Author's Note: Here we are again. Time for the Fifteenth Chapter. I need a life. Just kidding, this is a totally legitimate pastime...right?
I own nothing.
"Whadaya' mean 'all for naught'?" I exclaimed, ever so slightly miffed that this hellish journey was meaningless.
"Yes Sherlock, we are all anxiously awaiting your explanation," Mycroft agreed, giving me a side-long glance.
"This line, 'Deep inside, nine metres long', followed by the line 'You shall find your musings wrong', is indicative of something I don't think any of you will like," Sherlock said ambiguously.
"Okay, lovely, now do you mind doing perhaps a tad more explaining?" Vastra rushed.
"It involves tracking the Master back down," he tested, searching everyone's face.
"Oh, god," I sighed as realization hit, "We're going to have to do it again!?" I whined, looking over to find Mycroft making a face that described my own feelings exactly. Sherlock stared at the both of us strangely.
"Nothing Sherlock, do continue," Mycroft waved his hand.
"Anyway, I believe that the Master has, well, swallowed the star."
"What!? Why!?" Jenny asked.
"Well," Sherlock started, "Deep inside, nine metres long, it sounds like his large intestine to me."
"Okay then," Vastra clapped her hands, "We have some thinking to do."
-oO0Oo-
Two hours later, all five of us were pacing down and back the length of the alley, all of us focused heavily on the task at hand. Vastra and Jenny were muttering quietly to themselves and each other whenever they paused their walking, Sherlock was poking at his stomach experimentally tripping over the bags every now and then; Mycroft was staring down at his feet as they beat the strange, smooth pavement, and I was tugging at the edge of my soiled jumper.
"If the star is as large as you say it is Mycroft, it would remain in the Master's body at least a month, when do you think he could have swallowed it?" Sherlock inquired, standing completely still.
"Several days ago, when I first spoke with him, he was giving up nothing, but halfway through the same conversation he admitted he did know something, there was a time in which neither John nor I were watching him," the Timelord supplied.
"So, he had the star with him, hiding it, perhaps in a pocket or his palm, those places were too obvious and he didn't feel safe giving out hints, so when the two of you aren't watching, he swallows it, knows you'll never guess that, becomes arrogant smarmy wanker," Sherlock finished, gazing up at what he thought was his brother for approval.
"No, no, no, he couldn't have had the star before the conversation, it is completely impossible," Mycroft dismissed. I nodded to validate his claim.
"How can you be so sure?" the detective pressed, clearly not convinced.
"We, er, do you think we should tell him?" I asked, tired of the secret business.
"Very well, do what you wish John," Mycroft relented, waving Jenny and Vastra over to our huddle.
"Tell me what? Does it concern the Master? How so?" Sherlock gushed, eager to be on the receiving end of information that would be vital to his investigation.
"Yes it does concern the Master, because," I paused anxiously, "You are the Master."
"What!?" Sherlock looked at me as if I was absolutely bonkers. I just gave a sage nod in affirmation.
"You are all mad. Totally completely and utterly stark raving mad," he accused.
"Sherlock, I trapped your consciousness as the Master inside of a watch because you were trying to take over the world, I had to let you out in order to find the White-Point Star," Mycroft summed up. Sherlock's face was blanker than I had ever seen it. This was not going to over well.
-oO0Oo-
After what felt like, and probably was, hours, the alley was silent. No one was talking about the space-time continuum or arguing the existence of extra-terrestrial life. Mycroft was silent, Jenny was silent, I was silent, Sherlock was almost silent. Save for the quick, shallow breaths the detective was heaving a an unnatural rate, it was silent.
And it scared the crap out of me.
"So, my entire life, was a lie?" Sherlock asked timidly.
"Oh, god Sherlock please don't go into some sort of existential crisis right now! At least don't use such an overworked and abused phrase," Mycroft chastised.
"Mycroft," I warned, "We did just tell him he is an alien."
"He was an alien, he is perfectly human now!" Mycroft bellowed, frustrated by his so-called brother's lack of compliance.
"Just, be a bit more, not scream-y," I advised, sending a concerned glance Sherlock's way.
"So, the White-Point Star is in my intestinal tract?" he muttered quietly, rubbing his stomach.
"It would seem so," I agreed, "I can't believe I went through this entire journey just to find out that my flatmate ate a condensed bit of carbon that sparkles."
Said flatmate only snorted in response.
"The only question that remains is when did the Master consume the star?" Jenny rubbed at her temples.
"Maybe in the flat, he was bluffing about knowing where it was, and later, when I was bringing him back to the Diogenes Club he acquired it and swallowed it," Mycroft theorized loosening his god-awful tie.
"Unlikely," Sherlock stated, much to everyone's surprise, "I doubt that you of all people wouldn't notice me-er, him thieving such a precious stone and then proceeding to eat it."
"What does it matter how he got the star we just need it now and we know where it is," Vastra cut to the point, "The Cybermen will be on us soon and we need to dispose of it."
"You're right, but we do not have the tools to remove the star at hand," I pointed out, before adding, perhaps a bit quieter, "Why can't we just let it, complete its course?"
