AU: BBC's Sherlock and seasons 5-7 of Doctor Who have been fighting a fierce battle to take domain in my Netflix tab. This is my way of trying to make peace between the fandoms; hopefully in their time together here they will become the best of friends.
Full summary: As the Doctor was dangling from the doorway in the middle of his regeneration, the TARDIS hit a building a bit too hard and the raggedy-dressed man just sort of… fell out. While wondering the streets of London in search of his sexy blue box, the Doctor encounters an interesting pair out on a really-this-isn't-a-date before continuing his evidently unavoidable crash-landing. And every time the three met hereafter, all at the most inconvenient of places during the worst possible moment.
Warnings: this is my first attempt at writing any sort of romance- I may very well fall far from the intended mark. Pairings include 11th Doctor/River Song, John Watson/Sherlock Holmes, Amy Pond/Rory Williams, and all that entails.
Set before the Eleventh Doctor and during A Study in Pink
Chapter 1: Pink and Blue Go Together Smashingly
"To the left, girl; TO THE LEFT. Up, up, up, upupupupup- yes! All right, now, let's just sail like this for a bit- NO, not a spike there! UP! Whoa, that was a close one. Just hold still for a moment and I'll climb back in- I really hope that swimming pool is still in the library- then we can- Oomph. Ahhhhhh!"
The sound of the TARDIS wheezily groaning in apology faded rapidly as the gusting of wind took precedent in the Doctor's ears. His disappointingly not red, girly-long hair flew into his eyes as he fell down towards the hard streets of London. And fell. And…. fell. Now really, based on the momentum built from swinging by his grasp on the TARDIS's currently door-less entrance and Earth's average gravitational pull, he should not have to wait this long to splat. The boredom was already setting in; at this rate he could try to- Splat.
Black, black, black and more black. Honestly, if they wanted people to stay for any length of time, there should be a wider variety of color here. Like… blue. Yes, pretty, scuffed-up, sexy blue with character that only comes from age and love. That sounded nice. It's decided; he was leaving this place and going to find a sexy blue that he could grow old with. Or already have grown old with and will continue to do so until he finishes growing old and goes on to do something else. How nice it would be if the sexy blue came in a nice shape, maybe a big box that isn't actually a cubical box, but a rectangular prism that people will just call a box because it sounds better…
With determination born from the deep desire for a non-monochrome life, he convinced his eyes to open and free him from the distastefully decorated residence. After letting out a couple of threatening growls and solidly blinking a few times to thoroughly chase away the lingering black stowaways, he quickly judged his new accommodations as only minorly less inadequate than his previous surroundings. Sure, there was some light, but overall the shades of gray and brown that made up the walls, ground and bins around him weren't appealing to the eye at all. And there was no blue. Anywhere.
Trying to move, however, wasn't working out so well. A glance down showed his skin to be glowing, and not in the healthy way that the one-who-got-to-have-red-hair's did, but in a sparkly hue that, while fairly enchanting, wasn't blue and decidedly wasn't very good. Plus, his back hurt. A lot. But the skin-lightshow seemed to be helping with that, so he decided to allow it some time to run its course before attempting to move again. Not because of the pain, but just since waiting sounded fun right now.
How about a nap?
No, Lord Times don't take naps- naps are for mundane beings who have nothing better to do.
Well, that's true, but everyone needs sleep. Sleeping is biologically necessary and a depravation of rest leads to decreased cognitive function, which then results in a mundane life due to being unable to think of what one really desires and then figuring out how to achieve it. Do you want that?
Well, when you put it that way, I guess a few minutes back at the dark place wouldn't be too bad…
A bearded homeless man by the name of Gregory crouched over the trash littered body, trying to gauge whether a pulse was present and if there was anything on the body worth adding to his trolley. The torn, smudged suit that was in even worse shape than his own garb was less than encouraging as it pointed to a robbery gone wrong, but the criminal could have left something of value behind by accident. In any case, beggars couldn't be choosers.
While reaching into the front vest pocket to search for loose change, Gregory let out a hoarse cry as the not-so-dead body's hand shot out to grip his arm and the torso leaned up, nearly causing their heads to knock together.
"Noble! Donna Noble was her name; how could I have forgotten Donna Noble's name? I just regenerated for her father after all! Oh, but I suppose she won't remember me now anyways… My box. Where is my box! Sexy, hold on; I'm coming to save you from the cold, unforgiving streets of wherever this is. Hmm, London, what it? Let's see, I just need to take a right here, circle back around, and…
Gregory watched in bemusement as the obviously loony man walked out of the alleyway, waving his hands about as he spoke of nobles and boxes and prostitutes. He contemplated phoning the nearby institution, but concluded that he had neither the money nor the time to bother caring. After all, there were so many more buildings to check between for thrown away treasure, and there was an all-you-can-eat buffet tomorrow morning at the Waffle House on Oxford Street. Preparations needed to be made if he was going to get at the dumpsters before all of the leftover breakfast was gone.
