Author's Note: Last chapter! Thanks to all who has favorited/followed/reviewed. I'd like to know what you think of this chapter. Tell me what I did right, what I did wrong. Sherlock and the Doctor are the hardest characters in the world to write, and because I'm crazy, I put them both in one chapter… I own nothing!

Every word that John directed at the tombstone hurt Sherlock. John's words of loyalty and aching sadness twisted Sherlock's heart with a physical pain that he had never experienced before.

Even after John walked away from the grave, back ramrod straight and hiding his grief with the stoicism of a soldier, Sherlock remained in the cemetery, eyes still fixed on the place where John had been standing.

Thoughts of what the future would bring harangued Sherlock; he knew that taking down Moriarty's network would be a long and dangerous undertaking.

It was while Sherlock was thus engaged in thought that he heard a whooshing of engines.

That was the only word for it: whooshing.

Sherlock looked around for the source of the noise and stepped backwards involuntary as a blue phone box materialized out of nowhere. It wasn't often that Sherlock was taken by surprise, but the unexpected appearance of a police phone box from the early 20th century left him flabbergasted. The engines of the machine continued to whir. Sherlock looked around at the empty graveyard, then stared back at the box. "What the hell?" he muttered.

Sherlock stepped forward hesitantly, looking closely at the blue box. It seemed very solid, so it wasn't a hologram or a projection. Based on what he knew of police phone boxes, this one looked authentic except for the size of the windows and the overall width.

Sherlock attempted to open the door of the phone box and it was then that the door opened from the inside.

Sherlock nearly tripped over his own feet stepping back. Catching his balance, he saw a man throw open the door of the phone box and step out.

In the second before the man spoke, Sherlock noticed that he was dressed quite oddly. Who, besides old men and very young boys, still wore a bow tie and suspenders?

The man in the bow tie and suspenders looked Sherlock up and down and said, "Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock, feeling dumbstruck and slow, said, "Yes. Who's asking?"

The man grinned and wrung Sherlock's hand, "Great. I knew I'd find you eventually. Nice to meet you, I'm the Doctor, I'm here to be your ghost of Christmas future. Well, sort of, because I'm not a spirit and I don't really want to show you the future. You don't need that many spoilers. But I do intend to tell you about the future."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sherlock said, having gotten past his initial shock while the man was talking.

The man didn't seem to hear him, he was staring at Sherlock appraisingly. "You know, you're not as tall as I thought you'd be. I suppose it's the long coat that makes you look imposing."

He waited for Sherlock to respond, but Sherlock said nothing.

"I had a long coat before. It didn't make me look imposing, but it did make me look taller." The Doctor finished.

"What did you call yourself? The Doctor?" Sherlock asked, a vague memory resurfacing from about a year ago, from the night John was mugged: John had said he had been aided by a man who called himself "the Doctor" and Sherlock had dismissed this because he thought it unimportant. Then there was John's browser history as of late, with most of his searches consisting of "the Doctor" and something called a "Tardis". Sherlock had dismissed these as well as he had thought the searches were referring to some television program or other pop culture nonsense.

And yet, here was the Doctor right in front of him. Once you've eliminated the impossible...

"Yes. I'm the Doctor. Keep up." The Doctor responded.

Sherlock glared at the man, as that was the phrase he himself used when people were being slow. "Do you know John Watson?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes." The Doctor said. "I was just with him. Left him at a restaurant while I did a quick hop into 2012 to find you and reprimand you for your suicide."

Sherlock stared at the man, confused that he was referring to time travel so casually. "What are you?" He asked rather rudely. "And what is this blue box?"

"John didn't tell you about me? Strange. I thought you were renowned for your powers of observation? You haven't noticed that John has been secretly keeping in touch with a dangerous alien?" The Doctor had a glint of amusement in his eye, as if he was enjoying Sherlock's confusion.

"You're an alien, then?" Sherlock was willing to accept anything at the moment. On top of watching his own funeral and watching John speak to his fake grave, finding out that aliens exist didn't change his state of mind much.

"Time Lord." The Doctor said, straightening his bow tie. "And this is my Tardis. My time machine. My mobile phone." He added, patting the blue box.

"Tardis." Sherlock said the word slowly. "An acronym for something?"

"Very good, Sherlock Holmes. Tardis stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space."

Sherlock was starting to feel out of his depth, an emotion that he did not enjoy. In order to bring some clarity back to the situation, he scanned the Doctor, brain taking in data as fast as usual. He knew nothing of aliens or time travel, but he was quite good at deducing.

"You're very old and you've been traveling for centuries in various disguises."

