Sherlock wasn't exactly sure why he wanted to go out. He wasn't exactly sure why he hailed a taxi and headed to Greenwich Park. But in what felt like just a few moments, he was already headed there.

It was a strange sort of life, looking forward to your nights. Sherlock never considered that one day the world of sleep would outweigh the world of consciousness. He always figured that sleep was just a necessity he could mentally skip, but now, he dug as hard as he could into his head for even the tiniest little details, nothing that would usually be important. Things he tuned out last time ravaged at his head. When exactly did the sky turn cloudy? What colors was the Doctor wearing? Why was that little police box the only inanimate object in color?

When. What. Why. Just like the Doctor said. Before he couldn't understand what separated who from all the other questions, but now he felt he could. The Doctor was now and here for when and where, he was there because he was trapped in psychospace, he was a man in his dreams, and he was there because he could easily enter his mind.

But who was he?

Sherlock put this thought aside for another time and focused on what he was finding he had come out for. Psychospace, he thought. The idea that all conscious brains were linked. What a bizarre concept, impossible but God was it interesting. He had come out here to test it. He was sure it was pointless but he couldn't help himself.

A jogger was on the path across from him. She was brown haired and fair-skinned, sweating and a little heavy, clearly doing it in an attempt to lose weight. Other than that, Sherlock ignored all observations about her. That wasn't the focus.

He stared at her, thinking about her even though he didn't know who she was. Break it down, he thought to himself, Break down the wall. Your mind is not your own. He shut his eyes, but there was still the park. He took a step forward. Or, not a step. Just a motion to bring him father across the plain. His body was left behind behind the duck pond and he hovered over the water, between each molecule of oxygen. The woman gave off something… some sort of force that didn't look like it was there. He wasn't sure how he sensed it. He tried to approach it, but the more he did so, the stronger it got. He was pushed away as though by a hot gust of wind, as a voice inside his mind shouted "Don't!"

His eyes flicked open. He hadn't moved. The jogger had stopped to give him a strange look and then kept going down the path.

His eyes shut again, and he left his body behind, recessing into his head. But there was still the park. Only now, perched just on top of the middle of the duck pond was the Doctor. The jogger was gone and everything flickered as though he was half asleep.

"We can't talk," The Doctor said briefly. His voice echoed and wavered like he was underwater.

"Why not?" Sherlock asked.

"No one's ever been so focused before. You'll get hurt." he told him. His body flickered and swayed, too, like he was behind something giving off a strong heat. Sherlock began to feel a cold, gentle sort of pressure. Maybe that was the Doctor's energy.

"How will I get hurt?" Sherlock asked him. His voice sounded the same, like bubbles in the ocean.

"Last time you stopped breathing." The Doctor told him, making the world blue-ish as his eyes shot him a look of honest worry. Sherlock planned to speak but stopped when he found that the Doctor's already loose hair was bending and lifting casually upward, his clothes were lifting ever so slightly off his body, and, while he remained totally still in proportion to himself, his entire figure began to float upward.

"Why are you floating?" Sherlock asked, his voice getting harder to even hear as his ears began to ache.

"I'm not," the Doctor responded, his voice vanishing too. "You're sinking."

Sherlock's eyes widened as he discovered what was happening. The Doctor floated up and away out of sight, and Sherlock felt someone pulling hard on his clothes, tugging him upward. His chest ached as he felt himself crash against the hard ground. His hands ran through grass and he knew he was himself again. He desperately looked around, trying to piece together what had happened. Worried jogger asking him questions. Wet clothes. Aching lungs. Duck pond.

"Oh my god, are you okay?!" the jogger gasped above him, her face lined with worry. "I called 999, oh God, I-I'm sorry, I was never taught to-"

Sherlock opened his mouth but was only thrown to his side, exploding in thick, hacking coughs. He spat the leftover water from his mouth, but still, his breath was labored and painful. Again, how long had it been since he had been breathing? How long was he under there? He shivered violently, trying to calculate as he fell back down onto his back. The pressure on the lungs combined with the release of water… no, no he couldn't do it, not enough air, not enough… not enough.

