Author's Note:
*First order of business: writer's block is evil.
*That aside, I'm really upset at myself as I realized I didn't talk about Jaiden's boots last chapter. They're based on a pair that I used to own and I do believe I give a short description in this chapter.
*I feel that this chapter seems rushed and I apologize in advance as I dealt with bouts between writer's block and my head swimming with too many ideas at once.
*It took forever and I'm sorry for that but I give you, CHAPTER ONE!
It's been a few days since our arrival in this alternate London and I've been "placed in the care of John Watson" as of the day before yesterday. Apparently, the Doctor's on a trip and needs me somewhere safe. Usually, I'd argue with something like that but how could I say "no" to getting to watch Sherlock Holmes and John Watson work instead of running around with the Doctor looking for signs of an invasion?
So, John has allowed me to help him search for a case that the very fidgety Sherlock might be interested in. I've got the job of looking through newspapers but everything I've found and suggested has been met with "boring" or "too easy."
John has the same task as me but he's been using his laptop and is being met with the same lack of success. It seems that Sherlock can't find anything interesting today and, frankly, he's starting to get on my nerves. He is just being so... Obnoxious.
"Anything yet, John?" Sherlock asks for what seems like the thousandth time today.
"Plenty, Sherlock," I inform him before John can answer, "you're just being picky."
Suddenly, he's off the couch, stepping onto the coffee table, and making his way to plant himself in front of me, his navy dressing gown flowing out behind him to show off his pajamas. He crouches in front of me and I watch his eyes flick about to take in every detail of me he can find, the gears of his mind nearly visibly turning.
So, I throw up a newspaper to separate me from his eyes.
"Shut up, you're thinking too loud," I tell him, purposely using a phrase I've heard him say before.
He stands up again.
"Judging by-"
"Sherlock! I know you're bored but could you please shut up and stop fidgeting for more than five freaking minutes? And yes, I'm flustered and annoyed but that's your doing. You already know that, though, so I'll put it this way:"
Standing up, I step into his space to lock eyes with him.
"Shut up or I'll dislocate your lower mandible so that you can't talk."
Silence falls for a moment before John clears his throat, bringing our attention to him. He shifts a little under our combined gaze.
Oops.
Deep breath, kind smile.
"I'm sorry, John. We got out of hand."
Sherlock then fixes me with an "excuse me" look.
"We did," I tell the consulting detective, "so, to make it up, I'll treat everyone to brunch."
They both look a little surprised.
"I have money and I already exchanged it for the currency here so, brunch?"
John stands with a warm smile but Sherlock returns to his couch to flop down on it.
"I'm not hungry," he says simply.
"Oh good, he's going to pout," I tell John.
"I am not pouting!"
"What is it then?"
"Retiring to my Mind Palace."
"So pouting. That's find, have fun acting like a child."
That said, I take John's hand and lead him from the flat before the detective can retort.
I find myself completely distracted while John happily enjoys his meal in the small cafe he and Sherlock frequent. Not even remembering what I'd ordered or paying enough attention to figure it out, my fork just aimlessly pushes the edible substance around my plate.
He's not quite how I'd imagined him, much more childish. I expected him to get bored and even expected impatience but he's like a spoiled child who whines and pouts when he doesn't get his way. In a way, I feel cheated. Is that man really the Sherlock Holmes who's been my hero since I was a child? I suppose this is why they say you shouldn't meet your heroes, they're never what you expect them to be.
"Jaiden?" comes John's voice.
My eyes meet his and his concern is apparent.
"I'm sorry, I guess I'm not as hungry as I thought I was."
"What's on your mind?"
With a sigh, I can only shrug.
John folds his hands and rests them on the table between us. He looks out the window for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts, but it's brief and he focuses back on me shortly.
"He's a good man, he just very... Different," he begins.
"Definitely," comes my reply.
"Don't think poorly of him yet, he hasn't had the chance to surprise you."
"Surprise me?"
"He surprises everyone. He's hard to manage, especially when he's bored, but he's really not as bad as he tries to lead people to believe."
"I can kind of see that. However, I thought I'd earned his respect but it's becoming clear that I've only scratched the surface in that department."
