Oh my sweet Gallifrey. THIS. IS. BRILLIANT.
:O whoever came up with this deserves all the awards
SOMEONE NEEDS TO WRITE THE FANFICTION FOR THIS RIGHT NOW. RIGHT NOW.
The man in front of Sherlock smirked, walking up to him with a cold, dark emptiness inside his eyes. He reminded the detective of another man who normally had that look, that strange knowledge that they had control over something you didn’t.
“Hello, Sherlock. Don’t think we’ve met before.”
“Pleasure.” Sherlock replied, his voice steady. The game had begun.
Sherlock loved games.
“Though I have met your Doctor. He’s a clever one, you know.”
Sherlock didn’t have to think twice about which man he was talking about. Only one of them would have met the alien standing in front of him. Yet the man wasn’t quite alien. There was something he had missed, something vital. Yet every time he reached for it it slipped out of his grasp, leaving his mind frustrated.
“I suppose you already know we’re playing a game, don’t you? Of course you do. The Doctor knows everything there is to know about you. And I know what he thinks of you. I’ve been inside his mind, you see. I bet you want to know what he thinks.”
Sherlock glared at the man who was trying to confuse him. He wasn’t lying. He did know the Doctor. He had that ageless look in his eyes, that infinite amount of time and space. But hatred and fear and spite overtook it all, burning quietly for now, as the game was only just getting started.
“Yes, look at you! You’re desperate to know. And I will tell you, I promise. But first we’re going to play the game.”
Sherlock’s surroundings melted away from around him, twisting into a street he did not recognize. But the man hadn’t moved, merely looking around and smiling.
“Can you believe we’re in London? There are so many streets here, though…” He paused, expression changing to form fake thought, “I suppose you probably know them all already.”
And then that smirk returned and the man vanished into nothing. Thoughts and theories as to what was happening flooded Sherlock’s mind, and he turned on the spot, looking around, searching his brain for answers.
His fast train of thought abruptly halted at the sight of a man across the road. He moved quickly towards him, and John smiled, before becoming confused.
“Hey! Why are you here-“
John stopped talking, staring at the taller man in concentration.
The man looked up at him, eyes searching, aware of something he couldn’t quite remember.
“Sorry, but who are you again?”
A freezing chill rippled through Sherlock’s body.
John did not know who he was.
“It’s Sherlock.” He said, hopeful that it would spark some memory in his friend. John shook his head.
“Nope. Never met you before. Sorry. You must have the wrong person.”
And with a brief smile the man walked away from him, carrying on with his day.
The man he was playing the game with appeared by his side, mock disappointment on his face.
“Oh dear, that didn’t go to well, did it?”
Sherlock turned to face him, analysing, studying. He needed to know who this alien-not-alien person was. He needed to know his weaknesses. His strengths. He just needed to have some more data.
“Oh, and by the way, I’m the Dream Lord.” The man said, reading his thoughts.
Sherlock woke up, shuddering. He sat up in his bed, looking around blearily for the light switch. He found it, and the sudden light burned his eyes. The clock on the wall said 11 o’clock. Sighing, he climbed out of bed and left his room, walking into a spacious, clean hallway.
He wandered around the house, loosely holding a book which he had found abandoned on the floor outside Mycroft’s room. Mycroft was so lazy sometimes, never putting things away.
He walked out of the house through the front door, finding a young man wearing a bow tie and a nice hat. The man smiled at him.
“Hello.” Sherlock said politely. Mummy did like him to be polite.
“Hello.” The man said, before turning and walking to a blue box. Sherlock watched as he opened the door, disappearing inside.
Sherlock’s curiosity got the better of him, and he walked up the the tall blue machine gingerly, wishing he had put on some slippers. It was cold. He stood in front of the machine, and knocked on the door lightly, twice, before taking a step back.
The strange man opened it, looking at him.
Sherlock looked up at him, keen eyes shining brightly in the darkness.
“You’re going on an adventure.” He stated proudly. The man laughed.
“Yes, I suppose I am. How do you know that?”
Sherlock ignored him, continuing his deduction.
“That’s a spaceship. Or a time ship.”
The man laughed in surprise, a genuine laugh.
“You’re right. How do you know all that then?”
“Your eyes look old. Really old. And you smell of adventure.”
This caused the man to laugh some more, grinning.
“I smell of adventure? What does it smell like?”
“It smells like…” Sherlock froze, the warm, nice smell drifting away, replaced by the smell of chlorine, a swimming pool.
When he turned around, he was no longer the boy who had just met the Doctor. He was a man who was facing his most brilliant enemy.
He felt himself relive the memories of the pool, Moriarty’s vicious smile, John’s selflessness and loyalty and caring, and he felt the weight of the gun in his hand, so close to destroying everything, Moriarty, John, even himself.
He pulled the trigger, and then the next thing he remembered was being surrounded by a familiar smell, an old smell. When he opened his eyes, however, the first thing he looked for was John. Adventure didn’t matter right now. John did.
John grinned at him sleepily, sitting in an old armchair wearing some sort of poncho.
“Thanks for nearly killing us, you idiot.”
Then another man appeared, a man which Sherlock recognised instantly. The man with timeless, ageless eyes, and the smell which made him want to see everything and know everything. He smiled a little, the corner of his mouth turning up.
