~From the Perspective of Sherlock Holmes~ I had been staring at the blue phone box for exactl 47.6 minutes when my flatmate, John Watson, entered 221B Baker Street. "What in the world is that, Sherlock?" I looked at him, instinctivly examining the young man's appearance -slightly wrinked shirt, wheat bread crumbs on the brim of his collar, hair slightly ruffled as though he had run his hands through it nervously several times, red dirt particals on the sides of his cheap loafer. I chuckled, "So who ended the relationship, you or Tara?" He frowned, "He name was sarah, and i did. Now answer my question, what is that blue monstrosity?" I look back at mysterious phone box intruding upon the flat, "It just..." I racked my brain for a suitable word for the anomaly, "appeared." Ok not the right word, but oh well. John sighed and sat down i his faux lether chair, picking up the daily newspaper and flipping through it absent mindedly, "Maybe mrs. hudson had it delivered." I rolled my eyes, "What use would Mrs. Hudson have will a ginormous blue call box? no.. it was he-" He rudely cut me off, "Well it didn't just appear in here, Sherlock?" Sarcasm weighed heavily in his voice. "But you are missing the most important whestion, John. Not who put it here, but how did it end up here." An object of his size and callibur... it shouldnt even move, much less be brought up to a second story flat." I stood up from where i sat on the couch and walked around the box, assessing each detail for the 26th time. JOhn peered at me over the edge of his newspaper, "I haven't seen a blue phone booth since i was a kid, or on the telly. So why is one here?" I ignored his mundane question, tracing my hands alone the grains of the weathered blue wood. "Pine... no oak wood. Polyfiber paint. Rouch condition, multiple scratched and nicks. "SO have you figured it out yet?" John asked, pulling me out of the trance-like state i had fallen under. I shot him a dirty look and began to examine the room. No sign of entry through the window. "The only phyisical way the phone booh could enter the room is if someone had blown a hole in the wall... and as you stated earlier, it couldn't just magically appear... so how? There is no other signs of entry besides when we both entered." I was completely stumped, but of course i wasn't going to admit it. "As long as it is not a permanent addition to the flat, it does not concern me what so ever." I turned to john and childishly stuck out my tongue at him, "Go write your blog or something then." He laughed and i turned back to face the box, crossing my arms over my chest and staring at it like it would magically open. Suddenly, th door to the phone box clicked. I stepped back, shocked at the sudden movement. I had tried to open the door 47 times and it never budged! it swung inward and a tall, darkhaired man in a light brown blazer and a dark brown bow tie stepped out. Atop his head was a bright red few. He held an odd looking, light tipped wand in his hand. Supprisingly, i could not read him at all."Where am i?" He spoke, his rough british accent (was he northern) was unusual to my ears. "You are in London. Baker street. FLat 221b." He looked around, his eyes lingering jsut a moment longer on the yellow smiley face spray painted on the wall and the multiple gunshot marks around it. "Who are you?" he asked. "Sherlock Holmes, and who might you be?" He looked at me, his dark eyes meeting mine, "I'm the Doctor." To be continued...