He looks at his hands with a smile.
"What?"
"He respects you, he just has a very odd way of showing it and, if you get to know him, you'll definitely see that he treats you differently than other people," he explains with restrained laughter in his voice.
"You'll have to explain that one," I inform him with a tone of confused disbelief.
"Think about it, I'm sure you'll figure it out."
Sighing, my eyes find my plate of food again, but I look right through it. John seems reliable enough and I can't help but to believe that there is truth in his words; I only wish I understood Sherlock a little better. It seems to me, however, that no one really does, except for maybe John.
John.
"You're his only real friend, aren't you?" I ask.
"Seeming a little surprised by my question, he thinks for a moment before answering.
"I think so."
"He's different with you in comparison to other people."
"I saved his life once," he replies, seeming to get a little uncomfortable.
Sensing this discomfort, I decide it best to let that train of thought go.
"I'm glad he has a friend like you. He probably has a hard time making friends and I think that it would be foolish of me not to take your advice because it's obvious enough to me that he's capable of being a good friend. He can care for someone else."
Nodding, seemingly unsure what to say, John returns his attention to his plate and I'm left to smile slightly to myself.
And then Sherlock walks in.
He comes right to the table without having to look for use and stands next to me so I manage to smile at him.
"You usually sit across from John?" I ask.
"Yes, would you-?"
"I don't mind," I interrupt, sliding over on the booth to make room.
Sherlock sits and I look out the window next to me so that they can talk but John clears his throat to draw my attention back.
John is looking at Sherlock expectantly and the younger man actually yields under that gaze, looking away from his assistant to fix those intelligent eyes on me.
"I'd like you to find a case," he says to me.
"John and I spent all morning trying to find one for you," is my cautious reply.
"It's not for me."
"Then who am I finding a case for?"
"You and John."
Staring at the consulting detective, I wait for the sarcastic punchline; he just sits and looks at me expectantly.
"You're serious?" I finally ask and then I look at John who seems just as surprised as me. "He's serious?"
"Completely," is the answer.
"You can do that?" I ask looking back at him.
"Sherlock-" John tries.
"I'll supervise," the other man interrupts, turning his attention to the former army doctor.
"Is that really such a good idea?" I chime in.
"Are you going to turn it down?" he asks, not even looking at me.
Opening my mouth with the full intention of saying "yes, I'm going to turn it down," I'm surprised by an interruption.
"Give yourself a moment to think," he says, finding my chocolate pools with his gray-blue orbs.
At that, I bite my lip and turn my attention out the window again. Would the Doctor approve? Is it a good idea? More importantly, what is this man's motive? Is he trying to be nice? Is this his way of putting me in my place by comparing intelligence in the field? Of course he's smarter than I am, he must know that. I can't get a read on him, empathy really only works when the other party feels something. Maybe it's an experiment?
"What are your motives, and please don't try to lie; I can always tell when someone is lying," comes my voice suddenly, the need for information getting the best of me.
"You tell me," is his reply.
"I can't seem to read you, you've offered no clues, emotional or otherwise."
"Look harder and use your head, you've proven that you're perfectly capable of it."
My curiosity and disbelief are replaced with frustration. Glaring into those knowing eyes I can't help but to speak my thoughts.
"You annoy me."
A slight smile plays at his lips when he replies.
"But you love a good mystery, don't you? And, as far as you can tell, I'm a living, breathing mystery."
"Then I've found my case, haven't I?"
"You're obstinate."
"You're full of yourself."
"Will you two stop!" John finally interjects.
On a whim, I'm climbing over the back of the booth to the empty one behind it and storming toward the cafe door.
"Jaiden, where are you going?" John calls getting up to catch me.
"Back to the flat to find the sociopath a case so that he'll leave me the Hell alone!"
I make sure the door slams shut behind me before John can follow me out. Then, I'm running into the flat and finding a room to lock myself in. I collapse to the floor against the door with a sigh, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against the gateway that separates me from them.
That man is overwhelming. I didn't realize how badly he would wear on my nerves. When I read his stories, I saw his relationship with John Watson and all of the amazing things they did together but I didn't really care to think of how he would be with other people. His mind is one of observation and deduction, a strictly logical mind that must surely see emotion as a hindrance.
