless. Five billion one thousand thirty-five. Five billion. He was surprised they still kept the date by the year. He thought they would've adopted some kind of big universal star-number or something by now. "Right, well, I should probably remind you that I'm from the twenty-first century, so you've got about five billion years of history to catch me up on."

Judging by the look on Sherlock's face, this concept was entirely foreign to him. John raised his eyebrows expectantly after a moment, and Sherlock opened his mouth, gathering his thoughts for a moment before saying, "Long story short, about four billion years from your time, the Earth was in terrible shape, so naturally they scrambled to find a new one. Charles McIrving—unpleasant chap—discovered one, and you lot called it New Earth. Originally it was just a sanctuary for human beings, but now it's become quite a tourist attraction. Another billion years later, the sun expands and the Earth gets fried, and New Earth literally becomes a new Earth."

"We found a new Earth and called it… New Earth?" John repeated, a disbelieving smile spreading across his face.

"Originality has improved over the years, hasn't it?" agreed Sherlock, sharing the expression to a certain extent. "McIrving wanted to call it 'Irvingworld.'" He made a sound of derision, at which John laughed. Remembering how they got to this conversation in the first place, however, Sherlock's smile—small as it was—disappeared, and he continued walking. "As I was saying, the other woman, the human—named Julia—was killed last night. Helen couldn't ascertain the cause of death since there were no visible injuries, but she said that, before Julia died, she said something about a 'spotted band.'"

For the second time, John halted in his tracks. "A 'spotted band'?" he repeated incredulously.

"That was precisely my reaction. I do, however, have a theory as to how she managed to come up with—"

"Never mind that!" John burst out. "Doesn't it bother you how similar all this is to some of the books?"

"What do you mean?" asked Sherlock, but there was something evasive in the way he looked at John.

"A Study in Scarlet? The Speckled Band? What's next, Hound of the Baskervilles? Will we discover some alien dog that's been haunting the planet of Dartmoor?"

"There isn't any planet called 'Dartmoor,'" said Sherlock in confusion. After a pause, during which John attempted to formulate a response, Sherlock said with a cross expression, "We don't have time for this, John. There's a panicked woman running about."

John pursed his lips for a moment. He knew Sherlock was avoiding the question for whatever reason, but the man was right; they needed to find this woman. "Fine," he snapped finally. "But when this is all over, I expect an explanation." And with that, he turned and tromped off through the trees.

He heard Sherlock's footsteps behind him for a while and didn't know why the Time Lord—God, that would take some getting used to—let him lead, but after a while, he felt a hand tug on his sleeve. He stopped and turned to see Sherlock, his pallid skin almost glowing in the dim light, with his finger to his lips.

John tried to breathe as silently as he could as he looked about slowly, searching for something in the pale radiance that would indicate what had tipped Sherlock off. Sure enough, he could hear something—quick, quiet, high-pitched gasps: the sounds of a frantic, crying woman.

"Helen?" called Sherlock, keeping as still as he could.

The panicked breaths paused and a shaky, hesitant voice echoed, "Yes?"

"It's Sherlock," he said. "Where are you?"

"Over here!" John spotted a flash from the glowing screen of a camera phone about thirty feet away and pointed at it. He and Sherlock both moved quickly towards it to find the woman, Helen, standing at the foot of a massive, gnarled tree, her arms pulled in close to her torso and her black jacket zipped up to her collarbone.

John didn't know quite what to expect of this woman, but for whatever reason, "alien race" had never crossed his mind. He supposed the fact that Sherlock was so similar to a human being made him take the idea of a different-looking species for granted. The woman, Helen, was rather difficult to see in the dark until Sherlock flipped a switch on his sonic magnifying glass and it promptly doubled as a flashlight. This was because, as John saw by the bright light, that her skin was dark blue, the same color that fringed the night sky above. She looked to be covered in scales, and rough, bony outcroppings accentuated her shoulders. Her cheekbones, brows, and jaw were lined in spines which were only slightly paler than the rest of her, and instead of hair, she had a mane of similar spines which were quite longer, like a porcupine's. In terms of bone structure, she had a longer jaw than a human's, with a shorter nose. Her features were by no means delicate, but there was definitely a certain feminine quality to them. She was, quite honestly, beautiful—not in the sense that John found her attractive, but rather the way that he would admire a wildcat or an eagle.

