Fic: The Watchman (5/6)
Title: The Watchman (Chapter Five)
Word Count: approx 5,200 for this bit
A/N: Full story info and more author's notes here.
If anyone's interested, you can see an image of the white dwarf star described in this chaper here.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
CHAPTER FIVE
"Oh," John said. "This is…oh. It's amazing. It's not this big on the outside, is it? Did you tell us that before?"
"Yes, and not all!" The Doctor practically skipped over to the control board in the middle of his spaceship. His "slightly sentient" spaceship. John wondered if the ship was listening to their every word. The thought was a bit spooky.
But it was also incredible. Every surface gleamed in orange or silver or green. Smack dab in the centre was a piece of glass that chugged up and down in time with a whooshing sound John remembered well. The control panel contained very few parts that seemed like they would be actually useful in flying a ship, but every part on the board was odd and wonderful, from an old-fashioned typewriter and rainbows of switches. The Doctor pulled at a few of these switches and pushed a level upwards before turning to face John.
"If you could go anywhere in time and space, right now, where would it be?"
John thought for a second. "You've said there was another Sherlock Holmes," he said. He left out the discussions of his own double for the time being. "But you also said he was fictional...so I don't suppose we could go and see him..." John knew the request was probably impossible, but so was the Doctor, wasn't he? And John couldn't help being curious. Would this other Sherlock be like the one John knew? Would he have that hat Doctor kept saying Sherlock should wear?
"No, but we could meet his author-your author! I wonder what Sir Arthur is up to these days..." The Doctor glanced at John and nodded. "Besides, I think you'd like Victorian London, they had all those gas lamps and, oh, Jack the Ripper! We could go see an old-fashioned crime scene, nothing like an old-fashioned crime scene. They don't make crime scenes like they used to, John Watson!"
"Oh," John said. His heart had sped at the thought at the Doctor's suggestions of travelling through time to Victorian London, about stepping outside the TARDIS onto streets from another era. But that was before the Doctor had said "crime scene."
The moment John head those words his mind went somewhere else entirely.
Suddenly John found himself wondering what Sherlock was up to. It was after lunchtime now, so the only thing John honestly knew for certain was that, wherever he was, Sherlock hadn't eaten a thing. John could guess that Sherlock was probably back at the flat, running some experiment. If there was a case, he would've texted John. John checked his phone. His inbox was the same as it had been when he awoke in the morning. Not that John was certain he could get a signal inside the TARDIS, come to think of it...
The Doctor was right. John would have loved to see the late nineteenth century. But Sherlock would also love the late nineteenth century. With his skills John figured Sherlock would solve the case of Jack the Ripper in a heartbeat and lead him and the Doctor on a wild goose chase for the killer through cobblestone streets and narrow back alleyways. John could see it now, very clearly. Yes, suddenly John found the idea of travelling to nineteenth-century London without Sherlock pretty much inconceivable.
These days, any London without Sherlock was inconceivable.
"Um," John said. He didn't exactly want to admit that he didn't want to take the trip of a lifetime because his flatmate couldn't come along. That was a bit silly.
"What am I saying?" the Doctor exclaimed. "John, I can't take you to visit Sir Arthur! I've never travelled with a fictional character before...to be honest, I'm not even sure you'd survive meeting your creator in the other reality. It might be one paradox too many, and we can't do to risk you, can we? Unless I made some modifications..." The Doctor scrambled over to the other side of the control panel and pulled some other switches.
"It's fine," John said quickly. As much as John enjoyed danger, he didn't fancy risking his life for a chance to meet some man who may have written about another version of him. It would probably leave him even more confused. Besides, he didn't mind not seeing another London. He was perfectly happy with this one.
"We'll just have to go somewhere different, somewhere even more exciting! How would you feel about Barcelona, Barcelona the planet, where the dogs and have no noses and the lovely women have two?"
John's eyes went wide. "Really?"
"Absolutely! Fourth planet in the Galvantine system, just past the third moon of Paris-the-planet. Their sense of smell is incredible on Barcelona. But watch your back during allergy season." The Doctor shuddered a bit. "Feels like a minor earthquake!"
John smiled widely at that. "Maybe we should go somewhere Sherlock would never find us," he said. With everything the Doctor had revealed that day, especially the pieces John couldn't even comprehend, well, he could use a little space. "Just for a bit…"
The Doctor smiled back. He flicked a few more buttons. "We've got all of time and space, John Watson. What would you like to see?"
.
.
The Doctor opened the TARDIS doors and John gawped.
"Wow," he whispered.
Stars spread out everywhere before John's eyes like someone had dropped handfuls of diamonds onto a piece of black velvet. They shone brighter than any stars John had seen before. But even so the distant stars couldn't compare to the shimmering, pinkish clouds billowing around shuddering empty space at their centre.
"You asked for outer space," the Doctor said. He sounded a bit smug, and John didn't begrudge him that for a second. He couldn't. "How did I do?"
"Fantastic," John said. He looked over at the Doctor, who handed him a blanket.
"That is a white dwarf star. It's dying, of course. The locals from nearby planets call it..." Here the Doctor rattled off a series of clicking sounds with his tongue. John wasn't sure how, but the name fit the image before him perfectly. It was as dark and lovely as the blossoming-no, the dying-star.
"Anyway," the Doctor said, "the blanket's just in case it gets a bit cold in here, which it probably will. But no matter, you can look all you like!"
John nodded slowly and went to stand in the doorway. He gripped the side of the door, tucking the blanket under his arm. He didn't want to fall out of the spaceship, after all. He just wanted to see the white dwarf as best he could. The Doctor stood a few feet behind him.
"Thank you," John said quietly. He wasn't surprised to realize he meant it, even if he still didn't completely trust the Time Lord. The Doctor had an agenda, certainly, but he didn't seem like the type to bribe someone with a trip in his sentient spaceship. And even if he were that type, John might have gone off with him anyway. This was unreal. It was beautiful.
The Doctor moved forward to stand next to John. He leaned against the opposite side of the doorway.
"Doctor," John said. "If I opened Sherlock's app-or if Sherlock opened his app-what would happen to me? And Mycroft? And Lestrade?"
"Oh!" the Doctor said. "That's an excellent question, John Watson! Now I have a suspicion…" He pulled out the green torch again and turned it on John. John worried something horrible would happen, held his breath and wondered if the Doctor was turning him back into whoever he would be without The Genius' changes. Without Sherlock. God. Even the thought of it…John shut his eyes and held himself firm. He was a solider after all. And he was the one who had asked the damn question.
