A/N - Thank you for all your reviews! :D
How long had they sat there?
Red dots skitted over the heads and chests of John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. The evil-looking man was eyeing them with contempt.
"Is that it? If you kill me here, Sherlock," he said, lowering his head but not taking his eyes off the man that stood in front of him, a gun trained on the bomb-clad jacket inbetween them both, "It'll make London a lot more boring for you."
"I can live with that. At least London would be safe."
"Please. Like you care! You only want excitement. But seriously, a bomb to end all this? Boring and dull. Do something spontaneous!"
"Actually," said Sherlock with mock puzzlement, "It's a lot more interesting than having snipers trained on us every second, ready to simply shoot us. Not even getting your hands dirty! Anyway, vice versa, Moriarty. If you kill me now, there'll be no-one for you to try to threaten or outsmart anymore."
"That's a point. Wow, you got me there," said Moriarty, mirroring Sherlock's mockery. "Not having someone to stop me! How terrible. Someone to obstacle my fun little games," he paused, suddenly deadly serious. "It's my business, Sherlock. Don't think your life is saved just because you're the only person who stops me being bored. I would still kill you. True, I can torment you, but you can only have so much, ya know? Until you get bored again. I'd really hate you to -"
He was cut off in mid-sentence. A terrible throbbing sounded and echoed across the pool, like an aircraft having a seizure, and a bright blue box with the words 'POLICE BOX' printed on the side screamed into existence on the other side of it. A confirming thud rippled the water as it landed, a solid image for the first time. Silence followed afterwards, all three men staring open mouthed. Even the red dots wavered a bit, and some even came to rest on the blue box.
Suddenly, a voice could be heard inside it, faint and muffled. It was hard to make out, but John could have sworn it said:
"Right then, old gal. I hope my random co-ordinating try-out hasn't ended in a catastrophe. What have you got for me?"
And with that the door to the box was flung open and a young man stepped out who looked to be in his late twenties. He had a wide nose, a square jaw, and sweeping dark hair. He was dressed in a pink pinstripe shirt, black trousers with braces, a tan-coloured tweed jacket with elbow pads and an insane red bowtie. His hobnail boots echoed around the pool almost as much as his box had done as he walked slowly around the water, surveying the scene.
He stopped along the side next to Moriarty and said flatly, "Bad time? I can come back later."
No reply could even try to be made as the man looked at the underside of his wrist, at an upside-down watch.
"So, 21st century London, seven minutes past midnight, and you're in a darkened swimming pool with a gun on a bomb and -"
He stopped as three red dots settled onto his chest. He looked down briefly and then stared at Moriarty with an I'm-not-supposed-to-be-here-am-I look. Now there were guns ready to shoot everyone not called Moriarty.
"Ah. Definitely a bad time."
At last, Moriarty managed to say awkwardly, with a nod at the box, "...And will there be anyone else coming out of there tonight?"
"Not tonight, no," the man said conversationally. "I dropped Amy and Rory off in Space Florida."
Silence. Puzzled looks.
This time Sherlock said quietly and menacingly, "And who exactly are you?"
"I'm the Doctor, hello." He held out a hand and walked past Moriarty, looking at Sherlock, who took it, still careful to hold his gaze with his arch-nemesis.
"Sherlock Holmes," he said distractedly.
The ...'Doctor' laughed. "No way!" He slapped Sherlock friendly on the back. "Ah, my friend, it's so good to meet you at last! So, what are you like? Deduce me!" He flung out his arms.
Sherlock didn't move. He held his gun a little higher and said nothing. The Doctor became less and less enthusiastic. "No?" He said pleadingly. No answer. "Ah well. And you?" He spun around to face Moriarty. "You didn't tell me your name."
"Jim Moriarty. Hi."
The Doctor nodded slowly with a bad look on his face. "Uh huh." Then he turned and went over to where John was standing. "And if you're John Watson," he said, with his characteristic hand-flicking, "this definitely wasn't a good time the TARDIS materialized in."
John nodded minutely. "Uh, yeah. I'm John." He didn't dare speak too much - anything could trigger those snipers. He knew he was being too paranoid, but he couldn't help it.
The Doctor nodded again, the sniffed loudly and tapped John's shoulder. Then he span to face all of them again. "So! Whereabouts in London are we? No wait - scratch that. What are you doing here?"
Moriarty scoffed. John smiled disbelievingly and Sherlock narrowed his eyes, his gun still being held toward the bomb. "Really?" He said. Silence.
"What?" The Doctor said, holding up his hands, "It's a perfectly simple question!"
"What do you think ...Doctor?"
"Well," the Doctor stepped between the consulting criminal and the consulting detective and waved his hand half-heartedly. "It's just a wild stab in the dark, but it looks like the two of you have met for the first time, and are threatening each other with deadlock promises. And John," he glanced at the jacket covered in explosives, "has been taken hostage and just been rescued from being blown up?"
At the staring he was unsurprisingly getting, he put on his matter-of-fact face.
"Just a guess."
Clearly, Moriarty was loosing his patience. "Enough!" He spat. "Obviously, Sherlock, your little distraction is quite a failure." He turned to the Doctor. "Now, if you don't mind, we have a stand-off to finish."
The Doctor looked bemused but stepped aside. "I don't like stand-offs," he explained unnecessarily. "Too many guns. My perfect stand-off would be n-"
He shut himself up at a fatal glare from Moriarty.
Sherlock re-raised his gun he had lowered ever so slightly at these series of odd outbursts. Jim raised his head and cleared his throat. He had just opened his mouth to speak when an electronic gurgle came from the direction of the jacket.
