Harry Watson didn't have many friends anymore. She used to, but then the bright lure of alcohol-induced bliss had taken precedence, and people drifted away. Her brother joined the army, and she left her wife out of guilt and shame. Clara was much younger and prettier than her, she deserved better than having to constantly deal with her drunken partner. Those were dark times, but she was getting better, only drinking at the weekends and social occasions, and never enough to black out or throw up. John was home, and she'd made contact once again with Clara. Nothing romantic remained between the two of them, but they managed to maintain a solid friendship.
Harry was happy again. She didn't need any other friends, and didn't want any. She knew that being an ex-alcoholic lesbian would greatly diminish any interest in being her friend. John and Clara knew her, understood her. But unfortunately for Harry, the two of them had another friend. An eccentric, slightly odd genius with great cheekbones. Her friends were completely smitten with their respective geniuses. (Harry was convinced that one of the pairs was anything but platonic, despite vehement denial by one of the parties.) She didn't mind that her brother and ex-wife had other friends, not at all, but why did they have to have these friends? Why did they have to talk about them constantly? Whenever John visited, he'd tell Harry stories about him and Sherlock's latest case, filled with details about how brilliant he was. Whenever Clara came over, she'd tell Harry tales about her and The Doctor's latest adventure, filled with descriptions of how brilliant he was.
Harry had met them both. She wasn't quite sure who she preferred. Sherlock had taken one look at her and deduced every little thing he could find, in excruciating and embarrassing detail. Of course, her alcoholism and sexuality weren't secrets, but the things he could tell just by looking were creepy. She'd studied herself in the mirror for a while after he left, looking for the telling marks of her secrets. She'd seen nothing. She wasn't entirely convinced by John's claims that he was human, and nothing extra-terrestrial. As it happened, The Doctor was extra-terrestrial. He was an alien who was hundreds of years old. He travelled around in a box that could take him anywhere in time and space. Harry had fainted when she went into the box after being persuaded by Clara. The Doctor had being utterly apologetic, rambling about how the time energy could sometimes overwhelm human minds and how dreadfully sorry he was. He was like a puppy, eager to please and impress with how clever he was. Sherlock was like a cat, prowling around, with an intelligent glare, just waiting to pounce.
The differences and similarities between them were striking. Harry had met them both individually, and decided although neither of them would be her choice for a best friend, she could see why her actual friends had chosen them. They craved adventure, and solving crimes and saving alien worlds was making them both very happy. So, Harry decided to have a little fun of her own. Sherlock and The Doctor liked science, didn't they? This was the hypothesis:
What happens when a genius detective and a Time Lord meet?
She couldn't wait to find out the result.
...
"Yes, alright. We'll be there. Bye, Harry. Bye."
John hung up, and slid his mobile back into his jeans pocket. He took a deep breath, dreading the oncoming inevitable, but made his way into the living room. Sherlock was reclining on the sofa, his fingers pressed together and tucked under his chin. His eyes were closed, but as John opened his mouth to speak-
"No."
"You don't know what I was about to say."
Sherlock's eyes snapped open. "You were standing in the kitchen, it's not far away. You speak loudly on the phone, you're still uncomfortable with your new smart-phone. I could hear you quite clearly. You had a ten minute long conversation, and mentioned your sister's name twice. You also said 'we'll be there,' before coming over to me, presumably to ask me to attend the insipid social gathering at your sister's house. Hardly difficult. My answer is no."
"Please?"
Sherlock let out a short breath of derisive laughter, closing his eyes again.
John paused for a few seconds, contemplating his bribe. Sherlock was extremely stubborn when he wanted to be, which admittedly, was the majority of the time.
"If you come with me to Harry's, on my way home from work today, I'll drop by the morgue and see if Molly has any body parts going spare," he said.
Sherlock's ears pricked up and he fixed John with a calculating look, wondering if this was just a bluff. John met his gaze steadily. His body language was showing all the signs of honesty. Sherlock sighed in a resigned manner. John knew that he wanted to start a new experiment and required human flesh as a test subject.
"If Lestrade phones with a case, that would obviously take precedence over seeing your sister, correct?"
