A/N: Yesh, the title is from a My Chemical Romance song :) as always, thanks to my lovely beta reader AbnormalOwl! :)
"Alright, you know the drill." John Winchester said as he put his duffel bag on his shoulder, his left hand on the knob.
"Shoot first, ask questions later and watch out for Sammy." A fifteen year-old Dean answered.
"That's my man." John said and got out of the motel room they were currently staying at. Dean locked the door after him and walked back to Sammy's bed, the boy was already sound asleep, still, Dean tucked his brother in and whispered, "Goodnight Sammy."
Dean proceeded to the kitchen, he drank a glass of water and brought another one with him and put it on his bedside. He dug under his pillows and found his book, smiling to himself, he placed a pillow on his lap and positioned the book on it.
He brushed imaginary dust off the cover of the book. Dean though it was stupid of course, but he loved that book, it's the first one he owned. He remembered buying it in a bookshop at Pontiac, Illinois and the owner of the shop –a daft old man- gave him the complete full series even when he barely had enough money to buy one. Not to mention he was lucky enough that John allowed him to carry the books around.
The book by the way, was the genius creation (even if the author admitted to not liking it himself, Dean always remembered that, but he could never blame the awesome author) of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle –The Sherlock Holmes novels.
Dean opened The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes, he had finished the The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes last night and he had to say, it was completely and absolutely riveting. He turned to the first chapter of the book; the first case, "Silver Blaze". Oh interesting title, Dean thought, sparing Sammy's sleeping form a glance before reading.
"I am afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go," said Holmes, as we sat down together to our breakfast one morning.
"Go! Where to?"
"To Dartmoor; to King's Pyland."
I was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder was that he had not already been mixed up in this extraordinary case, which was the one topic of conversation through the length and breadth of England. For a whole day my companion had rambled about the room with his chin upon his chest and his brows knitted…
Dean was deeply immersed to reading. At some point during the night, he put the pillow back on his head and laid on his back, his eyes never leaving the book. He was so into his reading he didn't seem to noticed a man in a long black trench coat was standing beside his bed.
"I suggest you pay attention to me now, we have a case to wrap up, Dean Winchester."
Dean turned his head to the direction of the voice, which was beside his bed. He looked up at the curly-haired man in front of him, he was wearing a long black trench coat and had sharp cheekbones making his eyes sharper. Dean gulped before saying: "Who are you?"
"Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, only one in the world, I invented the job." The man answered proudly.
"No shit, Sherlock." Dean retorted, a smirk gracing his lips.
"Yes shit, Dean. Now get up, like I said we have a case to wrap up."
"No we don't! You're not real, I'm probably dreaming." Dean indignantly said, putting down his book and brushing his eyes as if the movement will make the man in front of him disappear. When the man didn't disappear, he started pinching his arms.
"You're not. You're not an idiot like most people are, Dean. Don't make me believe otherwise."
"I won't make you believe otherwise, Mr. Holmes. But you have to make me believe you're real first." Dean demanded as he continuously pinch his arm.
Sherlock looked exasperatedly at him but he sat on the edge of the bed. Dean scooted up and folded his legs beneath him, making more room for the man to sit. Dean looked at Sam's bed then quickly stood up, right hand going under the pillow in search for something. He gripped the gun he kept under his pillow tightly as he point it at the man sitting on his bed.
Sherlock ignored the gun and said "Your brother is in the kitchen. Studying."
"Its the middle of the fucking night, mister-"
"Yes, and you know your brother, he is a 'nerd' as you put it. I'm not lying to you, Dean. You can see for yourself." The man said, his fancy British accent was getting under his skin, but Dean thought, if he really is Sherlock Holmes of course he will have a British accent, what the hell?! Shut up, Dean. That can't be true. He's something. A supernatural creature, yes, that's a perfectly sound-
"I'm not a supernatural creature nor I am any kind of monster. I'm Sherlock Holmes, you've read about me. I'm real." Sherlock said. Dean glared at him accusingly, daring him to say more.
"How long?" Sherlock asked in a bored voice.
"You got three minutes before I empty a bullet to your brain." Dean answered.
"Not the brain, Dean, I value it greatly. Fine, you bloody well get this… Remember that bookstore you bought those books from? It was the first one that published the stories about me here in America, about 1900s, before the first World War. But there's more to it than that. I, myself can't explain it. But the copy you have is the last of the originals-"
"It's not old-looking enough." Dean interrupted.
"That's because it doesn't have to. What it needs to do is cope with the current environment to find an owner." Sherlock answered and he continued, "Like I said, the copy you own is the last of the originals, and it allowed me to get out into the real world." Sherlock finished, looking at the barrel of the gun Dean was holding in front of him.
