AN: Not happy with this chapter at all. The scenes with the Doctor and Sherlock just didn't want to be written! Which was horrible since the Jim and Molly scenes were just so easy to write. Oh well, hope you all enjoy anyway! And if anyone is reading The Ghost and Molly Hooper, chapter 2 of that should be up tomorrow.

Once again I'd like to thank everyone that's reviewed and put this story on alert. Especially, lostmypen120, Pelahnar, broadwayb, varjaks, Guest, MadHatter524, Lono, Calicar, aye2skeye, Faye Kinitt, and Cherryredgurl.

Enjoy!

The building there were brought to was an ancient factory, huge and dilapidated, though from the faint glow coming from behind the windows it was obvious that someone was currently occupying it. They piled out of the cars, Mycroft and Vernet assuming identical poses as Vernet accepted his wedding ring back from his twin.

"I'm afraid affairs of state need us," Mycroft said, turning to the assembled crowd. "There is some concern in the upper ranks of what to do now that we have both a Queen and King of England. Without our presence, no one is sure who to take orders from."

"Wait, King?" John asked. "You lot have a King?"

"King Ebenezer the second," Sherrinford said, smiling slightly. "So you have a Queen?"

John nodded. "Just when you think the world can't get any more bizarre."

"In any case," Vernet said before the conversation could become more off track. "The Doctor is inside and he has assured us that he shall be able to answer all questions regarding this matter. The door inside is in the rear and the Doctor has asked us to tell you not to enter the building if you see that the red light by the door is on."

The Mycrofts bid them farewell, the first of the two towncars whisking the men away. Sherlock wondered briefly if his brother was enjoying this chaos. If anyone was, it would be him. Frowning slightly at the thought he turned his attention to the small woman at his side who was also frowning with a concerned look on her face. "Shall we then?"

Loo glanced up at him and nodded. "Lets. The sooner this situation is resolved the better."

He nodded once. "Agreed."

"Come Sally, Sherrinford," Loo said. Without glancing to see if she was being followed she began stalking towards the side of the building, Sherlock half a step behind.

They had to jump a short fence to get to the rear of the building – Sherrinford tore his lab coat during the attempt and had sworn surprisingly well when he realized it – and found the door without issue. A large light bulb had been hastily installed next to the door, un-illuminated, it hung limply from a mess of wires someone had threaded through a hole in the wall.

"So that means we go in?" John asked, poking slightly at the bulb. "Or do we knock first?"

Sherlock snorted and was disturbed when Loo snorted at the same moment in the same way. They glanced at each other than away quickly.

Sally sighed loudly and glared at them both. "Let's just go in," she said. Grabbing the door handle, she wrenched the door open and stood aside. "He is expecting us."

He swept inside first. The interior of the factory was dark, though now that they were inside he could hear a faint hum coming from somewhere deeper in. Taking the lead, he walked towards the noise, the others following him through the crowded room. Parts and bits of machinery were scattered over the floor with cables strung between them and hanging from the ceiling. It looked a bit like a play he had seen once, Sherlock thought to himself as one of the cables sparked loudly, bright white pinpricks of light flaming away as they avoided that portion of the floor. Frankenstein. He had seen it during secondary school, a trip hosted by his overly enthusiastic literature teacher. For some reason he'd never quite deleted the entire memory. Most of the play he'd removed from his mind, but the image of Frankenstein's creature – bald and screaming as it roared to life – haunted his mind still.

He frowned as he gazed at one of the battered pieces of machinery, the hum louder than it had been a moment before. The next time he entered his mind palace he would have to rectify this issue, he noted to himself. This sort of semi-emotional reaction was unnecessary.

John tripped over a cable and cursed loudly when it sparked at him. "This is ridiculous," he growled, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Where the devil is this Doctor person any-"

The world stopped.

And for a moment Sherlock could see everything.

He could see the atoms in the air – spinning, whirling, vibrating, electrons and protons and neutrons and quarks and leptons and particles so tiny that didn't even have names yet – he could see the path of the light as it reflected through the room – bright white beams that bounced off the concrete floor and his hands and the shine of the machine parts around them – he could see all the people who had ever come to this room and who would ever come there – ghosts that didn't even notice that he was there as they went about their business passing around and through him – he could feel the Earth rotate beneath his feet – roughly 600 miles per hour if his calculations were correct – he could feel the Earth speeding uncontrollably around the sun – 67,062 miles per hour – he could feel the sun burning out – so young, only 4.5 billion years old, but it would be gone all too soon, billions and billions of years from now – he could see everything that was, everything that is, everything that could be.