They all turned, and saw with annoyance that the Doctor was pointing a thick pencil-like object that glowed green at one end at the bomb, his eyes fixed upon it. When he realized that everyone was not pleased with interference after interference, he moved only his eyes for a minute, but then stopped the noise and the light and stuffed the object into the inner pocket of his tweed jacket. "Sorry," he whispered. "Please, don't mind me. Go on." He crossed his hands and played innocent.
"Sherlock, you need to work on your action plan." muttered Moriarty. "Getting a bumbling bloody idiot to appear out of a magic box isn't what I call tactic."
"Hey-" Began the Doctor. Moriarty ignored him.
"But, what now? He has given you time to think about what you'd do next."
"Actually, yes," agreed Holmes.
"Then what is your next move?"
"This."
Without so much as a glance to John and the Doctor, who had already begun to run towards the pool, Sherlock Holmes, of 221b Baker Street, shot the bomb.
Shockwaves tore through the pool. Most of the water was wrenched out and the surface was ablaze with orange light. John could vaguely see the Doctor swimming towards him.
"Are you all right?" He mouthed. John nodded, and realized that he was bursting for air.
He swam upwards, not that far, for the pool wasn't very deep now, but the Doctor dragged him back down and shook his head violently.
John's lungs were convulsing. Every movement hurt him. He needed air! He couldn't take it any longer.
He broke the surface and drank in the cool air, but immediately coughed and spluttered as he inhaled smoke and ash. The atmosphere burned his skin and he realized that air wasn't normally cool in a swimming pool.
Then he noticed that the roof had been blown off. And the walls. The pool was a smoldering wreck.
The Doctor broke up too and did the same. When he had finished coughing, he said angrily, "Didn't I tell you to stay down? What part don't you understand? This is exactly what would have happened. You should have waited until the air was clearer."
"I needed air!" John protested.
"Well, you should've taken a bigger breath," said the Doctor curtly.
Then John realized. "Where's Sherlock?" He gasped, looking about wildly.
The chances were this: the detective had been blown up. John didn't know if the Doctor had pushed Sherlock in too, but if he hadn't, and John would kill him if he didn't, he definitely would have died. Or he could have drowned if the Doctor did push him in - John wasn't sure if Sherlock could swim. The pool was shallower than it had been, but still deep enough to not be able to stand in.
"SHERLOCK!" He bellowed.
"Ow! Don't shout so loud. My ears have already been ripped to sheds, you know," came a familiar voice.
John swan around and saw a soggy-haired Holmes swimming towards them. He couldn't help joining the Doctor in joyous laughter. They'd all made it! But what about Moriarty? Could he have -
His thoughts were interrupted by the Doctor shouting at Sherlock. "Why did you SHOOT it? I was sorting it!" He yelled.
"I thought you turned it off!" Sherlock said defensively. "How am I meant to know that you didn't when the lights on it went dead when you pointed the sonic device at it?"
The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "I'd almost finished figuring out what it would do," he argued. "I hadn't turned it off yet, it just didn't like the sonic screwdriver! That's why the lights turned off - wait a second...how do you know it's sonic?"
"Oh, please. Out of this time zone technology? It even sounded sonic."
Silence.
"Well, yes," said John, concluding the heated argument, "Now, just shut up, and for God's sake, let's get out of here!" He started swimming towards the edge of the pool. With a quick glare between the the nine-hundred year old time lord and the worlds only consulting detective, they both followed suit.
Once out, the Doctor shock himself like a dog and said, "I need to find my ship."
"What, the box? Forget it, Doctor," John said, "It was blown up!"
"Oh yeah?" The Doctor walked briskly and purposefully in the direction of a shape covered in rubble. He started to rip each piece off and John was amazed to find it perfectly intact.
"Strong as a weeping angel, my gal," the impossible man said affectionately, patting it, "Rock solid." He laughed. "Care to step inside?" He produced a silver key from his jacket and unlocked it, then went in.
Sherlock followed, then John. And both were amazed by what they saw, John slightly more so.
The immense space inside was baffling, even to those who had seen so many impossible things already. The roof arched and staircases wriggled out of the main room in all directions. The console hummed and whirred as the Doctor danced around it.
"Welcome aboard the TARDIS. Now don't touch anything. I suppose you'd like me to explain?"
"It's another dimension?" Holmes suggested simply.
"Y'see, it's basically another dimensio -" The Doctor stopped and stared at Holmes. Then he made his way towards them, head low and accusing.
"I like the bit where people say 'it's bigger on the inside'," he winged sulkily. "I always look forward to that."
"Well, what else could it be? And anyway, I read a book recently that mentions space and dimensions."
"Yes, well," the Doctor mocked, coldy. "Obviously! Anyway, I expect you'll need to dry off." He pointed to one of the staircases. "Go up those," he said, "and take a right, the second left, immediately right, and left again. That's the changing room. There are some towels in there. Then I'll get you two safely home - I presume you're a bit shaken."
Sherlock was abnormally quiet as they sat in the changing room, now dry, in silence, getting over the shock of the night. He was sitting with his long fingers entwined, his two indexes resting on his chin.
John knew exactly what was wrong. "Sherlock. What do you think he's done - Moriarty. Has he escaped?"
"Do you think he's the sort of person who hasn't thought about all his and my possible moves? Of course he escaped."
"Yeah. But, we survived."
"Yes, but there's a criminal - a very dangerous criminal - on the loose."
John sighed. "I'm going back to the console," he said, straightening up.
"Me too."
As they returned, the Doctor was engrossed in a book, already dry, on a chair. He looked up as the two men came down the stairs. "Ready? Now then, 221b is it? Right."
He grinned, as he flicked a final switch and rammed down the handbrake.
"You'll like this bit."