Story cover image: Police box, British public call telephone © by artbalitskiy/Fotolia
Ten years ago…
The blue box had crash-landed in the yard of his family estate. He approached the box cautiously, surrounded on either side by guards, and mentally noted the dimensions and identified the box as a police call box from the 1950s, although with the way it had crash-landed here like some sort of aircraft, he was willing to bet that it wasn't an ordinary police call box.
The blue box's door opened and he halted, along with his guards, aiming their guns at the box and the occupant inside. "Hello?" He called out in his best sympathetic voice. "Are you hurt? Can we get you some help?"
There was a pause as they waited for answer and then he heard a laugh, a sinister, cunning laugh that intrigued and thrilled him. "I'm fine, just fine. Never better, in fact. It's the best I've felt in years, except for…well, I can't help that for now."
"Stand down, gentlemen, just relax." He ordered, turning to his guards before he slowly approached the box's doorway. "My name is Jim. James Moriarty, in fact." He said as he peered through the box's opening and gasped. "What's yours?" He managed to say, stunned and excited by what he saw inside. This was going to provide him with a load of opportunities, he could already tell.
The man with the maniacal laugh peered out of the opening and studied him intently. "Well, Jim, my name is the Master and I can tell we are already going to be the best of friends."
"The best of friends, of course." James slowly nodded, eying the Master as well. "The 'You help me and I help you' type of friends?"
"Precisely." The Master nodded.
"I like the sound of that." James said before they laughed together and then coughed, feeling slightly awkward together in that moment.
"Guards," James snapped his fingers and the guards drew to attention. "Help the Master gather his box together and take it up to the manor. We're going to have a load of work to do to get this thing in working order again. I assume it is broken?" He asked the Master.
"Yes, unfortunately, the type of parts and technology that I need to patch this thing up don't exist yet or will never exist, depending." The Master sighed.
"Hmm, a curious thing." James said before he shrugged. "Well, can't be helped, I suppose. We shall have to make do and find the best replacements possible or make our own." James turned to the guard heading back to the manor and told him, "Have some scientists ready on standby as soon as possible. We may need some assistance."
"Is this your place?" The Master asked, staring up at the manor.
"It is mine, insofar as it belongs to my family." James said before he asked, "Is that your box?"
"This old ratty thing? Yes and no." The Master said, turning to James. "It is mine now. Your place, can it be mine as well?"
"We shall share it, just like we share this box, for as long as you like." James said. "Is that a deal?"
The Master hesitated, glancing back and forth between James and the guard standing off to the side before he said, "Deal."
"Perfect." James smiled. "Just perfect."
Present day(ish)…
"A Henriks department store just blew up, a few blocks away from Trafalgar Square." Anthea told Mycroft, typing on her phone. Mycroft frowned and looked up from the newspaper he was just reading, out of boredom, to ensure that the certified stories and facts were straight and on topic, and to smirk at how wrong they got it half the time. "Police and emergency services are already on their way there." She told him.
"Henriks?" Mycroft grimaced. "One of those urbane teen outfitters, I suppose, but it doesn't make any sense." He closed and folded up the newspaper. "Why would anyone want to blow up such a place, much less shop there, unless they really hated clothes?"
"A statement of some sort that London isn't secure?" Anthea remarked.
"Perhaps, though it is an oblique one, aside from location. Get me CCTV footage of the surrounding area, before and after." Mycroft said, standing up and walking over to the bank of monitors set up against one wall. One of his personnel obeyed his order, switching all of the monitors to the CCTV cameras in that general vicinity, and rewound the footage to an hour or two before the incident.
Anthea joined them to peruse and examine the footage as it played out at double speed. "Camera 442981, stop at the mark." Anthea called out and the personnel member did at the 30 minute mark before the explosion. "Look here, sir." She called to Mycroft.
He came over and, after a quick glance, said, "There is a gentleman in a leather jacket, jumper, and dark trousers running towards the department store. The terrorist?"
"Look to the shadows." Anthea told Mycroft before she told the personnel member, "Play it back a couple of minutes and then restart it at regular speed."
Mycroft watched and then his eyes widened before he smiled. "Good for you, Anthea, you've spotted a Doctor. The Doctor, I should say, though he does look a bit different from what we're used to. One of his latest incarnations, I imagine." Mycroft frowned to himself. "What is he doing here and why did he blow up a store? Keep playing the footage here, I want to know when he comes back to the TARDIS and if anyone is accompanying him." He told the personnel member.
"He usually does have some sort of companion with him, doesn't he?" Anthea asked.
"Yes, the ones we're used to usually do, however, this Doctor appears to be traveling alone. No one came out with him, did they?" Anthea shook her head and Mycroft continued, "Precisely my point. This Doctor is alone and different from all the rest. He could be dangerous and unpredictable to a certain degree, even with a companion to help him, but without one, he is worse than my brother."
Anthea grimaced and then asked, "Your brother does have a companion now, though, Dr. John Watson? How is that going?"
Mycroft nodded. "Yes, that's right, Dr. John Watson seems like a respectable, responsible, able-bodied man who is capable of keeping up with my brother and keeping him in check to a certain degree, though he can't always control or follow my brother's actions. They seem to be getting along together now, as best as they can considering my brother's temperament and character and John's condition. I give it a few more weeks before it comes crashing down."
"That's what you said last month." Anthea said. "You still owe me 30 pounds."
"I'll pay you later." Mycroft added, rolling his eyes before he paused. "Roll back the footage a couple of minutes." He told the personnel member.