Sherlock awoke in a white room and it didn't take him a long time to figure out what had happened. It didn't take him long based on the heart monitor, the white unisex dress, and the uncomfortable bed that he had found himself in a hospital. How long had it been, he wondered?

Although, it took another few moments to notice he wasn't, in fact, wet, which he logically would have been in this situation. And neither did his chest ache. He looked around. A single spider crawled out from the vent, along the wall for a little while, and then scurried under the door. Still a dream. It was getting harder and harder to tell lately.

Not actually feeling any real pain, he stood up and knew he had to find the Doctor. He wasn't sure exactly why the two had to talk. Something was important; maybe he really did want to help him. Maybe he was just interested in the Psychospace and that was all it was. Still, he had to find him. He was going to find him.

"Doctor?" he called. He looked around, waiting a moment. If he was still here, he was in the deep recesses of his mind. He'd have to look for him himself.

He took a step forward and placed his hand on the doorknob to exit the room, and then stopped. Something was strange about the door. It gave of that same pulsing sort of energy that jogger seemed to give off. For a second, he was almost afraid. And then, he stepped in.

Nothing was the same.

Every sense Sherlock knew and trusted became irrelevant, he couldn't see, he couldn't hear, he wasn't even aware of his own body's existence. He hovered as a sort of dot of nothingness in this bizarre, unexplained territory.

The best way to describe it was that it was indescribable. The human senses were irrelevant and unused here, and many people wouldn't be able to sense anything at all. I suppose the best way you could possibly explain it is to imagine yourself in a river in space. The river was more like a body of water as opposed to a single line, as it flowed any way it wanted to, and whenever it felt it should it spiraled away in a different direction, creating a strange sort of tide pool. In a much more complicated sort of sense, Sherlock was being swept along in this boundless, three-dimensional river with no ground beneath it. He could feel a sort of pulling from the tide pools with that same sort of warmth he had felt in the jogger and door. They were sort of different kinds of temperature differences, even though they were either hot or cold. Some were the heat of a fire on a winter day, some were the heat of a mid-day August, some were the heat of burning your hand on the stove. The ones that were cold had just as much variation, as some had the cold of snow, while others had the cold of an ice cube tray or a bowl of iced-cream. They each had a separated feel, even though they were all the same. Sherlock knew each of these tide pools must have been a human mind.

And, then, of course, there were the fish that inhabited the river. They were a lot like fish, actually, as although he couldn't see them he knew they raced past his head as they put a new sort of thought individually in his head. It was like when a car played music too loud, and you hear it down the street, then nice and loud when they're right next to you, and before it seems like any time has passed, they're already gone. Thoughts flashed in his head like fireworks as the creatures passed, some negative, some positive, some image-based, some word-based. What was strange was he'd thought them all before.

Of course, in a strange place like that, he could only marvel for so long. He probably should have assumed the creatures would attack.

Being attacked by a group of thought-inducing creatures was like having a panic attack on top of being told the best news of your life with a side of being showed some videos of people being murdered. Sherlock's mind exploded with various things as he knew they came after him, they could channel such powerful imagination that when they put the image of being bitten by a dog in his head he could really feel the bite. He tried to make for the door, but this wasn't his world and he couldn't see or find it. He had no idea how to fend them off so he just tried to tune them out as his own imagination tore him apart.

Then something happened in less time that Sherlock could recognize (as there was no time in this place at all). Briefly, a different sort of creature overwhelmed every single one of them, and a clear, shockingly vivid picture appeared inside his head like he was really seeing it. A huge, towering black city was enveloped in curtains of clouded orange, and surrounded by a glistening bubble. The hard, iron ground spiked up beneath it and he knew it must have been miles tall. Children in long red robes laughed. He could hear it.

Then, before he could tell what had happened, he had left that strange place and was heavily panting and on his back.

"What were you thinking?!" a voice somewhere above him demanded, "Are you insane?! Why would you go in there?! More importantly, how did you get in there?"

Sherlock squinted up above him. A blurry figure came into his field of vision. Slowly, as he blinked, the Doctor came slowly into vision, his face lined with awe and anger. Sherlock looked around, running his hands through the grass beneath him. The same grass. He let his head go back and his eyes shut again. Dammit. Not the park again.