"And I'm supposed to believe that?!" Dean answered frustratedly. It didn't make any sense, how could the 'last of the original copies' bring a fictional character into the real world?
"I dont know how, Dean. But it did. It brings me here, into your world. And don't tell me my appearance is wrong because you pictured me differently." Sherlock said, answering the question Dean didn't have a chance to voice out.
"Yeah, how do you know that?" Dean said, flexing his jaw as his patience started to grow thin.
"Because that book has had three past owners, children much younger than you described exactly how I looked: black curly hair, sharp cheekbones, lean body, piercing blue eyes, wears a long black trench coat over an impeccable suit. Those children's parents returned the books to the store, not believing their children's stories about me and fearing for their children's sanity."
"And you think my father won't fear for my sanity?" Dean asked incredulously.
"No, I expect that you won't tell him. Judging by his lack of presence and where you are currently staying I know for a fact that he hardly stays with you, except when transporting you from one place to another." Sherlock answered. "I know you're interested, Dean, and I know you're not as idiotic as you claim to be. Your brother, Sam. isn't the only one who has brains." he continued.
"No shit, Sherlock. Get out of here before I shoot you." Dean said.
"Well then, I guess I'll see you around, Dean Winchester." Sherlock said.
With a blink of an eye the man in front of him disappeared, Dean blinked a few more times then he scrambled to his feet. Holding the gun firmly as he navigate his way to the kitchen. He found Sam sitting in the kitchen, notes and books sprawled in front of him on the table.
"Hey Sammy." Dean greeted, tucking the gun in the small of his back.
"Oh, hey Dean." Sam said, his voice shaking slightly.
"Is something wrong Sam?"
"No, I'm fine Dean." Sam answered too quickly and continued, "I'm just tired, but I'm nearly done with this. Go back to sleep. I'll sleep soon too." Sam lied.
Dean stared at his brother, he knew he was lying but Dean let it slip since he was tired himself with his encounter with 'Sherlock' earlier.
"Yeah, okay." Dean said and turned back towards his bed.
That night, Dean kept staring at the ceiling until he fell asleep. There was a loud whooshing noise, but Dean ignored it –believing it was from the other motel guests. He didn't notice that night that Sam didn't return to his bed.
There was a whooshing outside of the motel. Soft blue lights illuminated the window and disappeared just before Dean came into the kitchen and Sam had feigned interest to the notes and books in front of him.
Sam decided to wait ten minutes, just to make sure his brother was already sleeping before checking out the source of the whooshing and blue lights. He stood up after seven minutes.
He carefully opened the door of their motel room, internally thanking the owner and maintenance that nothing creaked. He stepped out of the room and left the door slightly ajar. Sam looked around, observing the parking lot. The other motel rooms were closed; some only had a lamp illuminating the room.
Sam stepped out of the foyer when he heard a door open and closed, he looked at the source of the sound then a man's voice came.
"Oh, sorry. Wrong destination." A man said, he was clad in a long brown trench coat over a blue suit and he was wearing a...
"Red converse, really. What are you, a converse endorser?" Sam said.
The man was looking at him with widened eyes, then he asked, "Who are you?"
Sam stared at the man, then he answered, "Why should I tell you? You just stepped out of a 1950s London Police box. You're wearing converse shoes with a suit and trench coat. Sorry sir, but I was told not to talk to anyone I don't know and trust anyone immediately."
"Well, we're done with the talking part, I guess we'll get to trust part later on. I'm the Doctor, by the way, nice to meet you." The man- the Doctor- said, holding out his right hand for a handshake.
Sam didn't take the hand, instead he asked further, "Doctor? What Doctor?"
The man look at him with wide eyes again, but this time his eyes were filled with surprise. "Uh, uhm. You -you're supposed to say... Doctor Who?" the man said, scratching the back of his head in a nervous –or surprised manner.
"I'll only tell you this once: if you want to play games with a child, then you've come to the wrong one. I don't play games, I have more pressing matters to attend to." Sam said seriously.
"Yes, I get that. And it's the Doctor, just the Doctor."
"Huh." Sam scoffed and turned around to back inside the motel room.
"Wait!" The Doctor shouted as he ran towards the boy in front of him.
"Don't shout, you'll wake my brother!" Sam scolded.
"Sorry. But I have to ask. What's the date today?" the Doctor asked.
"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Sam shouted making his voice slightly lower in an attempt to not wake Dean.
"You know you're too young to curse, right?"
"Fuck that! I'm 11 years old. Whatever, its October 10, 1994. Will you go now? I thought there was something out here, I was mistaken."
