I am such a bad author! I have not updated in ages! I'm so sorry *hands cookie and runs away*
Hopefully updates will be more on time now.

Sherlock and John slowly backed away, going up the steps and reaching the console. John pressed a few of the console buttons, and he looked up expectantly, but all he got was a low moaning sound from the TARDIS. He looked over at the creature, but it hadn't advanced. Instead, it floated in front of the exit, watching them although it had no noticeable eyes, its glare burning into John, although it was looking into his soul.

"Sherlock, what do we do?" he asked, desperately hoping that Sherlock knew what to do. If anyone could get them out of this mess, it would be Sherlock.

"Um…" Sherlock said, uncertainly.

"Sherlock!" John said sharply, looking at him.

Sherlock looked back at him with worry and regret. His eyes were sad, like he was disappointed in himself. "I'm sorry, but there's no way we're going to get out of this alive."

"Sorry, what?" John asked with incredibility. Surely he had misheard? Surely the great Sherlock Holmes had a plan to get them out of here.

"There's no way we're going to get out of this alive, short of Captain Jack coming in and teleporting us out, not that I'd let him."

"Who?"

"Doesn't matter. It's not important right now. At the moment, we should be focusing on that." Sherlock said, pointing at the thing that was still hovering menacingly over the exit, like it had all the time in the world. Technically, it did.

John looked over at the thing. There really was no way for them to get out, was there? Short of a miracle, and he knew from experience that miracles didn't happen to people like him. No, they really were doomed this time, unlike all the other times where there was at least a glimmer of hope that they would live to see daylight again.

"So… I suppose it's going to possess you, and what, kill me?" John asked. It was the obvious course of events, and definitely what he would do if he were the creature. Choose the strongest person, and then eliminate any threats. He frowned at his own train of thoughts. Did he just plan to kill himself?

"Mmh. That would be the ideal situation, but I have a feeling that isn't going to happen." Sherlock said, not really making much sense.

"What do you mean?" John asked in confusion. Why would the creature not do that, if it was the ideal situation? Was Sherlock planning something? Was there a way from them to escape?

"Well, if the creature is reading my mind right now, which I'm pretty sure it is, it'll know that…" Sherlock trailed off and became silent.

"What? It'll know what?" John asked, concern on his face as he looked over at the detective who was standing a couple of meters away from him. What was Sherlock talking about? Had Sherlock formulated some plan that the creature had then found out about? Had the creature been reading Sherlock's thoughts all along? Had it been reading his?

"Oh no." Sherlock said, his voice filled with realisation.

John looked over at the creature suddenly, and it suddenly distorted and turned white, charcoal tail flickering in anticipation. All at once, the creature was shooting towards him, it's tail streaming out like a comet, it's invisible eyes looking at him in victory, and his back was against the railing, and there was nowhere for him to go, and the only thoughts going through his head were 'Why is it always me?' and 'I hope Sherlock forgives me'.