The Doctor flicked open the torch and looked at it. "No!" He said to the torch. "Really?" He looked back down at the torch.
John felt his gut sink.
"Oh, I was very wrong! Which...happens. Not very often, you understand! But the good news is that you would stay right put."
John sighed in relief.
"Well I suppose that's the advantage to working from fiction," the Doctor said. "Stories stick with you, like a good hug-or a toothache! It's possible to kill a real live person, but so long as anyone's read the story, or told their friend about that great book they just found, the characters don't-won't-die out."
"You're not saying we're...immortal?" John turned away from the Doctor, not wanting to see the expression on the man's face. It was embarrassing enough just asking such a ridiculous question.
Out of the corner of his eye John could see the Doctor checking the torch again. "No no no! Probably not."
John spun back to face the Doctor."Probably?"
"Let's just say that it takes a lot more than a reworked Chameleon Arch to make someone immortal. Time Lords can live for a long time, lifetimes, in fact, but even we die." Sadness returned to the Doctor's voice, as naturally as if it never really left. The alien stared out at the dying star. "Everything ends," he said.
"I've been thinking about it," John confessed. "Whether or not I should tell him."
"You can't," the Doctor said. "You won't."
John frowned. The Doctor, of all people, should understand. "I could do! Back at the museum you told me you wouldn't go back to being human 'for anything.' So how can you know that I won't?" He felt desperate, but he wasn't exactly sure what he felt desperate for. He didn't want to tell Sherlock. In fact, he realized, he really, really didn't want to tell Sherlock.
If he told Sherlock, Sherlock would certainly open the watch. That would mean John would lose Sherlock, and, really, who wanted to lose their best mate? No, John liked his reality, whether it was "alternate" or not. He liked his life. And the Doctor had said that the Genius travelled alone. John didn't care if Sherlock, or whoever he was, lived in London or on Jupiter, he would follow him anywhere. But what if the Genius didn't want him. John looked about the Doctor's spaceship and felt even more certain that the Genius would toss him out. John wasn't an alien. He couldn't even go to the alternate universe for fear he'd...dissolve or something. The Genius wouldn't want John. He couldn't possibly keep up.
But maybe that was why John felt so certain he should tell Sherlock-it was so easy to want to keep things the way they were. He couldn't be selfish like that. Someone had to fight back, didn't they?
"Because the Genius never solved a single murder in his life."
John sighed, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. "I don't think that's reason enough," he said.
"Oh, it's more than that." The Doctor smiled a bit. The sad smile. "Sherlock Holmes helps people, nearly every day. You know that."
John nodded. It was one of the reasons he loved being Sherlock's assistant. Sherlock found dangerous criminals and stopped them from killing again; he helped the police when the police had no one else to turn to. Their work mattered.
The Doctor stared out at the white dwarf again. John didn't follow suit...as amazing as the star was, he had other priorities at the moment. "The Genius had no interest in helping. He didn't have much interest in people. People were either informative or useless. He took fiddle lessons with Nero while the rest of Rome burned. Also, very rude at dinner parties."
The Doctor glanced at John, who frowned back at him.
"Er, that last bit might be less important. The point is, in other London, the one with the aliens, people love Sherlock Holmes stories. Power of good fiction, it gives you something to believe in, doesn't it?"
John shifted awkwardly. The Doctor made sense, mostly, but all the same…John bit his lip. "So you're saying that Sherlock does more good as a consulting detective, annoying Scotland Yard half to death, than as a Time Lord in a TARDIS with all of space and time?"
"Absolutely," the Doctor said.
"Oh," John said. He turned back to the white dwarf. Then he snorted.
"What?"
"It's just…if Sherlock were an alien, of course he'd be 'The Genius.'" John couldn't help it. He giggled a bit.
The Doctor frowned. "It's a perfectly respectable name."
"Of course," John said. He couldn't seem to stop laughing. "It's just. It's so modest, isn't it?"
The Doctor grinned at that. Then he shrugged. "Could be worse. We had the Master, of course, and the Meddling Monk…if you ever thought Sherlock was self-involved; wait until you meet a few Time Lords! Hah!" The Doctor paused. He pulled out his green torch and fiddled with it a bit. He swallowed. "Not that you will…"
Because they're all dead. John finished in his head. He understood too well why the Doctor couldn't say it aloud. There were men in Afghanistan he thought of much the same way.
"It's not terribly safe for us out there these days," the Doctor said softly. He sat down where he stood, his legs dangling out the edge of the TARDIS and into space. John wondered for a moment if that was safe for humans or only for Time Lords. Then he followed suit.
The Doctor continued to play with his green torch. The longer John stared at it, the less it seemed like a torch at all. Or at least not only a torch. The Doctor flipped the not-torch in his hands in a way that reminded John of Sherlock fiddling with his mobile phone. Which, John supposed, wasn't only a phone, either.
John gestured to the Doctor's plaything. "What is that, anyway?"
The Doctor grinned wide. "It's called a sonic screwdriver! Made it myself. Opens almost any lock, takes readings on alien life…It's very good in a pickle. Especially a pickle with too many cabinets. "
John smiled back. "That's a bit clever, isn't it?"
The Doctor glared back before pocketing the sonic screwdriver protectively "Oi! It's very clever. I bet your best mate would be impressed."
John shrugged. "It's just, Sherlock's rather good at picking locks. And we've never faced an alien."
"I'm sure you think that, yes," the Doctor muttered.
"So it wouldn't be of much use to us…though I imagine Sherlock would be a bit of a hazard if he had kept hold of your…er. What did you call it? The paper stuff."
The Doctor smiled proudly once more. "Ah, yes, the psychic paper. That's very cool, isn't it?"
"I can see how it'd be handy," John admitted.
"Yes. And cool."
They settled into silence for a bit after that, just admiring the view. The Doctor wiggled his legs, kicking his feet back and forth. John let his body relax into the side of the TARDIS and tried to forget everything he had learned about Sherlock, and about himself. He found he couldn't really. But his heart didn't race at the thought, either. Maybe he didn't have to tell Sherlock. Maybe the Doctor was right.
"So, John Watson," the Doctor said, "does this mean you'll stay with Sherlock?"
John glanced back at the Doctor, an answer almost automatically ready to tumble off his lips. Of course I'll stay with him. Why wouldn't I? But then his eyes met the Doctor's and the heart-racing panic came back in a rush. He was shocked to find his automatic answer, the one he constantly thought but had never shared with anyone, wasn't entirely appropriate. John snorted. It had never seemed so ironic before.
