Chapter Text
*BANG*
“Bored.”
*BANG*
“Bored!”
*BANG*
“BORED!”
John walked into the living room, still half-asleep. “Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?!” he asked, eyeing the bullet-filled wall.
“Bored,” Sherlock replied simply. He kept shooting at the wall behind John, nearly hitting John with the bullets. John grabbed the gun from Sherlock, and laid down on the couch, eyes closed with his hands under his chin.
At that moment, Mrs. Hudson came in. Having heard all the noise, she looked around for the source. Seeing the bullet-filled wall, she gasped, “Sherlock! I’m putting this into your rent, young man.”
“Bored,” Sherlock said again. Mrs. Hudson shook her head and left the room.
John put the gun on the kitchen table just as he heard a whooshing sound coming from behind him. He turned around slowly. “Sherlock…”
“What?”
“What’s a police box doing in the kitchen?” John asked while walking around it. John had just come back to the doors when Sherlock entered the kitchen, eyeing and feeling the box.
Sherlock was about to say he didn’t know what the strange box was and how it got there when a man exited the box. He was wearing a tweed jacket with patches on the elbows and a red bowtie.
“You know, you could just knock,” he said.
Sherlock quickly deduced him. His outfit looked like it was new, but old at the same time, so he’s been wearing if for a long time. He looked young, but his eyes were old, so he’s older than he looks. His shoe soles were worn, so he does a lot of running and traveling. His box looked new, but felt old, so it was probably as old as old as he was.
“Hello! I’m the Doctor,” he said.
How did he fit in the box? Sherlock thought, unaware that the Doctor had spoken. He stood on his tiptoes and looked beyond the Doctor inside the box. His eyes widened. Oh, Sherlock thought. It’s bigger on the inside…or smaller on the outside.
John shook hands with the Doctor. “Hello. I’m John Watson, and this is Sherlock Holmes.”
The Doctor laughed. “Who are you really?”
John frowned. “I’m John Watson, really. And this is really Sherlock Holmes.”
The Doctor’s eyes widened. “The Sherlock Holmes and John Watson?” he asked incredulously.
Sherlock was confused. But he travels a lot! How can he know who we are? He doesn’t read John’s blog! He couldn’t. It doesn’t look like he has a computer.
John smirked. “I see you’re a fan of my blog.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, John,” Sherlock said. He voiced his previous deductions. When he got to the part about the bigger on the inside, John rolled his eyes.
“That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed.
“See for yourself,” the Doctor said, stepping to the side.
John’s mouth dropped open. Sherlock casually strolled in, looking at the décor and golden light. He walked around the console, muttering to himself. The Doctor went over to him. “Are you okay? Because this place…it can make people…you know…”
“Oh no, I’m fine,” Sherlock answered. “How big is this place?”
“Infinite,” the Doctor said gleefully.
“It’s dimensionally transcendent,” Sherlock said.
The Doctor blinked. “Um…yeah, she is. Sorry, how did you…”
“She?” Sherlock asked.
“Yeah, she’s alive,” the Doctor said.
“What planet are you from?” Sherlock asked suddenly.
“Sorry?” the Doctor asked.
“You have a ship that’s bigger on the inside and alive, apparently, and I can see that silver-and-green thing peeking out of your pocket, and both things are obviously not from Earth, so what planet are you from?”
The Doctor smiled sadly. “It’s this planet called Gallifrey, this wonderful planet with…”
Sherlock realized something. “Where’s John?” he interrupted, looking around.
John had passed out at the door.
Sherlock went over to John. “John? John,” he said, shaking him.
John woke up. “Sherlock, I had the craziest dream...Oh,” he said.
“This isn’t a dream, John,” the Doctor said, suddenly flipping switches.
Sherlock and John went over to the Doctor. “What are you doing?”
“Hang on to something!” the Doctor yelled.
The TARDIS lurched. The Doctor had a tight grip on the console. John reflexively grabbed onto Sherlock, who grabbed onto a nearby railing. The TARDIS gave one last lurch, which sent John to the floor, then it stopped.
“Did you have to pass a test to fly this thing?” John asked, getting up and brushing himself off.
“I did…take the test…” the Doctor said, blushing. “Anyway…” He ran to the door and opened them. “Oh look, got it right!”
The Doctor stepped out. “19th century London!” he said proudly.
“Why did we go to the 19th century?” Sherlock asked.
“Oh, no reason. Fun!” the Doctor said.
Sherlock crossed his arms. “No, you brought us here for something. Don’t lie to me. You know who I am, it doesn’t work.”
“Fine!” the Doctor said, defeated. “I brought you here to see Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”
“Who?” John and Sherlock asked together.
“You’ve never heard of…” the Doctor stopped, shaking his head. “Well, you couldn’t have.”
“Wait…what? What do you mean we couldn’t have?” John asked.
“Arthur Conan Doyle was the guy who wrote books about you two.”
“But we’re not going to born for centuries!” John said.
“You were fictional characters in a book, but somehow you came to life in the 21st century, fully-fledged people.” The Doctor said thoughtfully.
“Who else was in the books?” Sherlock asked.
“Detective Inspector Lestrade, Irene Adler, Mycroft Holmes, Moriarty, Mary Watson, Bill Wiggins, Mrs. Hudson…” the Doctor said.
“Just about everyone, then,” John said.
“Yes. I need answers, you guys need answers, and that is why we’re here,” the Doctor said. “Come on, then!”