Sherlock looked at him, and time froze around him. The man who he had seen only once before had suddenly reappeared, and even though Sherlock had known of him his whole life, he still seemed new, fresh, something he hadn’t ever seen before.
“I’m the Doctor. And from what I’ve heard you are Sherlock.”
Sherlock nodded, at slight loss for words. The Doctor gave him a boyish grin.
“Welcome to the ship that travels in space and time.”
And then years had passed, and Sherlock found himself loving both the man from space and the man from London. They were two people he could trust, people who he could rely on. It was something quite different for him, to have people who he trust and who trusted him in return. Previously he would have avoided the situation at all costs but now life had changed.
All of this happened within minutes, like a film playing much faster than normal. When it stopped he found himself disorientated, and he stumbled slightly.
The walls melted around him, and he found himself in the TARDIS. He watched as the Doctor dashed around, plucking books from shelves as he looked for something.
“Can I help?” He asked, curious as to why the Doctor would be in such a hurry to find something.
The Time Lord turned to face him, eyes narrowed and angry, and he walked towards Sherlock slowly.
“Why are you here?” It sounded forced, as if each word were a waste of his time.
“I don’t know, I-“
“I don’t care.” The Doctor moved over to the console agilely and flew the TARDIS in silence. Sherlock didn’t speak, confused. The Doctor opened the door which revealed London, and Sherlock left quietly, hovering outside the time machine, wanting a reason for what was happening and why.
It’s the game, somewhere inside him whispered. It’s not real.
He ignored it.
“I don’t ever want to see you again, is that clear?”
The Doctor sighed, annoyance flaring up inside him.
“I trusted you and you… You were somebody I should never have gone near.” He spat, and Sherlock flinched at the hard edge in the words, the pure hatred.
The door to the space-and-time machine closed, leaving him standing outside.
The Dream Lord appeared beside him, watching as the TARDIS disappeared.
“That wasn’t very nice of him.”
Sherlock spun round, a horrible pained, rage-like feeling building up inside him.
“What do you want?”
The man shrugged. “I just thought we’d play the game without informing you of the rules. Always much more interesting that way. You never know what’s going to happen. Anyway, have you decided, then? Sherlock Holmes, you’ve been leading two lives at the same time and you never even realised. You didn’t even noticed when they collided.” And the man smirked again, but his features had morphed, the face of Moriarty looked at him cruelly.
“So anyway, Sherlock. Which Doctor do you choose? The choice of two worlds, you’ve seen them both. And I even got the chance to mess with your emotions.”
Sherlock’s mind thought back to John not remembering him, the Doctor hating him.
It’s all a game, he thought. Not real, never real.
“Of course, I’m always the third option.” The Dream Lord-Moriarty person smiled cheerfully.
Sherlock was frantic, his thoughts overlapping as he tried to work out what the hell was going on and how the hell he was going to stop it. On one hand, he had the Doctor. The brilliant, mad genius who showed him nearly everything he knew, who understood his love for his work and knew what it felt like to be alone. The man who he had met and never seen again for years. On the other hand, there was John. John the man who had been kind to him the moment he’d met him, who put up with the Sherlock when no one else would. Who’d make him coffee after a tiring night of running around London chasing criminals, the one who wore ridiculous jumpers and the one who had been willing to die for him.
Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat.
“John.” He whispered, eyes not focused on the man in front of him but staring into nothing as he formed pictures of the flat in his mind, remembering the night John made him watch James Bond films, remembering laughing in the flat hallway the very first day they met.
Dream Lord-Moriarty frowned, as if this was not the answer he’d been expecting.
“You’re picking a human over a Time Lord?”
“Well, this game was a waste of time. You’re boring.”
A spark of hope rose in him, the hope that he would go home, would see John, would have one, normal life. Everything was so jumbled and tangled, as if two separate lives had been forced together.
“Two parts of space and time that should never have touched.”
Sherlock opened his eyes.
The first thing he saw was John. But everything was wrong. He was lying in a hospital bed, and he felt exhausted.
Yet John grinned at him like he was the best thing in the world.
“You were in a coma.”
Everything was crystal clear to him. He had never met a man called “The Doctor” and he had never been inside a space and time machine. There was no man that had seen everything and knew everything, and there certainly was no man that had made him believe there every was.
The thought of it made him giggle. Then John started to laugh. And then eventually he was laughing so hard tears ran down his cheeks.
Of course, in time he deleted parts of his strange dream, and it became a nuisance to remember. Information regarding a case was always more important than anything else.
Just six months later, and he’s forgotten what he dreamt about entirely.
At night, Jim Moriarty dreams of a man in a blue box who offers him space and time.
The Dream Lord will arrive on his doorstep soon, and make him the offer of his life- his work or the Time Lord.
He makes the wrong choice.
REBLOGING FOR THE STORY!
Holy crap that story is utter perfection ( * U * )
I’m sorry for the long, but LOOK! Story!
currently working on fanart for this
yayyy it’s done. finally. sherlock took forever. i think that i’ve developed a phobia of my pens running out from drawing this. it’d probably look better as a graphic, but i don’t know how to make those so… i made do with pens and pastel
that is fantastic!
Perection all round!
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