John smiled. "Of course, but I'll be checking with Greg to see if you're just making up that you've got a case as an excuse. Obviously."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, but help but feel slightly proud that his friend could manipulate him so effectively. Sherlock could easily do that to him, with thrice the efficiency, but his blogger was learning.
"When and where?"
"Tomorrow afternoon, around 1 o'clock, Harry's house."
...
"Ok, we'll see you tomorrow, Harry. Bye," said Clara, snapping her phone shut. She slid a bookmark into the heavy tome resting on her lap and left the library. She made her way to the main control room, where classical music was blaring from every corner of the room.
"Doctor?" she called, resting her arms on the railings.
"Down here!" was the muffled reply.
Clara rolled her eyes and made her way down to the bottom of the TARDIS, where the Doctor was fiddling with a load of complicated looking electrical wires.
"Ah, good, glad you're here," he said, running over to her and grabbing her wrist. He pulled her over to the circuits. "I've found a way to fix the sound system. I just knew that bringing Bizet in here was a bad idea, and playing him something that he hadn't yet composed was an even worse idea. I blame you, personally, you wanted to meet him."
"I like Carmen," Clara defended.
The Doctor looked at her, and she could have sworn she saw a hint of something akin to sadness in his eyes. It was gone as soon as she registered it.
"Anyway, I figured that if I reversed the polarity-,"
"Please skip the techno-babble and just tell me what I need to do."
The Doctor looked rather put out, but carried on cheerfully. "See that yellow stripy lever? I need you to pull that while I reverse-"
Clara raised her eyebrows.
"While I do clever science-y things with my screwdriver," he said grudgingly.
"Much better."
The Doctor pointed the screwdriver at the circuit-board. "Now!"
Clara pulled the lever down and there was a flash of light before the TARDIS was once again filled with silence.
The Doctor smiled. "You know, I'd never thought I'd enjoy a quiet TARDIS."
"Don't worry," Clara said, ruffling his hair, "It won't last."
He laughed and the two of them went upstairs. The Doctor grabbed his tweed jacket from where it was lying on the console. He shrugged it on and looked at Clara, rubbing his hands with glee.
"So, where next then? No composers, mind you."
"Actually, that's what I needed to ask you. Harry called and invited us over tomorrow afternoon."
"Then tomorrow afternoon it is, remind me, what's her address?"
...
Harry still never failed to be slightly surprised when the blue box suddenly materialised in the middle of her living room. This time, she only just managed not to pour tea all over her lap. The door opened and Clara poked her head out. She saw Harry and smiled. Then her head vanished, and Harry heard her shout:
"We got the right house this time!"
With that, Clara left and immediately hugged Harry. The Doctor appeared behind her, grinning like a toddler.
"You know what they say, third time lucky and all that," he said.
Once Clara had let go, Harry found her hand being shook rapidly by The Doctor.
"Hello Harry, lovely to see you again. Did you make tea? I love a cup of tea, me."
Harry blinked. "Yeah, sure. The teapot should still be hot."
"Brilliant," he said, before venturing into the kitchen.
Clara made to follow him, but was stopped by Harry.
"I need to tell you something," she said.
Clara sat back down immediately. "What?"
"I invited John today," said Harry, looking at her lap.
"What's wrong with that?"
"He's bringing Sherlock."
Clara's eyes widened. Harry had told her all about Sherlock.
"Well, it will be nice to finally meet him. I wonder how he'll get along with The Doctor-"
Clara paused and looked at Harry suspiciously.
"You did this on purpose."
Harry merely smiled and took a sip of her tea.
"And that, Harry Watson, is why I married you."
The silence was broken by a crash coming from the kitchen and the doorbell ringing. The two women exchanged a look.
"I'll get the door, you deal with whatever happened in the kitchen," said Harry.
"Meet you in the living room," replied Clara.
...
Sherlock was sulking. They'd arrived at Harry's house and were standing on the doorstep. Sherlock had his arms crossed and was glaring at John.
"I don't know what you're so annoyed about, Sherlock. We made a deal. I bought you a bag of toes, you agreed to come."
