Hi… Remember me? I am here! I was just… not here. But I am here! With a friend! IngridNixie has yet again been awesome and I'm happy. Look, I've been busy. I've basically just moved countries [hence my profile saying that I'm in Canada], and I went to see my new school [ugh ugh ugh], plus I wasn't meant to start until September so I'm now running around buying stuff. Not pleased. But guys, I see that you read this. I check the stats, from time to time. So, if you have a spare minute, please review? Just a short thing, it doesn't matter, but it makes me pleased .

Love you!

Slap

Bang

Crash

Burn

'Don't Scream

Stay quiet

Screaming makes it hurt'

I live in a castle

My garden has flowers

And around it there's a wall

And I can hide in the tallest tower

'Stop!'

No don't shout!

'Stop, please!'

She's crying now.

It's your fault

Why would you do that?

She'd be fine if you had just stayed quiet

'STOP!'

Adele woke with a start. She sighed, almost wishing the dream had been real. Getting up and dressed was as mundane a task as she could imagine. Although, she decided, sitting up, she'd rather that than potentially have to face the blonde kids in her pyjamas. Just as she was getting out of bed, her movement was halted by a sharp rap at the door. She frowned. Sherlock never knocked… so John then. But it had sounded more… insistent, than John would ever be. The knock came again.

'Hello?' Adele called out, a little hesitantly, gripping the side of her bed without thinking about it.

The door swung open to reveal a tall, thin man wearing a suit, his light brown hair seemingly defying gravity. His eyes alight, he fixed Adele with a wide smile. One that quickly turned into shock and confusion when Adele started to scream.

'Adele? Adele-' He began as she reached for the revolver in her bedside table, instinctively pulling her blanket up in front of her with one hand. The man held his hands up aside his head.

'Now, Adele,' He said reasonably. She ignored him.

'Sherlock!' She shouted out. 'Sherlock, John?!'

The man's eyes turned to confusion once more.

'Adele, I'm-'

'Who are you?!' Adele shouted, slightly bemused at how hysterical she was being. Well, there's a strange man in my room and no sign of Sherlock –or John– so it's reasonable, really. She thought vaguely.

'Adele, it's me!' The man said, as if it was obvious. 'It's Sherlock!'

Adele blinked. Of course! How could she have…? She shook her head and relaxed.

'Sorry, I…' She shook her head again. 'I don't know what I was…'

She smiled up at him.

'Er, Adele?' Sherlock asked, looking pointedly at the gun in Adele's –still stiffly outstretched– hand.

'What- Oh.' She put the gun back in its drawer. She paused. Since when did I have a bedside table? She shook her head.

'Come on then,' Sherlock was saying, already on his way out of the room.

Adele stood and swayed a little. Her half-asleep state was doing nothing for the confusion she still couldn't help feeling.

'There's a guy in the front room, want to see what you make of him.' Sherlock continued as she followed him. Had he always been this… enthusiastic?

Once in the living room, Adele rolled her eyes.

'Mycroft, what are you doing here?' She asked.

Both Sherlock and the man standing in their living room looked at her.

'Adele, you know this man?' Sherlock asked.

'I…' Adele hesitated. It was, Mycroft… wasn't it?

'Captain Jacque.' The man said by way of introduction, eyeing Adele warily.

Adele snorted.

'Which one?' She asked.

She grinned as "Captain Jacque" looked more than a little put out.

'What I came to talk about was of course, the matter of keeping things quiet.' He said to Sherlock, who nodded.

'What things?' Adele asked with a frown.

'You see, the world's bending over backwards to keep the wool over her eyes.' He went on. 'From knowing the truth, so to speak.'

'Who?' Adele asked. No one seemed to hear her.

'From remembering.' Sherlock said.

'That's right.' Jacque confirmed.

'What's right?' Adele asked, her frustration growing.

'But enough of all that! I have a job for you.' Jacque announced before Adele could start threatening them.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

'Oh yes?'

Jacque nodded.

'Young girl, an heiress. 1939.' He told them, looking at Adele for the first time. She averted her eyes.