He could feel time. It tickled.

It was glorious.

The world seemed to lurch beneath his feet. Someone was screaming. It may have been him.

He came back to himself and found that he was on his knees, hands clasped over his ears as a trail of blood dripped from his nose. His breathe was labored, his muscles trembled. Everything, every proton, neuron, and complex protein chain – everything that he'd once been able to see – hurt. Swallowing heavily he wondered what had happened. He wondered if he would die if it happened again.

He wondered if he would care.

"We have universal collapse!" someone was shouting from a room far away underwater.

He tried to look up and see the voice but the world swam before his eyes and he wondered if it was going to happen again. If he'd be able to see it all again. God, he hoped so.

Someone grabbed him as he started to collapse forward, pulling him back upright. "Who let these apes in here!?" a different voice shouted. Two hands started to pull him away. He didn't fight it. "Doctor! We need to get them out!"

John was laying on the floor, eyes wide open and mouth agape, as the hands dragged him from the room. Sally was by his side, arm over her eyes as she gasped for breathe. Molly was – no, not Molly, Loo. Molly wasn't here. Molly was back at Barts, safe safe safe – Loo had slumped to the floor, a look that somehow was both fear and euphoria blanketing her features. He was glad for that. Glad that someone else had seen what he had seen. Glad that someone else wanted it back. Sherrinford looked to be crying.

The world went dark.

SH-MH-SH-MH-SH

Molly wasn't sure how she had managed to do it, but somehow she'd made it to the supply cupboard before Jim had been able to catch her. The door didn't lock from the inside – of course it wouldn't, no one had planned that the room would be used to hide from a psychopathic killer after all – but that was okay. There were heavy shelves and boxes and all manner of things to stack in front of the door.

She managed to get the first shelf in place just as Jim tried to force the door open. She shrieked a little as the door opened a few inches and she struggled against the shelf as she tried to push back against it. She was going to die. There was no other way around it. Even if it took him awhile, Jim was going to make it into the supply cupboard and then he was going to kill her.

Why else would he have come for her?

"Open the door, Molly," Jim said from outside, his voice calm and almost pleasant. He stopped pushing and Molly shoved the shelf more firmly against the door and looked around for something else to push in the way. "This isn't funny."

"Go away!" she shouted. There was a box of cleaning supplies in the corner – gallons of disinfectant inside – it was probably the heaviest thing in the room. She dashed over to it and pushed it over so that it was in front of the shelf, feet scrambling against the slippery tile. "Just go away and leave me alone."

"Dammit Molly!" Jim shouted, pounding loudly. "Open this door!"

Her mobile? Where was her mobile? She patted down her pockets and nearly sobbed. It was still in her handbag and that was out in the morgue. She couldn't call for help, couldn't warn Sherlock now. Oh god, did Sherlock even know that Jim was alive? He'd told her that he was dead, that he'd shot himself on the roof of Barts the day that he had jumped. No one had found the body. Sherlock had assured her that it had simply been stolen before anyone had gotten up there to look. Had he been wrong? Or worse, had he lied to her?

Jim was trying to force the door again, muttering and cursing as she put her full weight against the shelf and hoped that was enough to keep it closed. Jim wasn't that much bigger than her, maybe she would be able to keep him out.

But Sherlock! Even if he knew Jim was alive, Sherlock had to know that he was here at Barts. This could be some sort of trap after all. Jim could have come, knowing that Sherlock would eventually return, and could be laying a trap for Sherlock to walk right into. She had to get her mobile, had to warn Sherlock, but the only way to do that would be to get out of the room and to do that she'd need to get past Jim.

Molly closed her eyes tightly and braced herself against the shelf as Jim continued to try and push open the door. "Think," she muttered under her breathe. "You can do this Molly, just think!"

SH-MH-SH-MH-SH

Someone was shining a bright light into his eyes. "Ah! You're awake!" a cheerful voice said. The light went away. "Good. I was beginning to think your brain had melted and you had fallen into an inescapable coma." Someone patted him firmly on the shoulder. "Lucky break, that."

Sherlock swallowed heavily, his tongue feeling swollen and dull in his dry mouth. "What-"

"You got too close to our multi-versal keeper aparter machine," he voice said. He blinked, once, twice, three times and the room started to come into focus. The owner of the voice was young and… brown. Very brown. "Nasty business! Should have kept behind the shielding. I thought I told the Mycrofts not to let anyone in when the red light was off." The figure seemed to pause for a second, deep in thought. "Or was that on?"

"John?"