John nearly laughed aloud. "I bloody well have to stay with Sherlock, don't I?" he realized. "That bastard, he made me. He never even gave me a choice!"
The Doctor stared at John. "What would you do, if you had a choice? Right here, right now. Would you leave Sherlock Holmes?"
"I don't know…maybe?" John sighed. "Probably not."
The Doctor smiled wide, and clapped John on the shoulder. "That is a very, very good answer." He said. "Because John Watson, and please listen closely, Sherlock Holmes never created you."
John didn't try to contain his shock. "But you said…"
"I said the Genius created you-and he created Sherlock. Sherlock can't stop you from leaving him. You still have your free will. You have a choice. Sherlock Holmes had no idea you would agree to live with him the first time you two met."
John remembered Sherlock's confident manner during their first meeting at St. Bart's, remembered Sherlock's smirk and his wink. Didn't seem that way, John thought.
"I've watched Sherlock, John, and I'm not certain he even fully believes that you'll stay with him now." The Doctor winked at John.
John wasn't sure why.
"In fact…perhaps it would be best to reassure him of your position. Let him know sometime." The Doctor's eyes twinkled. "Couldn't hurt, now, could it?"
It seemed impossible that Sherlock didn't know what he meant to John. Between chases and always buying the bloody milk, John figured his behaviour should have spoken for itself. But then Sherlock wasn't like anyone else. Sentiment wasn't really his area. No, Sherlock wasn't like anyone, which was why...Christ. John frowned. Did Sherlock really not understand?
"I'll think about that," he promised.
"Good. Because Sherlock needs you. Even he has no idea how much."
"You mean he needs me to stay silent about his watch, yeah?"
The Doctor nodded. "That too."
John shook his head. It didn't seem right that he should have so much power over Sherlock's life. He preferred taking orders from Sherlock much more than holding secrets. "I don't much like playing God," John said.
"Nobody does." The Doctor responded as though he'd considered the question many times. Well, John realized, perhaps he had.
"I suppose I should just appreciate being important while I still can!"
"Why?" The Doctor studied him closely.
"If Sherlock ever does open that watch, he won't need me anymore. Like you said. When he's the Genius, he won't even want me there."
The Doctor smiled sadly. "Oh. I wouldn't say that. Maybe he wouldn't want you, but the Genius would do well to have you by his side." John smiled a little as the Doctor continued on. "I think a Time Lords needs companions. The Genius never had anyone to stop him. Humanity is hardly a perfect race, but neither are we. I think the Genius could have stood to be a bit more like you. Maybe you could have made him care about the people he endangered. Besides..." The Doctor stared out at the star. When he spoke again, he spoke so quietly that John had to strain to hear the words. "It gets terribly lonely."
John frowned. It was a bit horrible, seeing the Doctor get like this. "Who's your companion?" he asked.
The Doctor shook his head. He didn't raise the volume of his voice. "That's the thing. My companions…I put them in too much danger. I couldn't risk hurting them anymore."
John bit his lip. He wished the Doctor had someone. He wished there was some way, any way he could help. "Sometimes the danger is worth it," he said, "if you're making a difference..." That was how he felt with on cases with Sherlock. John had a feeling the Doctor made people feel the same way. "If you're giving them something to believe in." He smiled at the Doctor. "Anyway, even if you don't have to have another companion with you, I'm sure you still have mates. Maybe someone you could pay a visit to, if you feel lonely?"
"A visit?"
"A social call." John shrugged. "Or you could stay with us for a while, if you'd like. Sherlock would probably love to ask all about your alien ways, even if it's a bit rude of him."
"No no," the Doctor said. "I'd better leave the two of you. Sherlock is too clever by far. The longer you keep a Time Lord about, the more likely Sherlock is to guess he's more than your average human."
"Oh, yeah." John was shocked to realize he'd...well, he'd not forgotten Sherlock's identity, exactly. But somehow the Doctor's sadness had seemed more important. "Still. You shouldn't have to be lonely."
"Oh, I won't be. I've spent plenty of time on my own. Besides, maybe I'll try that out. A 'social call.'" The Doctor said the words carefully. John could tell he was amused. "I'll have keep an eye on you, as well. You have that handy blog I can check!"
John giggled. "Sherlock would hate for you to keep tabs on us through the blog. Always says it's inaccurate."
"Well I think it's fantastic."
John nodded. "Ta."
The Doctor jumped up and moved back to the control panel. Before he so much as hit another switch he turned back around to speak to John. "But I do have one tiny request…"
.
.
John lost track of time as he and the Doctor traded stories. John heard all about the mysterious River Song, and the time the TARDIS became slightly more than slightly sentient, and about Galifrey in the golden era, in the days when Time Lords were as wonderful as their name suggested. In return, John told the Doctor about a Study in Pink, and how Sherlock stole his gun in order to shoot the walls, and even a little about his time during the war, how he saved Bill Murray's life once or twice. The Doctor took John to see other star systems in other galaxies, always the pair of them sharing stories whilst their legs dangled off the edge of the TARDIS into space. Always some gigantic space phenomena spread out wide before them.
By the time the TARDIS materialized outside of 221B, John was certain his phone would explode with missed texts from Sherlock as soon as they came back within range of a signal. But when they stepped outside the TARDIS and John glanced down at his phone and was shocked to find his inbox blank. He was a bit offended, really, until he checked the time on the phone.
"One p.m.?" he read aloud. He had called the Doctor-well, kazoo-ed for him-just after lunch, at 12:45. He turned to the Doctor, who was still standing inside the TARDIS doors. "How many days have we been gone for?"
"None!" the Doctor said. "Technically we're still back at the British Museum right now. Er, I may have cheated a bit." He didn't sound ashamed of this fact at all. Actually, he sounded rather proud. "You can't go back the British Museum for the next twenty minutes, all right? Wouldn't want to run into yourself, not literally, now would you?"
John smiled as he shook his head 'no.' He thanked the Doctor once more and shook his hand. The Doctor laughed a bit at that and he pulled John into a hug.
"Don't you want to come up and see Sherlock?" John asked, but the Doctor shook his head.
"Places to go, 'social calls' to make! Besides," he said, "I think better safe than sorry when it comes to our very clever friend."
John nodded. He turned and walked up to the steps to 221. Then he turned back. The Doctor was just about to shut the TARDIS doors behind him. "Doctor," he said. "Thank you. And stay safe yourself."