'Right.' Sherlock grinned and sprang to his feet. He turned to Adele.

'Fancy the 30s?' He asked.

She rolled her eyes. Then stared.

'Wait, what?'

'Come on, it'll be fun!' He insisted.

Before Adele could reply, Sherlock had grabbed her hand and began to run. Her breathing hitched as she tried to keep up, the world around them blurring.

'W- what happened to the flat…?' She asked no one in particular.

Slowly, then all at once, the world materialised around them. A room. The décor was old, but looked brand new. The walls were made of wood panelling, plants scattered around and odd ornaments and artefacts on the walls, almost everything shining beyond belief. And in front of them stood a young girl in a black dress and white apron, frozen with her back to them.

'Ready?' Sherlock asked.

Adele shook her head anxiously. Sherlock grinned and raised a hand to click his fingers.

And then she remembered. This was what they did. Her and Sherlock. Solving crimes through time, stopping killers that had never been brought to justice. How could she have forgotten?

The world started, and the maid in front of them jumped. As she turned, Adele's mouth fell open. Eliza…

'Oh, sorry Sir, Miss.' She said hurriedly, looking down at the floor. 'You gave me a fright.'

'Oh, that's alright!' Sherlock beamed.

Adele stared at him. This wasn't Sherlock. Something had to be wrong, something…

'I understand there's an investigation going on?' Sherlock was asking.

The maid suddenly came over all teary eyed. Adele rolled her eyes.

'T- that's right, Sir. The little girl it was. Poor thing, she- I'm sorry Sir, I shouldn't- but she was so lovely, and…'

'Hey, it's okay.' Sherlock comforted. 'Look, I'm Sherlock and this is Adele. We're here to help.'

Adele didn't understand. She couldn't understand. Sherlock couldn't be this out of character. It wasn't possible.

'You mean, you'll get them, the one who did it?' The girl asked hopefully.

'Yes. What's your name?'

'Eliza.' Adele said automatically, while the maid said something else. Both she and Sherlock turned to look at Adele in confusion.

'Martha…' The girl repeated, looking at Adele unsurely. 'Martha Jones.'

'Well, Martha Jones,' Sherlock said 'we're going to find out who did this, I promise. Now. Is there a police investigator?'

Martha Jones groaned.

'Yes, but he's hopeless. He thinks it was an open an' shut domestic murder, see?'

Hearing those words, in that dialect, come out of Eliza's mouth was weird, to say the least.

'And you think it wasn't?' Sherlock asked.

Martha Jones suddenly looked hesitant.

'Well, I…' She bit her lip. 'I wouldn't want to speak out of turn, like…'

'No, no!' Sherlock assured. 'Purely confidential.

'Well, the inspector thinks it was 'er Step-Mother, see?'

Sherlock nodded in interest.

'But only it can't be, 'cause I seen her in the village only a minute after Rose found her – she's the head housemaid.'

'How long does it take to get to the village?'

'An hour or so on foot –which she was- an' the doctor said that she couldn't 'ave been dead for more'n ten minutes before Rose found 'er.' Her face took on a whimsical expression that made Adele gag. 'Oh, and everyone loved 'er so, Sir. No one who knew 'er would have the heart to harm 'er.'

The girl continued to babble, and Adele's mind began to wander. She found herself unable to concentrate on one thing at a time, thoughts whizzing around in her head like tiny bubbles. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. Shut, open, shut, open. Bubbles, bubbles, bubbles…

'I shouldn't tell you, really.'

She blinked.

And then a man entered the room.

'What's all this then?'

'Hello!' Sherlock said brightly

Adele looked up and stared. It wasn't… was it? But, who…

'Detective Inspector John Watson, and who are you?' The man demanded.

'Me? Nobody, really, no one at all.' Sherlock grinned.

Inspector Watson opened his mouth to speak, looking certifiably outraged, but he didn';t have a chance to get any words out.

'We are here, to solve your case before you muck it up, so if you don't mind, we'll be getting on with it.' Adele said definitely, silently praying no one would notice that she was a thirteen-year-old girl in her pyjamas.

