Two Doctors in the TARDIS

The Doctor

The Doctor stepped back inside his TARDIS, frowning slightly. "I could've sworn these were the right coordinates…" he muttered, checking first his watch and then the low-hanging monitor that dangled above the TARDIS console.

He scratched his smooth chin and scrunched up his non-existent eyebrows in concentration. Then, with an almighty shout and a jump into the air, he exclaimed, "OH! That's it! I got the timing wrong!" The Doctor leaped around the console, pulling knobs and levers as he went and grinning like an idiot. In just a few seconds the TARDIS was off, spinning like a top through time and space.

It landed just a moment later, shuddering to a stop in the exact spot as before, making its trademark wheezing, dying-whale noise. The Doctor popped his head out, tasted the air, and grinned. "Perfect!"

He locked the TARDIS doors and jogged over to the door of 221B Baker Street. He rang the bell once and stood back, checking his reflection in the shiny gold mail slot.

"Hello?" The voice belonged to a petite woman with wispy brown hair. "Oh, are you here for the doctor, dear? Just a tick. I'll go and get him for you." She smiled kindly and closed the door, calling something up a flight of rickety stairs.

The Doctor raised one non-existent eyebrow, thoroughly bamboozled. "The Doctor? The Doctor? Doctor who?" he asked himself, looking puzzled. A minute later the door opened again to reveal a man shorter than the Doctor, with hair cut close to his head.

"It's you!" he exclaimed, pointing a finger accusingly at the Doctor's chest. "That nutter that showed up last week!"

"Er, yes. I am 'that nutter', as you put it. How're things? Good? Fine? Nothing…strange? Paranormal? Good, good. That's good. Great, in fact! Might I see your upstairs? Department of…House…Checking…? Here's my card."

He fumbled around in his jacket for a minute before finding his psychic paper, which he then gave to Doctor Watson. John studied it, frowning, before he let a small smile curve his thin lips. "Psychic. I was a soldier. You can't fool me with this. But—what the hell. Sherlock would've let you in, so I will too. Come on." He led the Doctor up the narrow staircase and into a nice sitting room.

Well, it would've been nice, had there not have been piles and piles of scientific things and books lying about in heaps. "Well, this is…cosy," the Doctor remarked, smiling and clapping his hands together.

"Was there anything specific you wanted to inspect?" asked John, placing his hands on his hips and looking around.

"Oh, no, not really. Do you by any chance know someone by the name of…Sherlock Holmes?"

John blanched. "No. Well, I did, but, uh…no. Not anymore. He's, um, he's gone now. He's—he's dead."

The Doctor's eyes flickered down, and John was astonished to see that they were full of tears. "Oh," he whispered. "So that's how I got the distress call. Your, um, your mind. You sent out a distress signal with your mind. My psychic paper detected it and brought me here. Sherlock's an old friend. I'm sorry. I'm…so sorry." He grasped John's shoulder for a moment, smiling sadly.

"You…knew Sherlock? He never mentioned you." John couldn't tear his gaze away from his—the Doctor's—eyes, so old in a face that was too young. He recognised it. He saw it every time he looked in a mirror. This man had seen war and too much of it.

"No, he wouldn't have. How did it happen?" asked the Doctor, his voice cracking on the word 'it'.

"It's a long story," sighed John, sitting down heavily in his armchair.

"Time…that's irrelevant," said the Doctor, chuckling slightly. He sat down across from John in a comfortable leather chair and crossed his gangly legs. He vaguely noticed a shadow cross the other man's face, but it soon passed.

"Good. It's going to be a while. Now, I met Sherlock Holmes about 19 months ago…"

The Doctor gaped at John. "He-"

"Yes."

"But it was because of Moriarty, right? He didn't just kill himself on a whim?"

"I believe that it was caused by Moriarty, yes. He seemed—I dunno—odd. Sherlock, I mean. Moriarty was downright insane. But he called me on my mobile, and said that he was a fake. The newspapers were trying to sell that, but I of course didn't believe him. He said that it was his note. And the last thing he said was 'goodbye'."

The Doctor sighed. "You said Moriarty was crazy. He's dead? Or he's not crazy anymore?"

"Dead. They didn't find the body, but there was a gun and plenty of real blood that certainly wasn't a match for Sherlock. So, how did you know Sherlock, anyway?"

"We met a long time ago. He travelled with me for a bit, but it was too much. He started to disprove everything with logic and science and left. I just wanted to pop by and see him, but I suppose…I suppose that's not going to happen."

"S'pose not," murmured John, rubbing his forehead wearily.

The Doctor stood. "Would you like to save him, John?" he asked gently.

John looked up, startled. "What do you mean, 'save him'?"

"We can, you know. It would alter some events, but I'm fairly certain that it wouldn't destroy the planet. Well, not certain, exactly, but there's a fair chance it won't blow up this galaxy. So, do you want to?"

"Is this some kind of crazy test? To see if I was worthy of him? Because…I do. No one should be brought back from the dead like that, but I don't think Sherlock counts as a person. He's going to kill me, mind. But yes…I do want to save him. It was at St. Bart's, not too far away. He was on the roof. Er, how exactly are we going to save him?" John asked.

The Doctor grinned at him. "You'll see."