The Doctor and the Detective [WHOLOCK]

Chapter Eleven

A/N: I sincerely apologise for the tears you are about to shed.

At five-to-seven, Sherlock entered Angelo's Restaurant. Sherlock had remembered that this was where he and John had spent part of their first case together: "A Study in Pink", as John had so poetically put it on his famous blog. He looked over to the table by the window, and there, John sat opposite a woman with short, blonde hair. Sherlock couldn't help letting a warm smile grow on his face.

"John!" he called, probably a little too excitedly. Well, that's what Sherlock thought until no reply came. "John!" he called again. This time his blogger sent him a confused glance, but made his way over to the detective anyway.

"I'm alive, John." Sherlock said, the smile controlling his voice.

"Well I can see that!" John laughed. Sherlock couldn't help joining in. "You're that guy, right? The guy that I solved that case with."

Sherlock stood idle, clouded and bewildered.

"Ah, don't worry, mate. I hadn't even thought about it until tonight. Although, I guess it must be hard to forget solving a murder with a complete stranger."

"Stranger," Sherlock muttered under his breath, his eyes transfixed at something behind John.

"Yeah, sorry, mate. What was your name again? Sherly, Shezza, something like that, right?"

"Sherlock," the detective said, a stutter overwhelming his tone. Sherlock felt this lost before; he chose his name to create a suit of armour to block out all emotions. However, he soon realised that his eyes were welling up with tears.

"Sherlock, I knew it. Anyway, I'd better be getting back. Don't want to keep the 'Mrs' waiting, eh?" John laughed, resting his arm on Sherlock's shoulder before walking away.

As Sherlock trudged out of the restaurant that night, he resembled a hunchback. His head hung low, watching his feet scuffle along the concrete floor- the same concrete that he had 'fallen' to his death upon. Oh, how he wished he could return to being 'dead'. It was so much easier: no more emotions, forgotten friends. But now he was stuck in reality: a world in which his only friend wasn't his friend anymore.

"Oh, John," he whispered as he rested heavily on the TARDIS door.

The Doctor was lurking in the shadows close to Sherlock. Though an alien, he understood how he was feeling.

"I had a friend once," the Time Lord spoke kindly, making his way over to his time machine. "She was brilliant: there are planets on the other side of the universe that still sing songs of praise to her today. But she lost her memory, and now she can't remember me. She can't recall any of the adventures we experienced together. But, Sherlock, do you know what the worst part is?"

"What," Sherlock asked, his eyes full of admiration.

"I can't ever see her again. If she ever lays her eyes upon me, her brain will burst and she will die." The Doctor said. His voice was serious, but still a sense of comfort washed over Sherlock.

"He's the only one that's ever understood me," Sherlock said. "I need him."

"And I promise I will do my very best to re-unite you with your blogger."