The Adventures of a Consulting Time Lord
By Soledad
Episode 01: Ginger, At Last! (But Still Rude)
Disclaimer: Both Dr. Who and Sherlock belong to the BBC. I'm just borrowing them to have some fun.
Author's note: Yes, I know what's canonically happened to the Doctor's fob watch. I've changed it for a reason. AU, remember?
Part 05 – Contingency Plans
It didn't happen very often that the Doctor would stare at someone with open-mouthed shock. This was one of those rare occasions.
"You are going… what?"
Mycroft sighed impatiently. "Oh, come on, I know you've long mapped out my human background. Therefore you know all too well that the original Mycroft Holmes had a younger brother named Sherlock; a disturbed young genius no-one really knew how to deal with."
The Doctor raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "As far as I know Sherlock Holmes has been living in a very exclusive psychiatric institute ever since you've taken over his brother's place."
"That's not entirely correct," Mycroft replied calmly. "You should really pay more attention to the facts behind the paper trail, my dear Doctor. If you had, you'd know that Sherlock Holmes never really was in that hospital… well, not very long anyway. He committed suicide soon after his brother had fallen in war. He'd been nothing but a name and an account ever since."
"And now you've decided to resurrect him," the Doctor said; it wasn't really a question.
Mycroft nodded. "A most elegant solution, don't you agree? It will give you social status and money to secure your existence."
"But if the younger Holmes is supposed to have spent decades in a mental institute, does it not mean that his wealth is controlled by the family?" the Doctor inquired.
"Details," Mycroft waved dismissively. "We can change them: decades to a year or two, a mental illness to a severe drug problem. I've made myself younger on a regular basis and no-one has ever noticed. By now, consensus has reached a point where people think me the son of the original Mycroft; the records have been changed accordingly. We'll change the records of Sherlock Holmes, too, so that they'd match.
"That would still leave you in charge of my – Sherlock's – wealth," the Doctor said, and Mycroft nodded amiably.
"Of course; for the next couple of years anyway. I find that most fortunate. It allows me to keep an eye on you."
The Doctor scowled at his fellow-Time-Lord-in-exile. "I hate you!"
"Yes, I rather imagine you would," Mycroft replied with an elegant shrug. "Unfortunately for you, you also need me. And with your track record where disasters are concerned, I'm afraid I can't allow you to roam this planet unsupervised. Not even while you don't remember who you actually are."
"You have no right…" the Doctor began angrily, but Mycroft interrupted him mid-sentence.
"I have every right in the multiverse, my dear Doctor. I'm the Watcher, remember? Keeping rogues in their reins is what I do."
"You're as much a rogue as I am," the Doctor snapped.
Mycroft shook his head with a cold smile. "That's where you're wrong. I've never been a rogue. I was sent through Time by the High Council itself to look out for rogues who used to frequent this planet too much. When I got trapped, after the Time War, I chose to become one of the people here, because this seemed the best way to protect them."
The Doctor snorted. "How could you protect them in human form? You've willingly laid down all your powers."
"But I still have my knowledge," Mycroft pointed out, "and I still have Mummy. Where I can't get access to her as a human, Anthea can. Together, we manage. Not perfectly, granted; the 456 disaster showed our limits with painful clearance. But still better than others who drop in, wreak havoc and then run away without picking up the pieces afterwards."
The Doctor briefly wondered whether Mycroft was hinting at the Master or at himself – or both.
"So yes," Mycroft continued, "I'm more than entitled to watch over you, whether you're himself or wearing a human disguise. And posing as your older brother will give me the means to do so."
"No need to gloat about it," the Doctor muttered angrily, because he had no other choice and he knew it.
The simplest medical examination could reveal his alien nature, and without a fully functional TARDIS backing him up he'd end up in some secret government lab, getting sliced and diced. Not even UNIT could be trusted anymore, and with Jack Harkness off-planet, no-one would come to his rescue.
If Jack would be willing to rescue him to begin with. Their last encounter in a seedy bar on some far-away, backwater planet had been less than amiable. Jack still hadn't forgiven him for his absence during the 456 crisis. A crisis that resulted in the untimely death of his young lover.
It was so uncharacteristic for Jack! As a rule, he wouldn't stick with one partner, knowing that he'd lose them anyway sooner or later. They died and he lived on. So why this particular one? Once upon a time Jack Harkness had worshipped the ground the Doctor walked on. Why would he turn his back on him now, because of an utterly replaceable human being?
But that was neither here nor there. He had to deal with his current problem without burdening himself with Jack Harkness and his grievances. Besides, he wouldn't remember the man once the chameleon arch had done its thing, so it was a moot point anyway.
"All right," he said. "But I want to lead a useful life as a human… one that wouldn't be boring. Can you arrange that?"
"Mummy will do her best; and her best is usually more than adequate," Mycroft replied. "Now, about the technicalities: do you happen to have a pocket watch?"
The Doctor shook his head. His old fob watch, the one he'd used to hide from the Family of Blood, had long gone lost – he couldn't even remember when and where – and he never got the chance to acquire a new one. Gallifreyan fob watches with the special ability to store a Time Lord's biology and personality had become extremely rare since the destruction of the planet.
"Perhaps I can be of assistance, sir," a mellow voice with a soft Welsh accent said, and a young man in a sharp suit entered the study, with an old-fashioned pocket watch lying upon his open palm.
In the next moment an overwhelming feeling of wrongness hit the Doctor like a brick wall.
~TBC~