The Mind Palace

Chapter Two

At some point, Sherlock cleared his throat and left the room, down yet another hall. The Doctor and I had no choice but to follow, as being lost in here was possibly dangerous- that, and we didn't want to be without Sherlock's false knowledge in the situation. Though he might not understand where we are, it was comforting to think he did. Besides, I wouldn't leave Sherlock's side. I never could. And who would want to? I mean, with a face like that... Not to mention his figure. Tall, skinny, but still with such a nice a-

I shook my head. No time for daydreaming here. Besides, we had entered another room. This one was completely unfamiliar, and I knew for a fact that I'd never seen it before in my life. With tall lavender walls and beautifully crafted white furniture, this room was almost as elegant as the entryway. The interesting bit, however, was plainly given away by the massive king size bed (lavender quilt, white pillows, gorgeous draping of both colors surrounding it, a bed fit for- yes- a king) sitting in the center of the room, as though inviting me in for a nice, long nap.

The Doctor, of course, reacted to this invitation. With a quick "wahoo!" he jumped straight into the bed, upsetting the pile of pillows at the head of it. "A bedroom! What a peculiar place for a bedroom! Brilliant, I love bedrooms. Don't think I've got one aboard the TARDIS. May have lost it." He seemed to be talking to himself, mostly.

While our new friend was distracted, I pulled Sherlock away to the side of the room, pretending to investigate a large wardrobe.

"Sherlock, what are we even doing here?"

He opened the wardrobe door and began looking through the clothes inside. "Not sure. Exploring. Adventuring. Figuring out who that is." We looked over at the Doctor, who was still lying in the bed, playing with the tassles on one of the pillows.

"He's like a five-year-old in a 30-year-old's body."

Sherlock snickered, but then looked back to me, meeting my eyes seriously. "I dare say he's older than that."

I waited for an explanation. Sometimes around Sherlock it was just best to keep quiet.

Sherlock licked his lips, took a breath. "There's dirt- just a little, in the wrinkles of his hands. Thing is, it's not familiar. Not even brown or black, just a light shade of almost transparent grey. I nearly mistook it for dust- but no. That's some old dirt, older than I've ever studied. It hasn't disintegrated or disappeared, as it should have years ago. Possibly alien. Possibly... Recent."

"He did mention that it travels in time..."

"Yes, but how long would it take a person to figure out how to do that at all? To plan and build a time traveling machine... It's been attempted before. Even I have tried to figure it out. It would take decades to figure out the rearrangement of the atoms, even longer to build a thing that does it. It's impossible that he could look so young..."

Seeing Sherlock's angular face slip into worry, I tried to lighten the mood. "Well, you know what those anti-aging makeups can do these days."

He cracked a small smile. "Turn someone who should be dust into a middle-aged man? Science."

We slowly began turning to walk back towards the bed. "So maybe that was dust on his hand."

Sherlock's smile widened, and he clapped me on my shoulder. "I know skin cells when I see them, John." We had reached the bed. "Doctor, that wardrobe, full of women's clothes. All fancy, lots of silk gowns, someone who dresses up while still wearing very little."

The Doctor sat up in bed. "Very little?"

Sherlock nodded, tightening his scarf around his neck, and the two of them continued to discuss whose room it could be. I, however, was distracted, rubbing the spot where Sherlock had made contact with my shoulder. Shivers had gone down my spine, an actual, physical reaction to the touch. It didn't make sense, not medically. But emotionally...

That couldn't be it either. Sherlock was my friend. My attractive, charming, genius friend- and only that. Besides, he wasn't even gay. I wasn't either. Was I?

"John, what do you think?"

The very man himself had pulled me from my questioning thoughts. His dark curls bobbed a little as he shook his head slightly and asked again. "What do you think?"

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to clear my mind of the distraction my friend had become, before opening them again. "Sorry, about what?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "About who could live here."

 I ran my tongue over my upper lip. "Right, well..." Taking another glance around the room, I tried to think up a quick answer. "Whoever does live here is probably a woman, must be pretty wealthy too, by the looks of it. I can't imagine what age she might be, certainly not a child though..." I laughed a bit.

The Doctor smiled at me, but it was the type of smile you would give a small child. Either I had just made a complete fool of myself, or this guy really was old... Or both. He got off the bed with a little hop, landing with yet another grin. I'd never seen anyone smile this much in my life, especially not when put in a weird situation like this one. Perhaps that was it- this could be a completely normal day in the life of the Doctor.

As I thought more and more about his age, I couldn't stop myself. "Sorry, Doctor, how old are you?"

Sherlock's nose twitched.

The Doctor's beam grew. "About twelve hundred."

Sherlock smirked a bit. "No human could ever live that long. You'd shrivel up."

"Good thing I'm not human, then."

I stepped forward, neck out. "Wait a second, that's impossible."

"Now you're both saying it! What is it with you humans and 'impossible?'"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "So if you aren't human, what are you?"

The smile was wider than ever. "I'm a timelord, from the planet Gallifrey. I'm the last timelord- at least, the last one in this universe. I survived the time war, came out alive unlike many others. Now I travel. Planet to planet, time to time. That's what I do, that's who i am. I'm the Doctor."

I looked at Sherlock, one eyebrow raised, after a moment of silence. "That made partial sense."

He continued talking. "Gallifrey is my home. Was my home. Is my home?" He shrugged. "Not exactly sure. Anyways, it was destroyed in the time war- you can google that bit, I think- and that may have been my fault." His face fell, now, to a sad expression. "Many people died because of a choice I made." Just like that, the smile was back. "But I've put all that behind me, don't worry."

Sherlock stuck his tongue in the side of his mouth. He wasn't exactly the question-asking type, but with a speciman like the Doctor, he simply couldn't control himself. "So there is life outside our planet?"

The Doctor looked offended. "Of course there is! You humans, so small, have figured out that the universe is so infinite, so massive, and always expanding with millions and billions of other galaxies, and you're still able to doubt the existence of other life forms? Of course there are other lifeforms out there! You lot just haven't looked hard enough!"

I laughed a bit. "Sherlock here only has basic knowledge of space."

The consulting detective gave me a look. "Irrelevant."

Still laughing, I shoved him gently. " Pretty relevant."

The Doctor had gone stone still in front of us, staring at something, someone in the doorway. "I think I've just found who lives here."

Sherlock and I turned to look at the door. Leaning against the doorframe, wearing absolutely nothing (again), was the woman- Irene Adler.

"Hello, boys."