Note:
I do not own BBC Sherlock or Doctor Who no matter how much I wish that I did. The idea is all mine and if someone already made it I had no idea and I am sorry for taking it.
This is an AU of the Eleventh Doctor, starring Sherlock in that role. This is just the beginning and it will pick up, I promise!
"I don't want to go."
Those were his last words before regeneration. A surge of heat rushed through the Doctor's body that burned in a numbing way and tingled. Gold was clouding his vision. Too late. It only took a few seconds for his last regeneration to leave, replaced with a new person that even he had no idea of. In the brief second that he was himself, the old and known person that he had grown so used to seeing in the mirror, he felt fear, overcoming fear for what the next storm would bring.
It was over.
The new person collapsed on the ground in a heap. From what he could tell he was now all limbs. Tall he could deduce. Probably tall and extremely horse looking from his experience with tall people. Slowly he sat up. The clothes he had worn were just a bit tight. Bigger, but still skinny. Not too bad, honestly. A bit more muscle would be good for him with all the damned running he had to do.
Ooh. He liked to curse. Been awhile since he had one of those.
The Doctor stood and felt his new limbs work for the first time. "Not too bad," he murmured to himself. Different voice. His eyes widened at it; God, it was so deep, so smooth. Almost like he expected chocolate to sound like being poured in its liquid state. "Hm. Not bad at all." A small little cocky smirk came his face as he adjusted the suit in a religious sort of way. Clothes straightened seemed to be a thing too.
His feet took him over to where he kept clothes, the little trinkets that he had picked up over the many years of his travels. Briefly his fingers - God were they long! Long and pale. - brushed over the fabric of the dress Rose had worn all those years ago when they had an adventure with Charles Dickens and Gwyneth, the girl who had closed the rift. It felt too long ago, lifetimes ago. The Doctor's hand soon left the familiar feeling fabric with the memory of the smell of her perfume called up in his mind.
When he turned he saw himself in the mirror. And tall he was. Very pale skin tone, eyes that seemed to change color with every movement - the predominant colors were blue, grey, and green it seemed -, hair that stood out in ebony curls that perfectly accented the features described first. Seemed he was about six feet tall and when he glanced down and saw those feet he knew right away he wasn't going to have anything to put them in. Never had he had feet that size.
"Still not ginger," he grumbled in that low rumbling tone that he wasn't going to get used to until he heard it enough.
Clothes were next on his agenda that set up in his racing mind. God, could he think fast. And he could gather everything into his mind. Just that quick feel of the dress had told him that it had lace in it, not to mention that the main material was velvet. A black velvet that was soft to the touch and smooth against his fingers. From the correct time period as well, not something that could be picked up for a cheap quid at a costume store, but something that you would have to search long and hard for. Though it was far more simple for him. He could just go back to the era and buy one. No worries of it breaking or falling apart from the delicate material.
"Tangent. Right."
His mind swerved back to the original train of thought and he started rifling through the clothes in hope of finding something that would work. "Scarf, no. God, that's too 1960s. Modern. Yes. Something that works for any time period," he muttered to himself as he flung things over his shoulder. A feeling of frustration and unneeded anger welled up inside him until he almost was ready to scream out and shout about how stupid and pointless these things were. Then his reaching fingers grasped something. Simple suit. He liked suits.
It was a simple black one, slacks and a suit-jacket. White dress shirt as well. Looked about his size. The old clothes that had once belonged to his old self were off and tossed into a random corner in case he would ever need it again and the new clothes came on. It all came together, making him look just as he wanted to. There was a coldness in his eyes that wasn't something he'd seen before. The Doctor hummed in approval of the look that truly tied together the coldness he wanted to feel.
Without a thought he dashed towards the door and poked his head out to see what the temperature was. Spring. Year was 2013. Not too bad. Brightly he looked at London, seeing the city with the bustling cars that were not yet flying and how simple everyone looked with the phones attached to them. Little did they know that soon they would be able to stay plugged in so much easier than a clunky piece of plastic.
He locked the door after him and bounded off to the streets, gracefully weaving his way through the crowd with his lithe body as he glanced around for anything that wasn't too ordinary. Nothing was showing up and he groaned in frustration, whipping around and catching this poor girl off guard. They collided and the girl fell to the ground with her red hair going out behind her and things going off to the side.
"Oi, think you can watch where you're going or are you too tall to see people," the girl questioned, her voice as fiery as her hair.
Scottish, early twenties, recently divorced from the tan line around her left ring finger, just moved here from those wrinkles on her clothes, and definitely interesting.
"Apologies," the Doctor replied, extending a hand down that she took and pulled herself up with. He watched as she fixed her clothes so they weren't bunched up anymore. "Have you seen anything odd or different around here?"
He couldn't help but ask. It was so dreadfully boring if there wasn't anything going on.
