Two Doctors in the TARDIS

Sherlock Holmes Had a Great Fall

Sherlock was bracing himself for the fall when he heard it. No, his mind whispered. No, it can’t be him. The Doctor is gone, because you left him. And yet the sound didn’t stop. That dying-whale racket that made Sherlock want to hit something.

He turned and there he was. John. “Sherlock…” he whispered, coming out of the TARDIS.

“John, wh—what are you doing here? How—When—The--” Sherlock stammered, trying to find the right words. Then the Doctor stepped out, looking down. His stupid fringe flopped over one eye, making him look like a little kid that got caught stealing candy.

“Why did you bring him here?” Sherlock asked, anger coating every word.

The Doctor glanced up. “Well, I wanted—we wanted—to save you.”

“You can’t, all right? I have to do this! I have to die! Take him back, take him away!” Sherlock turned his back on them and went back to the ledge. The Doctor pulled John back into the TARDIS, murmuring something in his ear that Sherlock could not overhear. John glanced back at Sherlock as he went, but he went inside anyway.

Sherlock made sure they were gone before he pulled out his mobile phone and dialled in a number—the last one he would ever dial and the last time he would ever dial it.

“Hello?” John asked, sitting down on the same leather chair as before.

“John. Go back. Go back to whatever time you came from, and forget me.”

“Sher—Sherlock, what the hell are you saying? Did I do something wrong? Why are you killing yourself?”

Sherlock took a deep breath, tears threatening to make an unscheduled appearance. “This is an apology, John. It’s all true.”

“Sherlock, you told me that, you—you said that the newspapers were right and you invented Moriarty. Stop it, stop it now, all right?”

The Doctor was on the other side of the console, invisible to John, with his hands covering his face. He was breathing in short, painful gasps and tears were leaking through his long, long fingers. He knew the conversation because he was there, just out of reach, when it happened.

“John, I’m a fake.”

“No, Sherlock, no you’re not. I’ve been through this once and you’re not going to do it to me again. You—you can’t just die. You can’t. I’ve watched you die once, I can’t watch it again. Please. Please, just tell me why this is happening. Please, Sherlock, for me.”