"Ooooh, 1994! A very fine year. Thank you. I'll go now and step inside this box." The Doctor said, pointing at the Blue Box and smiling almost childishly at Sam.
The Doctor decided then to return to his TARDIS. Sam was fidgeting in his place, still not trusting the man in front of him and yet he had this urge to talk to him. So when the Doctor paused to fetch his key in his pockets, Sam ran up to him and held his hand out, "I'm Sam. Sam Winchester. Sorry for being rude earlier, I guess I was just shocked, like I said, I dont usually talk to strangers."
"Does this mean I'm not a stranger to you anymore?" The Doctor asked.
"If you want to." Sam said shyly, turning his gaze downwards but still holding his hand out for a handshake.
The Doctor took Sam's hand and shook it firmly, "Fine by me. It's nice to meet you Sam Winchester."
"Likewise, Doctor... Wow, that's really weird, I feel like a patient."
"You'll get use to it, Sammy."
"No don't. Don't call me that." Sam said, shaking his head.
"Why? Do you want me to call you Samuel instead?" the Doctor asked, smirking.
"God no! Just Sam. I'm Sam, just Sam."
"Okay, Sam. Come on then, I'll show you around." The Doctor opened the TARDIS' door and stepped inside.
Sam frowned but followed the Doctor anyway, how exactly are they going to fit in that box? It's small and confining, even though Sam was still quite small there's no chance they would fi-
Whoa! Hold that thought Sam. How did that happen?!
Once inside the TARDIS, Sam's eyes widened, it was huge. Like spectacularly huge with a vertical tube with controls surrounding it in the center: a console. There was an opening that lead to a corridor. There was stairs that led to a basement under the console. The walls were adorned with round things and the lights were a bit orange-y but was still very light: it looked like a machine.
Sam stepped out again and looked at the box's exterior, he made sure it was the same London Police Box, the Doctor just keep looking at him, smiling as he leant on the railing at the TARDIS' doorway. Sam stepped inside again, this time with narrowed eyes as he looked intently at the Doctor.
"What is this? Who are you, really?" Sam asked, gripping the door open, ready to run if necessary.
"This is the TARDIS. It stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space. Specifically a Type 40 TARDIS. This machine was used by the Timelords of Gallifrey. It can take you anywhere in all of time and space. I'm the Doctor and I'm a Timelord, the last of the Timelords." The Doctor said. Sam noticed how his voice seem to falter when he said the last part.
"All of time and space?" Sam asked.
"Yes."
"Prove it."
"Sure! Where do you want to go?" the Doctor asked enthusiastically.
"I want to see Pluto." Sam said.
"I think you need to go and find more appropriate clothes for that, its pretty cold on Pluto." The Doctor said, looking at Sam's outfit. By God, the boy was wearing his PJs.
"I don't think I can return to the motel and leave again without being caught." Sam said.
"Hm. Yes, your brother." The Doctor looked at the motel through the TARDIS' still open door. "Well, I think you have to close that door first.
Sam beamed brightly at him before dashing to the motel door and softly closing it before he strode back to the TARDIS.
"Well, time and space. That means you can return me at the same time right?"
"Yes. Just make sure you remember the time and date." The Doctor beamed at him, he's really liking this boy.
"October 10, 1994. 1:37 in the morning." Sam said.
"Well come on then! I still have to take you to a market to buy you some more appropriate clothing, I don't think I have any to fit you. Never looked that small before." The Doctor said.
Sam was practically shaking in excitement as he watched the man –no the Timelord- in front of him run enthusiastically around the TARDIS' console, pushing buttons and pulling levers with his hands and sometimes his foot.
Sam gripped the railing tightly as the TARDIS groan and shook, all that time the Doctor was still smiling eagerly.
"Are you okay Sam? Don't worry it's fine, she's always like this." He reassured as the time machine continue to shake and groan.
"I'm good." Sam answered before the TARDIS stopped.
"Here we are then!" The Doctor said enthusiastically, already bounding to the door.
"Wait!" Sam called out and the Doctor stopped and turned to look at him.
The Doctor raised his eyebrow "Yes, Sam?"
"You still haven't told me what Timelords are."
"Oh." The Doctor said, the look in his eyes seems so distant suddenly, but Sam waited for him to answer.
"I'll tell you while we look for your clothes." He finally said and Sam smile at him, all teeth and dimples as the strode out to the market. The Doctor locked the TARDIS and he gestured for Sam to follow him The place is noisy and full of people –creatures from different planets. Sam doesn't know how he easily accepted all of this but he is genuinely enjoying himself.