The reply was silence.
"I also distinctly remember telling you that I would call Lestrade to confirm if you were working on a case."
Silence.
"Don't you pout at me, Sherlock Holmes."
The door was flung open to reveal Harry.
"Hi John!" she said, enveloping him in a warm hug. She watched Sherlock glowering at her over John's shoulder.
"Hello, Sherlock," she said, pulling away from John.
"Harriet."
Harry rolled her eyes, and ushered the two men inside. She closed the door behind them and braced herself as the two of them walked through the hallway, and resumed arguing.
...
"Doctor, what did you do?!" Clara demanded, surveying the exploded teapot on the floor.
The Doctor looked rather sheepish as he held out the sonic screwdriver. "I used it to heat up the tea. I may have used the wrong setting."
"Harry's going to kill you. Do you have any idea how much that antique teapot cost?"
"Well, what dynasty is it from? I'll pop in the TARDIS and get her a new one, she'll never know."
Clara shook her head fondly. "You can't use time travel as an excuse for everything."
"Well, why not? It's a marvellous excuse."
...
"Sherlock, you cannot use cases as an excuse for everything!"
"Well, why not? It's perfectly acceptable. Bringing a criminal to justice far outweighs the need to visit your sister and make dull small talk for an hour."
"Always lovely to see you too, Sherlock," Harry deadpanned, although neither of the two men acknowledged her comment.
"It's repetitive and means that I'll obviously doubt you every time you use it!"
...
"Because it's cheating! If I broke that teapot, I'd have to buy her a new one!"
"She still gets her teapot, I really don't see how it's a problem!"
...
"Well, that's hardly my fault. More often than not, I have a case. I never ask to be involved in your social affairs, far from it, in fact."
"Well, you were today, and you agreed to it, so the least you can do is stop scowling and be nice!"
After he said this, John walked straight into Clara, who was bickering with a man with floppy hair and a bow tie. John and Clara immediately stopped their respective arguments and smiled at each other. Clara threw her arms around him.
"It's so great to see you again!" she said.
John hugged her back, and after a few seconds, released her. "Yeah, how long has been?"
"Ages, definitely, before you went to Afghanistan."
"Blimey, really ages then."
"How's your shoulder?"
"All healed up, but still the rare twitch."
There was a pointed cough that obviously came from Sherlock. The man with the bow-tie was also standing awkwardly next to Clara as the two caught up with each other.
Harry interrupted. "I think we need to do a bit of introducing. John, Clara?"
Clara indicated the man with the bow-tie. "This is my friend, The Doctor."
"Doctor what?" Sherlock asked, fixing his analysing gaze on the aforementioned man.
"Just The Doctor," Clara said.
Sherlock looked suspicious. "And what exactly, are you a doctor of? Clearly you're not a general practitioner. So, you must have a PhD in another subject. Tweed jacket. Bow-tie. Don't tell me. History?"
The Doctor looked pleased. "Oh, I like you. You're a right clever clogs. What's your name?"
"Sherlock Holmes."
The Doctor laughed and pointed a finger at Sherlock playfully. "Funny. But, really what's your name?"
Sherlock looked at him as though he were a idiot (more than everyone else, that is) "Sherlock Holmes," he repeated.
The Doctor looked at him in surprise. He then looked at Clara, Harry and John, who all looked entirely nonplussed that the tall man had introduced himself as Sherlock Holmes. The fictional character. From Victorian times. He shook his head minutely. He needed to be normal, and maybe he could then work out what was happening.
The Doctor held out his hand. "It's good to meet you, Sherlock Holmes," he said, not being able to help the grin that spread over his face as they shook hands. He'd always loved the Sherlock Holmes stories. He then noticed the man standing next to Sherlock and wondered why he didn't make a connection before. Clara had told him about her ex-wife-turned-close-friend Harry Watson, and that she had a brother called John.
"Doctor Watson, I presume," The Doctor said, extending his hand and beaming at John.
John shook his hand less reluctantly than Sherlock had. "John's fine."
"So, why don't we move this into the living room and I'll go and get drinks for everyone?" Harry said.
