Author's Note: Why hello, it certainly has been a while. Idk, like a week.
I own nothing. Enjoy!
The silence that ensued scared me in an indescribable way. Perhaps Mycroft erased Sherlock's feeling when he erased his memory, and his drug-induced loopiness was merrily a shadow of his former affections.
But before my melancholic thought processes got any further, I heard a rustling of fabric, and whispery breaths against the back of my neck.
"Sherlock," I sighed, fighting the urge to turn around and face him.
"John," He murmured, even quieter.
I felt the pressure of my friends gangly appendages against my back, as if seeking permission.
I give up, I thought in defeat, twisting my body around to lay on my side. Sherlock stared back at me with comically large eyes. We were so close the tip of his nose brushed against mine.
I reached a tentative arm out and let it rest atop the curve of his waist, holding his there for a few seconds before letting it slide down to the small of his back.
Sherlock started slightly at the touch, but relaxed and curled his own hand around my bicep.
He glanced self-consciously down his nose. I pulled him closer so that we were practically breathing the same air. Sherlock leaned his forehead against mine and slid his hand up to rest at the nape of my neck, running his spidery fingers over the skin.
Some alien creature outside made a low humming noise.
I fell asleep to the sound of the creature and the rhythm of Sherlock's breath.
-oO0Oo-
I woke up in the morning to a face-full of sweet smelling hair.
It took me no less than two minutes to fully remember where I was, and why I was there. Upon realizing that the head my face was buried in Sherlock's and not some insipid excuse for a girlfriend, I sneezed.
You heard me. I sneezed.
Right into my flatmate's hair. At least he didn't wake up.
Thanking whatever alien deity the Abzorbaloffs worshiped for that, I turned my attentions to cataloging my situation.
We were still facing each other, but Sherlock's arms were now wrapped tightly around my waist, and his forehead resting against my collarbone, and his legs were in a tangled mess with mine at the bottom of the blanket. One of my arms encircled his back in a protective gesture, and the other gripped the back of his neck.
Hmm, I could get used to waking up like this, I thought happily, rubbing small circles into his back. Sherlock shifted slightly, and opened his eyes with a lazy flutter.
"G'd mornin' John," he whispered, smiling slightly.
"Good morning Sherlock," I replied, planting a kiss between his eyebrows. Sherlock pretty much purred, and brought up one of his hands pet my hair experimentally.
"It's so fuzzy," he noted, chuckling quietly and continuing to run his fingers through my hair. I smiled at the entire scene and its ridiculousness. You know, Sherlock saying that something was fuzzy, while curled around me, on an alien planet. That is just about as weird as it gets.
"Thanks," I rolled my eyes and grinned. He stretched, reaching one lithe appendage around the back of my head and brushed his lips against the corner of my mouth. All I could do was grin even wider and-
"Everybody up! It's time to- oh, er, sorry boys," Jenny burst through the door of the tent, blushing madly, but then again, so were we. Sherlock and I jumped apart, leaving a six foot space between us.
"Quite alright Jenny," Sherlock assured curtly, folding his long legs into a more discreet position.
"I-I, just wanted to, er, say that we are, well, we're leaving soon and you guys had better get ready," She finished, practically running from the room. The both of us just sat there dumbfounded for a few minutes, before collecting our things, pointedly avoiding the others gaze.
-oO0Oo-
Several thankless hours later we had arrived at the first city on Clom whose name was impossible to pronounce or spell, in complete contrast with the actual planet name (this is ironic because apparently the city and sector names on Raxicoricofallapatorious were quite simple). We were staying at the alien version of a one star motel, but apparently Clom didn't have the FDA.
In short it was gross. And Sherlock and I were trying to distinguish between the giant pit of slime that was the toilet, and the giant pit of slime that was the sink. Whatever the bed was, the floor was at least a nice comforting slab of sandstone. Very relaxing I assure you.
Once we had set out all of that blankets and pillows, and were both sitting atop them, I found that it was (not really) the perfect time to discuss with Sherlock that which had been bothering me since yesterday.
"Sherlock, do you remember when you were all loopy yesterday you mentioned something about the baby not being mine?" I asked gently, as if trying to have a conversation with a deer. Which wasn't too far off judging by how skittish and uncomfortable he looked.
"I really can't talk about this John, I really can't," Sherlock insisted, staring down at the floor.
"And why not?"
"If I tell you that, I will be punished all the same."
"You said you couldn't because Mary would kill you," I tested.
"I can't say John."
"SHERLOCK PLEASE! Please let me help," I exclaimed, grabbing him by the shoulders. Sherlock sighed heavily and hung his head in defeat.
"When I-I found out that your wife, Mary, was trying to extract information from Magnusson before he died, I thought that even in this time of need she wouldn't go straight to threatening his life as I was witness to," he paused, searching my face, "I realized that Mary had been attempting to get that information for years, and would have tried everything to get it back."
"So…" I urged, keeping my face studiously blank and devoid of all the emotions whirling crazily inside me.
"So after we saved parliament from the bomb, she, er, she slept with Magnusson, and Magnusson's child is growing in your wife," he finished. I had been biting my lips so hard it was bleeding. An intense feeling of betrayal permeated my chest, and I felt my indifferent mask crumble into a sobbing mess.
Sherlock immediately reached out and held me against his chest. I felt a little bad soaking his sinfully tight shirt with salty tears and snot. But he never pulled away or spoke until I had gathered myself.
"W-what did sh-she threaten y-you with when she f-f-figured out you knew?" I choked out, swallowing thickly.