Her eyes flashed like a wolf's in the light, reflecting iridescent circles of it. "Could you please turn that off?" she asked in a pleading tone. It was then, just before Sherlock flipped off the device, that John noticed the shiny tracks of tears streaking her face. Her shoulders seemed to be hunched inward, making her look smaller and less intimidating.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes," said Sherlock, gesturing himself, "and this is my colleague, Dr. John Watson." He cut straight to the chase, asking, "Why did you call me here?"

"Well, Julia died, and it was rather strange, and—"

"No, I mean why me, of all people? Why haven't you called any of your family or friends?"

"I—I tried, but yours was the only number that would patch through." She paused to take a deep breath, gathering her composure. "I've heard of you, Mr. Holmes. Your methods may be… conflicting, but I trust you."

"You said I was the only number that would work?" he repeated, completely ignoring her second remark. "May I see your phone?"

"Yes, of course. It's Julia's; I had to take hers, since I don't seem to have mine on me." She handed it to him.

"Why would she have your number?" asked John offhand.

"I probably assisted her on some matter and she decided to keep it on her in case she needed another favor. I do keep up a business, you know—it's universal, it's not confined to your little blue planet," he answered before turning his attention to the phone.

While Sherlock was inspecting it, Helen glanced at John, who found his gaze attracted to her without consciously realizing it. "Hello," she said. She seemed quite a lot less nervous now that she was no longer alone. "I didn't know Mr. Holmes had a companion."

"Hi, sorry," said John quickly, remembering that she was a person just like anyone else and would not appreciate his staring. "Yeah, no, I'm pretty new to this… You're my first alien."

As soon as they were out, he wanted to swallow those last four words back, but there was no recalling them. Contrary to being offended, however, she chuckled and said, "We're both aliens here, mate."

"Right," said John, glancing around and remembering that he was from a different planet as well. "Right, yeah, I guess you're right."

"He's a time-traveller, yeah?" she asked, gesturing to Sherlock. John nodded; the idea was still foreign to him. "What century are you from?"

"Twenty-first," answered John.

"The twenty-first?" she repeated in disbelief. "Blimey, that's ancient history. I must look like a monster to you."

"I think you look beautiful," replied John honestly. Then, realizing what he'd just said, he added quickly, "Not like—I didn't mean to—"

She laughed and John saw a ring of white teeth. She seemed to have forgotten, for now, the situation she was in. "No, it's alright," she said. "Thanks."

"We probably look like pink weasels to you."

"Well, I dunno what a weasel is, but I think you look like… a frangle."

"A what?"

"It's the Andraxia equivalent to a hedgehog," Sherlock explained dryly. John would've taken this as a compliment, but Sherlock cast him an amused smile over the phone.

"What does he look like?" asked John, referring to Sherlock.

She thought for a moment. "A skila," she answered.

Sherlock frowned. "A skila?" he repeated. "I always thought I looked more like a vargnel."

At this, she laughed heartily. "A vargnel? You? Really?"

"What's a skila?" asked John.

Helen opened her mouth, about to explain, but Sherlock interrupted, brandishing the phone, "There's a blocker nearby stopping the signal. Your phone connected to mine because it's universal—it's never out of service. The clothes you're wearing, are they yours?"

"No," she answered, a bit surprised by the sudden change of subject. When there were no further questions on the matter, she asked, "Why would there be a blocker?"

"I have a few ideas," answered Sherlock, handing her back her phone. "Now, where's the body?"

It was hard to see in the dim light, but her expression seemed to darken slightly. "This way," she said, turning and leading the way through the trees.

"Sherlock," muttered John, realizing something as they followed her. "How can she speak English? She's from a different planet."

"Well, she knows a bit of English—she must have, in order to understand what Julia said. However, she's currently speaking her native language, since she believes that we are, as well."

"Why would she believe that? And how can we understand her?"

