...And believe me I am still alive! I'm doing school work and I'm still alive! I'm typing stories (kind of) and I'm still alive! I not updating but I'm still alive!
Still alive!
Still alive...
For those who didn't get that go look up Portal 'Still Alive' and then you'll get it.
Okay, back to the story!
Last time we partook on this journey we had the Doctor and Donna (and Jack) facing off against adorable tiny humans and then Molly made an appearance and then the Doctor was all like,
"You're not human, are you?" And Molly was all like,
"I don't know what you're talking about." And Jack and Donna were all like,
"Okay, let's be ready in case something weird happens." And I was all like,
"Greeeeeeat, I don't know where to go with this anymore...guess I'll go back to Sherlock and John" And you guys were all like,
"..." Because I don't know what you guys were all like. So there we go, everybody's back up to speed.
As mentioned above, this chapter is about John and Mary and Sherlock and Mycroft. So just hold on, Whovians, we'll get back to the Doctor...eventually...
Enjoy!
Still don't own BBC Sherlock or Doctor Who but if you guys know someone who does, we need to get some fanfiction ideas to them because...well...why not?
Mary knocked on the door frame of the hospital room. She couldn't believe that John was awake and ready to go home. The couple had been with each other non-stop since the army doctor had woken up.
"Hey, you," she said with a smile. John looked up from buttoning his shirt,
"Hey!" He replied as he straightened up,
"You ready to go home?" Mary asked as her smile grew brighter,
"More than you would know." John answered as he kissed her. The three endless days that he had spent awake in the hospital were becoming no more than a dreadful memory now. A nurse stopped behind the couple and stood awkwardly waiting for them to break physical contact,
"Ahem." She cleared her throat rather loudly. The Watsons parted abruptly and turned to her,
"Sorry," John said with a slight blush running up his neck, "yes? Can I help you?" He asked quickly as Mary giggled beside him. The nurse smiled,
"Just a quick reminder that we want you back in three days just so we can check up on you and see how it's going." She smiled again, "Have a great day!"
"You too!" Mary replied and the nurse disappeared into another room, "Home?" She asked her husband. The army doctor offered her his arm,
"Home it is!" The two left the hospital and had just gotten into a cab before John suddenly turned to his wife, "Did Sherlock know I was leaving today?" Mary couldn't help but grin,
"I'm sure he'll figure it out eventually." Watson looked accusingly at his bride, "What?" she asked with an even wider smile now, "He didn't answer his phone!" John rolled his eyes,
"Of course he didn't," he muttered before sinking back against the seat with Mary's head resting on his shoulder. He was just glad to be going home.
…
"Sherlock Holmes here to see Doctor Watson," The nurse looked up at the tall man. He had been in here before and she was use to seeing his thin face and dark circles under his eyes but today he looked worse,
"Ummm," she clicked away on her keyboard for a few moments, "He…checked out this morning, I'm afraid you've just missed them." Sherlock blinked a few times,
"Oh," he paused, "thank you." The Detective turned and walked out of the hospital with the nurse's worried eyes on his back. Sherlock could feel her watching him and he was determined to make it outside and out of her line of sight before he collapsed, or before Mycroft realized that he wasn't back at 221B resting. He successfully made it out to the parking lot and headed towards the road to hail a cab. His head was filled with a dull throbbing as well as a strange empty lightness and his chest felt like it was afire. All in all he felt terrible, and he was certain he looked just about as bad as he felt. He took another step and stumbled. He would've fallen if an arm hadn't grabbed him,
"Steady, brother mine." The smooth voice said gently. The Detective groaned,
"Not related," he grunted. Mycroft made no reply but the Detective found himself standing in the middle of his bedroom. He glanced around with some disgust but flopped down on the bed nonetheless. Mycroft stood silently over him for a few minutes watching Sherlock kick off his shoes which fell onto the floor. The remains of the TARDIS rolled its eyes before seizing the end of the covers and settling them over the time lord's body.
"Get some rest, Detective. You'll feel better in a few days." He assured the Detective,
"…Every regeneration is different…" Sherlock muttered. Why did he feel so darn tired?! Mycroft smiled,
"That's true, no telling how this will end up. It's not like I'm a living machine that can see all of time and space, after all."
"That was sarcasm." Sherlock said into the pillow. Mycroft rolled his eyes again,
"Oh, you're still observant, then. Good, I thought you were turning into an idiot."
"More sarcasm." Mycroft sighed and pushed the black curls away from the hard eyes that glared up in his direction.
"Sleep, Detective, it will do you good." Sherlock didn't answer but Mycroft didn't expect him to. The time lord waited until Mycroft had left (probably going back to Diogenes Club before Anthea discovered he was gone) before feeling in his pockets for his mobile. Once he had successfully found it he punched in the Watson's phone number and waited. The third ring was cut short and then a moment of silence before the Detective heard John's voice,
"Hello?" The wave of emotion that hit the alien surprised him, just hearing John again was filling him with sentiment. He wondered when he had started to care so much,
"Hello, John." Sherlock answered into the phone,
"Oh! Sherlock! It's great to hear from you, mate! Mary said that you weren't doing too well since I went to the hospital, how are you feeling?" Typical Dr. Watson, always thinking of others' health despite the fact that he had just woken up from a coma,
"I'm fine, how are you and Mary doing?" Sherlock was trying to get off the subject of his health. He didn't want John to find out that he was different. Why the Detective wanted to keep it a secret he wasn't exactly sure but he felt that, for now, it was probably the best course of action.
"Mary's great, the baby's great, I'm great, everything's pretty much great over here," John answered cheerfully, "I mean, there have been some ups and downs but it seems like it's gonna be smooth sailing from here on out."
"Glad to hear it, John. I'm surprised at how rapidly you seem to be recovering from this."