"Ah," Clara said. "I should probably come with you and explain...well, you'll see."
The two women left. John, Sherlock and The Doctor all left for the living room. Which is when John noticed the big blue box perched on the middle of the rug.
"What the hell is that?" he said, circling it. The Doctor ran a hand lovingly down the door of the TARDIS.
"It's my TARDIS," he said, slightly offended.
"What's a TARDIS?" John asked, still not quite believing what he was seeing.
"It's a time machine," said Sherlock, surprising John and The Doctor. He smirked at their faces before continuing. "Isn't it obvious? A man who looks young, actively choosing to dress like an old man? That's what alerted me to an interest in history, but he never actively confirmed my suspicions. He calls himself The Doctor, vague but hints at a high intelligence."
"Thank you!" said John and The Doctor in unison.
"Plus there's the extremely suggestive fact that he didn't quite believe what he heard when I introduced myself, which also begs the further question of why that was. But I digress. The Doctor is a time traveller, and that box is his time machine."
"How do you know it's his time machine?" John asked, tripping over the last two words.
"There's no cars apart from Harry's parked outside, there's no bus stops for a two mile radius and we would have seen him if he had gotten the train. They also arrived today and did not stay over the night before. No signs of overnight bags being dragged in."
The Doctor laughed, sounding delighted. "You're brilliant, you are."
"Was I right?"
"Of course! I'm The Doctor, I'm a Time Lord, which means that I travel through time and space in my TARDIS. Time and Relative Dimension in Space, in case you were wondering. Clara and I got the phone call from Harry about an hour ago, and came straight here."
"Wait, Time Lord?" John asked, looking incredulous.
"I'm the last of my kind. From the planet Gallifrey," The Doctor explained sadly.
"An alien, then?"
"Yep."
"There's always something. An alien, of course you're an alien. Why else would you wear a bow-tie?"
"Oi! Bow-ties are cool."
John interrupted again. "Sherlock, you seem awfully accepting of the fact that this man says he's an alien."
Sherlock smiled at exasperatedly. "How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?"
The Doctor smiled to himself. That had always been one of his favourite lines, it seemed particularly apt for his life and what he did.
"Dr Watson," he said, "if you're having trouble believing, why don't you allow me to prove it to you?"
John looked slightly uneasy.
"Could be dangerous," whispered Sherlock.
"Fine," said John. "Prove it."
The Doctor smiled, and snapped his fingers. The doors to the TARDIS opened.
"Is that it?" Sherlock asked, dryly.
"Not quite. Come inside, then."
They all walked inside the TARDIS. The Doctor waited to hear the inevitable-
"It's bigger on the inside," John said, looking around in awe. "This is fantastic!"
"Time and Relative Dimension in Space. It's another dimension, John, of course it's bigger on the inside. Are you convinced yet?"
John nodded, and he began to look around the TARDIS.
The Doctor began to press buttons and spin dials.
"What are you doing?" John asked, as the TARDIS began to whir.
"I'm not done proving it to you yet! And Sherlock, maybe this will answer your question!"
...
Clara heard the distinctive TARDIS sound and raced into the living room just in time to see it vanish. Sherlock and John had vanished along with The Doctor and his TARDIS. Harry came into the living room and noticed the lack of blue box.
"They bloody went without me," said Clara, shaking her head.
Harry chuckled. She wondered how John and Sherlock were adapting to time travel.
...
The TARDIS landed, and the whirring noise stopped. The Doctor grinned as he opened the doors, and ushered them out.
"Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Watson, welcome to Victorian London."
John's eyes widened in awe as he took into the city. It was vibrant with colours, and yet the air was foggy. There was no way this was an elaborate prank. Everything was so real. The architecture was still recognisably London, even if everything surrounding it was Victorian. Then, The Doctor spotted someone, that John assumed he must have known.
"No. No way," The Doctor said, as he ran over there.
Sherlock and John exchanged a stunned look. The Doctor returned to them, with a man sporting a glorious moustache in tow.
"What are you doing? Who are you?" the moustached man asked.
"I'm The Doctor, and I'm about to change your life."
