Author's Note: FYI this fic is CLEAN! Thank you very much. But I do appreciate that all of you stuck around this long and you are all great. I do not own Sherlock or Doctor Who.
I buried my face into Sherlock's ample curls. He snaked his arms around my waist and rested his cheek against my clavicle. One of my hands was wedged beneath his arm and the other bringing his legs up to my side.
"I've really made a mess of things haven't I?" he said, squeezing me a little bit tighter.
"Yeah, a bit," I replied inhaling deeply and pulled him closer.
"What about Mary John? You're her husband and she's pregnant with your child, I'm so sorry, I've ruined everything!" he yelped, tugging at the sleeves on my jumper.
"Sherlock, I-"
"You have to get back to her! John you can't stay with me after everything I did to you!"
"Shhh," I calmed, carding my fingers through his hair, "I'll sort everything later, love. Relax." I placed a small kiss to the top of his head.
Sherlock was strange, he was contradiction within himself.
Take his personality, blunt and jerky, but undeniably passionate and caring.
Or his looks, striking, clear cut, but with a quality of ambiguity.
His fashion sense, eye-catching, and yet, one of the most common outfits out there.
Right down to the way he smelled (strong and powerful like spearmint gum and the comforting, but elusive, scent of rain) Sherlock was an enigma. And I wanted to know every inch of his great mind so that I could better understand the amazing creature.
And I loved it.
-oO0Oo-
By the time Mycroft arrived, Sherlock was asleep.
"Hmm," the Timelord grumbled, "I take it he finally told you?" he tilted his head towards his 'brother's' slumbering form, curled up on my lap, and cutting off the circulation to my legs.
"You could say that," I whispered, looking fondly down at my former flatmate.
"Well, it's time we get to work," he pulled the infamous fob watch from his waist coat pocket.
"We? What do you mean we? The Master is your space business, just open the watch and get it over with for God's sake."
Mycroft placed his thumb over the latch and furrowed his brow. After a few seconds of simply standing there staring at it, he relented.
"You do it John, as much as I am loathe to admit it, sentiment has gotten the better of me," he held the watch aloft for me to take. I raised an eyebrow but took it from him with the arm not holding the detective against my chest.
I took a deep breath, and before I could talk myself out of it, clicked open the watch.
The same light spilled from its center and twisted around my fingers. After a beat, it moved towards Sherlock, disappearing into his many facial orifices.
"Is it supposed to do this!?" I fretted. Mycroft only offered a grave nod as comfort.
Sherlock's eyes snapped open, and a devious smirk dominated the usually solemn features.
"Ooh, if it isn't good old Johnny Watson!" he exclaimed in a voice that was very much not Sherlock's, "It sure is great to be back huh?" He popped up to his feet and brushed himself off.
"Master we need your assistance," Mycroft cut straight to the point. Sherlock- or, the Master now, threw back his head and indulged in a throaty laugh.
"My my Doctor you've gotten fat!" he waved at Mycroft's stomach, "Though I suppose one misses out on their exercise when monitoring me for, what, twenty… seven years?"
"Yes, now, as to the reason I brought you back-" he was interrupted by the Master's index finger pressed firmly against the other's mouth.
"First of all old friend, you did not bring me back, Sherlock's school girl crush had the honors," he flicked his strange, unfamiliar eyes on me, "Oh how he loved you Johnny boy, you were really all that was bouncing around in that mind palace of his, it was dreadful, but dear Lord it is good to have both hearts beating again. How do you humans survive on one?"
"Listen, er, Master, we need you to help us find the White-Point Star the Timelords sent you back, um, then," I propositioned, squirming beneath his piercing gaze.
"The White-Point Star? Why in heavens name would you need that? I thought you shot it Mykey," the Master smirked, in a grotesque display of the teeth that had been clicking against mine not too long ago.
"I did shoot it, but the Cybermen are after it and we need to reach it first!" Mycroft yelled, losing his patience with the greasy voiced Timelord who had reclaimed Sherlock's body.
"What do the Cybermen need it for? Not more deleting and upgrading stuff? Ugh, they always fail, why can't they just take a hint?" he leaned against the wall, "How am I supposed to help you? I pretty much died that day. Cut me some slack for god's sake."
"You must have some idea of where it would have gone, because it obviously wasn't destroyed," I interjected.
"Fair point Johnny boy," he leaned in uncomfortably close, his breath tickling the skin of my nose, "But I don't."
"Then how do the Cybermen somehow magically know where to look, hmm?" Mycroft snapped.
The Master shrugged.
"I'm supposed to know this, how? I've been trapped in a watch for nearly thirty years!"
I shook my head, "Master, so do you have any remote idea as the where the star is now?"
"I might," he flashed a cheeky grin, "But why would I tell you two?"
"We will give you anything," Mycroft stressed, "If the Cybermen get ahold of the White-Point Star, there will be no stopping them."
"Okay," the Master's grin grew even wider and even more mischievous, "I want the TARDIS."
Is the Master too OOC? Do tell. Feedback has never been more welcome, my lovelies.