Even Sherlock blushed a bit at that.
"Please John, the Cybermen have already locked onto the star's location and they are not a patient folk, their methods of acquiring it will not be so eloquent. And, the diamond is the very definition of of untainted power, if it stays in his system for long, the situation would dire," Mycroft reminded.
"Please do not tell me that you are going to have John cut open my abdomen and retrieve a diamond from my large intestine," Sherlock deadpanned, but shot Mycroft a worried look.
"I'm afraid so," I confirmed, giving his shoulder a squeeze.
"It seems a bit, extreme," the detective sputtered, looking strangely vulnerable.
"Would you rather have your boyfriend cut you up with a sterile knife and antiseptic, have a rust covered cyborg pull your organs out with its bare hands, or let it burn you insides to a crisp also resulting in your untimely death?" Vastra said.
"Did I ask for nutshelling? No," Sherlock whined, "I am just very adverse to the idea that someone is going to slice up my intestines to get at some sparkly chunk of carbon as John put it!"
"Not his boyfriend," I mumbled halfheartedly.
"Listen Sherlock," Jenny spoke soothingly, "It's do or die, if we don't remove the star soon and destroy it, the Cybermen will use their own means to obtain it, and, well, you'll die anyway if we don't," She finished awkwardly.
"I have to agree," Mycroft interjected, "The Cybermen have been hot on our trail the entire time, I thought it was just because they knew we were after it, but they seem to have developed the technology to detect its presence and this worries me greatly."
"Well if they're so close then how are we supposed to find a sterile area and professional equipment in time?" Sherlock snapped, "I for one am not a fan of being lobotomized in an alien alleyway with the most sterile thing being the goddamn bean tin!"
"We'll sort something out, don't worry," I tried to reassure him but found my own voice wavering.
"How, pray tell?" my flatmate demanded, "Because ideas would be really great right now. What are you even going to do with the star once you've retrieved it? It's a diamond and hiding it probably won't work."
Mycroft pulled a small black rectangle about the size of a remote from his waistcoat. There was a single indentation in its center, marked by a small glowing power sign.
"I nicked this a while back, I wasn't sure what I was going to use it for, but it has found its purpose now," he looked at it with a kind of distaste, "It tears a hole in the fabric of this universe, if we throw the star into the hole, it will live an eternity between dimensions, which is good since you can't move through that like you used to."
"So you press the button on that thing and you can throw away anything and no one can ever get it out?" I asked, fascinated.
"Pretty much," Mycroft nodded, "But I plan to throw this into their as well, it could become dangerous if such a device were to fall into the wrong hands."
"That makes sense," Vastra said, "Though we are getting a bit off topic, what are we going to do about Sherlock?"
"The Abzorbaloffs have little need for surgery or hospitals of any kind, they receive all the nourishment they need from the people they absorb, but occasionally the people they do take in are suffering from a terminal illness and it does transfer, so the physical aspect of that person is cut out, but the technology is crude and it if oftentimes unsuccessful," Jenny explained, as if reading from an encyclopedia.
"We just need the tools and the areas, not the surgeons, are they at least sterile?" I queried.
"Like I said, few Abzorbaloffs are in need of treatment, as absorbing the terminally ill is a desperate mans practice, so even if they do become sick they are oftentimes unable to pay for the services," the small brunette continued, "So, the Abzorbaloffs are by nature not a very tidy race, but their surgical appliances are likely to be relatively clean as a result of their disuse. They will also be similar to ours as a result of the planets proximity and the Abzorbaloffs own inability to come up with their own original technology."
"All I got from that was that we can use them," I smiled; glad to have finally made some progress, "Well, what are we waiting for?"
-oO0Oo-
It took us an hour to find the hospital-like building. Without the TARDIS, we couldn't read what any of the signs all around the city said, not to mention the fact that we couldn't let ourselves be seen by the strange and flabby natives.
Luckily though, Mycroft had a rudimentary knowledge of the language and was able to finally direct us towards a small, quaint little structure cowering in the shadow of a nearby skyscraper.
"You see, in the language of this sector, the root word stigvi means heal, and the root word tahngr means place," Mycroft explained, "So Stigvtahngare is their word for healing-place, or hospital. Not that much healing goes on here."
"As fascinating as that it is, we really need to get in there, do you think anyone's home?" Vastra urged, surveying our destination.
"Unlikely, the lights are out and there is no, er, well, no screaming," the Timelord said bitterly.
"Why would there be screaming? Don't they have a form of procaine!?" Sherlock fretted. He was already horribly uneasy about the entire ordeal, and the thought of having his bowels butchered fully conscious without painkiller couldn't be a helpful thought.
"Of course they have a numbing agent, the patients aren't the ones screaming, it's the people being removed," an angry look flitted across Mycroft's face before settling back into its usual cool indifference.
"What about security? At least these things keep the place locked up?" I brought up, craning my neck to get a good look at the entrance.
"Yes, there is security but is light and easily surpassed," he pulled an intricately carved metal rod from pocket, "This should to the trick."
Not really a cliffhanger, but I was feeling nice today sooo, until next time!