The Doctor offered John a half-smile and shut the TARDIS door.
John didn't wait to hear the whooshing noise of the TARDIS dematerializing. Rather he unlocked the door to 221 and walked up to the flat. He was astonished to find Sherlock blowing bubbles from his new pipe and watching crap daytime telly in his pyjamas. It was one of Sherlock's sulks all right, and a bad one at that. Sherlock wasn't even shouting at the TV. John had to hold in a smile, however, just because the scene was so utterly Sherlock.
"You've been gone a long time," Sherlock said.
"Oh," John chastised, "I've been gone fifteen minutes! As if you ever notice when I leave the flat."
"I notice," Sherlock muttered.
John rolled his eyes.
"And it's not hard to deduce, John, I could hear the Doctor leaving the flat. The alien with a time machine?" Sherlock shifted, settling deeper into the armchair. He crossed his arms. "Fifteen minutes!"
John stared at Sherlock, wondering about what the Doctor had said. The part about Sherlock not understanding how much he really meant to John. "Good deduction," John said.
Sherlock scoffed. "It was simple enough. Even you could've guessed." Still, Sherlock's pleased smirk betrayed his words. "I take it you're on speaking terms with the Doctor again?"
John sat down in a chair behind Sherlock. "I suppose," he said, watching the back of his flatmate's head. "But I don't think we'll be seeing much more of him. Sorry."
"Why?" Sherlock kept his voice even and his eyes trained on the TV.
"Well, there were all those cold cases you wanted to go over with him..."
Sherlock shrugged. "Shouldn't be too difficult to determine which ones involved alien technology. I've seen enough to have a decent idea what's out there." He pulled the pipe from his lips and turned around, showing it to John. "The Doctor's present yielded some fascinating results."
John smiled nervously. So long as it didn't yield the result Sherlock was a Time Lord, everything was going to be fine.
Well.
Kind-of.
When John looked at Sherlock, he still saw everything he couldn't tell Sherlock. He saw every thing the detective didn't know. John remembered the images that flashed through his brain when the Doctor took his hand in the Tesco's dairy aisle, that blindingly powerful being with Sherlock's face. He wished things were different. He wished it were a safer world for Time Lords. He wished that the Doctor hadn't told him so much. He wished he could, in good conscience, let Sherlock make his own decision. But he knew better now. He couldn't tell Sherlock. Not today.
Besides, John had no doubt that one day Sherlock would deduce the truth for himself. This was Sherlock Holmes, a proper genius-even the cleverest trap could only hold him for so long. It was inevitable, wasn't it? Sherlock would outsmart himself in spite of himself, and John thought about that future moment with the oddest sense of pride. John would follow if the Genius let him. And who knows? Just maybe the Genius would. For now he had Sherlock, and that was enough. They would cross that bridge together, whenever it came.
For now Sherlock was well on his way to a sulk, which was frankly danger enough for the moment. Still, John didn't move to text Lestrade to make sure he didn't have a case for them. He didn't move to make tea or check and see if how just much mess Sherlock and his latest experiment had created in the kitchen. No, John was inexplicably stuck, simply staring at the back of Sherlock's head, feeling the new reality, his new reality, sink in.
He was John Watson, based off a fictional character but free to make his own choices because once created he could not be uncreated so simply. According to the Doctor, anyway. He lived with Sherlock Holmes, who was really the Genius, and who was someone John still knew as well as anyone, if not better than anyone else. At the same time John didn't know his flatmate even the tiniest bit. John lived in a world with aliens, with Time Lords, even if he lived in a London without either, and John lived in a flat with a ticking time bomb of a best mate.
But then, that's how living with Sherlock had always felt, in a way. Like explosions waiting to happen. In fact...sitting in 221B with his time-bomb-flatmate, John was shocked to realize that the whole thing felt an odd kind of normal.
He could live with this.
"Sherlock," John said. Because after all this, maybe normal and liveable wouldn't cut it anymore, not if John was to be a good friend to Sherlock. Sherlock couldn't know that he could dream bigger, but maybe John could do it for him. "Have you ever considered travelling? Seeing the world a bit more?"
"Why would I ever leave London?"
John shrugged, not wanting to push too hard. But all the same, he couldn't help it. Now that Sherlock had got even a glimpse of the Doctor's world, how could he fail to want more? "There are murders taking place all over the planet," he said. "We could go investigate those. Are you…Well." He felt awkward even asking the question, but he pushed ahead. "Are you happy here?"
Sherlock tugged his legs up to his chest and finally, finally twisted back to look at John. "I have my work here, John, you know that's what matters to me. And yes," he flung his hands out, "You are correct, I could be like my brother, board a plane and go anywhere, solve a murder. I have a trust fund. Nothing ties me to London."
John listened carefully because he had asked. He tried not to cringe at the fact that Sherlock didn't consider John a reason to stay in London. He nodded. "Yes you could," John said. "And you know I would go with you, right? If you wanted to go." He licked his lips, and forced himself to say the rest, no matter how uncomfortable he felt. "Anywhere. Because you have the work. And for what it's worth, you have me, too." Maybe they could travel the world as humans. Maybe that could be his compromise.
Sherlock stared back, eyes wide. John tired to press on. Clearly Sherlock was uncomfortable now, but letting the conversation stall would only make it worse.
"I mean," John stuttered. "I mean, I don't mean-"
"John," Sherlock said, thankfully cutting off John's awkward rambling. "I appreciate the sentiment. But my answer still stands. God forbid I become Mycroft in any way-"
John snorted.
"-And I don't even want to become the Doctor. That's what you're thinking, obviously. And frankly I don't care if he can see all the planets. When have planets ever been important in a crime?"
John smiled, more relieved at Sherlock's answer than he would care to admit aloud. "Oh, I don't think the Doctor would agree with you," John said. "He told me about a case of his own. But I don't think you'd be able to solve it. It's about a missing planet. A bunch of missing planets, disappearing one by one. Oh," John remembered, "and also some missing bees."
"Bees?" Sherlock asked. He sat up straighter in his armchair.
John smirked. "But I don't think you could solve it…"
Sherlock smiled back, same as always. Well. Not quite the same. That was the dead body smile, but here it wasn't for a body, here it was just for a story, just for John. Something stilled and something fluttered in the pit of John's stomach knowing that was the case. Which was…interesting.
At the very least, Sherlock's sulk seemed to be a thing of the past.
