Author: DalekCyberAngel PM
Sherlock has a fob watch. An ordinary fob watch. One that he has had since he was a child. What happens when John finds it and opens it? Memories invade Sherlock's mind and he begins to question the reality of the world around him. Just who exactly is this Siggy character? And what about his friend named Lockie? Now being rewritten, but not reuploaded as a new storyRated: Fiction K+ - English - Friendship - 11th Doctor & Sherlock H. - Chapters: 21 - Words: 44,562 - Reviews: 52 - Favs: 50 - Follows: 53 - Updated: 10-20-12 - Published: 04-13-12 - id: 8019989
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
It was surprisingly easy to get the journal back. John had fallen asleep reading it, it was right beside his pillow! Sherlock has managed to read a few random pages. This is definitely more than a child's dream. While children did have big imaginations, Sherlock is quite clearly one of them and his journal is evidence of this – a man driven mad by a drumbeat, who has attempted many times to enslave humans and even tried to recreate his home by removing Earth. Sherlock licks the tip of his finger and thumb as he flicks over to the next page.
A small poem sits in the corner of this page, "Zagreus sits inside your head. Zagreus lives among the dead. Zagreus sees you in your bed. And eats you when you're sleeping." There's more to the poem, but Sherlock only rolls his eyes and continues looking down the page.
According to the journal, when a casket of Anti-Time detonates at the Capitol, chaos will engulf the Universe and the empire of Zagreus will form, but someone stopped that from happening. Sherlock couldn't find a name; he could find the description of the person – brown curls, blue eyes, Victorian clothing style, but not the name. The mysterious man stopped the event from happening, absorbed all the Anti-Time, but became Zagreus himself, which then made him become dark and evil, and almost killing his two best friends.
Sherlock turns a few more pages, he comes across the man with eleven face and two hearts once more, he must be back on page fifty-seven. He looks down at the page, he sees drawings of eleven different men, alternating between old and young, a number written by the side, arrows pointing to each one, and the personality traits of each man.
"Grumpy, vulnerable, innocent, funny, clowny, childish, energetic, arrogant, passionate, obnoxious, rebellious, stubborn."
Turning the page again, he finds drawings of seven different men, each looking fairly young, oldest looking to be forty-two, a number written by the side, arrows pointing to each on, and different personality traits about each man written above and below.
"Persuasive, childish, charming, passionate, energetic, funny, vulnerable, stubborn, rebellious." They were remarkably similar to the page before.
Sherlock stares at the page for a while longer, as he goes to turn it, he feels his phone vibrate. Pulling his phone out, he sees he has a new message from Lestrade, he desperately hopes it's about a case.
'I have a case for you. ~ GL'
The corner of Sherlock's mouth rises slightly. Took him long enough.
'Another murder? – SH'
'Yes, one down at Richmond Park. You coming? ~ GL'
'Of course. – SH'
Putting the journal aside, Sherlock gets dressed and walks out of his bedroom. He doesn't need to wake John. John should be getting ready to get to work soon anyway, so taking John with him is out of the question, he will need to go on his own. Grabbing his coat and scarf he quickly walks out of the flat and hails a cab which took him to the scene.
The body of a man lies in the grass beside the trees; Sherlock tilts his head slightly and crouches down as he observes him. Mid-thirties, only child, two cats, no... three cats, recently divorced, no children, office job that requires looking at a computer all day long, not much of a social life, a lonely and extremely dull person. A small hole in his abdomen, too small to be a bullet, roughly the size of a pen or something similar. No defence wounds, he trusted his murderer or it happened before the he realised.
As Sherlock continues observing the man, John begins searching Sherlock's room. He'd received a phonecall from his boss stating that he doesn't need to come in today. He knows it's lies, he suspects that his new boss just doesn't like him; why else would he be given more and more time off? John stands in Sherlock's room, he had originally gone in there to check if the man was asleep, but he wasn't in the room. John doesn't remember seeing Sherlock's coat and scarf in the living room so he must have gone out, probably to a crimes scene. John sighs and turns to leave the room, he stops halfway through though, something catches his eye.
Sherlock's shelf is glowing.
It is actually glowing. A bright yellow light is coming from it, hiding the books on it, radiating from something sitting on the shelf. A part of John believes that it's because of an experiment Sherlock's started and he should probably not touch it, but the other part remains curious. Hiss curiosity grows more and more, as the light grows brighter and brighter, flooding the room within seconds. John raises an arm to cover his eyes and shield them from the light as he walks towards it, within moments he is standing by the shelf. He grabs the object creating the light with both hands, covering it to stop the light. The room is now dark, but the yellow light is seeping out through his fingers, John opens his hands up slightly, squinting slightly as he tries to look at the object causing the light. He grows confused.
The fob watch is causing the light.
Except, he held it the other day, there was nothing special about it. Nothing to indicate there's a light inside it, nothing to indicate that this could happen. It feels heavier, though, heavier than it does the last time. The light glows brighter, as if trying to escape, and John blinks multiple as it stings his eyes. Slowly removing his other hand from it, his fingers hover the clasp lightly before pushing down on it.
The watch opens; the bright light fills the room. John's vision suddenly changes before him and he sees a man – no, two men standing side by side. John can barely make the two of them out before a voice fills the room.
"Take me back. Let me out. I need him. He needs me. I need to get out. It's been too long. He's in danger, take me back, bring me to him and let him open me. I need to go back; he will die if I don't." The mysterious voice sounds desperate and begging.
Sherlock's head snaps up. The door is open. The black door in his Mind Palace has thrown itself open, practically falling off its hinges. Images, flashes, words, voices are all coming at him, too quick for him to properly grasp at it, only being able glance at certain things before they're replaced by something else.