"Yep, well, the doctor wants me back in a few days just for a checkup. They'll be doing those pretty regularly for a while I think."
"Mmm, dull."
"Oh yes," John drawled sarcastically, "so unbelievably dull." Sherlock chuckled,
"But necessary?" He asked,
"Yeah, considering that I was in a coma for a while I'd say that frequent visits to a doctor are pretty necessary at this point in time."
"Still dull." John laughed,
"Yes, unfortunately, they still haven't figured out a way to make doctor appointments interesting by your standards." Sherlock smiled again; this was the John Watson he knew…at least-
"John, I'm sorry, but I have to go. Mary would kill me if she found out that I was keeping you from getting rest." John laughed again,
"Actually, you're right, she probably would." The army doctor agreed, "Alrighty, then, I'll catch you later…or, you know, maybe I won't. It depends on how generous Mary's feeling." Sherlock smiled,
"Bye, John,"
"Ciao!" The call ended and Sherlock lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Doctor John Watson…Doctor John Watson…Sherlock let his eyes fall shut and retreated back into his mind palace.
The whole place was a mess; there were papers and books everywhere. The different people in his mind palace where sorting through the confusion trying to organize everything. Molly was hunting through boxes, trying to find what the Detective wanted,
"Here it is!" She shouted suddenly and waved a brown leather book in the air. Sherlock walked over to her and took the book. He opened it up and the whole room around him changed. He stood in a large white circular room with seats lining the walls. At each of these chairs there stood a man; Sherlock looked around him slowly at each man.
"How are you possible, John?" One of the men turned,
"I'm not sure, Holmes, that's why you're here." Sherlock moved closer to the man,
"I'm a time lord, I can regenerate. You, on the other hand, can't because you're human. So, that being said, why have I met you over and over and over again?" Watson fingered his mustache,
"Sherlock," a voice came from the other side of the room. Sherlock turned to face modern-day John, "I don't mean to interrupt you but Mrs. Hudson's coming up the stairs." Sherlock shook his head,
"Unimportant, my door's closed and locked so she won't come in. I'm busy thinking and don't need distractions. Please pay attention." He looked around him slowly. The men around him continued to stare at him blankly. Typical Dr. John Watson, the story writer just waiting for Sherlock Holmes to shed light on the problems so he could record it for a story. But, after all, that's all Sherlock Holmes was: a story. Also, John wasn't the only one who seemed to enjoy frequent visits throughout the consulting detective's time lines. Mrs. Hutson, Mary, Lestrade, even Anderson had made themselves familiar to him before, even if just in name. Mullin had been saved to the TARDIS' databanks and had only just returned to being 'physical'.
The Detective looked around again, this was getting him nowhere. He needed to look into the past. He was in a tunnel suddenly with the walls flying past him until he held up his hand to stop them. He was in the earth year 1880. The year he first became human to hide from 'The Family'. He replayed the scene in his head his TARDIS crashing into the planet and just a few days later he was solving crimes. Six years later he had met Sir Arthur Doyle who had published a book about him based on the narrative accounts given to him by Dr. Watson. There was a reason why people believed that Sherlock Holmes was a fictional character and for that same reason he was never mentioned in the police reports. To them, it was impossible for such a man to exist throughout all of history. The Detective smirked before moving his memories forward a few years. Watson had passed away, he remembered, traveling forward even further found himself on death's door. That was when Mycroft had shown him the watch and given him his memories back. He had regenerated.
The fact that 'The Family' had killed a time agent and stolen a damaged, but usable, time vortex manipulator had made it so they each could take a trip forwards in time. No telling how far they could or would go so the Detective had been forced into hiding for decades.
Mycroft appeared silently and stepped forward, Sherlock's brain activity was far too high for him to be sleeping. The machine looked down at his responsibility. With gentleness that no one would've ever thought Mycroft Holmes capable of he placed his hands on either side of the Detective's head. Sherlock's eyes shot open in protest but a second later he went limp as a forced sleep washed over him.
...
Mary sat up and glanced at the clock. It read 6:27, no point in going back to sleep for three minutes she decided as she switched off the alarm. John shifted slightly next to her and she kissed him on the forehead. It was so good to have him home. She smiled as she slowly eased her way out of bed so as not to wake him up. Once out of the bed room she couldn't help but notice how dark the living room was. The curtains were drawn tightly closed and the lamps were all turned off. She stumbled over to the nearest lamp and tried to switch it on but nothing happened. She bent down and groped on the floor for a few seconds before finding the plug lying on the floor. It was as if someone had unplugged the lamp like they were afraid it would suddenly light up the room even after they had turned it off. Mary made her way over to the windows and pushed the curtains open. The grey blue morning light streamed in, more than happy to make the room seeable again. Mrs. Watson nodded in satisfaction at the London streets before turning back to the living room. She froze.
Scattered all over the room were apples. At least two dozen deep red apples stared back at her from the floor, sofa, coffee table, kitchen counter, and TV cabinet. Each apple had something carved into it; a crude circle filled with lines and more circles. Some designs were simple and others were more complex but whoever had done it had spent a lot of time on them. Mary moved as if in a dream over to the coffee table and picked up an apple. This one wasn't so neatly done as the others; the circle looked more like a crushed oval and a majority of the design was lost. This was because it was covered by the black handle of one of the Watson's kitchen knives which was stuck fast into the middle of the apple with the blade running straight through with the point jutting out on the other side.
Apples...apples are rubbish...
Please let me know what you guys thought of this chapter!
Also, speaking of apples, a shout-out to my sis, ThePro-LifeCatholic for coming up with such an amazing idea. Her stories are truly amazing. Why are you still reading this? Go check out her stories!
~SimmonsButterflys