"Try me," the detective said.
Epilogue
Word Count: approx 5,200 for this bit
A/N: Full story info and more author's notes here.
If anyone's interested, you can see an image of the white dwarf star described in this chaper here.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
CHAPTER FIVE
"Oh," John said. "This is…oh. It's amazing. It's not this big on the outside, is it? Did you tell us that before?"
"Yes, and not all!" The Doctor practically skipped over to the control board in the middle of his spaceship. His "slightly sentient" spaceship. John wondered if the ship was listening to their every word. The thought was a bit spooky.
But it was also incredible. Every surface gleamed in orange or silver or green. Smack dab in the centre was a piece of glass that chugged up and down in time with a whooshing sound John remembered well. The control panel contained very few parts that seemed like they would be actually useful in flying a ship, but every part on the board was odd and wonderful, from an old-fashioned typewriter and rainbows of switches. The Doctor pulled at a few of these switches and pushed a level upwards before turning to face John.
"If you could go anywhere in time and space, right now, where would it be?"
John thought for a second. "You've said there was another Sherlock Holmes," he said. He left out the discussions of his own double for the time being. "But you also said he was fictional...so I don't suppose we could go and see him..." John knew the request was probably impossible, but so was the Doctor, wasn't he? And John couldn't help being curious. Would this other Sherlock be like the one John knew? Would he have that hat Doctor kept saying Sherlock should wear?
"No, but we could meet his author-your author! I wonder what Sir Arthur is up to these days..." The Doctor glanced at John and nodded. "Besides, I think you'd like Victorian London, they had all those gas lamps and, oh, Jack the Ripper! We could go see an old-fashioned crime scene, nothing like an old-fashioned crime scene. They don't make crime scenes like they used to, John Watson!"
"Oh," John said. His heart had sped at the thought at the Doctor's suggestions of travelling through time to Victorian London, about stepping outside the TARDIS onto streets from another era. But that was before the Doctor had said "crime scene."
The moment John head those words his mind went somewhere else entirely.
Suddenly John found himself wondering what Sherlock was up to. It was after lunchtime now, so the only thing John honestly knew for certain was that, wherever he was, Sherlock hadn't eaten a thing. John could guess that Sherlock was probably back at the flat, running some experiment. If there was a case, he would've texted John. John checked his phone. His inbox was the same as it had been when he awoke in the morning. Not that John was certain he could get a signal inside the TARDIS, come to think of it...
The Doctor was right. John would have loved to see the late nineteenth century. But Sherlock would also love the late nineteenth century. With his skills John figured Sherlock would solve the case of Jack the Ripper in a heartbeat and lead him and the Doctor on a wild goose chase for the killer through cobblestone streets and narrow back alleyways. John could see it now, very clearly. Yes, suddenly John found the idea of travelling to nineteenth-century London without Sherlock pretty much inconceivable.
These days, any London without Sherlock was inconceivable.
"Um," John said. He didn't exactly want to admit that he didn't want to take the trip of a lifetime because his flatmate couldn't come along. That was a bit silly.
"What am I saying?" the Doctor exclaimed. "John, I can't take you to visit Sir Arthur! I've never travelled with a fictional character before...to be honest, I'm not even sure you'd survive meeting your creator in the other reality. It might be one paradox too many, and we can't do to risk you, can we? Unless I made some modifications..." The Doctor scrambled over to the other side of the control panel and pulled some other switches.
"It's fine," John said quickly. As much as John enjoyed danger, he didn't fancy risking his life for a chance to meet some man who may have written about another version of him. It would probably leave him even more confused. Besides, he didn't mind not seeing another London. He was perfectly happy with this one.
"We'll just have to go somewhere different, somewhere even more exciting! How would you feel about Barcelona, Barcelona the planet, where the dogs and have no noses and the lovely women have two?"
John's eyes went wide. "Really?"
"Absolutely! Fourth planet in the Galvantine system, just past the third moon of Paris-the-planet. Their sense of smell is incredible on Barcelona. But watch your back during allergy season." The Doctor shuddered a bit. "Feels like a minor earthquake!"
John smiled widely at that. "Maybe we should go somewhere Sherlock would never find us," he said. With everything the Doctor had revealed that day, especially the pieces John couldn't even comprehend, well, he could use a little space. "Just for a bit…"
The Doctor smiled back. He flicked a few more buttons. "We've got all of time and space, John Watson. What would you like to see?"
.
.
The Doctor opened the TARDIS doors and John gawped.
"Wow," he whispered.
Stars spread out everywhere before John's eyes like someone had dropped handfuls of diamonds onto a piece of black velvet. They shone brighter than any stars John had seen before. But even so the distant stars couldn't compare to the shimmering, pinkish clouds billowing around shuddering empty space at their centre.
"You asked for outer space," the Doctor said. He sounded a bit smug, and John didn't begrudge him that for a second. He couldn't. "How did I do?"
"Fantastic," John said. He looked over at the Doctor, who handed him a blanket.
"That is a white dwarf star. It's dying, of course. The locals from nearby planets call it..." Here the Doctor rattled off a series of clicking sounds with his tongue. John wasn't sure how, but the name fit the image before him perfectly. It was as dark and lovely as the blossoming-no, the dying-star.
"Anyway," the Doctor said, "the blanket's just in case it gets a bit cold in here, which it probably will. But no matter, you can look all you like!"
John nodded slowly and went to stand in the doorway. He gripped the side of the door, tucking the blanket under his arm. He didn't want to fall out of the spaceship, after all. He just wanted to see the white dwarf as best he could. The Doctor stood a few feet behind him.
"Thank you," John said quietly. He wasn't surprised to realize he meant it, even if he still didn't completely trust the Time Lord. The Doctor had an agenda, certainly, but he didn't seem like the type to bribe someone with a trip in his sentient spaceship. And even if he were that type, John might have gone off with him anyway. This was unreal. It was beautiful.
The Doctor moved forward to stand next to John. He leaned against the opposite side of the doorway.
"Doctor," John said. "If I opened Sherlock's app-or if Sherlock opened his app-what would happen to me? And Mycroft? And Lestrade?"
"Oh!" the Doctor said. "That's an excellent question, John Watson! Now I have a suspicion…" He pulled out the green torch again and turned it on John. John worried something horrible would happen, held his breath and wondered if the Doctor was turning him back into whoever he would be without The Genius' changes. Without Sherlock. God. Even the thought of it…John shut his eyes and held himself firm. He was a solider after all. And he was the one who had asked the damn question.
