In an old terrace house in a dark and deserted backstreet of Victorian Shoreditch a young man stumbles out of a door, barely managing to hold himself upright as he turns around to face the direction from which he has just come. Falling to the ground, he fumbles around with the inside of his jacket and draws out a small metallic object which he points towards the door of the now smoking building of which he has just vacated. The deathly silence is broken by a high pitched whirring noise and a deafening bang as the door slams itself shut. A fluorescent green light is omitted from the object, throwing a beam of light upon the ominous house in front of him. It is a standard terrace house in the centre of a row of houses, with an ordinary dark brick, and an ordinary black door, with an ordinary brass number plate, reading 505. What is disheartening is the ghostly glow of light in the top left window, and the sinister silhouette lurking behind the curtain.
"How rude! Nobody throws me out of their house!" says The Doctor, as he sat staring blankly at the house in front of him, just as he is catapulted backwards into a wall. While the house he was just looking at dematerializes, and all the air surrounding it shakes vigorously as it often does when teleportation goes wrong.
4 hours later, a bedraggled man runs through the darkened streets of London, with the energy of a man who is frightened for his life. He is a portly fellow of around 30 years, with the signs of a difficult life showing upon his creased forehead. He is dressed in elegant but simple clothes, and gives the impression of a working class tradesman. He turns onto a busy street and is nearly ran over by a large hansom. As he recovers himself he turns to see the man who had pulled him out of the way. He is a young man, aged around 24 he thought, and dressed in a brown jacket, black trousers, a burgundy shirt, braces and a bow tie. But he had barely looked at his saviour and said rushed thanks before he was again running across the road (but this time with caution) and bounding down the street towards his destination.
He looks at the sign on the side of the road to confirm that it is the street he is looking for, and, although never slowing down, looks at each house he passes searching for the right number. At last he arrives at the house he desires, and taking one last glance behind him to make sure he is truly alone, looks up at the sign above him that declares the house to be 221B and proceeds to knock on the door.
-
As this is happening, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are seated inside 221B Baker Street, John reading the paper, and Sherlock looking over past case files as he often did when he was lacking inspiration. Sherlock looks up from the files, expectant, just in time to see John jump in his seat as a furious and impatient knock on the door interrupts the highly charged silence that was created by John and Sherlock not having spoken in well over an hour.
Sherlock, totally unsurprised by the knock, and laughing at John's startled appearance, says "Well, I believe we have ourselves a client, John"
The unusual young man from the first scene, The Doctor, who was prancing about, vacant, inside his time machine which was cleverly (or not so) disguised as an old telephone box, suddenly shouted the word "KEMOS!" The word seemed to echo through both scenes to form a vague and distant sound in the home of Sherlock Holmes.
"What the devil was that?" cried John, again startled and just a little afraid
"I don't know" said Sherlock, irritated that he didn't know something. "But I think that we're about to find out". Both John and Sherlock strained to hear the door below open and close, followed by a sequence of staggered footsteps as the stranger slowly, infuriatingly thought Sherlock, made their way towards the room of a baffled and a little displeased Sherlock Holmes.
Inside the TARDIS the doctor was still talking to himself, and the TARDIS was making a series of noises, much like a computer does when it is performing a difficult task, and like the nonsensical noises a person makes when they are trying to figure out the answer to a difficult problem. "Kemos Kemos Kemos" said the doctor, tapping his head as he often did when thinking, as if trying to spark some thought or information that he had forgotten. The TARDIS seemed to know what he was thinking and showed him the profile of a race called Kemos. The Doctor, grateful that someone knew what he was thinking, stroked the TARDIS console and for a minute lost his train of thought, until something inside him clicked.
"Yes! It's the Kemos. I should've known, Victorian London, all those factories; all that smoke, no better place to hide. But what's this?" He said whilst pulling a strange object out of his inside jacket pocket, and holding it in front of his eyes to examine it. "Well whatever it is, they didn't want me to have it. Good thing they didn't see me take..." he trailed off. "Gotta stop talking to myself, it just looks weird without Amy and Rory here." He said, and then muttered something about the unimportance of honeymoons. As he was talking to himself, he was busy at work trying to figure out what the strange box in his hands was. 'Looks like a metal Rubix cube' The Doctor thought. He turned the object over and over, holding his sonic screwdriver towards it, and then holding his beloved screwdriver upright so he could check the readings.
"Nothing out of the ordinary" he said, sounding and looking a little disappointed. The Doctor loved a good mystery, almost as much as he loved solving them. Little did he know he wasn't the only one.