"…then two more blocks down and I should end up near the third MacDonald's, where I will then proceed to…" The Doctor kept muttering directions to himself, trying to bring up a map of 21st century London in his scrambled brain. He had tried to ask a few pedestrians for directions to the nearest blue police box, one with some damage that doesn't take away from her beauty at all, but everyone kept shying away when he approached- one gentleman even threatened to call the police. This made him worry a bit about what his new appearance must look like, especially when a stroller-bound baby began sobbing when the Doctor offered a grin, but there was no time to waste on such trivial matters. The TARDIS was lost and alone somewhere, probably worried he had abandoned her or gotten hurt; or worse.
There was something else as well. A feeling, one in the pit of his stomach, telling him that this wasn't right, that he wasn't supposed to be here. So much of time was in flux and could be rewritten by one little change. However, there were certain important people and important places, and events that occurred at those places involving those people that just had to happen. They were fixed points in time and in every reality they played out the exact same way. The fall of the Greek and Roman Empires, 9/11 and the Twin Towers bombing in New York City, Michael Jackson's death, Barack Obama's election; all examples of events that had to take place, regardless of any interference. The Doctor had experienced this same feeling while in Pompeii with Donna; saving one family was a small win, but the ancient city still burned to ash in the end. It had to happen.
He wasn't supposed to fall out of the TARDIS here; he needed to get back into his box and continuing flying until he crashed where he was meant to. Until then, every second was one that operated outside of the time stream and had the potential to tear a hole in the universe. Nothing was going according to how it should and one wrong move could lead to the return of Nazi Germany or the Soviet Union or some other change that would rupture time and irreparably ruin the future. Even his regeneration had stalled, leaving his body in a half-cooked state. His limbs didn't function as he wanted them to and his mental faculties were working at half capacity, if that.
Running down the street preoccupied as he was with his thought, the Doctor didn't even realize he had run into something until his frazzled nerves got around to informing him that his legs had stopped their frontwards-backwards movement and he was now lying on his back again. Soon his ears also decided to speak up and timidly told him to pay attention to them, as apparently someone was making noises that he should listen to.
"- ost him, John, we've lost him! There are all green lights from here on out and not a stop sign for at least another mile. Oh, why must other people exist when they only get in my way?"
"Yes, well, if those poorly placed people weren't around at all, then you wouldn't have any cases to occupy your time, I would think. And still, you must admit; successful or not, that was very exciting."
The Doctor looked at the two humans in front of him with his head cocked in curiosity. The taller one whom he had mutually run into had already stood up and was pacing in agitation beside the other, less vertically stretched human. Based off of the annoyed atmosphere that had formed, he assumed his presence interrupted something important. British people are supposed to be everlastingly polite, a voice chimed within his mind, so be a damn British person and apologize.
"So sorry to barge in like that. I too have some important dates to sort out, so I'll just be on my way," the Doctor said, though it came out more slurry than he had anticipated. All of this head-hitting-the-pavement business couldn't be good for the regenerating mind. If this continued, he was going to end up with the personality of a nearly thousand year old toddler by the time he was done with the day.
"What? Oh, no, no, no. I don't swing that way at all, and he doesn't swing any way apparently," corrected the blond man, whose name was John, based off what the other had said. "Really, this isn't a date at all. In fact, we were just running after a criminal, and-"
"-ruined, this whole case. Though it was a long-shot anyway, but now we will never know if he was the killer. We'll have to go back to the flat to-"
"-complete misunderstanding, I assure you. No, nothing of the kind is going on, despite what Angelo may think. Sherl-"
The Doctor's head swished back and forth between the two men talking over one another. Finally the two one-sided conversations ended with a double exclamation of "We must go now!" and a few beats of silence as the two looked at each other as if just realizing the other was also speaking and didn't hear a word of what he had said.
With a tranquil smile at the other John, the Doctor commented, "You know, your really-this-isn't-a-date Cheryl reminds me a lot of my own really-this-isn't-a-date partner, River Song. And my name is John too, sometimes at least; we should really all get together for tea. Although, I am still not certain River isn't actually a clever Zygon." The Doctor sprang up and walked up to the taller man of the pair, looking intently into his eyes with his face only inches from the other's. "Are you a Zygon, by any chance?"