The Doctor flicked open the torch and looked at it. "No!" He said to the torch. "Really?" He looked back down at the torch.
John felt his gut sink.
"Oh, I was very wrong! Which...happens. Not very often, you understand! But the good news is that you would stay right put."
John sighed in relief.
"Well I suppose that's the advantage to working from fiction," the Doctor said. "Stories stick with you, like a good hug-or a toothache! It's possible to kill a real live person, but so long as anyone's read the story, or told their friend about that great book they just found, the characters don't-won't-die out."
"You're not saying we're...immortal?" John turned away from the Doctor, not wanting to see the expression on the man's face. It was embarrassing enough just asking such a ridiculous question.
Out of the corner of his eye John could see the Doctor checking the torch again. "No no no! Probably not."
John spun back to face the Doctor."Probably?"
"Let's just say that it takes a lot more than a reworked Chameleon Arch to make someone immortal. Time Lords can live for a long time, lifetimes, in fact, but even we die." Sadness returned to the Doctor's voice, as naturally as if it never really left. The alien stared out at the dying star. "Everything ends," he said.
"I've been thinking about it," John confessed. "Whether or not I should tell him."
"You can't," the Doctor said. "You won't."
John frowned. The Doctor, of all people, should understand. "I could do! Back at the museum you told me you wouldn't go back to being human 'for anything.' So how can you know that I won't?" He felt desperate, but he wasn't exactly sure what he felt desperate for. He didn't want to tell Sherlock. In fact, he realized, he really, really didn't want to tell Sherlock.
If he told Sherlock, Sherlock would certainly open the watch. That would mean John would lose Sherlock, and, really, who wanted to lose their best mate? No, John liked his reality, whether it was "alternate" or not. He liked his life. And the Doctor had said that the Genius travelled alone. John didn't care if Sherlock, or whoever he was, lived in London or on Jupiter, he would follow him anywhere. But what if the Genius didn't want him. John looked about the Doctor's spaceship and felt even more certain that the Genius would toss him out. John wasn't an alien. He couldn't even go to the alternate universe for fear he'd...dissolve or something. The Genius wouldn't want John. He couldn't possibly keep up.
But maybe that was why John felt so certain he should tell Sherlock-it was so easy to want to keep things the way they were. He couldn't be selfish like that. Someone had to fight back, didn't they?
"Because the Genius never solved a single murder in his life."
John sighed, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. "I don't think that's reason enough," he said.
"Oh, it's more than that." The Doctor smiled a bit. The sad smile. "Sherlock Holmes helps people, nearly every day. You know that."
John nodded. It was one of the reasons he loved being Sherlock's assistant. Sherlock found dangerous criminals and stopped them from killing again; he helped the police when the police had no one else to turn to. Their work mattered.
The Doctor stared out at the white dwarf again. John didn't follow suit...as amazing as the star was, he had other priorities at the moment. "The Genius had no interest in helping. He didn't have much interest in people. People were either informative or useless. He took fiddle lessons with Nero while the rest of Rome burned. Also, very rude at dinner parties."
The Doctor glanced at John, who frowned back at him.
"Er, that last bit might be less important. The point is, in other London, the one with the aliens, people love Sherlock Holmes stories. Power of good fiction, it gives you something to believe in, doesn't it?"
John shifted awkwardly. The Doctor made sense, mostly, but all the same…John bit his lip. "So you're saying that Sherlock does more good as a consulting detective, annoying Scotland Yard half to death, than as a Time Lord in a TARDIS with all of space and time?"
"Absolutely," the Doctor said.
"Oh," John said. He turned back to the white dwarf. Then he snorted.
"What?"
"It's just…if Sherlock were an alien, of course he'd be 'The Genius.'" John couldn't help it. He giggled a bit.
The Doctor frowned. "It's a perfectly respectable name."
"Of course," John said. He couldn't seem to stop laughing. "It's just. It's so modest, isn't it?"
The Doctor grinned at that. Then he shrugged. "Could be worse. We had the Master, of course, and the Meddling Monk…if you ever thought Sherlock was self-involved; wait until you meet a few Time Lords! Hah!" The Doctor paused. He pulled out his green torch and fiddled with it a bit. He swallowed. "Not that you will…"
Because they're all dead. John finished in his head. He understood too well why the Doctor couldn't say it aloud. There were men in Afghanistan he thought of much the same way.
"It's not terribly safe for us out there these days," the Doctor said softly. He sat down where he stood, his legs dangling out the edge of the TARDIS and into space. John wondered for a moment if that was safe for humans or only for Time Lords. Then he followed suit.
The Doctor continued to play with his green torch. The longer John stared at it, the less it seemed like a torch at all. Or at least not only a torch. The Doctor flipped the not-torch in his hands in a way that reminded John of Sherlock fiddling with his mobile phone. Which, John supposed, wasn't only a phone, either.
John gestured to the Doctor's plaything. "What is that, anyway?"
The Doctor grinned wide. "It's called a sonic screwdriver! Made it myself. Opens almost any lock, takes readings on alien life…It's very good in a pickle. Especially a pickle with too many cabinets. "
John smiled back. "That's a bit clever, isn't it?"
The Doctor glared back before pocketing the sonic screwdriver protectively "Oi! It's very clever. I bet your best mate would be impressed."
John shrugged. "It's just, Sherlock's rather good at picking locks. And we've never faced an alien."
"I'm sure you think that, yes," the Doctor muttered.
"So it wouldn't be of much use to us…though I imagine Sherlock would be a bit of a hazard if he had kept hold of your…er. What did you call it? The paper stuff."
The Doctor smiled proudly once more. "Ah, yes, the psychic paper. That's very cool, isn't it?"
"I can see how it'd be handy," John admitted.
"Yes. And cool."
They settled into silence for a bit after that, just admiring the view. The Doctor wiggled his legs, kicking his feet back and forth. John let his body relax into the side of the TARDIS and tried to forget everything he had learned about Sherlock, and about himself. He found he couldn't really. But his heart didn't race at the thought, either. Maybe he didn't have to tell Sherlock. Maybe the Doctor was right.
"So, John Watson," the Doctor said, "does this mean you'll stay with Sherlock?"
John glanced back at the Doctor, an answer almost automatically ready to tumble off his lips. Of course I'll stay with him. Why wouldn't I? But then his eyes met the Doctor's and the heart-racing panic came back in a rush. He was shocked to find his automatic answer, the one he constantly thought but had never shared with anyone, wasn't entirely appropriate. John snorted. It had never seemed so ironic before.
