I post eleventh chapters now...eleventh chapters are cool! Not dead, big surprise, moving on.
IT'S CHRISTMAS TIME! And for Christmas I'm giving you a chapter that stars two characters! Which is why it's so unbelievably long. Anyway, because this is two different people it might be a bit confusing so if you have any questions please don't be afraid to ask and I'll try and clear up anything that is misunderstood or left out on my part.
Enjoy and Merry Christmas!
Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock or Doctor Who
John staggered backwards, "You?" He breathed, "What? What are you, then?"
The woman smiled venomously at him, "Well…I was the person that you came to in your time of need. I was the one to whom you whispered all your secrets, revealed all your weaknesses. I am the high command, and you showed me who I was." John found that this didn't help at all,
"…So who are you?"
"I am a virus. I am the one who put you into a perfect world of perfect happiness."
...
Sherlock attempted to forget about the watch again. He lounged in his chair with his chin resting on his folded hands. The wall had a new assortment of holes and his phone had gathered a collection of texts from Lestrade that he hadn't bothered to answer. The phone buzzed now and with long, white fingers Sherlock slowly picked it up. The newest text was from Mycroft:
Sherlock, you haven't moved for half an hour, are you alright? MH
Sherlock leaned forward in his chair and scanned the room before texting back:
Are you spying on me? I've got nothing better to do right now, I'm relaxing. SH
The phone buzzed again:
What about the case, have you found anything useful? MH
You're avoiding the first question, Brother Mine. I'm stepping back from the problem. It's very confusing and I'm not entirely sure where to begin. SH
What's confusing you, Little Brother? MH
I've never seen this watch and yet my fingerprints are all too obviously on its outer case; that's number one on the long list of confusing properties of this puzzle. SH
There was a pause of ten minutes before Mycroft replied:
Have you looked inside yet? You might find out who it belongs to if you look within the watch. MH
I haven't looked inside yet, but I will eventually. I'm going to eat something before you incarcerate me again. SH
Very well, Brother Mine, I'll talk to you later. MH
Sherlock didn't bother to reply; his brother would already be starting to think of his other 99 problems.
"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson called from down stairs, "I'm going to the store, do you need anything?" Sherlock scanned his brain quickly, going through a mental list of all the groceries that he had in stock.
"Perhaps if you find a thermometer you could pick that up for me. My last one exploded about two weeks ago. That's all I can think of!" He called back. There was the sound of his landlady muttering something and then the door of 221B closing behind her. Neither knew it at the time but it was going to be a while before Sherlock spoke to Mrs. Hudson again.
Sherlock prepared himself a small meal, thereby following his brother's instructions and still avoiding following his brother's instructions at the same time. After this he worked for another hour on trying to trace the watch back to its origin and looking up information about a certain Donna Noble. He closed the laptop with a sigh, letting his eyes wander to the clock. Sherlock fingered the watch, "What are you?" he asked quietly. A feeling of dread filled him as he placed the tips of his fingers on the release button; with a final deep breath he pushed it open.
…
"You made me like this?!" John demanded, "Why? What could you possibly have to gain from all this? Who are you?"
"Me?" The woman asked gently as she paced towards him with her high-heels clicking loudly on the white floor, "I am a work of art." She hissed as she got a little too close to John for his comfort. He took a step back.
"What do you want me for? Why have you done this?"
The figure changed for a millisecond. The curves and long hair vanished and a shadowy form took their place. John caught a glimpse of a rumpled suite and a poster of power. Then it was gone and his "therapist" was practically nose to nose with him. The army doctor felt the wall against his back.
"I need to survive. You have given me life, John Watson. A patient for a doctor and I will be sure to recommend you to all my friends…if you live long enough for that sort of thing." She hissed with a shrug. John blinked,
"Are you living off of me?" He asked at last.
"No." The reply came quickly, "I'm taking over you. You and your pathetic mortal body are now in my possession and, with just a bit more patience on my part, I'll soon be able to move, talk, and think on my own. You will be my shell until I burn you out and then I'll simply get another body…maybe Mary's will do." John tensed,
"Stay away from Mary." He growled through clenched teeth and made a spring at the slim figure. She was quicker though; in a fluid motion she had him against the wall with one arm pinning him back. Her free hand was inches away from his forehead.
"Don't worry. If you simply relax you won't feel a thing and besides, if Sherlock hasn't come for you now then he probably never will." She smiled in triumph as doubt clouded her victim's eyes, "Why, John? Why would he let you and Mary suffer if he cared? Why hasn't he come? Is he even real?"