"One of the telepathic circuits in the TARDIS—it translates for whoever's around it. The TARDIS is translating her language inside your head." That would explain why he could suddenly understand what the Kafkan was saying the other night.

A sudden thought striking him, John asked, "Are you speaking English?"

"Yes, John, I'm speaking English," replied Sherlock with exaggerated patience.

John fell silent as Helen halted and pointed to a hollow at the base of the tree. The other woman, Julia, was lying on her back with her knees slightly bent and lying on their sides. One hand was extended loosely, her other collapsed on her chest. On her face was an expression of sheer terror which distorted her features in such a way that John had to look away for a moment.

Sherlock, on the other hand, crouched down next to her, fascinated and completely drawn in by the prospect of her curious cause of death. "You're sure she said 'the spotted band'?" Sherlock asked as he pulled out his sonic device. With a flick of a button, he activated a light like a torch and began looking over the body carefully.

"Yes," replied Helen. Her voice had become slightly detached as she regarded the man; she seemed to be burying something far beneath her exterior shell. John couldn't blame her. If he'd woken up in a strange environment and watched his only companion die, he would be frightened, as well.

Sherlock started by examining the ground around the body. He pulled a tape-measure out of his pocket and began comparing distances in the dirt and leaves that John couldn't make heads or tails of. He couldn't determine what Sherlock was measuring, as it seemed to him that the man was simply examining distances from one speck of glowing moss to another. At one point he even leaned down and sniffed a bit of the ground; he came back up with a disappointed and slightly puzzled expression.

Once he was content with what he'd seen of the ground, he began to touch and poke at the body, similar to what he'd done to Jim Graham. It felt strange that that case had only been solved a few hours ago. Unlike the previous case, however, he was completely silent throughout his observations now, and John and Helen could only watch wordlessly as he gradually wound his way around the body. He swept his fingers across a bit of her skin and examined the residue left on his cuticles, looked through her pockets, and bent in close to look at the skin around her neck and wrists.

Lifting up one of her wrists and turning it to show Helen, he spoke his first words since the inquisition of Julia's last words: "Did you notice these on her before?"

John squinted at it to see that there were three dark dots running in a straight line across her wrist.

"No," answered Helen, "but they might've been there the whole time for all I know."

"I doubt it," Sherlock remarked, using his magnifying glass to examine them a second time. Then, abruptly, he stood. In a similar motion to what he'd used on the body, he drew his index finger quickly across a patch of her skin and examined his finger carefully. Her brow furrowed at this action, but she said nothing. "Helen, you need to get back to my TARDIS and stay there with John while I find one of these signal-blockers and trace it back to its source. There is something sinister going on, something much larger than I imagined."

"What about Julia?" Helen protested.

"She's dead. What about her?" Sherlock prompted, raising an eyebrow.

She flinched at Sherlock's blunt word choice, but asked anyway, "Did you figure it out? What killed her?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" said Sherlock, looking genuinely confused by their ignorance. When he realized that they sincerely didn't know, he said in an exasperated tone, "It must be so peaceful inside your heads. What do you even think about when you see a body?"

"We think, 'Oh, God, the poor soul,' and 'What are we going to tell her family' like normal people," John snapped. "Just tell us, Sherlock."

"She was killed by a humanoid species from Andraxia's twin planet."

"A Chandrax? But they're friendly!" said Helen in surprise.

"Not all of them," replied Sherlock. "Are you familiar with Blakk's Disease?"

The confusion disappeared from her expression. "Oh…"

"Sorry, I'm a bit new to all this," said John, feeling annoyed that he was being left in the dark—again. "What's going on, exactly?"

"Andraxia and Chandraxia are twin planets. They revolve around each other while making their orbit around the sun. The two species—Chandrax and Andrax—" John had to stifle another remark about original names, "are very similar in build and appearance, except that Chandraxes are green and poisonous. There is a rare disease among Chandraxes, called Blakk's Disease, which creates a deficiency in their hormone levels and causes them to want to kill those around them at random."

"That seems a bit specific," said John. "How do you know that was what killed Julia?"