A young boy, a young girl, talking rhino's, a police box, UNIT, Airship R-101 an orange planet, a strange gas like creature, a stone angel, Pandorica's box, Cybermen, robots, Neverpeople, TARDIS, Gallifrey, Daleks, Time War. It all whizzes past him, hurtling through his mind at a hundred miles an hour.
"No, we need to save them."
"It's too late, she's gone."
"You shouldn't be so picky."
"Give me back my shoes, Lockie!"
"Just this once, Rose, everybody lives!"
"Let's play some cricket, my friend."
"I don't like guns."
Two people are kneeling down opposite each other, both trembling. One man wearing a tattered blue shirt, torn black trousers, and a coat that is barely holding itself together, his face is round, eyes are blue, and his hear is black and shoulder length, he looks terrified and sad. The other is wearing a torn green waistcoat, tattered brown trousers, and a coat barely holding itself together, his face is sharp, his brown hair is wavy and shoulder length, and his green-blue eyes are looking desperately into the other man, he looks sad, desperate, and terrified. His hands are on the other man's shoulder and arm, as if trying to reassure him. Neither of them look remotely healthy, blood running down across the face, complexion pale, thin frames visible through their tattered clothes. Sherlock recognises them both as the men from his journal.
Looking around, Sherlock can see the world around them dying; there is fire in the sky, the trees becoming ash, the snow melting, and the grass burning. Everything is burning, the planet dying.
Sherlock focuses back onto the men, he can just about hear them talking.
"Lockie, we have to do this! They will cause the universe hell if we don't." The man in the green coat sounds desperate.
"It's our home, Siggy. We can't destroy it." He pleads, trying to make the other man change his mind.
"Lockie, look around, it's not the same anymore. They're dark and evil; they will unleash hell if we don't. They aren't the same people anymore, they're different. This cannot carry on!" There's an order in his voice, similar to that of a soldier. It sounds similar to John. They've both fought in a war; they're going to be similar to soldiers.
"There will be no one left, just us two and Susan and Tyler. We won't even be able to visit this place." Resignation fills Lockie's voice.
Siggy's voice softens, "I know, Lock. We were exiled from this planet, anyway. I'll miss it, but I can't allow other people to be in danger, that's why we have to do this."
Lockie nods, sighing shortly after, "I understand, it's just so sudden, I don't see how it happened so quickly."
Siggy also sighs, his hands moving from Lockie to his side, "Neither do I, Lockie. We've been at a constant disagreement with the Daleks for centuries now; it was only a matter of time."
Both men stand up slowly, wincing in pain as they do.
Lockie speaks first, "Let's get this over with before we regenerate. I'm not sure how much longer I can hold this off for."
"Best get back to the TARDIS quickly then."
Both men then start running; Siggy is slower than Lockie, having a limp in his right leg. Sherlock watches them run through the broken world around them as it all fades to black.
Sherlock returns to reality. The first thing he notices is someone's arms around him and a hand stroking his hair, the next thing is a voice whispering softly in his ear, he then becomes aware of himself. He's on his knees, his eyes are clenched shut tightly, his hands trembling, breathing fast and shallow, his heart beat almost as fast, and himself whimpering.
"Sherlock, calm down, can you do that for me? Sunshine, just calm down, look at me and calm down. Listen to my voice, Sunshine, it's okay, you're safe. You're with me at the crime scene, you're not on that planet, you're not fighting those people, you're with me in London at Richmond Park. Come back to me, Sherlock." Lestrade sounds concerned, worried and scared. He's trying his best not to cause Sherlock any distress by causing his own voice to shake.
Sherlock opens his eyes. Lestrade is beside him, holding him close. Sherlock's head is on Lestrade's chest and his ear above his heart. Lestrade's hand is in his hair, stroking his curls gently. This is exactly how Lestrade calms him down during a nightmare. He forces his breathing to slow down, his heart to stop pounding and his hands to stop trembling. It's just too real for him, those memories are real. He was there, he saw it, he has to be one of those men on the ground. Except it seems impossible, those men aren't human, they can change their physical appearance, they have two hearts. Sherlock is human, he can't change his physical appearance, he only has one heart. So why did he experience that memory?
He stays in Lestrade's embrace, listening to his reassuring words until he calms down enough and pulls away.
Lestrade is looking down at him; his expression is that of reassurance and concern, he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Sherlock look at him.
"Are you okay, Sherlock?"
Sherlock breathes a huff of annoyance, "I'm fine, just some memories I couldn't control. Can we get back to the murder?"
Lestrade shakes his head and lets go of Sherlock reluctantly. Both men stand up.
"Sherlock, you should go home and get some rest, you were acting the same way you normally do when you have a nightmare."
"No. I will not, I assure you I'm fine."
"Sherlock, you were far from fine. Tell me what you've found out and then go home and get some rest."
Sherlock can see the look in Lestrade's eyes and knows it's pointless to argue, "Fine."
As Sherlock finished off his deductions, he starts to hear the footsteps of a man running towards them. As he looks up, he sees the man running closer before coming to a stop. Red bow tie, beige tweed jacket, black trousers, boots, floppy black hair, dark green eyes and a childish smile on his face.
"Whoa! I haven't run like that in a long time. I should probably do that more often. It was fun. Anyway, I'm The Doctor and this, Inspector, is not a case you can solve by yourself."
AN: Guys, if you ever get the chance, I advise you to listen to the Eighth Doctor audios. They are amazing! This chapter and the previous chapter both reference a few of them – Zagreus, Neverland, and Storm Warning.
I hope you enjoyed this, have a nice day :)