Author's Note: This is a crossover story that I am writing for my creative writing class. Hope you like!
Blue TARDIS Everdeen
Out of Time
"You really can't expect me to believe that."
"Why not? It's a perfectly logical assumption."
"Yes, but aliens Sherlock? Really?"
They were at the scene of a brutal murder. This case greatly troubled Greg Lestrade, the head Detective Inspector for Scotland Yard; John could tell that the moment he heard his voice on the other end of his mobile. They were standing around a body in the middle of a grassy clearing. Lights on stands were set up in a circle formation, as this was in the middle of the night.
"Greg, couldn't this have waited until the morning?" John said, stifling a yawn. "I don't just work with Sherlock, you know. I do have a PROPER job."
"Sorry, John. Sherlock is the only bloke I know that could even remotely solve this case." He yawned as well, stretching his arms above his head. "Besides, I thought you told me you quit that job at the surgery?"
"I did, but then I got a different job, this time at St. Bart's." John shot a sideways glance at his tall friend; he hadn't told him he got the job.
Sherlock wasn't paying attention; his eyes were on the body on the ground. The body had long cuts on its torso and legs; the limbs hanging off by shreds of skin. The head was twisted in an obscure angle; the mouth open in a perpetual scream. Her eyes were glazed over, a look of terror etched on them. Dark red blood plastered the victim's long hair to her forehead, and was spread out in a puddle around the body.
"Two minutes I said, Sherlock. I need anything you got." Greg said, crossing his arms. He was standing over Sherlock, watching.
Sherlock straightened, putting his magnifier back in his pocket with one of his trademark smirks on his face. "The victim is in her early twenties; a student, just coming back from a party." He turned toward the body again, his coat swirling behind him.
"How can you tell?" Greg said.
Sherlock shot him a look before continuing. "Her clothes. She was clearly dressed up to go to a party, judging by the way her clothes fit and the way her makeup was done." He pulled his BlackBerry out of his coat pocket. "The cuts on her arms and the way she was murdered is a very distinct style." He paused to type on his phone. "The style of the Krafayis."
Both Greg and John looked at Sherlock.
"Sorry, the WHAT?" John said with surprise.
"The Krafayis." He showed them a picture on his phone. "They are an alien creature from the Kasterberous galaxy." He walked away then, tugging on John's arm. "Come, John. We must contact our good friend Captain Jack Harkness at Torchwood; he will know what to do."
They left the crime scene in a black cab, unaware that this was the day that they (and the whole world) would never forget.