The Doctor ushered the man forwards. "Arthur Conan Doyle, I'd like you to meet Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson."
Arthur Conan Doyle held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you."
In turn, John and Sherlock shook his hand.
"Meet them?" The Doctor said, sounding disbelieving. "You don't know who they are?"
"No," was the reply. "Should I?"
The Doctor gaped. This was not right.
"No, The Doctor must have made a mistake," said Sherlock. "You've never met us before in your life. But I think that you should. I understand now, Doctor. Mr Doyle, my name is Sherlock Holmes and I'm a consulting detective in the future of a different universe than the one you yourself live in. You're going to write a series of novels about me and my friend John and the crimes we solve. They'll be extremely successful and still be remembered long after your death, and well into the future."
Arthur Conan Doyle looked sceptical. "And how do you know that?"
"Deduction. I already live in the future, and today I met The Doctor, who seemed to know who I was, but didn't believe that I could exist. He's an alien who can travel in time and space. He brought me and John here, and we met you. He was excited to introduce you to us, in the hope that you'd recognise us as your characters, but you didn't know who we were. Obviously, he got the intended landing wrong, or the TARDIS brought us here for this very reason. For John and I to meet our maker, as it were."
"How did you know who I was? You've never met me before."
"You're a writer. You have distinctive ink smudge on your hands, and a formed callus on the middle finger of your right hand, where you constantly use a pen. Once I'd noticed that, it wasn't difficult considering what I already knew."
Arthur Conan Doyle smiled. "Sherlock Holmes. Good name. Why don't the four of us go back to my house and you can tell me all about yourself, and we shall see if I can write these stories you claim I will."
...
A few hours later, Sherlock, John and The Doctor returned to the TARDIS, having inspired Arthur Conan Doyle to write stories about Sherlock Holmes.
"I can't believe we just did that," said The Doctor, " After all the times I've read those books, I was the one who brought you all together. I love it when that happens. Time can always surprise you."
"I can't believe that in a parallel world Sherlock has a whole book series about him. He'll never let me forget it. As if his ego needed any more of a boost," groaned John.
"If it makes you feel any better, John, the stories are mostly narrated by the Dr Watson character," said The Doctor.
"He did seem to like me better," John mused, while Sherlock glared at him.
The TARDIS landed back in Harry's living room, mere minutes after they'd left. Clara and Harry were on the sofa watching TV.
"And where have you been?" Clara asked, when The Doctor stepped back inside the living room.
"Victorian London. I took Sherlock and John for a spin to prove that I was actually a time-travelling alien."
John rubbed his temples. "I never thought I'd hear that sentence."
"John, I'd like to go now. I've seen London from another era, and I'd like to refresh my memory."
John sought out Harry's eyes. She nodded.
"Alright. Let's go, Mr Famous Book Character."
Sherlock smiled slightly before turning to The Doctor.
"Thank you," he said.
The Doctor smiled. "You're welcome. You'll see me again though, I'm sure."
"Really?"
"Of course. You're in a relationship with the brother of my friend's ex-wife turned friend. I'm sure we'll bump into each other. I'm betting a party of some sort. I love parties."
"We're not a couple," John mumbled for the umpteenth time. Really, it was getting tiresome.
"Yes, you are!" said Harry, nudging her brother with her hip. "Now, you two lovebirds go and rediscover London, and give me a call, probably sometime tomorrow morning," she finished with a wink at John, who face-palmed.
"Come, John," said Sherlock, eager to get away from Harry and her love of small talk. John hugged Harry and Clara goodbye, shook hands with The Doctor once more before following him.
"They're in love," said Harry. "It's obvious."
Clara rolled her eyes.
"Actually, I think that Clara and I will go as well," said The Doctor. "Places to go, planets to save, and all."
"Alright," said Harry, smiling at them. Her mission for the day had been completed anyway. Sherlock and The Doctor had met, and nobody got hurt.
Once they had said their goodbyes, and The Doctor and Clara were back in the TARDIS and were safely floating around in the atmosphere, The Doctor asked his question.
"So, which dynasty was the teapot from?"