A/N: Ever wonder what would happen if you found a full size police call box in an antique store? This is the story of a guy who did.

This story can take place any time during DW second season.

I do not own Doctor Who or any other corporation that might be named in this story.

Hello, my name is Brian Johnson. I live in Seattle Washington in the United States on Planet Earth in the year 2012. The need to mention the planet and year will make a whole of lot of sense later, I promise. Anyway, I consider myself an average twenty-six year old single guy who works as a software engineer at Microsoft and drinks far too much Starbucks coffee, but I do have what some would call an unusual interest: steampunk. I love everything steampunk. The Victorian past re-imagined for the future, how cool is that? I love steampunk so much that I wear an ascot with my suit and have cultivated a fine gentleman's mustache. You should see my cubicle. I have a modified computer made by Datamancer…I'm babbling, aren't I? Sorry! Look, just Google steampunk and you'll see what I'm talking about.

A big part of steampunk for me is collecting antiques and let me tell you, if it works or is something so unusually unique, I have to have it. Don't worry. I live in a house, so I have plenty of room for my collection. One of my favorite antique stores is in a warehouse down on the waterfront. That place is the largest in the city, and it was there where I found the one 'antique' I will never, ever forget.

It was last Saturday and a day that started the same as any other. I woke up, I got dressed, I bought a sixteen ounce triple shot latte with a splash caramel and I went shopping. When I walked through the door of the antique warehouse, I waved at Paul. Paul, a much-older-then-me slightly heavy set guy from sitting around his store eating too much deep fried fish from the pier across the street, is the owner of the store and he really knows his antiques. He was busy with a customer so he returned a quick nod. And yes, I am on a first name basis with the owner of the store. I count him as a friend. Anyway, I slowly wandered down the aisles carefully examining any new piece I found and considered what I could do with it. Finally I made my way to the furniture section in the back and saw it sitting there standing out like a blue beacon amongst a sea of dull, brown wood.

I felt the thrill of discovery grow in my chest as I approached the blue cabinet that said 'police public call box' across the top. I held my breath as I ran my fingers over a panel and felt the small bumps and grooves of the wood grain. I wanted to walk around it, but it was crammed up against a wall in between a bookshelf and a curio cabinet. So, I let my eyes absorb every detail of the call box I could see; its unlit light on its roof, the signs that announced its apparent purpose on the three sides I could see, the windows that seemed to glow a soft yellow, the instructional sign, the polished brass deadbolt lock and the two black door handles. I spied the manila price tag hanging by a string from a handle and flipped it over in my hand.

1963 British Police Call Box. $3,000.

My curiosity was on overload, I needed to see what was inside, so I wrapped my fingers around the handle next to the call instruction sign and pulled. A tiny door opened revealing an antique telephone bolted to the inside of the small door. I was surprised by this as I expected the door to the whole cabinet to open, not this little hinged door. I leaned in and examined the telephone closely noting its tarnished condition. I also noticed that the notch of the larger door opened into the inside, but there was nothing but pure blackness. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew something wasn't right because I should be seeing the inside of the cabinet. I stuck my hand in and felt nothing but strange, pulsing warmth. The hair on my neck raised and I yanked my hand out slamming the small door shut. I shook my head and focused my attention on the handle of the other door. Giving a tug and a push, I was disappointed when the door didn't budge. Locked.

"Pretty neat, isn't it?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sudden intrusion and I whipped around to the source of the voice. "Paul!" I exhaled, "You scared me half to death!"

Paul held up his hands and chuckled, "Sorry, Brian. I didn't mean to scare you."

I shook my head, "It's alright," I breathed to calm my pounding heart, "Just tell me about this."

"Ah, the police public call box," he hooked his thumbs around his suspenders, "used by the British police in the first half of the last century. It was like a mini-police station up until the late 1960's when they started using hand-held radios. After that, these boxes were pulled off the streets and probably dismantled, so this one is a rare find, especially in this great a condition."

