"Allons-y!" Sherlock called as he slid into the bedroom, long billowing coat following him as he held a replica of the blue-tipped, silver sonic screwdriver out towards John, who was still struggling to squeeze into a purple jacket.
"Can you hold on two seconds?" John asked, finally getting his arm through, zipping the jacket half-way up, and pulling on a blonde wig. He smiled widely at Sherlock, running his tongue along his teeth as he tried his best to imitate Rose Tyler, "Alright, let's do this," he said, eager to get out the door.
Sherlock stole John's hand and ran out the door, coat flowing behind him and his companion's blonde wig catching the wind in the same way. They ignored the strange looks from passersby on the crisp autumn streets and ran down the avenues and boulevards until they were winded, "Where are we even going?" John asked.
"I don't know, but your Doctor Who sure likes to run, doesn't he?" Sherlock asked, he had only agreed to do this because John had spent hours upon hours watching the science fiction show, and the suit and trench coat that he had collected were in the wrong size, but fit Sherlock pretty well.
John chuckled, "He does," he agreed, noting that the surroundings were unfamiliar. He wasn't scared, just slightly put off, he knew that Sherlock had memorized every pathway and every London street perfectly, "Where are we?" he asked. They were around a park, but it wasn't a well-loved park, trash littered the grass and a few dirty men slept on the benches. The trees were beautiful, a slight contrast to the general state of the place, big, amber-colored leaves drifted in the wind and Sherlock took a few steps towards it.
"Come on," Sherlock said, tilting his head towards the scarcely used park and hopping into another run, trying his best to mirror what he saw on the television. John quickly followed in the same manner that the detective had displayed and captured his hand once again as they quickly made their way into the grass and the crisp leaves crunched underneath their tennis shoes.
Somewhere between the cracked bench and the graffiti'd street light, John had taken the lead and ran through the grass until he found a tree that wasn't covered in piss or surrounded by bottle bits and used condoms. He swept some of the leaves away with his feet and sat down, "Come on, Doctor," he said in a poor attempt to impersonate Rose Tyler as he smiled again, tongue tracing his teeth, before he simply pulled the detective on top of him.
Both of them giggled as Sherlock fell into John's arms and John held Sherlock closely, "But, Rose! We have to find the TARDIS," Sherlock said, trying to make John happy with another poor impersonation, and he sprang to his feet, taking John with him again.
They chased each other about in the misused park, sonicing things and laughing at the ways they butchered the show and their poorly thought-out ways of seeking the fictional ship until it became cold and dusk arrived. They found transportation, even if it wasn't a Police Box, and came back home to Baker Street to resume their lives as detective and companion.
