Chapter 1

"Ouch! Would you stop that?"

John glared angrily at the slender man sitting across the room, who was playing with a small wooden catapult. The man stared at the contraption with his eyes, the rest of his face tilted halfway between John and the catapult.

"Interesting. It didn't go as high as I was pointing with that amount of torque."

"That's a load. You've hit me in the same place the last fifteen shots. I'm surprised there isn't a bruise yet!" The man moved his eyes up to look at John, a small smile crossing his lips and eyes. Nothing else on his face moved. "Really, Sherlock, is this for a case?"

Sherlock tossed the toy to the side, into a heap of clothing. "Really, John. I haven't had a case in over a week. I told you that this morning."

"Was that before or after I got home from work?" John worked at a local hospital, and had gotten called last minute for the graveyard shift to help when there had been a bad wreck.

"You weren't scheduled to work," replied the curly dark-haired prat. John couldn't be frustrated with him about any of it, he had a hard time being frustrated with Sherlock at all. At least face to face. He still did his best to look exasperated as Sherlock pulled out a mobile phone. He typed into the plowing screen as he continued. "If you had followed that schedule, you would have heard me when I told you that there's been nothing interesting happening. No weird mystery. No serial killer different from the rest. No box."

"I was on call, Sherlock. And no box? Wha-oh never mind. But what about that pile-up last night? 20 cars. No reason for them to not stop, most claiming the breaks didn't work. I heard them try to get you on it and-Is that my phone?"

"Not interesting enough," he replied simply as John walked over and swiped the device from his hands."

"Not interesting enough? Last month you took on a case not nearly as interesting! And I DO NOT GIVE MONEY TO LITTLE BOYS WHO SLEEP WITH ME!" Sherlock needed to stop doing this. John's last several relationships ended because of him stealing his phone and sending crap like this to his girlfriend.

"Well good enough last month was different from good enough this month. It's October, something more strange should happen then September.

"As for the little boys, when have you ever slept with one and not given them money?"

"Never!" At Sherlock's raised eyebrows, John felt some of his anger dissipate, and added more softly "Because I've never slept with a little boy!" Sherlock smiled and looked down in his lap, where he was fiddling with something else.

John decided to just give up. He stood up and grabbed his jacket from on top of Sherlock's feet. "Never mind. I'm going out for a bit."

He didn't get very far. Before he could, Mrs. Hudson was coming up the stairs with a dirty, ragged-looking man. A man from that homeless-person network Sherlock got information from.

Looking at him, John couldn't mask his surprise. The homeless network could be found just about anywhere, and Sherlock had gone to them several times with John around, but he'd never seen them inside a building before.

"Sherlock, you have a visitor, dear. This man insisted on seeing you." Sherlock moved his eyes up, and raised his brow once more.

"Sorry to come in, Mr. Holmes, but I knew you'd like to know immediately. The blue box is back."

Before John could guess at what he meant, Sherlock jumped up and started putting on his coat and scarf. "Where is it?"

"It's just a few miles away, just north of Fleet Street. It's on a side pedestrian road called Bolt Court."

The man hadn't even finished speaking before Sherlock was down the stairs. The only reason John got to the door before it slammed shut on him was because he'd been ready to go out. Even with this, he barely had time to slide into the cabbie behind Sherlock.

After riding for a minute in silence (which was odd, considering it was Sherlock), John finally broke it.

"Blue...box?" was all he had to say to get Sherlock's mouth going.

"The box, John. The blue box." He paused to look at John, seeing if it registered. He sighed and went on, looking the other way.

"For years I've known about it, this mysterious blue phone-box. It appears one day, and vanishes the next."

"Okay, so someone's moving it?" Sherlock looked at him like he was an idiot. He did that often, and to everyone.

Not just moving. Making it disappear. No trace, whatsoever. Cameras show it there one minute, and gone the next. No change in place other than the disappearing. No picture in another camera. Most times no feasible place where it could've been hidden."

"It does this on its own, then?"

"No, I don't believe so. There's always this man that goes to it and gets in before it disappears. When it appears, he sometimes gets out, and it's only disappeared without him on one or two occasions that I'm aware of."

"And he does all this? All on his own?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." John watched as Sherlock crinkled his nose in frustration. John looked away quickly feeling his face heat. Thank god for mannerisms, he thought. "Most of the time he's with other people, but sometimes he's by himself. And that's one of the weird parts. I've seen video of ten people entering it."

"How big is this box?"

"Weren't you listening? 'Phone box.' How big do you think it is?"

"Then how-"

"I don't know." John knew that Sherlock had a love-hate relationship with not knowing. Sometimes it frustrated the hell out of him, sometimes it had him fascinated and entertained. Today, John was seeing a rare moment when it was doing both.

After nearly fifteen minutes, they pulled over and were let out. Sherlock was striding down the pavement before it came to a complete halt, forcing John to pay. He shook his head in slight annoyance as he handed the cabbie a wad of cash, not waiting for his change in hopes of catching up.

As he sprinted towards his partner, he saw the thing Sherlock had been talking about. The blue police phone box.