"I'll explain on the way back to the TARDIS. Come on," said Sherlock, leading them away.

"No," said Helen defiantly, planting her feet firmly into the ground and crossing her arms. "I'm not going to cower in your ship while you're out tracking Julia's killer."

"Helen, there is something much larger and more complex going on than a simple murder," said Sherlock sharply. "Whatever is happening, it's been happening for a long time now. Julia wasn't the first, nor will she be the last if we don't get to the bottom of this, so please do as you're told and go back."

"No," Helen resisted stubbornly. John was liking this girl more and more. "I will not. I'm going with you."

"I won't be responsible for getting you killed," said Sherlock fiercely.

"Of course you won't," she retorted. "I'll be responsible for getting me killed."

A muscle in Sherlock's jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth and John could only smile at the girl in admiration for making the man speechless. "Fine," he snapped finally. "John, I just met you yesterday, I won't have you—"

John's smile vanished. "No; no. I didn't come with you just to wait in the car like an old woman," said John patiently.

Sherlock cast him a sour look, but there was something akin to gratitude in his eyes.

"What makes you say this isn't the first time this has happened?" asked Helen quietly, a look of concern in her eyes.

"About ten years ago, I worked a case in this time period—actually, I think it was only two years ago by linear standards." John didn't bother trying to sort that sentence out. "Anyway, I was looking for a case and had gotten a call from a planet in a neighboring constellation claiming that some of their citizens had disappeared. I visited two scenes from which two of the people had disappeared, and I found a very particular residue left behind, the same type of which I just identified on your friend Julia. After, I talked to an eyewitness who said her friend had simply vanished in a flicker of green light.

"Normally I'd be able to trace the teleport, find out who manufactured it and who bought it, that kind of thing, but I'd never seen anything like this before, so I…" he paused, trying to find a way to put his next phrase, "…archived it for later investigation."

"You gave up," John inferred.

"I'm a time-traveller, John. I could be there five minutes before any of them called me with all the information I have now." He waited a moment; when there were no further questions, he said, "Now, let's go." They turned away from the body and began their trek through the woods.

"What are we looking for, Mr. Holmes?" asked Helen after they'd walked a short distance.

"In this time period? Some kind of tall tower, at least a hundred feet in height."

"That could be any one of these trees," said John, looking around at all the soaring trees that they were passing through. He could, however, see nothing that would indicate any sort of electrical tower. Although, any of those vines could've been some sort of wire or cable…

Sherlock followed John's gaze, tilting back his chin to get a glimpse of the tops of the enormous trees. "Just keep a sharp eye out," he said. "I'd rather not wait until morning." He continued walking, asking John abruptly, "May I borrow your phone?"

John, remembering the last time Sherlock asked this, was none too keen to give up the object again, but he obediently reached into his pocket and retrieved it. As soon as it was enclosed in his long-fingered grasp, Sherlock pulled out his sonic magnifying glass and began running its glowing tip up and down the length of the phone, that curious noise emitting from it once again.

"What're you doing—?" John protested, exasperated.

"Universal roaming. I need to send a text," replied Sherlock once he was finished, pocketing the device before tapping away at the buttons on John's phone.

"Universal roaming"? What on earth was that?

Once he was finished, he handed the phone back to John, who found that his reception was now showing four bars where it had previously said "No service." So that's what it meant… He didn't bother trying to figure out how that was possible.

A moment later, there was a soft beeping, and Helen pulled out Julia's phone. Her eyes skimmed over the screen for a moment before, to John's surprise, she handed it to him.

On it was a text that read, We're being watched. Don't look now, but there's a bird to our left that isn't native to this planet and has been eyeing us intently for some time—furthermore, I noticed several cameras built into the trees and a few of the flowers. Don't let on that you know about it and don't say anything compromising. We will proceed as planned. Show this to John once you've read it. –SH

John was suddenly buzzing with questions he couldn't ask. Who was watching them? Why? What did they know? What defined a piece of information as "compromising" by Sherlock's standards? Knowing he couldn't voice any one of these inquiries, he handed the phone wordlessly back to Helen. The two of them had no choice but to follow Sherlock in silence, their minds absorbed by this unspeakable subject.