“I can’t. John, just please leave! If I tell you he’ll kill you. Just go!”
“Sherlock, I’m not leaving. Not for you, not for anyone. Now tell me.” John’s voice was angry and assertive and Sherlock sighed.
“If I tell you will you go?”
“Doubtful, but if you don’t tell me I might punch you in the face. Sherlock, you can’t just tell me to leave without even giving me an explanation! This isn’t right, and it’s not like you.”
“Fine, I’ll tell you. But you have to promise me that afterwards you will get in that box with the Doctor and leave. I need to die, John. I just—I need to.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll leave after you explain. Can I come outside now, or am I still in timeout?” John asked.
“You can come outside.”
John stood and stretched his legs before storing his mobile back in his jacket. “Doctor, I’m going to go and talk to Sherlock. Er…are you crying?”
The Doctor looked up, sniffling slightly. “Oh, no. I accidentally pulled my hair and my eyes are watering. No, no, I’m fine. Um, you go on. I’ll just wait here, shall I?”
“Um, okay. I’ll let you know what happens.” John walked out, feeling slightly baffled. Sherlock turned to look at him, his pale face almost luminescent in the blinding sunlight.
“Sherlock.”
“John, I…I have to commit suicide. It would be perfect, don’t you see? Moriarty can prove that I’m a fake and there’s nothing to be done. And if I don’t die—which is absolutely out of the question, so don’t try to talk me out of it—well, he has people. People who can kill you, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, everyone. All of my friends, all of the people who I am close to. That’s why you have to leave here; that’s why the Doctor brought you here, so that you can understand.
“Because I can’t survive, John, not if I want to keep you alive.”
John made a few attempts to speak before he finally succeeded. “Sherlock, that—I don’t—It’s not—Dying isn’t an option for you, not here! You don’t understand how many times I’ve had to watch people die. A lot of them died under my care, because I wasn’t quick enough or I didn’t have the right medicine, and that can’t happen here! I don’t care, I don’t care if I die! People will get over it, and they’ll recover. But if you die, I—I watched you die, Sherlock! I can’t do that all over again!”
He was crying now, and was sagging against the TARDIS with his hands covering his eyes. Sherlock gently pried his fingers away with his own long, ghostly white ones. He didn’t say a word, merely pulled his friend into his arms and held him. John’s hands, which were clenched into fists, were balled up in the scratchy but comforting wool fabric of Sherlock’s overcoat.
“I have to, you know. Eventually. You can’t…you can’t just die for me, John. You know that, don’t you?” Sherlock whispered. John made a disagreeable grunting noise and pulled away, grumbling something about prats that make a total fool out of someone.
Sherlock laughed. It was sharp, almost like a bark, and wasn’t intended to be humorous. “What a fickle world we live in, don’t you agree, John? There are whole planets and galaxies and alien races out there and we’re stuck with this one.”
John didn’t really understand what Sherlock meant, but he nodded his agreement anyway. In matters like this, Sherlock was usually right. “Have you seen any?” he asked.
“Any what?”
“Planets and galaxies and alien races. Have you seen any? With him, with the Doctor?”
Sherlock sighed. “Yes, but that’s not the—”
“Not the point? Yes, Sherlock, it bloody well is the point! I’ve known you for, what, going on 19 months? And yet you’ve never even mentioned this Doctor fellow, who just happens to show up on the doorstep of 221B and who just so incidentally knew you and travelled with you! Sherlock, if you’re going to kill yourself—which is never going to happen, by the way—I would like some answers! Stop being so cryptic and give them to me!”
Sherlock stepped back, shocked at this outburst. “Calm down, John.”
“Calm down? Calm DOWN!? You calm down, Sherlock Holmes! You try living like this, because I can guarantee that you wouldn’t make it through to tomorrow! I’m sick and tired of playing all of your damn games!” John was getting angrier by the second and had backed Sherlock up to the ledge. When he finished his rant, he was left with silence that was only punctuated by the heaving breaths he soon realised were emanating from his own mouth.“I’m sorry, John.” Sherlock raised his hands in surrender and moved away from the ledge. “I met the Doctor ten years ago. I wasn’t much of a consulting detective, but I was still extremely interested in science. I was walking past Bart’s and I saw the TARDIS—but at the time, I just thought of it as a nondescript blue box. But then I saw a man coming out—he wasn’t the same Doctor that’s in it now. He was more…normal. He said that he was a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey, the last of his kind, and that he could take me anywhere in the universe at any time.

“I was sceptical at first, like I imagine you were, but as he talked, I started to listen. I wanted a break, I wanted to travel with this odd man who stole a time machine and ran off into the stars. So I did. I saw amazing things, John. I met William Shakespeare and Marie Curie and Queen Elizabeth I. I fought the Daleks, and the Cybermen, and I went to a planet that was literally made up of a library. And it was amazing, and beautiful, but after a while I got tired of all of the running. I had learned and seen so much, and the Doctor was wonderful, but I knew that I would never be able to live like he did. So I left him, John. I was heartless and cruel, and I remained that way until I met you.”
John, who had been listening intently, was startled to realise that Sherlock had finished his monologue. “I…wow.”
“Wow, indeed,” murmured Sherlock. “So you’ve got your answers. You have to leave now, John.”
“No way! Don’t even bother thinking I’m leaving now. Sherlock, I’m not going to let you die just for me! I’m not—you can’t just do something like that!”
“Like I said a long time ago, John—I don’t have friends. I only have one.”
John stood up angrily. “Do you think I’m willing to let you die for me? Because I’m not, Sherlock! I have nothing, nothing without you! I’ve told you about ten times, and I’ll tell you again: I’m not leaving you!”
Sherlock stood up as well. “Goodbye, John.” He stepped onto the ledge and took one last, lingering look at the horror-struck face of Dr. John Hamish Watson.
He jumped.