The person complied, and then Mycroft and Anthea watched as a blond teenage girl, holding some sort of rubber or plastic arm, raced down the sidewalk and across the street from the direction of Henriks' department store, looking harried and nervous as she kept glancing about. She paused and looked back at the department store, towards its roof, just before it exploded. She then raced off, past the TARDIS without seeing it, though.
"She saw something." Mycroft said. "She was in the department store. And I bet you another 30 pounds that she met the Doctor. I need a name, facts, and details concerning this young woman and then I need her interviewed and followed for at least two more weeks to be certain."
"Why?" Anthea asked, turning to Mycroft. "What's your concern with her?"
"The Doctor might be concerned with her if he helped her and pushed her out of the store before it exploded." Mycroft said. "He might even be concerned enough to ask her to travel along with him. Now who can we trust-" Mycroft hesitated, glancing at Anthea before he sighed. "Get Sherlock on the phone already and get me all of the files on the Doctor that we've got. I need to update Sherlock on the situation here so that he can appraise and examine it to the best of his abilities. Try to get him interested in it." Mycroft muttered, shaking his head.
An hour later…
"Oh, isn't it terrible?" Mrs. Hudson said, shaking her head as she watched the department store burn on the television. "Right here in the heart of London! Who could have done such a thing?"
"I'm sure it'll be fine, Mrs. Hudson." John said, glancing at his landlady. It might have been a little odd that she came up here to share this experience with her tenants, but then again, she was a motherly type of person, who needed some comfort as well. "The department store was closed, after all, the staff had already left. Whoever blew it up did so with almost no casualties involved."
"There probably will be some missing or suspected personnel who might have blown up the store, or might have even been caught in there." Sherlock added from where he sulked in his armchair, watching the television with a blank expression. "You can't say there are absolutely no casualties at this rate."
"Sherlock, please don't upset Mrs. Hudson." Watson hissed at him before his phone rang. Curious, he picked it up and frowned. "Mycroft is calling me. Sherlock, what did you do with your phone?"
"I threw it in the trash as soon as I heard about this explosion." Sherlock said. "I knew he would try contacting me to—John, no!" Sherlock cried, but it was already too late as John had answered.
"Hello?" John said, Sherlock sulking even further as John listened. "Yes, he's here, and no, he doesn't want to speak to you at the moment."
"Tell him it's obviously a terrorist plot and that's his job, not mine." Sherlock said. "If he didn't want to deal with terrorists, then he shouldn't have gotten into politics in the first place."
"Sherlock, be nice." Mrs. Hudson hissed at him. "You should help him. He's your brother, after all, and it's for an important cause."
"I wish he weren't. He's my nemesis!" Sherlock said.
"He-" John frowned as he listened and then turned to Sherlock. "Mycroft says it's not a terrorist plot and it involves…an extraterrestrial alien called the Doctor."
"What?" Sherlock sat up, aghast. "What kind of idiot does he think I am?"
"Alien?" Mrs. Hudson gasped. "Oh my god, it's finally happened! There really are aliens!"
"He says to check your laptop, all of the information has been sent to you." John added. "And we're supposed to also check up on a Rose Tyler at the Powell Estate. She worked at Henriks. Is that it?" John asked Mycroft, listening to him for a minute more with wide eyes, and then nodded. "No problem. Okay then, good-bye." John hung up.
"What was that about?" Sherlock eyed John.
"Nothing." John shook his head, not wanting to tell Sherlock what his brother had just said. It was quite a nice compliment, though.
Sherlock sighed, glancing at the TV again and coverage on the Henriks explpsion. "There's nothing on here of any real value. It's probably one big joke, but I suppose I shall still check out what my brother just sent." Sherlock stood up and headed towards his bedroom, pausing to turn back to John. "Just don't volunteer my services to him again without my say-so, okay?"
"Okay, then, good night, Sherlock." John said, nodding.
"Good night, John." Sherlock said, closing the door.
Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "Aren't you two going to bed together?"
"We're not a couple!" John groaned to himself. He thought he heard a stifled laugh from the direction of Sherlock's room, but ignored it. "Good night, Mrs. Hudson." He added.
"Good night, John." Mrs. Hudson said, looking bemused and amused as she slowly extracted herself from the couch and left the flat.
A few minutes later, as John was still watching TV, bored and tired, but not yet exhausted enough to go to sleep himself, he heard several expletives followed by a couple of shouts coming from the direction of Sherlock's closed bedroom. John hesitated, wondering what was bothering him or exciting him so much before Sherlock's door opened. John turned about and stared in horror and fascination at the crazed expression on Sherlock's face.
"The alien is real." Sherlock panted. "The Doctor is real. Come check it out." He waved him over.
"Really?" John asked, leaping over the couch and racing over to see what Sherlock was talking about. Sherlock yammered about a mile a minute as John read the files and even saw some footage taken from organizations like UNIT and Torchwood over several decades. "Oh my god," John said at one piece of footage in particular, which examined the size and dimensions of a large blue box inside a UNIT lab and then went inside the box, revealing a large, alien-looking room totally different from its surroundings. "But that's completely absurd, impossible." John said, leaning in further as the camera went deeper and deeper into the 'TARDIS'. "Is that a swimming pool?" John asked at one point.
"I would like to meet this alien, this Doctor." Sherlock said, examining another file on Rose Tyler. "And she just might be the ticket to him." Sherlock smiled. "We're going to the Powell Estate, first thing in the morning."
"Count me in." John nodded. "I would like to take a look at this thing myself."