Sherlock stepped into 221B and closed the door behind him.

"Another case solved," he thought to himself with a slight smirk. "Simple."

He began to walk upstairs, noticing that the television wasn't on in Mrs Hudson's flat nor was there the distinct smell of her Earl Grey tea in the air, which meant she was either out or upstairs in his flat. He noticed her coat, shoes for walking and hand bag were still hanging up, which meant she was upstairs.

As Sherlock reached the top of the stairs, his deduction was confirmed when he saw Mrs Hudson neatening up some of his research papers.

"Oh, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said in her usual sweet voice. "How was the case, dear?"

"Simple, as usual," Sherlock answered briefly, walking past her to go to his arm chair.

"That's good," Mrs Hudson replied, smiling.

"I'd love some tea if you're going downstairs," Sherlock said over his shoulder.

"I'm not your house keeper, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said, as she always did when Sherlock made a demand that he knew she'd inevitably cave in to.

Mrs Hudson began walking down the stairs to her own flat as Sherlock smirked. He always knew when she'd be making tea.

"John," Sherlock said over his shoulder. "The international prostitution ring was being headed by a the group of men using the Peruvian flute band as a cover, as I suspected from the beginning. That should make an interesting article for your little blog."

There was no answer.

"He must be writing it down," Sherlock thought to himself.

Sherlock, knowing that John would write down his latest job, opened his own laptop and started it up. He went immediately to his emails, as he always did, to see what amusing cases people had sent him that day. There were 20 emails in his inbox. 15 were junk mail, 3 were viruses and 2 were cases.

"Slow day," Sherlock thought to himself, a little disappointed that his regular daily amusement was so bare.

The 2 emails were each headed differently, from different senders.

"Missing person

Dear Mr Holmes, I hear you're the best. Last night, my grandmother disappeared from her locked bedroom. The windows are barred and the door was locked from the outside. I saw her before I locked the door but when I came back in the morning she was gone. Please, please help me. The police laughed at me and I don't know where else to turn"

"Maybe it was aliens," Sherlock thought to himself as he deleted the email, smirking at his wittiness.

"Hello.

51.520299,-0.154254"

Sherlock looked at the message. He knew immediately it was latitude and longitude he just didn't know where. A quick search told him it was Paddington Street Gardens, not far from Baker Street. His curiosity was piqued and he didn't have anything else to do. There was no time sent in the email, so he figured he'd go and see if anyone was waiting for him.

"John, I'm going out, I'll be back soon, don't forget to write up my latest case," Sherlock said to John as he walked to the door.

Sherlock walked quickly down the stairs and grabbed his coat. He saw Mrs Hudson approaching him with a cup of tea.

"Going out?" Mrs Hudson asked.

"Yes, sorry about the tea," Sherlock said looking at the cup.

"It's no matter, I'll just drink this myself and make you a fresh cuppa when you get back," Mrs Hudson said with a sweet smile.

Sherlock smiled briefly and then shot out the door.

Paddington Street Gardens wasn't far from Baker Street, so it only took him a few minutes to walk over. He didn't even order a cab. As he entered the small park, he immediately looked round for anyone who looked like they were waiting for someone, or someone who just looked out of place. Sherlock saw both in a man leaning against a tree.

Sherlock walked straight towards him, keeping his eyes only on the man by the tree. As he approached, the man looked up and smiled. This was definitely the man who sent the email.

"Hello," the man said brightly.

"You sent that email, I assume you have a case," Sherlock said bluntly.

"Don't you want to know my name? Who I am?" The man asked.

"Is it relevant to the case?" Sherlock asked with a condescending air.

"No, I suppose it isn't," the man answered, looking down, a little disappointed.

"Then it isn't relevant to me," Sherlock replied. "Though I do have one question."

"Oh?" The man asked, look back up at the consulting detective.

"How did you know I'd be here at this time?" Sherlock asked, curious.

The man smiled a sly but broad smile.

"Oh. Oh, Mr Holmes," the man said. "The things you don't know."

"Enlighten me," Sherlock said, a little offended. "I think you'll find there is very little I do not know."

The man merely smiled the same sly, but broad, smile and began to walk, motioning for Sherlock to follow. Sherlock followed, though there was something about this man that irked him.

"So, why were you so secretive in the email?" Sherlock asked. "What is this case?"

"I was secretive because I need to be as unnoticeable as possible," the man answered.

"Then that's a very brave choice in attire," Sherlock replied.

"Thank you," the man said with a cocky smile. "Bow ties are cool."