"Oh, fine, fine. Nasty bump on the head from when he collapsed, but nothing that we can't fix," the man, the person speaking to him was a man, said. "No, you'll all recover without any lingering side effects. Probably. Mostly. Did you ever want to have children, by chance?"

He groaned loudly to his ears, hands coming up to rub at his temples.

"Right!" the man said cheerfully. He leapt to his feet, and now that Sherlock's eyesight had cleared slightly he could see the man's floppy brown hair and wide happy grin. "I'll just be leaving you to rest and go check on the others then, shall I?"

The man raced off and Sherlock lifted himself up into a sitting position. The world still swam before his eyes, but as he forced himself to keep his breathing slow and even it slowly came back into focus. Orange, was the first thing he recognized, blinking his eyes rapidly to dismiss the colour. Orange and circles. The walls, that sloped up into an oddly shaped dome over their heads, were covered in circular panels that seemed to glow softly with a diffuse orange light. Cables hung from the ceiling, draping haphazardly through the air all leading to a console on a glass platform in the center of the room. Metal stairs led up to the console and away to rooms out of his sight.

The others were laying nearby. The floppy haired man, wearing tweed and a bowtie he saw now, was hovering over John passing some sort of humming electronic device over him. Sally was twitching, groaning loudly as she tried to get herself upright as well. His twin was also sitting up though he looked as if he was about to be sick at any moment. Loo was still sprawled out over the floor unmoving, unconscious or sleeping he didn't know nor did he care to know.

She was nothing like Molly, he thought to himself, taking in her small form. The Molly imposter could look like Molly, speak with her voice, and dress like her, but could never be her. Molly was soft and kind with gentle eyes and an unassuming manner. She was the perfect lab assistant and the only passible pathologist at Barts. Compared to her, Loo was an awkward stumbling reflection and he, frankly, could not wait to be rid of her.

"You," a voice said from his left. He turned slowly to meet a pair of intense dark eyes. "Are a very lucky ape."

"How so?" he asked. His voice was still hoarse and he resisted the urge to cough and try to clear it.

The man who was crouched down next to him, dark eyes focused on his own, was perhaps starting to reach middle age. He couldn't make precise estimates at height in his current position, but he looked to be near Sherlock's own with broad shoulders but a narrow waist. He was immaculately groomed with dark hair that had been tightly slicked back and a goatee that had been expertly trimmed into its current form. He was wearing a three piece suit, the dark coat currently removed, with the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and with traces of grease and oil upon his exposed pale skin.

A forceful person, Sherlock thought to himself, mind racing. Someone who was used to giving not receiving orders. While dressing and presenting himself as someone above manual labour he had no hesitations about doing any dirty work that needed to be done. Additionally, despite the aloof look in his eyes, he had lowered himself to Sherlock's own level to speak with him. Lonely, Sherlock thought taking in the short distance the man was from him. Very lonely, he clarified as he saw the man's eyes flit to watch the bowtied man as he raced over to Sally next. Also, possibly gay.

"Your brain should have liquefied from being so close to a universal collapse," the man said, his eyes going back to meet with Sherlock's. "The fact that it didn't is surprising and proves my theory."

Sherlock licked his lips, watching carefully as the man's eyes shot down to his mouth. Definitely gay. "Your theory being?"

"That this universe was one of the two that began the collapse cascade." The man looked at him intently once more then smiled slightly. "Tell me, have you experienced any headaches recently?"

"I woke up this morning with a migraine," Loo said from behind him. Sherlock turned to see the small woman still flat on her back, but with her eyes finally open and fixed on the ceiling. "Sally did as well and, from observation, it appeared as if Sherrinford, Molly, and John all had mild headaches too. You, Sherlock?"

"Yes," he said shortly. "I slept last night and awoke with a headache."

The man nodded and stood. He offered Sherlock a hand and, after a moment's hesitation, Sherlock took it, allowing the man to pull him to his feet. Despite his appearance, the man was rather strong and Sherlock carefully filed this information away as well. "I thought as much. Doctor," he said addressing the bowtied man whose head shot towards them at his name, "we've found the center of the disturbance."

"Excellent!" the Doctor said with a happy grin. Patting Sally gently on the shoulder he leapt to his feet and oddly spun before running up the staircase to the central console. "I'll have this all sorted out in two shakes of an Ood's tentacle, see if I don't!"

The other man rolled his eyes and snorted loudly. "I doubt things will be simple," he said, joining the Doctor at the center console. "We've no idea how the cascade started and the stabilizer is too much for me to handle on my own."

"Is this making sense to anyone?" John asked weakly, still on the floor. "Because I'm not getting any of this."