"Where did you get it?" I let my gaze wander over blue box again.

Paul sighed deeply and leaned against the police box, "An alley."

"An alley?"

"Yep. Yesterday, I was walking down Pine Street toward the mall when I passed an alley and saw it sitting about fifteen feet in. I had to check it out, of course. I wondered what something like this was doing in an alley, so I stopped in every store around there asking about it. Only the girl at the sandwich shop knew anything and that was that it had been there for over a week. I even flagged down a bicycle cop and he said 'what police box'. He must have meant he didn't care if I took it, so, I called Terry to bring the truck and I brought it in. Spent the rest of the day cleaning it up and looking up police boxes on the internet."

Paul's story, as suspicious as I found it, only served to deepen my fascination of the blue box and I knew it was going to be mine. "If it was next to a Dumpster for over a week, why didn't the garbage men take it?" I asked.

"I don't know," he shrugged, "Maybe it was too big."

"And now you want to sell it for three thousand dollars?"

"Hey, one man's trash is another man's treasure."

I rolled my eyes and sighed with a small smile, "Do you have a key for the door?"

"Nope," he shook his head, "I was going to have a locksmith come out Monday."

"Don't bother, Paul," I ignored his confused surprise, "I'm taking it home today."

Paul was delighted, of course, and even gave me a discount. If I knew then what I know now, do you think I would I have still written that check for two thousand dollars? You bet your life I would.

"You are insane."

That's my best friend, and roommate, Mike. He's a year older than me and we've known each other since kindergarten. He likes steampunk too, but probably not as much as me. He's more into 'spy gear'. Don't ask me why.

"Isn't it great?" I said with a proud grin.

"Uh, most people don't think insanity is 'great', Brian," he retorted with mock concern.

"Oh, come on, Mike!" I groaned in frustration, "You know I'm talking about the police box."

I had the current object of my infatuation delivered yesterday afternoon right after I bought it from Paul, and spent the rest of the day contemplating what I was going to do with it now that I owned it. For now, the box had to be kept in the garage since it was too wide to fit through the doors in the house. At times like these, I wished I had French doors.

"I know," Mike replied trying to quell his amusement, "This thing is pretty cool. The pics you posted on Facebook don't do it justice. So, what are you going to do with it anyway?"

"I don't know yet," as I grabbed the box's door handle and gave it a good shake. Damn. I kicked it's baseboard with a thud, "Man, I really want to know what's inside!"

"When's the locksmith going to be here?"

"Tuesday," I sighed as I looked up to the windows of the police box. I dragged over a stool and used it to elevate myself to the window. I peered at the frosted glass. The white film prevented me from seeing anything, but the soft yellow light from coming from within. Wait a minute. Why didn't I really notice this before now?

"Oh my god," I whispered.

Mike took a step closer, "What?"

I gave him a perplexed stare, "I can't see through the window, but I just realized there's a light on inside."

"Oh yeah. Did you notice the signs are lit up too?" my friend commented with growing interest.

I looked to confirm Mike's observation. "Must be battery operated? Weird. Oh, look at this," I jumped off the stool and went to the front of the police box. Mike followed and I opened the small telephone hatch. "Look inside and tell me what you see."

Mike gave me a suspicious look, but when he peered inside, he narrowed his eyes. "Darkness," he said and stuck his hand in just like I did at the store. He quickly pulled his hand out and stared at me in disbelief.

"So where's the light coming from?" I asked with an edge of wary excitement on my voice.

After a moment, my friend shrugged his shoulder and nonchalantly answered, "Maybe this is a magician's trick box." That seemed to make enough sense for him. "Well, I'm hungry," he changed the subject in a sudden loss of interest, "You want some pizza?"

"Yeah," I said as I followed him out of the garage. I stopped at the door and looked back at the mysterious police box. I simply could not wait for the locksmith come and open that thing up.

A/N: I would love to read your reviews, good or bad :)