…
Sherlock desperately wanted to drop the watch but found to his horror that he could not. Gold light flared out of the small object. It sunk into him with violent movements, thrashing itself into his skin. He felt his body being jerked mercilessly around and his mind palace crashing around his ears. The world became a meaningless blur of shapeless objects and undistinguishable colors. He screamed and pain soared through him, climbing into his mind, bursting through any thoughts, emptying his mind palace and rebuilding. Sherlock opened his eyes wide as new strength filled him. His eyes flared gold light. He stood straighter, taller, prouder, and more terrified than he had ever stood before. New thoughts and meanings bore their way into his mind and, suddenly, everything made sense.
He was the Detective. His eyes darted to the mirror, watching as the mask of Sherlock Holmes fell away and a tear traveled down his cheek. The terrible truth was becoming evident: Sherlock Holmes was a fake. The watch went cold and he let it drop from his hand, it was a useless empty container now. The Detective looked towards the ceiling and let his eyes fall closed. He stretched out his arms letting the golden light travel through his veins; there was no point for him to fight back. This was natural. More pain shot through him as he felt his single heart separate into two, his lungs burned, and he was giving into it. He fell to his knees, the burst of energy was fading and he lacked the strength to hold himself up any longer. Good thing Mrs. Hudson wasn't home, she wouldn't like what he had done to the flat; everything was a mess.
Gold spouted from his hands. He was returning to his regular biology; no outward change, just interior. Tears streamed freely down his face. He forced his eyes open to see the blurry figure of Mycroft appear and stepped quickly forward. The Detective tried to back away, not out of fear but instinct; a Time Lord is at a vulnerable state like this. Memories flooded his head and he was flung back by an unseen force. His body crashed against the wall with more light ripping through him. William Sherlock Scott Holmes was being stripped from him like a shell from a hermit crab, exposing him to the world and it was a painful process.
"Sleep, Detective." Came Mycroft's voice and the Detective felt two hands being placed on either side of his head. A feeling of panic shot through him as Mycroft caused slumber to descend upon him. This wasn't safe, his survival instincts screamed at him. The voice of his "older brother" calmed his thoughts; Mycroft was there, nothing was going to happen to him, "It's all going to be okay, Detective…" Mycroft murmured into the man's hair as he slumped forward. The older man gently soothed the sufferer into sleep, "It's all okay…You're safe. You're back."
…
The therapist's eyes shot wide open and she staggered back with a scream, clutching her head. John found himself in the hospital, the real hospital. Mary sat at the end on his bed with her head bent over her book. He heard the heart monitors speed up, matching his heart rate. Mary's head shot up as his eyes closed and he returned to his land of nightmares.
The therapist was panting, her whole body shook and her eyes shouted rage.
"NO! NO! NO! TOO SOON! I'm not ready, yet! I still need time!" She groaned and reached forward, as if trying to grasp the one thing she lacked. John stared at the white wall of the room. The style of the room was set up so that he couldn't quite tell where the floor ended and the wall began. It almost looked like you could run right through it; so he tried. He rushed past the virus, charged towards the wall, and then into it. The therapist screamed again and he felt her fingernails claw and catch the back of his coat. He struggled to pull free, take the jacket off, anything but he felt himself slowly being pulled back. He was suddenly torn backwards and he landed in the middle of his imaginary park. The whole place was empty and he was alone.
"Sherlock! Mary!" He cried up to the trees above him, "Please, help me! Someone! Anyone! Please, help me!" He dropped to the ground and gave himself up. No one was coming, no one could hear him, and it was pointless to carry on like this. He was alone. Yet, John couldn't help looking up again at the blue-grey sky with a final plea, "Please, I want to go home."
…
Mycroft was leaning over the slim form of his "brother" who he had moved onto the sofa. The Detective awoke every now and again with a gasp of pain and a flash of gold light; when this happened Mycroft simply put him back to sleep. Now, he sat wondering if the unconscious man were going to wake up again. The light just under his skin had dimmed considerably until it was hardly noticeable; he still had to heal but it was now important that he get up and move around.
"Detective," He muttered as he prodded the shoulder of the sleeper awkwardly, "Detective, time to get up. You must move around or else something might develop wrong. Mary called…" Sherlock's eyes shot open at the sound of his friend's name. He looked wildly around him for a second before he focused on Mycroft. Sherlock breathed one word,
"John."
Yes, John Watson is definitely in danger.