"I informed Mary that I was aware of her infidelity and she said that if I spoke a word she would kill me," Sherlock said with clinical detachment.
"Please Sherlock, I-I know you well enough t-to know that your life does not m-mean that much to you," I said truthfully.
"Yes, fine, she threatened to kill Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, then me. I knew she wouldn't kill you, but it was still enough to convince me to keep quiet."
"Well we can't have her arrested for a threat, and if I divorce her, she'll know," I fretted, wondering frantically what I was going to do.
"I will have to call in a favor with Mycroft; he can have her put away somewhere she won't find us, or have her arrested, or anything!" Sherlock insisted. I just nodded, heavy with the knowledge of my wife's betrayal.
"I really loved her you know," I said quietly.
"She loved you too," he replied bitterly.
"Quite a vicious little triangle we have going here eh?" I laughed humorlessly.
"Quite."
-oO0Oo-
Sherlock and I slept back to back that night. Everyone always warns you about going to bed mad, but I don't think it counts if the person you're mad at and should be sleeping with is on another planet. When those types of sentences started applying, I don't know.
I was so, so angry, but at what I couldn't say. That kind of anger, the kind of anger you feel when you find out your lovely wife who shot your little-bit-more than a best friend also cheated on you with the most despicable man that ever lived. And to top it off, your daughter turns out to be his.
So the thought of sleeping, curled up against he-who-is-not-my-wife was a bit too much. But that was just me.
I sighed into the darkness, desperately trying to ignore the pulsing green light emanating from the two different pools of slime. Any wondering I had done about the makeup of that slime had been quickly halted and deleted from my memory with Sherlockian efficiency. Nevertheless, I could still taste bile burning the back of my throat well into night and early morning.
"Sherlock, wake up!" I shook my friend into consciousness, by the shoulder, just to be safe.
"Urgh, Jawn…" he groaned, swatting weakly at my arms.
"Today we are going to reach the capital! Tomorrow we retrieve the diamond and I won't have you sleeping away any of it," I demanded, pulling him to his feet.
"Why are we even here for God's sake!"
"Apparently Mycroft wanted your help in decoding something or other the Master left him, he, Jenny and Vastra deduced it must be in he capital, but that was just about it," I explained, stuffing our meager belongings into the canvas rucksack.
"Master?"
"Oh... I wasn't supposed to tell you that..." I trailed off. Cue mental facepalm.
"Who is the Master? Have you met him?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes, I have met him, but only briefly and it was a very unpleasant experience," I answered vaguely. Hoping beyond hope he would just drop the subject.
"What was he like? Is he smart?"
"He is cocky and a complete smarmy wanker. And yes, he is smart, whip smart, Mycroft smart."
"What does he look like?" Sherlock pressed, furrowing his brow.
"Um, er, tall... and pale, and, uh, darkish hair," I sputtered, wringing my hands nervously.
"Hmm," Sherlock hummed suspiciously, "Well we had better get going, I don't want to be late."
"O-okay," I stammered, following quickly behind.
-oO0Oo-
Some small talk was made during our hike over the countless hills that had suddenly sprung up from the previously flat surface of Clom. But this was the only way you could go to avoid the attentions of the natives. And avoiding their attentions was paramount.
"So, Mycroft," I started, "I was wondering, what is that indecipherable clue this Master fellow left you puzzling over?"
"Soon you shall know," he replied flatly.
"Gee thanks, Yoda," I muttered, rubbing my eyes for the seventh time in the past minute.
"Like, how soon?" Sherlock chimed in, taking a quick brake from his petulant silence.
"The Doctor said soon now quit your blathering!" Vastra snapped, nearly dropping her bag in annoyance.
"Calm down dear, we have dragged them halfway across another planet with telling them what they're doing here," Jenny soothed, hugging the alien's arm.
"Fine, fine. Men just annoy he hell out of me, at least the Doctor has his manners," Vastra agreed.
"Why do you keep calling him the Doctor? I thought his name is Mycroft, and even I'm not that bad with names to mix up the two," Sherlock pointed out.
Jenny and Vastra both opened their mouths to answer, but were quickly cut off by the Timelord himself.
"I am called the Doctor by my otherworldly or other-timely friends because I used to do quite a bit of world saving and universe rescuing," Mycroft answered swiftly and firmly.
Sherlock grunted, but had enough sense to stay his mouth.
-oO0Oo-
The capital city of Clom had no distinguishable inn or hotel, so we were stuck sleeping in a discreet, and strangely comforting alleyway. Apparently Clom did not suffer from the pains of homelessness or vandals, as it was completely empty, and eerily clean.
"Well, do we get to see our clue now?" Sherlock demanded impatiently. Mycroft sighed and pulled a small notebook from the inside of his jacket. He skimmed through the pages before handing it to Sherlock.
"Well, this is most interesting," he mumbled.
"Let me see!" I snatched the booklet from his hands and read the small poem/rhyme.
Good tidings ye who came this far
For pristine coats this trek would mar
On a planet ruled by messy bog
The capital would clear such fog
But deep inside, nine metres long
You shall find your musings wrong
"Well if this isn't insanely tacky and overdone I don't know what is," I muttered.
"You did say the Master was an arrogant smarmy wanker," Sherlock grinned. Mycroft too smiled at this, and took his book back.
"He always did have a flair for the dramatics," the Timelord observed.
You could practically see the gears turning in Sherlock's head as he picked apart every aspect of the little rhyme.
"Have you got anything?" Jenny asked quietly.
"This entire trip has been for naught."
I spent waaaaaaay to much time writing that poem thing. I am sorry about any cheesiness. I am not much of writer to be honest.