I stand, ready to abandon my hiding place but I change my mind when I look around at the nearly bare bedroom. The only thing to adorn the walls is a framed poster of the periodic table on the wall next to the perfectly made, full-sized bed. Must be Sherlock's room.
Time to investigate.
First, the dresser against the wall opposite the door. Upon closer inspection, it turns out to be real wood, likely oak, with a glossy dark finish. The nicks and scratches in the finish prove me wrong since the wood beneath is a deep red, so it's cherry. Expensive, but not properly cared for so he must not give a damn about it. Sad, considering it's probably antique. As a compromise to myself, I decide to check and see if there's anything obviously amiss in the drawers but I won't be digging through clothes: top drawer appears to be socks, second is underwear (lovely), the third: pajamas, and the fourth is empty. The ornate dresser is a little out of place in his very plain, very bare room. Gift from the family?
Moving on to the closet to the left of the dresser. There's nothing special here, just nice shirts, pants, jackets, and on the floor are a couple pairs of shoes.
He's tidy and organized but cares little for possessions unrelated to his work. As expected, sentimental value doesn't appear to mean much to him. It's almost depressing.
Feeling unaccomplished, I plop down on his bed with a sigh, my eyes falling onto his little bedside table. An unremarkable object, not expensive like the dresser and also fairly new. My hand seems to move on its own, drawn to the little knob on the front of the singular drawer. It slides open easily but all that's in it is a cell phone. It's also unremarkable, but the fact that it's all alone in the drawer of a nightstand that has nothing on it says that it holds some sort of importance.
Part of an important case, perhaps?
There's only one logical way to do: turn it on. I'm met with failure, so I check for the battery; it's present. The phone is nonoperational so what's the point of having it?
A memorable case?
I set the phone back in where I found it and find myself surprised when the bottom of the drawer shifts a little. The rest of the drawer didn't move so I admit to the possibility of a false bottom.
Automatically, the phone is on top of the small table and the black pocket knife comes out of my knee-high, loosely-cut, ebony leather boot. The blade is flicked open to carefully pop the false bottom free and set it on the bed next to me; knife is flicked closed and put back into its hiding place. Underneath sits a photo of a raven-haired woman with striking sky-colored eyes reflecting some intelligence and a sort of unidentifiable hunger. She's beautiful and everything about her screams "interesting." When I pick the picture up and turn it over, the words "The Woman" written carefully on the back confirm my suspicion.
Irene Adler: the only woman he's ever loved.
Talk about timing because just as I'm about to replace everything, the slight squeak of the hinges on the door tells me that someone's entered the room. I don't turn to look as my hands shake a little while they're holding the image of Irene.
"Sherlock?'
"Did you find what you were looking for?"
Damn.
"I think so."
His footsteps warn me of his approach before he sits next to me. Avoiding his eyes, I hold the picture out to him.
"Put it where you found it," he tells me.
Doing as I'm told, the photo makes it back into the drawer, the false bottom is replaced, the phone ends up where it started, and the drawer is pushed back in. Everything is as I found it.
We sit in silence for a moment, neither of us really sure what to say. I know, however, that this is the chance to make some sort of connection.
"Who is she?" I finally ask.
I'm met with silence.
"I won't tell anyone," I try.
Nothing.
When I finally look up at him, he's staring at his hands with a faraway look, so I cover them with mine; that gets his attention.
"You're a great man, Sherlock," is how I choose to start, "you've accomplished many things so far and I'm certain you'll go on to do even more. And, you're smart, you're so, so smart, and I know you know that." I take my hands from his before I go on. "What I'm trying to say is there's nothing wrong with you having one or two things that you really care about in life and I promise to never tell a soul if that's what you need me to do."
"I don't really want to talk about it in detail but I find you oddly trustworthy and, therefore, I have no objection to the knowledge you've obtained," is his thoughtful, and a bit surprising, reply.
"Do you think you'll ever want to talk about it?"
"Not in detail, no."
"I understand."
"However, ask questions and I may answer. For example, you asked me for her name; it's Irene Adler."