"That was Psychospace?" Sherlock asked, his breathing still heavy as he carefully tried to sit up. He winced and sat back down, his head and eyes aching like he had looked at the bright screen of a computer for way too long. He laid back down and pulled his hands up to rub his eyes, but it didn't help.

"Don't try and think too hard," the Doctor warned, still clearly annoyed, "I'm surprised you're still alive at all." He hesitated, before rapidly explaining, "In a race, Robert came in right after Kenny, and Kenny came two places after Hannah, who was in second place. What place was Robert in?"

Sherlock moaned softly at the heat behind his eyes. "What?" he groaned.

"What place was Robert in?"

Sherlock muttered the details to himself as he ran the normally easy problem through his head. He should have gotten it in just a second or two, but his mind for some reason had trouble holding it all together and he had to solve it by counting and going through it manually. His head only ached more.

"Um, fifth, why-"

"Good, you're still functioning." The Doctor told him. He kneeled down beside him, taking a heavy breath. Sherlock opened his eyes. The Doctor was still a little blurry, but he could read what emotions were on his face. Disapproval, fear, obviously, and… was that hope?

"Now, Sherlock, you need to tell me," he said sternly, "How did you enter the psychospace?"

"I-I," Sherlock stuttered, shutting his eyes again, "In the hospital, this door, the… the duck pond,"

"Piece together your thought, then, talk."

Sherlock nodded. Slowly, he figured out exactly what he wanted to say and made a model of it in his mind, then spoke.

"I passed out after falling in the duck pond, then dreamt I was in a hospital. I went to find you and went through the door to leave my room, but it didn't go to the hospital, it went to Psychospace," he explained slowly. The Doctor's eyes widened and a silent sort of gasp escaped his lips.

"So you just… walked through a door. You… didn't even want to get there?"

"No. Why would I?" questioned Sherlock. He creased his eyebrows at the Doctor's disbelieving expression and shaking hands.

"You're afraid," he observed, his mind slowly recovering, "Why?"

"Afraid?" The Doctor asked barely above a whisper. He let out a small, silent laugh, his mouth opening in a smile, "Not afraid, Sherlock!" he cried, "Why would I be afraid, this is the first hope I've had in 400 years!" He fell to his knees and scooped Sherlock off the ground, wrapping his arms tightly around him, looking like he could cry with joy.

"What did I do?" Sherlock asked, totally lost at this point. He grunted as the Doctor dropped him on the ground, but sat back up as he spoke.

"I've never met a human who could enter Psychospace if they begged, with all their mind, that they could find it, but you can enter without any drive at all! It was a mistake! You can get me out of here!" The Doctor cried.

He held on for another few moments before letting Sherlock fall to the ground again, sitting up with a wide smile on his face. Sherlock winced, hitting his head as he fell, but the Doctor didn't notice.

"Anyway," he began giddily, "Last time you were in your head this long, you got in some pretty thick danger, so you should probably wake up now."

Sherlock nodded, carefully sitting up. "Yes, of course," he responded. He shut his eyes hard, seeing the blackish red behind his eyes. Wake up, he told himself simply. But this time, he didn't feel the usual pulse he felt when he tried to wake up in the past. Was he awake? It didn't feel like it. Wake up! He told himself again. Still, he felt nothing. Maybe it was just subtle. He opened his eyes.

Still just the park, as vivid as ever. Although this time when he opened his eyes, it was a little different. A little bit… more solid, more sure. Almost thicker, as though you were standing over a pot of hot boiling water and you could feel the water rising and see the air wavering, but the temperature hadn't changed. He looked at the Doctor, confused.

"What's going on?" he asked him. He ran his hands through the grass again and could feel every strand. "Am… I awake now?"

The Doctor pulled himself up to his knees and gave him a confused look. Sherlock's view distorted every so slightly, making the Doctor look top heavy and intimidating as he towered over him. He backed away. It was like being on too many drugs. The colors wavered and the sound warped; something was wrong.

"Wh-what's happening?" Sherlock demanded, irrationally scared. The Doctor leaned in and took both sides of his face looking intensely into his eyes. Even in this strange, warped dream he could see his eyes fill with dread and fear.

"Oh, Sherlock, what have I done?" he whispered.