"So," Sherlock said, getting a little snappy. "What is the case?"

"Right," the man said, shaking his head a little. "Sorry."

The man turned a little darker as he began to think.

"Something has been going on as of late. People in London appear to be disappearing, from places they seemingly can't be taken from. It's strange. There's been no anomalous activity explain it, yet it keeps happening, right under my nose," the man explained. "Now, I'm clever, the cleverist person I know, but I can't seem to get to the bottom of it. I hear you're pretty good as well, so I figure if we work together we may just be able to solve it."

"Not interested," Sherlock said, turning to walk away.

"Are you sure?" The man asked.

Sherlock turned around. The man was learning against a 1960's blue police box. He hadn't seen it a second ago. Even now it seemed almost like he couldn't see it. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he went through every possibility in his head.

"It's called a perception filter," the man said.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed again. The man could see the confusion in his face but knew he'd never say it out loud.

"It shifts your perception, so you don't realise you're seeing the thing you're seeing," the man answered the unanswered question.

"That's not possible," Sherlock said, a little frustrated.

The man clicked his fingers and the doors of the police box opened. Sherlock could see inside, it looked like a big room. He knew it had to be a trick, some sort of image projected onto screens that looked real. He stepped towards the big blue box, his curiosity getting the better of him. He stepped inside and walked towards the main console. He looked around, not knowing whether to believe his own eyes or not.

"This is my TARDIS, yes, she's bigger on the inside, yes, it is possible and hello, I'm the Doctor," the man said, with that sly smile again.

-

Sherlock sat, watching the TARDIS console, still having difficulty grasping what was going on. He didn't like it. He didn't like not knowing something. He didn't like not understanding something. Though he was ashamed to show it, his hands were shaking a little, which is why he kept them in his pockets. The Doctor looked at him with sympathy and compassion. Even for regular people, the TARDIS can be difficult to handle, but he knew that Sherlock wasn't a regular person, that he was a man of pure logic and anything that went against the logic he held to be fact would unnerve him.

"Anyway, as for the case," The Doctor said, hoping to distract the detective. "All the people that have gone missing. So far, I've counted 43 cases of missing people, across the country. They are each being handled individually, in their own separate counties. No one has made the connections yet."

"But you have?" Sherlock asked in a snide tone, his irrationality showing through.

"I'm over 1100 years old, I have mind that is far superior to that of a human," the Doctor said as if it were nothing. "Yes, I made the connection."

"Then what do you need me for, Doctor?" Sherlock asked, emphasising the word 'doctor' as if he were air-quoting it in a sarcastic way.

"Because, Mr Holmes, for some reason, for some reason I don't understand, your mind is far superior to any I have ever encountered. You make connections, you see things, in a way that I've never seen in any other living being. As much as it pains me to admit, I need help with this one, and you're the only person I can think of who stands a chance of doing that," the Doctor admitted, his tone sullen, as if he hated the admission.

"Then I will help, but first I must collect my companion," Sherlock said, acknowledging the ask for help.

Sherlock's motivation was a lot more complicated than just helping. His vanity and pride had allowed him to help after the Doctor admitted he was more intelligent than him, and his curiosity made him want to see more of the TARDIS and more of what was out there, even if it scared him a little.

Sherlock headed to the door and stepped through it. He was being swift because he wanted to get some air, away from the impossible box. The Doctor came out soon after and locked the doors with a small golden key.

"Shall we go get John then?" The Doctor asked, looking excited.

"He's back at my apartment, writing up my latest case," Sherlock said.

As they walked through the streets back to 221B, they walked in silence. Sherlock was still processing everything he'd seen and everything he'd heard from inside the TARDIS and, though he wanted to ask more, he knew he needed to understand everything first. The Doctor was still worried about how the Detective was taking the information and didn't want to pressure him any further by adding to it.

As they reached 221B, Sherlock stopped outside the door. He could hear a woman's voice shouting inside. Sherlock looked at the Doctor with a slight expression of dread. The Doctor, worried about what was happening, opened the door and ran inside. He ran into the downstairs flat and came into the kitchen.

There, bent over the table, completely stripped of all his clothing, hands bound behind his back and a gag in his mouth, was Sherlock's companion, John Watson. Standing over him was a woman clad in nothing but thin straps of leather across her breasts and down in-between her legs. The leather on her breasts held small rings that encircled her nipples. She was brandishing a riding crop and John's bare butt was red.

The Consulting detective came in a few seconds later, took one look at the scene and sighed.

"Oh, Mrs Hudson, don't put him on the table," Sherlock said.