"Excuse me? No, I am Sherlock Holmes, a Consulting Detective- the first of its kind; I invented the job- and I was trying to track down a pink phone to find a serial killer until you INTERUPTED ME! My Mind Palace had been disturbed and my mental map is all messed up now."
"Pink? Oooh, that's a nice color; I wonder how it looks with blue? I bet that map could help us figure it out. It's okay, though; my mental map is a bit off as well at the moment."
Sherlock blinked once before a look of understanding entered his eyes as he took in the Doctor's entire raggedy form. "Ah, I see. Odd, though; I don't remember anyone from my homeless network mentioning another mentally unstable addition so close to my home. I really should tighten up communication. So many things tend to slip by nowadays."
"Homeless? No, you see, I have a home. She is a big sexy blue beast of a police box that most definitely exists, and I should know- I just crashed her."
"Right, of course you did. John, let's go; we have no time to waste."
During the encounter, the Doctor had felt the unpleasant feeling quiet until it was just a numb fly perched in the darkest corner of his gut. However, as the duo began to make their way down the street, the nagging came back with a vengeance, pulling his thoughts in all different directions as it urged him to find the TARDIS findtheTARDISfindtheTARDIS!
Before he knew it, the Doctor found himself running up behind the two men, following them through the streets. He was too busy berating his feet for acting without permission to notice the worried look the duo he was trailing shared before increasing their pace. The disobedient feet only ran faster to catch up, trying to get rid of the yelling feeling as the Doctor continued to have a row with his body parts.
This cycle continued until the three ran onto a street that was completely in gridlock. Cars were crammed together on every square foot of the road, honking away and demanding to know what the holdup was. And there, sitting on its side in the most inconvenient of places, right in the middle of the street, was the TARDIS, causing a ruckus over her gorgeous self like always.
"Yes! Oh, thank you two!" the Doctor yelled out, embracing the men he had been following and laying a kiss on both sides of their faces. "You've led me right to her. Merry Christmas!"
"Huh?"
"… Did he say Christmas?"
As the Doctor slid over the hoods of cars to reach his precious spaceship, his tunnel vision finally expanded enough for him to notice the crowd gathered around the TARDIS.
"I have no idea how this got here, Sir," one of the policewoman said into a phone. "This model hasn't been used for ages and it is locked from the inside." Pause. "Yes, we've called a tow to come and move it, but with all of the traffic it may take hours to get here." A lengthier pause accented by a wince. "Indeed Sir, we will do our best to get everything back in order."
A tow truck was coming? That wouldn't do; they could scratch up her exterior. He was planning on giving her a nice buffering and a new paintjob soon, but still; it was the principle of the matter. A certain level of respect needed to be upheld.
"Pardon me, coming through, there we go," the Doctor hummed as he casually ducked under the bright tape surrounding the scene, shuffling through his pant pockets.
"Listen Mister, you aren't allowed over here, yeah?" A police officer tried to stop the Doctor, who simply nodded in response before removing his hands with a triumphant noise, lifting up a set of keys.
"But wait; there's more!" With one hand holding the keys, the Doctor used his other to give a dramatic snap and grinned when a popping sound signaled the opening of the police box's front door. "Thank you River." Without another glance at the gaping bystanders, the Doctor set himself on the ground and rolled horizontally into the TARDIS, the door snapping shut behind him.
Intrigued, Sherlock stepped towards the blue box, examining it and probing for any sensors. The insane man's trick had been a good one, but there had to be some sort of mechanism somewhere that allowed him to pull off his little stunt.
The front door popped back open again and the Doctor's upper body slid out. Before Sherlock could move, the man's tattered-sleeved arm reached up and pulled a pink scrap of cloth from the Consulting Detective's pocket. He had taken the piece from the crime scene so he could compare the shade to any suitcases he found tossed away to ensure they belonged to the victim. She had been a very color coordinated woman; her clothing would match her luggage to a tee.
The Doctor held the scrap against the damaged side of the TARDIS and stared at it for a minute. Once done, he looked back up at Sherlock and grinned from ear to ear. "Perfect; pink and blue go together smashingly, wouldn't you say? Don't mind if I keep this, do you?" The man then rolled back into his box without waiting for a response.
A groaning wheeze resounded through the street as the blue police box began to fade in and out of sight before disappearing altogether, kicking up dust in its wake. Sherlock stared at the vacant space momentarily before turning around and walking back towards Baker Street, an amazed Watson following behind.
"Um, Sherlock? What exactly did we just see?"
"Nothing John; we saw nothing. It was just a mad man with a blue box; nothing out of the ordinary in the slightest."