I can't help my chuckle.
"That's unlike you."
"You empathize with people easily."
"So?"
"So, adding that to the strange way that I trust you, you could be the only person that I find myself able to talk to about her."
"You have John."
He chuckles at that.
"He does more than enough for me and I'm a difficult man to understand."
"John cares enough that he'd try and, even if he couldn't, he'd listen. From what I can tell, he's always willing to listen to you, even when you're being a complete ass."
This makes him look thoughtful.
"Speaking of, where is he?" comes my question when I realize that he must not have come in with Sherlock.
"He's taking a walk."
"You pissed him off, didn't you?"
"I may have."
We both laugh a little at that, though his is more restrained.
Standing up and stretching, I offer him one more smile.
"I'll get out of your hair now. May take a stroll to see if I happen upon the Doctor wandering around somewhere."
"If you see John, tell him that I told you that he's fond of you," Sherlock requests.
"He's what?" is my bewildered reply.
"He enjoys your company, likely because you're someone who understands people very well. He seems to be developing a fatherly protectiveness over you," he answers.
"He didn't actually say any of that did he?"
"No, but do you doubt my observations?"
My smile can't be stopped.
"Well, I'm fond of him, too, and you're beginning to grow on me."
"This may sound odd but do you consider us friends? I've never really thought about what makes people decide that they're friends with each other."
"I think we're getting there," is the answer I choose, "I'd like us to be friends but I'm not one to push. Take your time and feel free to call me 'friend' when you're ready."
The TARDIS isn't in the alley where we landed when we first arrived and that irks me a little. He takes me to a completely different universe and then ditches me, leaving me in the care of a sociopath and a former military doctor who, honestly, may as well be gay for each other; it just seems like a messed up situation. I mean, how long does he plan on leaving me here? What exactly is he off looking for? Most importantly, why am I excluded after he told me I could help?
My feet find their way onto the spot where I had last seen the wonderful blue box and my eyes turn up to London's every-gray sky.
"You're a long way from home," I inform myself aloud.
It takes me a moment to gather my courage and wander back out onto the main roads. Just as I'm ready to return to the flat, I hear the TARDIS engine down the road and I run in the direction of the sound. As expected, it lands in another alley and the door begins to open as I turn into said alley.
As soon as the Doctor is in the doorway, my body hits him full speed and he has to steady himself as my arms wrap tightly around him, my face buried in his chest. It takes a moment, but he returns the embrace.
"I got a message on the psychic paper. You really wanted me to come back, yeah?"
A slight nod is the only reply I can manage.
"I'm sure you're going to ask me where I was."
Another nod.
"I got a tip on some Cybermen activity from a friend. Unfortunately, it was on a planet that was too dangerous for me to feel comfortable taking you with me and I thought you'd enjoy having time to get to know the Baker Street duo. Was I wrong?"
He sounds a little concerned, probably my reaction.
"I think the reality of my situation is finally setting in," I willingly explain as I loosen my grip but don't let go.
His chuckle reverberates in his chest, offering me some comfort, and he gives a gentle squeeze.
"Culture shock, that's perfectly normal!"
"Did you find them? The Cybermen, I mean."
"There was activity but they aren't coming from there. My friend and I have taken care of the invasion from that front. Have you noticed anything here?"
"It's been perfectly quiet since we got here."
"It may be time to move on, then."
Finally letting go of him to step back, our similarly-colored eyes meet.
"Can we wait until tomorrow morning?"
He seems unsure of my request.
"Why wait?"
"I want to say 'goodbye' to John and Sherlock."
This causes the Doctor to smile at me.
"You're getting along with Sherlock?" he asks.
"We've come to an understanding," I answer cautiously.
"Well, then, we'll leave tomorrow morning."
"Thank you, Doctor."
I let him out of the TARDIS so that he can close the door and he holds his hand out to me with his warm smile. Taking it, I lead him back toward Baker Street. He talks animatedly about ideas he has for finding and stopping the Cybermen threat but I'm only half listening.