John didn't know what he was expecting to find. Helen, as it turned out, had night-vision, so she could see as easily as if it were mid-afternoon, and Sherlock had his sonic-magnifying-glass/high-powered flashlight, but John had nothing of the sort. He could only follow the beam of Sherlock's flashlight—which at this point seemed more like a spotlight—and search the illuminated area for anything that Sherlock hadn't seen. The chances of him seeing anything Sherlock hadn't, of course, were very slim.

John couldn't stand the silence much longer. "Sherlock said you were visiting someone in the hospital," he said to Helen. "Who was it?"

"My sister," answered Helen calmly. She didn't appear to mind his prying. "She had moved to New Earth for a job and was mugged on her way home. The wounds were bad, but she's stable now, and the nurses say she'll be alright."

John made a noise of disbelief. "I guess things haven't changed much," he admitted. "Five billion years, and it's still all about money…"

"Was this also the case for the twenty-first century?" she asked curiously.

He almost laughed before he remembered that she was being serious; how was she supposed to know what that time period was like? "Definitely," he answered. After a pause, he asked, "What's Andraxia like? Is it beautiful there?"

"It used to be," said Helen darkly. "I've seen all these ancient paintings of it, and it used to be similar to this one. The leaves and trunks of trees and such were all dark-colored, but the flowers were gorgeous. Huge, deep-throated, and every color of the rainbow. That was what Andraxia was known for. It still is known for those flowers, but nowadays they're grown in laboratories or in the gardens of the rich. It's all iron, now; iron and steel."

"I'm sorry," said John. And he was. "That sounds like where Earth's going…"

"Gone," said Sherlock abruptly.

"Sorry?"

"It's already gone there. That's part of the reason why humans had to leave. The air pollution was terrible." He wrinkled his nose.

"If it's any consolation, though, they're doing a much better job with New Earth," said Helen with a smile. "I could live there. They've got a perfect balance of nature and technology. If you like the wild, there are forests and tropical beaches and mountains everywhere, but if you'd rather live in the city, you've got places like New New York, and—"

"Wait a minute," said John, laughing skeptically. "Not only is this place called New Earth, but it's got a New New York, as well?"

"Technically, it's the nineteenth since the original," said Sherlock. "No, hang on, I've got my years mixed up—it's only the fifteenth right now."

"Oh, God, they're going to make four more?" said Helen, laughing.

"Afraid so, yes," replied Sherlock, unable to keep from smiling slightly.

They lapsed into silence for a moment. Then John prompted, "Go on, then, Sherlock, your turn."

"My turn?"

"I want to hear about your planet. Tell us about—what was it?—Gallifrey."

Helen cast him an uneasy glance over her shoulder, like it was a forbidden subject.

"Well, it was pretty, I suppose," Sherlock admitted. "Orange skies, silver leaves, red grass, with a massive glass dome encasing the Citadel, but it was boring."

"Boring… how?"

"Imagine spending a weekend with a group of nuns."

"Ah," said John. So it wasn't the planet itself that Sherlock didn't like; it was the people he had to share it with. After a pause, he said, "You said 'was.' What happened to it?"

"The Time War," he said stiffly.

John's eyebrows shot up. "That war destroyed the whole planet?"

"Yes, it did," said Sherlock, snapping those three words in such a tone that John clamped his mouth shut. Recognizing his desire not to speak about it, John resumed following the flashlight beam to the canopy above.

An hour later, the sky began to lighten dimly as the sun, much more distant than the Earth's sun, began to crawl up over the horizon. The orbit of this planet must've been a bit faster than that of the Earth's, because in another hour, he could see the sun's rays filtering through the leaves. Instead of yellow, it was tinged blue, but because of its distance, it wasn't nearly as bright—more like the light of two or three moons. It was a pleasant light, and complimented by the landscape; Sherlock could eventually turn off his flashlight and they could all see.

After about three and a half hours of walking, Helen stopped them. "Please, can we stop for a moment?" she asked, slightly out of breath. "My species isn't meant for long distances."

