Cheating Fate

Sherlock isn't sure what he thinks when he sees a man in a brown coat and suit walking alone on an empty Baker street from his window. He wonders why the other is alone during the holiday season. He looks like he'd be the type to have a girlfriend or spend Christmas with his family.

He tries to read the other; he tries to deduce at least something from the man's life, as he has piqued Sherlock's interest.

Sherlock flees the party in order to get a better look at the stranger. He's an odd man. Sherlock can't read anything from him, and he feels disturbed. There have been very few people he cannot read, and he dislikes letting the number rise above one—or two, actually, if he counts a certain time travelling alien.

The man is pacing across the street, muttering to himself and making gestures to the air. It's like he's talking to someone, but Sherlock is sure the man knows there's no one to talk to. Then he spots Sherlock, and Sherlock gazes at him impassively. The man is tall, with brown eyes and messy hair that looks like it's never been combed. He's somewhat tanned, like he's been on a trip recently, but Sherlock can't place where.

"Hello," the man states, in a voice that tries too hard to be cheery that it easily fails.

Sherlock doesn't reply at first. After a moment's thought, he returns the greeting with a nod of his head.

They scrutinize each other for what seems like forever, when the man talks again. This time, he sounds excited. "Oh, oh!" he exclaims in a sudden outburst of emotion. "I know who you are! You're brilliant, you are!" The man grins.

Sherlock frowns. He doesn't answer right away.

"We've met before! I'm the Doctor. Remember me? I'm sure you do, I mean, I bet I'm difficult to delete from that mind of yours" he cries, the grin lighting up his face. He doesn't look as sad anymore.

"Yes, I know who you are." The Doctor shakes his hand with much enthusiasm. Sherlock looks him over again, beginning to drag vague answers from the man's clothing.

"You look different from the other times I've seen you, Doctor," Sherlock says.

The Doctor is confused, if his expression says anything. "How so?"

"You're lonely."

"Well, that does tend to happen. I mean, I can't have my companions forever, can I? That's absurd, since not all of them will want to stay. And then I don't suppose I'd want them to stay because bad things can happen to them and they might not survive—"

"Doctor, you're rambling," Sherlock tells him.

"Oh, sorry."

There is a long pause. The Doctor has stopped with the incessant babbling and looks concerned. Sherlock has seen that look on his face before, but it has always been when something important is happening. As far as Sherlock knows, nothing is currently endangering the earth.

"You're going to die," is all Sherlock says. He can see it in the man's features, and his sudden statement is confirmed moments after it leaves his mouth. Besides, the Doctor had explained the regeneration process to him before. The Doctor's expression falls and a sad smile spreads across his lips.

"I should've known you'd figure that one out. You're Sherlock Holmes, after all; you can see everything." Sherlock casts him a look of confusion.

"It's a prophecy," the Doctor offers with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'm going to die. My song is ending, so the Ood say."

"What are Ood?" Sherlock asks, not knowing what the Doctor is babbling about, though he has heard the name thrown around before. He's never been told about the Ood before, having not bothered to learn about the many different races of life on other planets.

"Well, they're a group of creatures—you know what, I don't think it matters." The Doctor waves a hand in the air, dismissing the topic before it can continue further.

The stand in silence once more, as the Doctor regards the street and Sherlock takes the moment to look up at the sky. It is a clear night. The light pollution is little, and the stars shine bright and clear, winking at him.

"What year is it?" the Doctor asks out of the blue. Sherlock replies with the date. The Doctor hums, looking at the ground and staring at his feet.

"You're going to die too," he says.

Sherlock narrows his eyes. "And how do you know that?" he asks coldly.

"It's a bit obvious, don't you think? You know it too," the Doctor points out. Sherlock knows he is right. He doesn't say it, though, because he thinks that would be giving in before he should.

"We're both dead men," the Doctor chuckles half-heartedly. He looks at Sherlock with one of the most honest faces Sherlock has ever seen. "You can cheat fate, though. I know you can. You're Sherlock Holmes, after all. And your death isn't locked in time, like mine," he says. Sherlock supposes that's a good thing for him. He feels somewhat sorry for the other man; it's a very strange and human emotion to feel sympathy; it is one Sherlock is unaccustomed with.

"You can do nothing to avoid it then?" he questions. The Doctor shakes his head.

"No, though I can hope for a miracle."

"Of course," Sherlock mutters, shifting his gaze away.

"I better get going." Sherlock moves his gaze back to the Doctor. He has questions to ask, but he thinks that they can wait for another time—if there is another time, which he hopes there will be. He hopes he'll see the Doctor again, whether he looks like this or looks like a different man.

"Good luck then, Doctor," he says, despite thinking that wishing him luck will do nothing.

The Doctor smiles sadly. He gives a two fingered salute goodbye, and walks away. Sherlock watches him go.

He ponders the Doctor's words, standing alone on the pathway for a while. Dying, he thinks, will not be a problem. After all, he has never had any qualms about dying before, as it has never occurred to him. He thinks it won't matter if he dies.

Sherlock looks to his flat, hearing muted laughter. He realizes then that he does have something that will keep him from dying. He realizes that he won't be able to leave so soon after all. Despite all that he thinks, he can't die, because John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade are still alive, and he has to look after them, like they look after him.

Sherlock glances down the road where the Doctor had walked off. He hears the faint sound of a machine of some sort. He assumes it's the TARDIS. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a blue police box in between some of the apartment buildings. When he tries to see it better, it is gone. But he knows what it is.

He wishes he had said something more to this Doctor, but settles on a quiet "thank you", knowing that somehow, he will hear it.

Without a second though, he enters his flat once more to rejoin the people he has come to know, some of them—dare he say it— now his friends.