While I'm happy that we're going to be making progress with the Cybermen, I'm not so sure how I feel about leaving here before I've earned Sherlock's friendship. It's become important to me and I think John believes it's a good idea, too. It feels wrong to leave already, but I didn't come along to make friends, I know that, I'm here to save my world from an invasion.
"Jaiden?" comes that familiar Scottish accent to pull me from my thoughts.
"Yeah?" is how I choose to let him know that he has my attention.
"You're thinking an awful lot," he informs me.
"I do that pretty frequently."
"What are you thinking about?"
"I don't really know," I tell him in the hopes of avoiding further questioning.
I can feel his eyes on me and I know he doesn't believe me, but he doesn't say anything else about it.
We reach the flat and I lead the Doctor into the sitting room where we find Sherlock and John. Sherlock is on his feet as soon as we walk in but John just looks up from his laptop to greet us with a smile.
"Good evening!" is the Doctor's enthusiastic greeting even though it's technically late afternoon.
Sherlock looks wary, more so than when the Doctor and I first showed up. I can see his mind working as his eyes take in every detail of the two of us.
Pale eyes, greener in this light, meet chocolate and the silent question passes between them: "you're leaving?"
It only takes the slightest nod for him to understand and he sits back down in his chair, his hands together and his eyes closed; he's thinking.
My attention turns to John who is looking curiously between Sherlock and I, then to the Doctor who also seems to have noticed the exchange. Eager to pull attention from it, I clear my throat and both the Doctor and, more importantly, John turn their attention fully to me. Sherlock, however, already knows what I'm going to say and ignores it.
"Um, the Doctor and I are on a sort of mission, that's why we came here. However, this mission calls our attention to other places and we're going to have to leave very soon-"
"And by 'very soon' she means tomorrow morning," Sherlock tosses in without moving.
"Unfortunately," is the only reply I can come up with.
"Lots of work to do and as much as we'd like to stay, we have very important matters that are in need of our attention," adds the Doctor, seeming to note the tension.
"We don't need an explanation, I didn't expect you to stay long and I already shared this fact with John," Sherlock replies. "I think it's wise that you should leave before you bring trouble here, Doctor."
It isn't his choice of words or the bluntness of the statement that surprises me, it's the venom that drips from his tone. Open contempt isn't something I'd think to expect from Sherlock Holmes because there isn't much that gets to him enough to trigger such a response. He doesn't like the Doctor, that much was obvious from day one, but this is completely unexpected and I can feel John's surprise, too.
"Sherlock?" the war veteran and I question together.
The Doctor approaches the fireplace and leans against the mantle.
"You're a clever man, Sherlock Holmes, but your backwards thinking on this matter is inconvenient and upsetting to those around you. What if I told you," he begins as he starts to pace the room, "that the 'trouble' doesn't follow me, but that it's the other way around?" He stops in front of Sherlock's chair, causing the consulting detective to open his eyes and look at the man. "What if I were to say to you 'I go where the trouble is?'"
"I'd have to wonder how you'd expect me to believe that you follow it when it always occurs after your arrival," he replies with a look in his eyes that is colder and harder than steel.
The Doctor chuckles and moves to make himself comfortable on their sofa before saying "things you couldn't even begin to understand."
This brings Sherlock instantly to his feet and all of a sudden I feel him fuming with a rage so thick I find it hard to breathe, though it doesn't show on his face, only in the stiffness of his posture.
"Explain to me what happened to the last girl you had traveling with you, then. Her name was Rose Tyler if my memory serves, and it always does, and she seemed more devoted to you than Miss Carlisle is. So, tell me, did something happen to her while you were 'looking for trouble?' I know that she didn't just decide one day that she didn't want to follow you anymore, she was much too infatuated with you to have done that."
The Doctor's eyes get cold and that scares me.
"She's safe."
"'The Doctor lies,' you've said it yourself."
"I had her stay put."
"Not if you had a choice." Sherlock moves to stand threateningly over the Doctor. "You fell in love with her, wouldn't have given her up for anything if you had actually been given a choice."
Suddenly, the Doctor's on his feet, too, and one set of cold, intelligent eyes is staring down another but neither man says anything.
I can feel their rage and their hatred for one another, though. Hot and thick, it fills the room and I feel like I have to gasp for every breath I take.