"Yes, of course," said Sherlock absently, still staring up at the trees. She took a seat on a fallen log. John followed suit, grateful for the fresh breeze that stirred the leaves and dried the sweat on his back. His jumper, usually warm and comfortable, felt thick and stuffy in the rising humidity. Sherlock, meanwhile, appeared entirely unaffected by their long stroll.

When he looked down and saw the two of them, seemingly just noticing their condition, he said, "You two lie down, see if you can get some rest."

"What if the Chandrax comes back?" asked Helen, though she didn't look too opposed to the idea otherwise.

"I'll wake you if it does," replied Sherlock.

"No, you haven't slept since you were knocked out by that Kafkan," said John, rising to his feet. "I'll keep watch, you go to sleep."

"John, I have two hearts," said Sherlock in a low voice. "My sleep schedule is… different from yours." And by different, of course, he meant nearly nonexistent.

"Right, of course—yeah, right." Another reminder that Sherlock wasn't human.

So, while Sherlock stood as a silent sentinel over the two of them, staring off into the jungle, both John and Helen lay down on the soft, dry ground and arranged themselves in as comfortable positions as they could. John ended up using an especially fluffy clump of moss as a makeshift pillow. As soon as he was comfortable, with this strange sun warming his skin and the soft cushion of moss and leaves under him, he remembered just how little sleep he'd gotten before Sherlock's TARDIS woke him up.

Before he knew it, it was early evening and Sherlock was rousing him urgently. "John! John, wake up!" he said excitedly. He moved on to Helen, shaking her shoulder. "Get up, both of you!"

John groaned and, with great reluctance, sat up. "What is it?" he asked, irritated at being interrupted.

"I found one. I found a signal blocker. Don't you see, John? They've been right under our noses the whole time. We must've passed at least five of them while we were walking."

"No, I don't see," said John crossly as Helen began to rouse herself, rubbing her bleary eyes as she sat up.

"It's the trees," said Sherlock. "The towers are disguised as trees! There's one not far from here. Come on." He dashed off through the trees, leaving John and Helen to rise hastily on stiff limbs and stagger after him.

It wasn't too far away, but it was far enough that John had to ask, "How did you find this, exactly?"

"I may have gotten a bit bored watching over the two of you," he admitted shamelessly.

"So we could've been attacked while you were off looking at trees?"

"Well, I never went far," he said, somewhat appalled by John's incredulity. "Anyway, I was standing there thinking, wondering why we hadn't come across anything—and then you, John, you brilliant man, I remembered what you said. You said, 'It could be any one of these trees.'" He stopped next to a particularly thick tree with the same slick black bark that John had seen on clumps of several other trees.

John, whose frustration at being abandoned was beginning to fade, couldn't help but feel like he was glowing when he realized that he had helped Sherlock solve a mystery.

"How can you tell it's not a tree?" asked Helen, looking the trunk up and down. "It looks like any other tree to me."

Sherlock bent over, scooped up a rock, and pounded it against the bark with such sudden harshness that the other two started at the action. If something had simply tapped or patted the side, it wouldn't have been heard, but the much sharper, louder collision brought an empty, reverberating sound to their ears.

"It's hollow," said Sherlock. "Also, the bark wasn't so much as scuffed by this rock." He tossed the stone aside.

"So, now what?" asked John, looking up at the branches of the tree. It looked nearly impossible to climb; there weren't any splits in the trunk under twenty feet.

"Now, we…" Sherlock trailed off as he followed John's gaze and realized their problem. "Ah."

They didn't have to speculate for long, however. Sherlock's hand suddenly jumped to his exposed neck, his brow furrowed as he turned slightly, and John was able to see a brightly-colored dart protruding from between his fingers. He yanked it out with a frown and only got a second or two to look at it before he collapsed on the ground.

John, who was caught between the urge to protect Sherlock and the notion that it would be better to run now and rescue him later, stood frozen for a moment, staring down at his friend. Helen's cry of, "John, run!" from thirty feet away made him jump to his senses, but it was too late; he felt a sharp sting in his own neck and, a few seconds later, the strange jungle planet spun into blackness.