"Hmm. Disguises? More like various faces."

Sherlock ignored this. "You've acquired different companions in your travels, but most of them have met untimely ends due to the dangerous life you lead. Oh, that's got to hurt." Sherlock said in a mocking voice. "I can practically see the survivor's guilt written on your face."

The Doctor looked neither surprised nor hurt by the onslaught of deductions. He stared at Sherlock while Sherlock spoke, an ironic smile on his face.

Sherlock scowled, wanting to hurt this man, to release some of the pain he felt. "Your real name isn't the Doctor. Its merely a pseudonym. There are very few people to whom you've told your real name. One of the people you've told is your wife, with whom you have anything but a simple relationship. Marital problems, Doctor?"

"Well, she has tried to kill me multiple times. But that wasn't her fault." The Doctor was still smiling.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked.

"You just faked your suicide."

"Why do you care?"

"If I didn't know John Watson I wouldn't care. But I consider him a friend, now, after we've had several serendipitous meetings. I've grown to quite like John—"

"Everyone likes John." Sherlock said bluntly.

"Don't interrupt me. I hate it when people interrupt me. It's rude." The Doctor looked mildly peeved.

"Get to your point, then. You've come from the past to yell at me for hurting John? You've completely missed the point of my suicide. I'm doing this to protect him."

"Yes, yes, that's the end result. You destroy Moriarty's henchmen and while you're away John sinks deeper and deeper into depression, unaware that you're still alive, traversing the world looking for the bad guys." The Doctor said in a voice that hid anger.

Sherlock glared at the Time Lord, "How dare you imply that you care more for John's wellbeing than I? I am dismantling Moriarty's network so as to ensure his safety."

The Doctor shook his head, "Why did you make him watch?" He asked.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"You made John watch every second of your suicide. You called him and told him to watch. He begged you to stop."

Sherlock winced at the deliberate way the Doctor said these last words. Sherlock took a deep breath, his mind in turmoil. Didn't the Doctor realize how much it hurt Sherlock to have made John watch. This stupid alien knew nothing. "I—I…he had to watch. That was the plan."

"He had to be focused on you on top of the building so he wouldn't see what was happening down below? So he wouldn't see the people preparing to make your fake death look very real?" It was amazing how the Doctor's face had transformed: when he had exited the Tardis he had looked mischievous and childish, yet know, as he berated Sherlock, he looked dangerous and determined.

Sherlock was speechless.

"Did you ever stop to think about how he would feel? How he would be affected by watching his best friend plummet to the ground?"

Sherlock could almost feel his mind reinforcing the walls he had built to block the memories of John's cracked voice as he begged the paramedics to let him through. The awful look of devastation on John's face when he saw the blood, shockingly red against Sherlock's pale face. "John will be fine. He'll be sad for a little bit, and then he'll get over it. He'll… He'll get over me."

"Do you really believe that?" The Doctor looked at Sherlock intently.

Sherlock exhaled shakily, the walls holding back the memories crumbling despite his mental efforts. "No. I don't believe that. It's just what I'm telling myself." He hated showing weakness in front of this stranger, but something about the Doctor invited Sherlock to tell the truth.

The Doctor's face looked sympathetic now. "Human emotions are messy." He said quietly, almost to himself.

"Yes." Sherlock said, feeling exhausted for some reason.

The Doctor smiled at Sherlock, "Do you want me to tell you if you succeed?"

Sherlock looked at the man. "I would think time travelers have strict rules against that sort of thing?"

With a shrug, the Doctor said, "I'm the last of my kind. I think I can get away with one spoiler."

"Do I succeed?" Sherlock asked, almost afraid for the answer.

The Doctor grinned. "In about twenty years, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson are the most famous crime fighting duo in Britain. Perhaps in the world."

Sherlock felt like crying. He would survive this. John would forgive him for faking his death.

"Everything turns out in the end." The Doctor said softly, watching Sherlock as he tried to control the floodgate of emotion that had suddenly been opened inside of him.

Sherlock could only nod.

"I'll check in on him from time to time, Sherlock Holmes." The Doctor said. "I will make sure he doesn't stop living simply because he thinks you have."

Sherlock nodded again. His chest was constricted as well as his throat. "I… that's good. Thank you, Doctor." He managed to force out.

The Doctor gave him a salute. "Nice to meet you, Sherlock Holmes." The Doctor opened the door to his Tardis. "I'm off to fight my own battle." And with a final smile, the Doctor closed the door and the sound of the engines preceded the disappearance of the Tardis.

Sherlock cleared his throat and flipped his collar up. It was time to go.