Sally pushed herself up to her feet. "Multiverse theory," she said, stumbling slightly to keep her balance. "Outside our universe are lots of bubble universes each looking like but not quite copying ours. Maybe it's a universe where the Nazis won WWII, maybe it's a universe where musicals really happen and everybody sings about their feelings, maybe it's one where the Spice Girls never formed. Whatever the difference, these bubble universes are merging together making multiple universes into one."

They all stared at her blankly.

"I wanted to be the one to explain that," the Doctor said. He seemed to be torn between grinning madly at Sally and pouting at her.

"How did you know?" the other man asked, staring at her baffled.

"This happened in an episode of Inspector Spacetime," Sally said. "Only in the episode everyone from the other universe was evil and wore goatees." She looked suspiciously at the other man. "Are you evil?"

The man scoffed loudly as the Doctor looked sheepish. "Well," the Doctor said as the other man said "Absolutely not!"

The man gave the Doctor a cross look and walked over to Sally. "You have impressed me, ape." Taking Sally's hand in his own he bowed stiffly over it and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "There have been few who have ever managed to do so. You may call me the Professor. And you are?"

"Sally Donovan," she said, the faintest of blushes starting to cover her cheeks.

The Professor looked at her intently and smiled. Maybe not gay, Sherlock thought to himself. Bisexual. Or perhaps simply just that lonely. "After this is over, we must speak Sally. But first this situation must be resolved." With that he dropped her hand and went back to the console.

Loo looked up at her flatmate, still on the floor. "You figured out what was happening from that ruddy show?" She looked rather put out from that fact. "I'm never going to be able to insult Inspector Spacetime again, am I?"

Sally grinned down at her widely. "Nope!"

SH-MH-SH-MH-SH

Molly took a deep breath and double checked one last time to make sure the scalpel was properly hidden in her sleeve. It was. She was as ready as she ever was going to be.

"I'm opening the door now," she called out. Her voice barely wavered. Good, she was proud of herself for that at least.

There was silence from the other side of the door then a long, tired sigh. "Finally," Jim growled. "You've come to your senses at last then."

"Y-Yes, I-" she swallowed heavily, "just let me move a few things and I'll have the door open."

"Take your time."

Her hands were trembling as she pulled away the boxes. If this plan didn't work-

No, it had to work. She would make it work. Sherlock and John and everyone were counting on her even if they didn't know it. She had to warn them. Licking her lips nervously she eyed the shelf. This was it. Her final moment to back down. She took another deep breathe and struggled to pull the shelf away from the door. Finally it was unblocked. Molly stared at the still closed door and trembled.

"Well?" Jim asked from the other side. "I'm waiting. Are you going to open it or shall I?"

"I will," Molly said quickly. She checked the scalpel one last time and grabbed the handle. Slowly she opened the door.

Jim was there waiting for her, arms crossed over his chest. He stared at her with an annoyed expression on his face as he tapped his foot impatiently. He was wearing a smart black suit with little skulls on the buttons, his tie a vibrant red against his black shirt. She shuddered slightly as he raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at her.

"Well that was pointless," he growled making no move to grab her. She didn't dare approach him either. "What were you thinking locking yourself into a cupboard?"

"I was thinking," she said slowly, honestly, "that I didn't want to die."

Jim snorted loudly, but the smile that crossed his face quickly slid into a frown. "What?" He stepped towards her, hand outstretched to grab her arm. "Molly, what on earth are you talking-"

She struck, grabbing the scalpel out of her sleeve and stabbing out blindly. It wasn't a good move. She hadn't wanted to hurt Jim, not really, so instead of aiming for his carotid artery she'd hit him in the chest instead. The scalpel cut through the fabric of his suit like butter and sank into him its full length, maybe an inch at the most. So shocked at what she had done – she'd never cut an alive person before, not outside her surgery rotation and they didn't count since they had anesthesia – she let go of the blade.

Jim jerked back, cursing loudly.

This was her chance, some part of her screamed. Now! While he was still distracted by the pain!

She barreled towards him, shoving him aside as she raced for her handbag. Molly heard him topple to the floor, still swearing loudly. Heart hammering in her chest she grabbed her handbag, ripping it open and started to search for her mobile.

The sound of metal hitting the floor and Jim's enraged shout – "Molly! What the hell!?" – caused her to look back up. Jim was back on his feet and coming for her. There was blood oozing from his chest where she'd stabbed him and fury in his eyes.

She searched faster, tears in her eyes as a more rational part of her brain screamed at her to grab the handbag and run. It was a better idea. So she did.