John nearly laughed aloud. "I bloody well have to stay with Sherlock, don't I?" he realized. "That bastard, he made me. He never even gave me a choice!"
The Doctor stared at John. "What would you do, if you had a choice? Right here, right now. Would you leave Sherlock Holmes?"
"I don't know…maybe?" John sighed. "Probably not."
The Doctor smiled wide, and clapped John on the shoulder. "That is a very, very good answer." He said. "Because John Watson, and please listen closely, Sherlock Holmes never created you."
John didn't try to contain his shock. "But you said…"
"I said the Genius created you-and he created Sherlock. Sherlock can't stop you from leaving him. You still have your free will. You have a choice. Sherlock Holmes had no idea you would agree to live with him the first time you two met."
John remembered Sherlock's confident manner during their first meeting at St. Bart's, remembered Sherlock's smirk and his wink. Didn't seem that way, John thought.
"I've watched Sherlock, John, and I'm not certain he even fully believes that you'll stay with him now." The Doctor winked at John.
John wasn't sure why.
"In fact…perhaps it would be best to reassure him of your position. Let him know sometime." The Doctor's eyes twinkled. "Couldn't hurt, now, could it?"
It seemed impossible that Sherlock didn't know what he meant to John. Between chases and always buying the bloody milk, John figured his behaviour should have spoken for itself. But then Sherlock wasn't like anyone else. Sentiment wasn't really his area. No, Sherlock wasn't like anyone, which was why...Christ. John frowned. Did Sherlock really not understand?
"I'll think about that," he promised.
"Good. Because Sherlock needs you. Even he has no idea how much."
"You mean he needs me to stay silent about his watch, yeah?"
The Doctor nodded. "That too."
John shook his head. It didn't seem right that he should have so much power over Sherlock's life. He preferred taking orders from Sherlock much more than holding secrets. "I don't much like playing God," John said.
"Nobody does." The Doctor responded as though he'd considered the question many times. Well, John realized, perhaps he had.
"I suppose I should just appreciate being important while I still can!"
"Why?" The Doctor studied him closely.
"If Sherlock ever does open that watch, he won't need me anymore. Like you said. When he's the Genius, he won't even want me there."
The Doctor smiled sadly. "Oh. I wouldn't say that. Maybe he wouldn't want you, but the Genius would do well to have you by his side." John smiled a little as the Doctor continued on. "I think a Time Lords needs companions. The Genius never had anyone to stop him. Humanity is hardly a perfect race, but neither are we. I think the Genius could have stood to be a bit more like you. Maybe you could have made him care about the people he endangered. Besides..." The Doctor stared out at the star. When he spoke again, he spoke so quietly that John had to strain to hear the words. "It gets terribly lonely."
John frowned. It was a bit horrible, seeing the Doctor get like this. "Who's your companion?" he asked.
The Doctor shook his head. He didn't raise the volume of his voice. "That's the thing. My companions…I put them in too much danger. I couldn't risk hurting them anymore."
John bit his lip. He wished the Doctor had someone. He wished there was some way, any way he could help. "Sometimes the danger is worth it," he said, "if you're making a difference..." That was how he felt with on cases with Sherlock. John had a feeling the Doctor made people feel the same way. "If you're giving them something to believe in." He smiled at the Doctor. "Anyway, even if you don't have to have another companion with you, I'm sure you still have mates. Maybe someone you could pay a visit to, if you feel lonely?"
"A visit?"
"A social call." John shrugged. "Or you could stay with us for a while, if you'd like. Sherlock would probably love to ask all about your alien ways, even if it's a bit rude of him."
"No no," the Doctor said. "I'd better leave the two of you. Sherlock is too clever by far. The longer you keep a Time Lord about, the more likely Sherlock is to guess he's more than your average human."
"Oh, yeah." John was shocked to realize he'd...well, he'd not forgotten Sherlock's identity, exactly. But somehow the Doctor's sadness had seemed more important. "Still. You shouldn't have to be lonely."
"Oh, I won't be. I've spent plenty of time on my own. Besides, maybe I'll try that out. A 'social call.'" The Doctor said the words carefully. John could tell he was amused. "I'll have keep an eye on you, as well. You have that handy blog I can check!"
John giggled. "Sherlock would hate for you to keep tabs on us through the blog. Always says it's inaccurate."
"Well I think it's fantastic."
John nodded. "Ta."
The Doctor jumped up and moved back to the control panel. Before he so much as hit another switch he turned back around to speak to John. "But I do have one tiny request…"
.
.
John lost track of time as he and the Doctor traded stories. John heard all about the mysterious River Song, and the time the TARDIS became slightly more than slightly sentient, and about Galifrey in the golden era, in the days when Time Lords were as wonderful as their name suggested. In return, John told the Doctor about a Study in Pink, and how Sherlock stole his gun in order to shoot the walls, and even a little about his time during the war, how he saved Bill Murray's life once or twice. The Doctor took John to see other star systems in other galaxies, always the pair of them sharing stories whilst their legs dangled off the edge of the TARDIS into space. Always some gigantic space phenomena spread out wide before them.
By the time the TARDIS materialized outside of 221B, John was certain his phone would explode with missed texts from Sherlock as soon as they came back within range of a signal. But when they stepped outside the TARDIS and John glanced down at his phone and was shocked to find his inbox blank. He was a bit offended, really, until he checked the time on the phone.
"One p.m.?" he read aloud. He had called the Doctor-well, kazoo-ed for him-just after lunch, at 12:45. He turned to the Doctor, who was still standing inside the TARDIS doors. "How many days have we been gone for?"
"None!" the Doctor said. "Technically we're still back at the British Museum right now. Er, I may have cheated a bit." He didn't sound ashamed of this fact at all. Actually, he sounded rather proud. "You can't go back the British Museum for the next twenty minutes, all right? Wouldn't want to run into yourself, not literally, now would you?"
John smiled as he shook his head 'no.' He thanked the Doctor once more and shook his hand. The Doctor laughed a bit at that and he pulled John into a hug.
"Don't you want to come up and see Sherlock?" John asked, but the Doctor shook his head.
"Places to go, 'social calls' to make! Besides," he said, "I think better safe than sorry when it comes to our very clever friend."
John nodded. He turned and walked up to the steps to 221. Then he turned back. The Doctor was just about to shut the TARDIS doors behind him. "Doctor," he said. "Thank you. And stay safe yourself."