"Stop!" John's voice suddenly cuts through the silent tensions as he also stands, drawing the attention of both of the other men.
His presence has never been more commanding as he looks between the battling intellectuals for a moment before he looks at me. His glance leads two other pairs of eyes to me. The Doctor and John, their eyes soften and I realize that I'd begun shaking under the stress of my empathy at some point before. Sherlock, though, his eyes stay cold and his eyes are the ones that hold mine because, at this moment, I find myself more frightened of him that I've ever been of anything in my life.
There is no humanity in him right now and that terrifies me.
I continue suffocating under his gaze because, suddenly, there's not emotion to draw on and, as an empath, I need to draw on positive energy after so much negativity to balance myself. There's nothing coming from him.
Why can't I look away? John, the Doctor, anyone but this inhuman being before me. I can't force myself to try to draw energy from elsewhere, I keep trying to get a read on him. Why?
"Stop," I hear myself say. "Stop looking at me like that."
That's when the Doctor comes between him and I and pulls me into a comforting embrace. My arms wrap around him eagerly as he makes it easier to breathe. Knees shaking a little, I breathe heavily, my burning lungs greedily sucking in oxygen.
"Is she alright?" John's voice asks.
"She's fine," answers the Doctor.
"Panic attack?" is John's next question.
"A very special sort. She's a very special kind of human."
"What do you mean?"
"She has a deep connection to empathy that is nearly extinct in the human race now."
A door slams somewhere.
"I should go talk to him." John's voice again.
"No, let him think." The Doctor.
"Tired," I decide to interject.
"Where can I put her?" the Doctor asks.
"I've been making her a bed on the couch."
Before I know it, I'm tucked into my makeshift bed and fading fast.
Bleary eyes blink open as I find myself conscious and mostly coherent. The pale light coming through a crack in the curtains tells me it's early but I end up sitting up anyway. My mind turns to yesterday and the argument between the Doctor and Sherlock. I remember how afraid I was of him in that moment, how his lack of humanity and emotion completely terrified me. But, then I remember our conversation in his bedroom, when we talked a little about Irene and how he said he had the feeling he could trust me.
"Things you couldn't even begin to understand."
"Maybe he should be given the chance," I decide aloud. "Maybe his growth depends on him being given a chance."
That said, my blanket is tossed aside and my feet find the floor. No time to stretch, I hurry to Sherlock's room and knock on the door. When there's no response, I knock again. Impatient, I just open the door and stride in to find him sleeping. The surprise I feel surely comes from the fact that I'd nearly forgotten that this man does sleep.
Before I tiptoe to his bedside, the door is closed behind me. Something inside me hesitates about waking him, he even looks thoughtful when he's sleeping with his eyebrows slightly knitted together like that.
Cute...
Shaking that thought away, I touch his shoulder to shake him awake but his eyes open right away, making me jump with surprise.
"Sherlock?"
He sits up and looks at me sleepily.
"Jaiden."
Silence hangs in the air between us. Not even five minutes ago, I was certain of what I wanted to do but, now that I'm here, I have no idea how to approach the subject.
"What-"
"Come with us," I blurt out.
"Go with you," is his unsure reply to my ungraceful request.
"Yes, the Doctor will always hang your lack of understanding over your head and he's right: you don't understand. Hell, I still don't understand; this is the first place I've traveled to with him.
"There are things out there that neither of us will be able to comprehend until we've seen them with our own eyes. The Doctor is a gift to people like us, people who constantly seek usable knowledge and understanding. We have an opportunity here if we're willing to take a chance. Come with me on this journey, this adventure; become a student of the universes and learn with me," is my speech, the speech I surprise myself giving.
"What of John?"
"He can come, too."
"No," he answers firmly.
"Why not?" is my surprised and confused question.
"The Doctor is danger, whether or not he sees it that way and though I don't know where the man goes or what he does, I know that he defies all of our logic. I can't risk John."
He cares.
"I understand," I tell him. "So, come with us once and you can decide if you'll come again and if John should join us after."
"I can't leave my work here."
