Author: Erik-in-CT

Title: Beyond the Boundaries of Time

Disclaimer: The characters in this work of fanfiction do not belong to me. They belong to their original creators (David Shore & Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, respectively).

Summary: When Dr. Gregory House gets confronted with several patients showing mysterious symptoms to a disease he cannot diagnose, he must look beyond the usual boundaries to find the answers he seeks and the cure he needs. But when his research leads him to an eerily similar situation over a hundred years before, can he figure the connection between his cases and those of famous London detective Sherlock Holmes and stop the disaster before it destroys everything he loves?

Chapter One

The alarm clock screeched its daily wake up call, upsetting the peaceful silence that filled the apartment. A hand fumbled blindly for the reset switch, while the body the hand was attached to tried to move as little as possible from the comfortable nest of pillows and blankets. He had been having a most pleasant dream, and silently cursed the timepiece on the nightstand for shattering it. Faintly he hoped that he could drop back into sleep and pick up where the dream had left off, but he knew he would be unable to. Once it was gone it was gone, just another random fire of synapses that disappeared as soon as it came. Damn.

A little less than an hour later, the sun had finally risen high enough to shine through windows, finishing the alarm clock's job of waking the sleeper. Blue eyes blinked away the last vestiges of sleep, and he gave a moment to the thought about calling in sick to work. Of course the boss wouldn't believe him, but damn, he was a doctor, couldn't he write his own sick note? Eventually though, he gave into the inevitable and threw the covers off, slowly pulling himself out of bed. A hand automatically moved to his right thigh, rubbing gently where a tangle of scarring and missing tissue was hidden under pajama bottoms. It had been nearly 6 years since that disastrous time when an unwanted surgery was forced upon him by someone he had trusted and had left him with those scars.

With a resigned sigh, he carefully stood, beginning his morning routine.

A little later, showered, dressed, and medicated, he was out the door. He frowned as he noticed the layer of powdery snow covering the ground, the first snow of the season. He hated winter. As if the slick ice and snow on the ground wasn't bad enough, especially for a man who had to use a cane, it also meant that he had to finally pack away his motorbike for the season and stick to a more weather appropriate mode of transportation. And so he passed by the bike and moved instead to the little red sports car sitting next to it.

The drive took a little longer than usual, people being overly cautious as they once again learned how to drive in the snow. Not that he minded. It was a rare day when he wasn't at least a little bit late to work. He would probably give others a heart attack if he actually showed up on time. But finally he pulled into the hospital lot, grateful that he at least had a nice spot right near the doors thanks to the handicap plate. The less walking over slick pavement that was required, the better he figured.

It was just another ordinary day at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, located in the not-so-scenic town of Princeton, New Jersey. In other words, boring clinic patients with runny noses or all kinds of odd objects stuck in various orifices, and longer term patients complaining about everything from their care, to the hospital food, to the limited channels available on the televisions in their rooms. And of course certain cane wielding diagnosticians avoiding their boss. Yep, just another day.

Dr. Gregory House, head of the Department of Diagnostic Medicine, successfully navigated his way through the lobby of the hospital and was in the elevators heading for his third floor office without attracting the very unwanted attention of Dr. Cuddy, the Dean of the hospital. So he was only...well, maybe 2 hours late this morning, and only about two weeks behind on his clinic hours, but who was counting? He knew that eventually he would have to cave into her constant screeching and spend a couple of boring hours in the hospital's walk-in clinic, but it was so much fun seeing how long he could avoid it before Cuddy became homicidal. Unfortunately for him, there had been a distinct lack in the more challenging and fascinating cases that would keep him busy and free from the tediousness of the common patient. And unfortunately for the rest of the hospital staff who had to deal with him, the lack of cases to keep him occupied only made life more miserable for them.

Limping into his glass enclosed office, House glanced over into the meeting room of the Diagnostics department, finding two of his fellows, neurologist Dr. Eric Foreman, and immunologist Dr. Allison Cameron engaged in their own morning tasks. Foreman was reading some large medical text...either that or he was hiding some great porn behind the leather-bound cover judging by the way he was staring at the page. Cameron was checking and answering e-mails on the meeting room computer. The last member of his team was not in sight, though Chase might be down in the ER where he filled in occasionally, hopefully scrounging for something interesting to bring back.

Dropping his backpack next to his desk, House dropped into his chair and flicked on the computer. Maybe he could hack into the hospital's admission files and see if anything there caught his attention. Sometimes he got lucky. He was just scanning through the files of the most recent patients admitted when the door connecting his office to the meeting room creaked open, and Cameron moved to stand in front of the desk, a few sheets of paper clutched in her hand.

"Unless you have an insanely complicated and fascinating case for me to look at, go away," he said without turning towards her. He had just found something that might be interesting, and he opened the file, skimming though the notes that had been made. It had possibilities, though he wasn't sure.

"Referral request from Dr. Floryan at Princeton General," Cameron said, dropping the papers on the keyboard in front of him. House glanced up at her briefly before looking down at the papers she had given him. Dr. Floryan was good, not as good as himself of course, but good. If he couldn't figure something out...maybe. He perused the request briefly. He frowned slightly, a crease forming across his brow as he looked over the list of symptoms that Floryan's patient was exhibiting. They seemed pretty straightforward, but so far none of the usual remedies had worked, and Floryan's lab results were not what would be expected. It was bizarre. It was interesting. It was perfect. He turned back towards Cameron, pushing the papers back at her.

"Call him, tell him we'll take it. Have the patient transferred over. And get Chase up here." He watched as Cameron turned and left the room, gone to do his bidding, and grinned as he picked up the phone and dialed Cuddy's extension. Another day free of clinic duty. Of course she wasn't too happy with him, threatening him uselessly with all manners of consequences if he didn't make up his time, but she couldn't argue with him on taking a referral from another doctor. After all, his department had been lacking in cases as of late, and they did need to make the hospital some money to justify the need for the department.