An Eye for an Eye (Doctor Who/Sherlock Crossover)

Building the Impossible

A/N: I'm so bad at updating and I give you my sincerest apologies! I never expected this story to get any sort of following and I'm sorry to make you all wait. I was involved in my school's musical production of Les Mis so the past few months were a little hectic but it's all over now!

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I appreciate the comments and votes! Thanks for all your support and for getting me to over 1000 reads!

The Point of View of John Watson

    John hadn’t been in St. Bart’s in months. He’d tried to go back, tried to work like he used to, but it always brought back memories and flashbacks that sent him reeling.

    Stepping through those front doors…walking over (well, around) the spot where his best friend had smashed his skull in…it all felt like a dream. A horrible, extremely realistic nightmare.

    The Doctor flew through hallways and down stairs as if he had grown up in the hospital. His tweed jacket billowed behind him slightly, reminding John all too well of Sherlock. As they raced down stale white halls, John shook that similarity from his head. It was poisonous, that kind of thinking.

    When they reached the morgue, The Doctor slowed down, his footsteps barely audible on the walls. Molly Hooper had her back to the doorway, leaning over a corpse, taking notes on a bright yellow pad of paper. She was so engrossed, she didn’t notice when the Doctor opened the door and leaned against the entryway. The Doctor stood there for quite a few uncomfortable seconds, seemingly unbothered, until John cleared his throat to get her attention.

   She didn’t look up from her work. “I already told you, I’m not done yet. Examining a corpse isn’t like ordering a cheeseburger –”

    The Doctor’s face broke into a smile. “Three years, and this is the greeting I get?”    

    Molly’s frame straightened immediately and she whirled around, her eyes wide and her face pale. “DOCTOR!” she screamed, dropping her pen as she ran forward and threw her arms around his neck.

    The Doctor laughed, wrapping his arms around Molly’s frame with a gentle, almost fatherly tenderness. “Good old Molly! You miss me?”

    Molly pulled back and slapped his arm playfully. “Of course I missed you! Three years, not even an e-mail? You could’ve been dead for all I knew!”

    “Not quite dead, no.” Rubbing his hands together, the Doctor strode into the cold morgue, looking around.

    It was then that Molly noticed John. She gasped, as if seeing a ghost. “John! How…how’ve you been?”

    “Just fine, Molly,” John lied, through his teeth.

    John watched Molly’s gaze flicker from him, to the Doctor, and back again. “So…you two – know each other?”

    “Just met, actually!” The Doctor chirped as he opened one of the body bag drawers. He made a face at the body inside and then closed it with a bang. “John had a run-in with some psychic pollen.”

    She looked a little confused, but shook her head and said, “Well, it’s good to see you. I was starting to wonder if last time was…the last time.”

    “The last time? Oh, never,” The Doctor said. “But I’m not here just to check up on you, Molly.”

    “I figured. What you need?”

    The Doctor hopped up on one of the empty examination tables and exhaled slowly. “It’s Jim.”

    Molly’s face darkened, and her hands balled into clenched fists. “Of course.”