The Doctor offered John a half-smile and shut the TARDIS door.
John didn't wait to hear the whooshing noise of the TARDIS dematerializing. Rather he unlocked the door to 221 and walked up to the flat. He was astonished to find Sherlock blowing bubbles from his new pipe and watching crap daytime telly in his pyjamas. It was one of Sherlock's sulks all right, and a bad one at that. Sherlock wasn't even shouting at the TV. John had to hold in a smile, however, just because the scene was so utterly Sherlock.
"You've been gone a long time," Sherlock said.
"Oh," John chastised, "I've been gone fifteen minutes! As if you ever notice when I leave the flat."
"I notice," Sherlock muttered.
John rolled his eyes.
"And it's not hard to deduce, John, I could hear the Doctor leaving the flat. The alien with a time machine?" Sherlock shifted, settling deeper into the armchair. He crossed his arms. "Fifteen minutes!"
John stared at Sherlock, wondering about what the Doctor had said. The part about Sherlock not understanding how much he really meant to John. "Good deduction," John said.
Sherlock scoffed. "It was simple enough. Even you could've guessed." Still, Sherlock's pleased smirk betrayed his words. "I take it you're on speaking terms with the Doctor again?"
John sat down in a chair behind Sherlock. "I suppose," he said, watching the back of his flatmate's head. "But I don't think we'll be seeing much more of him. Sorry."
"Why?" Sherlock kept his voice even and his eyes trained on the TV.
"Well, there were all those cold cases you wanted to go over with him..."
Sherlock shrugged. "Shouldn't be too difficult to determine which ones involved alien technology. I've seen enough to have a decent idea what's out there." He pulled the pipe from his lips and turned around, showing it to John. "The Doctor's present yielded some fascinating results."
John smiled nervously. So long as it didn't yield the result Sherlock was a Time Lord, everything was going to be fine.
Well.
Kind-of.
When John looked at Sherlock, he still saw everything he couldn't tell Sherlock. He saw every thing the detective didn't know. John remembered the images that flashed through his brain when the Doctor took his hand in the Tesco's dairy aisle, that blindingly powerful being with Sherlock's face. He wished things were different. He wished it were a safer world for Time Lords. He wished that the Doctor hadn't told him so much. He wished he could, in good conscience, let Sherlock make his own decision. But he knew better now. He couldn't tell Sherlock. Not today.
Besides, John had no doubt that one day Sherlock would deduce the truth for himself. This was Sherlock Holmes, a proper genius-even the cleverest trap could only hold him for so long. It was inevitable, wasn't it? Sherlock would outsmart himself in spite of himself, and John thought about that future moment with the oddest sense of pride. John would follow if the Genius let him. And who knows? Just maybe the Genius would. For now he had Sherlock, and that was enough. They would cross that bridge together, whenever it came.
For now Sherlock was well on his way to a sulk, which was frankly danger enough for the moment. Still, John didn't move to text Lestrade to make sure he didn't have a case for them. He didn't move to make tea or check and see if how just much mess Sherlock and his latest experiment had created in the kitchen. No, John was inexplicably stuck, simply staring at the back of Sherlock's head, feeling the new reality, his new reality, sink in.
He was John Watson, based off a fictional character but free to make his own choices because once created he could not be uncreated so simply. According to the Doctor, anyway. He lived with Sherlock Holmes, who was really the Genius, and who was someone John still knew as well as anyone, if not better than anyone else. At the same time John didn't know his flatmate even the tiniest bit. John lived in a world with aliens, with Time Lords, even if he lived in a London without either, and John lived in a flat with a ticking time bomb of a best mate.
But then, that's how living with Sherlock had always felt, in a way. Like explosions waiting to happen. In fact...sitting in 221B with his time-bomb-flatmate, John was shocked to realize that the whole thing felt an odd kind of normal.
He could live with this.
"Sherlock," John said. Because after all this, maybe normal and liveable wouldn't cut it anymore, not if John was to be a good friend to Sherlock. Sherlock couldn't know that he could dream bigger, but maybe John could do it for him. "Have you ever considered travelling? Seeing the world a bit more?"
"Why would I ever leave London?"
John shrugged, not wanting to push too hard. But all the same, he couldn't help it. Now that Sherlock had got even a glimpse of the Doctor's world, how could he fail to want more? "There are murders taking place all over the planet," he said. "We could go investigate those. Are you…Well." He felt awkward even asking the question, but he pushed ahead. "Are you happy here?"
Sherlock tugged his legs up to his chest and finally, finally twisted back to look at John. "I have my work here, John, you know that's what matters to me. And yes," he flung his hands out, "You are correct, I could be like my brother, board a plane and go anywhere, solve a murder. I have a trust fund. Nothing ties me to London."
John listened carefully because he had asked. He tried not to cringe at the fact that Sherlock didn't consider John a reason to stay in London. He nodded. "Yes you could," John said. "And you know I would go with you, right? If you wanted to go." He licked his lips, and forced himself to say the rest, no matter how uncomfortable he felt. "Anywhere. Because you have the work. And for what it's worth, you have me, too." Maybe they could travel the world as humans. Maybe that could be his compromise.
Sherlock stared back, eyes wide. John tired to press on. Clearly Sherlock was uncomfortable now, but letting the conversation stall would only make it worse.
"I mean," John stuttered. "I mean, I don't mean-"
"John," Sherlock said, thankfully cutting off John's awkward rambling. "I appreciate the sentiment. But my answer still stands. God forbid I become Mycroft in any way-"
John snorted.
"-And I don't even want to become the Doctor. That's what you're thinking, obviously. And frankly I don't care if he can see all the planets. When have planets ever been important in a crime?"
John smiled, more relieved at Sherlock's answer than he would care to admit aloud. "Oh, I don't think the Doctor would agree with you," John said. "He told me about a case of his own. But I don't think you'd be able to solve it. It's about a missing planet. A bunch of missing planets, disappearing one by one. Oh," John remembered, "and also some missing bees."
"Bees?" Sherlock asked. He sat up straighter in his armchair.
John smirked. "But I don't think you could solve it…"
Sherlock smiled back, same as always. Well. Not quite the same. That was the dead body smile, but here it wasn't for a body, here it was just for a story, just for John. Something stilled and something fluttered in the pit of John's stomach knowing that was the case. Which was…interesting.
At the very least, Sherlock's sulk seemed to be a thing of the past.
"Try me," the detective said.
Epilogue