'Oh, and we'll need full access to the crime scene, if that's quite alright with you.' She finished sweetly, before stalking past the detective.

She heard Sherlock give a little laugh before catching up to her.

'Do we have any idea where the crime scene is?' She muttered.

'That's not how I travel.'

She rolled her eyes.

'Great.'

A lot of the time, Adele hated the older crime scenes. Thirties was relatively okay, at least they had some idea of what they were doing. They were, for instance, pretty good at doing the whole dusting for fingerprints thing. Unfortunately, they tended to convict the wrong people, hence Sherlock and Adele's appearance at several scenes of the same nature of the one they were currently experiencing. Adele thought she recognised the photograph of the victim for a moment, one of the bubbles in her head briefly flashing an image of her and someone called 'John', but she shrugged it off. She seemed to be doing that a lot today.

The murdered girl was Amelie Strange, twenty-one years old, and had been found strangled in the drawing room by, as Martha had said, the head housemaid. The house currently contained a party of guests, and Adele found herself wondering if she'd stumbled into an Agatha Christie mystery. And indeed, if a baggy Batman T-shirt and a pair of leggings were appropriate attire for such an occasion. She wondered vaguely if Sherlock ever changed.

'Adele?' A whisper, urgent and quick. Adele turned abruptly. But there was no one.

'Adele?' It was Sherlock this time, concerned, but a little entertained. Adele realised that was always an undercurrent in his voice. 'No it isn't.'

She shook her head.

'I'm fine.' She said, feigning a smile. She tried to remember what they were doing. Ah yes. Questioning. Apparently Martha wasn't the only one who'd seen Mrs Strange in the village. The doctor's daughter, a girl named –to Sherlock's delight– Katherine Holmes claimed to also have seen her, and she was coming in to be questioned, along with the rest of the house guests. The victim's father had apparently been suffering from an illness for the past three months, and kept to his bed. Adele could understand the detective's reasoning that with the girl gone and her father dying, the step-mother, Claudia Strange, stood to gain a considerable amount. But she and Sherlock were there for a reason.

Adele jumped as the large front door of the house was opened, presumably to admit Katherine Holmes. Sherlock jumped up eagerly, and Adele followed him into the hall. In seeing Katherine Holmes, she got the shock of her life. She was seeing a dead girl walking. Her arm flung out in front of her as if of it's own accord.

'It's her!' She gasped. 'That's Amelie Strange, that's her!'

Sherlock turned to her.

'What? Adele, that's not-'

Adele didn't look at him. She looked into the eyes of the girl at the door. The dead eyes. The dead and gone eyes. She was grinning. Adele shook as Sherlock came toward her. And then Katherine, or Amelie, or whoever she was –'Kaylee' the voice whispered– winked. Adele felt a surge of pain shoot through her body. She was falling, falling into something dark. She reached for Sherlock. But he wasn't reaching for her. He was showing her something… She squinted through the pain. A… a photograph? A girl… a dead girl. A teenage girl, with blonde hair. 'Blonde kids' The whisper again. Katherine Holmes was smiling. She curled a finger around her hair and winked. More pain. Then black.

More pain

Don't scream

Was Sherlock always this…?

Black

Bending over backwards

She curled a finger around her hair and winked

Stay quiet

Blonde kids

Keep the wool over her eyes

Winked

Was Sherlock always

Eyes

Since when did I have a bedside table?

I live in a castle

Was Sherlock

Curled a finger round

Wool

Don't shout!

Always

Kids

Dead

Sherlock?

Screaming makes it hurt.

'You're going to die, Adele Holmes.'

'No- No!'

'Adele?'

The voice was older than her own, and kinder. Her eyes adjusted to the harsh light above her, and she saw a face. Molly smiled.

'There you are!' She beamed.

Adele blinked, and realised she was lying down. On something… cold and warm at the same time. A hospital bed.

'Where…?' She breathed

'Shh, now.' Molly hushed, putting a finger to her lips. She smiled again, and adjusted the bed so Adele was sitting up. It was then that she realised that she was strapped to the bed.