"Time travel, Sherlock! It exists and the Doctor is capable of it! You could be with us for days and still be back for tea this afternoon!"
The look of surprise and disbelief on the man's face brings a smile to mine. He knows I'm telling the truth, one does not simply lie to Sherlock Holmes, so what comes next will be intrigue.
He fixes me with those intelligent eyes, looking for a sign that I'm lying to him. We stare at each other for a while, he searching for answers and I watching him think.
"Pack a bag and meet me outside in ten minutes or less if your answer is 'yes.' If it's 'no,' please come and tell me 'goodbye' in the same allotted time. I don't want to keep the Doctor waiting too long."
As I turn to leave, I feel his slender fingers around my wrist which brings me to an abrupt halt.
"Yesterday I-"
"Don't," I interrupt, "it's fine, I'm fine. In the moment, I was afraid; having had time to think, all I had to do was think of our talk in here. I was afraid of your lack of emotion, and I thought of you as inhuman and that was wrong of me. If anything, I need to apologize. You may be different from me, but you're still human and to think of you as otherwise is an insult."
"Look at me and tell me that you're alright."
The request is odd, he's definitely full of surprises, but I turn and I meet his eyes.
"I'm not afraid, Sherlock."
His eyes search mine for a moment before he lets me have my wrist back.
"I'll see you in ten minutes with an answer."
With a nod of understanding, I depart.
I explained what I knew about the Doctor and his TARDIS during our walk but Sherlock still stands in her doorway in wide-eyed wonder with a tinge of disbelief. With a smile, I take the hand that isn't carrying his suitcase and gently guide him inside.
"She's magnificent, isn't she?"
"It-"
"She."
"Yes, she goes against everything I thought I knew."
"Welcome to opening your mind. Can we agree that she is humbling for now?"
"Very much so."
"That's a start."
"Jaiden!" calls the Doctor's voice from under the platform around the TARDIS console.
"I'm here, Doctor! I brought a guest, is that alright?"
"That would depend on who it is!"
Oh no...
The Doctor climbs from under the platform, glances in the direction of Sherlock and myself, and returns to what he was doing before.
"No."
"Why not?"
"He'll get in the way. People like him are close-minded and refuse to accept what they don't understand or, in his case, what he doesn't find 'useful,'" he explains.
"So, we should open his mind and help him understand," is my argument.
"No."
"Please!"
"No."
"Doctor," Sherlock interjects, seeming a little frustrated, "I seek understanding."
"No, I'm certain you don't," comes the Doctor's reply from under the platform.
"Please, Doctor."
This surprises me and seems to get the Doctor's attention; he comes back out from under the platform to approach us.
"Give me the best reason why I should take you with us as you can manage, Sherlock Holmes. Why should I take the Reichenbach Hero with me to see the splendors of what's out there?"
"'The Reichenbach Hero?'" he and I ask together.
"You'll see."
Sherlock's future?
"I..."
"Yes?"
"I don't know how you go about choosing who you take with you but it's obvious that I'm not on the list of candidates. Perhaps my mind isn't open enough, but how can you or even I judge what I am capable of in a case like this until I've been given the chance to try? As a man who prides myself on my ability to observe and to put together the pieces of puzzles that most others are incapable of, it would be foolish of me to overlook the opportunity to try my hand at things that are beyond me. Perhaps it's time for me to be at my wit's end and humbled by experiences that I cannot control."
"You'll have to do everything I say when I say it without question. Can you manage that?"
"I can."
"Admit to my superior intellect," says the Doctor with a perfectly straight face, but I can tell he's joking and I think Sherlock can, too.
"No," the detective replies.
"Well, the speech was still impressive coming from you. Fine, welcome aboard the TARDIS," says the Doctor with a smile in my direction.
Apparently, he's going to try to play nice.
I'm relieved.
*Sherlock's room is a mix of what I saw in BBC Sherlock and my video game The Testament of Sherlock Holmes. Great game, by the way; I highly recommend it.
*Still resisting OC/Sherlock until/if I have reader permission but I'm making sure that it could be a possibility just in case. XD
*Remember, reviews are love!
*Chapter/Episode ideas are LOVE X 1,000,000!