'Wha…' But her jaw was slack, and making even small sounds seemed a colossal effort. Molly shushed her again, and she looked about instead. She was in the flat. Mrs Hudson was there, smiling widely. Molly stood back, and the two women sighed at the same moment, identical smiles on their faces. Adele flinched. It was unnerving, to say the least. There was a long moment of silence, and then Mrs Hudson spoke.

'We're so glad you get to leave dear.' She said kindly. Only it didn't seem kind.

'Leave?' Adele managed.

'Shhhhhhhhh.' Molly came forward to stroke Adele's hair.

'You've been here for far too long already.' She said sympathetically. Only it didn't seem sympathetic. 'We all think it's time.'

Adele stared at her.

'What d-' She spluttered.

'Shhh.'

'It'll be alright, dear.'

'Wh-'

Molly's hand closed over her mouth.

'Shhhhhhhhhhhh.'

All was white. Adele lifted her hands to her face, grateful she could perform that simplest of actions. Actually… she was grateful for everything. Everything that had happened. Because it had led her here. Where was here? She found she didn't care. Suddenly, something in her woke up. Sherlock.

'Sherlock?' She called out into the white.

And sure enough. She didn't know if the white was so thick he had simply stepped towards her, or if he had appeared in mid air. Either way. She engulfed herself in his arms. Something that she had misplaced came back to her. And she cried. She pulled away to look at his face.

'You jumped.' She said, knowingly.

He nodded. She smiled.

'It wasn't you.' She whispered.

He cocked his head to the side in interest.

'You came back, but you weren't you, you were someone else.' She explained. 'Someone pretending, lying. Laughing'

Adele wasn't quite sure when her tone had gotten so bitter, but it had. And it must have been about the same time that Sherlock's face had become pitiful.

'But there's been a terrible mistake, Adele.' He said solemnly.

Her eyes became questioning. The white parted. Clouds, and sky. And concrete. Sherlock smiled, and shook his head.

'You don't belong here, Adele.'

Adele realised, too late, that Sherlock had taken her out of the white world. And onto the roof of St Bart's hospital. She had not a second to react as Sherlock shoved her.

She toppled backwards, over the edge. She turned, over and over her body flipped in the air. She reached for Sherlock. But he wasn't reaching for her. She curled a finger around her hair and winked. Black, black, black. Falling…

'I'm sorry.'

The whisperer.

'Leave me alone!'

'I'm sorry for what's happened to you. What he's done.'

'He hasn't done anything!'

A laugh.

'I guess you could say that.'

'Shut up! Leave me alone!'

'You're so clever. You work things out. Fast. Your feelings are stopping you.'

'Go away!'

'If you would just listen.'

'Go away, go away, GO AWAY!'

Black.

Don't scream

You're going to die, Adele Holmes

Bending over backwards

We're so glad you get to leave

Stay quiet

Blonde kids

Die

Keep the wool over her eyes

Winked

Eyes

Go away

I live in a castle

Adele Holmes

Curled a finger round

Terrible mistake

Wool

I'm sorry

Don't shout!

Always

Sorry

Clever

Sorry

Die

Sorry

Sherlock?

Screaming makes it hurt.

SA/N (Surrogate author's note): Hi! Hope you enjoyed Dream Time with Adele Holmes! In the interest of stopping people reviewing with "OOC OOC blegh blegh", I shall point out that Sherlock in the first couple of passages is being played by the 10th Doctor. Not David Tennant, because he would play him well. This is the 10th Doctor playing Sherlock very very badly. Here's to hoping I didn't screw up royally, and I have many other ideas (concerning 'Donovan, Sally Donovan.' in her leather jacket and some Hammety Hammet fun) so maybe we'll do this again some time! Hands up if I made you cry! (Because I totally didn't, I mean… UWAH! Sherlock, you're such a butt!) Ehem. S'later lovely lovely reading-type people. I love you. I do. And we all love PotterSherlocketc. So we've got that in common.

-IngridNixie