Part 1

Dust clouded around John as he settled on the sofa. It had been too long since he'd had a proper sit-down; the cases had been coming thick and fast – at least twice daily – and he was glad to finally get some time to himself.

Just as the teacup reached his lips, a loud whirring noise cut through the peace, a sudden wind ruffled his hair and a pulsing blue light shone through his eyelids.

By the time John had re-opened his eyes, a large blue telephone box had materialised before him, crushing the coffee table. Having no idea what was going on, as usual, John called for the one man he knew who could riddle it out.

"Sherlock!"

Before the consulting detective could drag himself from his room, a short squeak emanated from somewhere inside the box and a head appeared around the side. The man's thick brown hair bobbed around atop his head as he took in the living room and his eyes finally landed on John and his cup of tea.

"Hello," the stranger grinned, stepping out of his phone box and jumping over the table's remains. "Don't happen to have any fish fingers, do you?"

"Did you just…" John paused before deciding to take a wild stab at what had just happened, not believing that the most obvious conclusion could be true. "Did you just apparate into our living room?"

"Of course he didn't, John," Sherlock sighed, stepping into the room. "First of all, apparition occurs with a sudden popping sound rather than a gushing wind and flashing lights," he started, motioning dramatically with his hands. "Secondly, if the land of Harry Potter did exist I'm very surprised that we've managed to miss everything that seeped into the Muggle world, and thirdly, why did never receive my letter to Hogw–"

"Sherlock!"

John shot his flatmate a frustrated glare which he cocked his head at, but shut him up nonetheless.

The stranger coughed awkwardly into the tension and straightened his bowtie in a subconscious motion. "I'm the Doctor, I'm–"

"A Time Lord, we know," Sherlock interrupted.

"No, we don't," John countered.

"Come on, John; are you really willing to believe in magic schools in Scotland but not in time travellers from Gallifrey? We both watch the BBC."

"But…"

"Aside from the obvious aesthetic similarities, this 'box'," he continued, tapping the blue wood "hasn't got a scratch on it from where it would have had to squeeze through our doorway. It's perfectly dry despite the hammering rain outside, and also–" Sherlock poked his head in the phone box door and gave a low chuckle before withdrawing with a wide grin on his face. "–bigger on the inside."

Before John could fathom a response, Sherlock had disappeared completely into the box.

"Does he do that a lot?" the Doctor asked John.

"You have no idea."

The interior was incredible – better than John had ever expected, with flashing lights blinking between inviting levers at the core. Sherlock looked like he was itching to have a go, but much to John's surprise, he held back and simply admired. The Time Lord followed swiftly, giving a little skip as he reached the controls, and began to flick switches seemingly at random.

"So where are we going – and what are you doing here, exactly?" John asked, confused and awed at the same time.

"Well," the Doctor began, clasping his hands together and spinning to face them, a grin spreading across his features. "I've wanted to meet you two for quite some time – great fan of your work, the BBC did a great job with you - and to be honest," he said, leaning carefully against the controls, "I just wanted a fresh perspective. It's been a while since I've had any companions, so I figured there was no time like the present!"

The pair gave him a confused look. Surely any time could be the present for a Time Lord? There was something he wasn't telling them.

He sighed as their silence extended. "Look." He folded his arms across his chest. "I just want a bit of company really. And who better to have for company than the world's best detectives? As for where we're going… Well, I've got a little experiment lined up."Before anybody could say anything more, he yanked a lever and the TARDIS jerked into life, sending them whirling through the space-time continuum.

The door creaked open onto a darkening alley as the last of the autumn leaves settled once more.

"Won't this create some kind of paradox?" John worried as they stepped out.

"We're only in an alternate universe so we should be fine – a paralleluniverse, however, would be a very different story." The Doctor's eyes glazed over momentarily. "As for paradoxes… Those are to be avoided at all costs."

He soon blinked out of his recollection and flashed a reassuring smile before leading the way down the alleyway.

"Do you think this is a good idea?" John asked Sherlock in a low voice. He was getting more and more concerned, but his flatmate seemed to be taking it all in his stride.

"I'm not entirely sure, John." Sherlock replied, turning his collar up against the chilling autumn breeze and smiling to himself. "But I get the feeling it's going to be fun."

"Baker Street, 1894!" the Doctor announced, spreading his arms wide as though he could embrace the scene before them. Lamps flickered and horse-drawn carts trundled past as the group started to make their way down the street. "You know, I've always wanted to visit this universe – never got the time, unfortunately, despite having had over 900 years of it – but hey, no time like the late 1800s! And look – a hat stand!"

The Time Lord soon disappeared, enchanted by the headpieces at the side of the road, and the detecting duo were left to explore. Sherlock had marched off in a matter of seconds, leaving John to jog after him. The detective ripped a newspaper from the closest stand and scanned the day's titles. As John reached for one of his own, Sherlock cast his back on top of the pile and continued his assertive march. John sighed and followed, and by the time he caught up, the taller man had already started talking.

"…barely any idea what the history of this universe is, but most of it seems relatively similar to our own, especially the fact that everyone appears to be so boring."

"Sherlock, just give it a cha–"

"I mean even someone like – oh dear."

Sherlock had stopped in the middle of the road and John paced back a few steps to level with his alarmed gaze.

"What is it?"

"John, what if in this universe I'm… boring?"

Doctor Watson folded his arms. "I doubt you could be boring in any universe, Sherlock. What you couldn't be is even more of a self-centred git."

Sherlock's brow furrowed and he was about to respond when the Doctor ran up behind him looking like an excited puppy.

"I found a fez! It's been ages since I've worn one of these," he grinned, tapping the red construction nestled in his hair.

"It suits you," John responded, ignoring Sherlock's frustrated expression.

"I got one for you too!" the Doctor beamed, drawing a bowler hat from behind his back and placing it upon the head of the smaller man, who patted it tentatively and thanked him. Another hat was thrust towards the detective, but he refused to take it.

"I already have an iconic hat," Sherlock bristled, still internally fuming at John's comment and refusing to look away from him.

"You hate that hat," John stated matter-of-factly.

"Go on, I bought it especially," the Doctor pleaded.

"I have a hat."

John could cut the tension between the other two men, who now appeared to be having an intense staring contest. The Doctor's chin was stuck out stubbornly and Sherlock's gaze was icy despite his initial respect for the traveller. John glanced frantically around for a distraction from the situation and noticed that passers-by were starting to cast them concerned looks. He then found the perfect thing.

"That's our house."

All three men looked up at the large black door that stood up a short flight of stone steps and noted the number 221B illuminated by the light of the lamp on whose glass it was painted.

As though on cue, a series of thuds echoed through the building and the front door was flung open. A tall man, supported loosely by a walking stick, marched angrily through the doorway followed by an English bulldog. Before he closed the door, he turned back and yelled, "How many times, Holmes, stop experimenting on my dog!" And with that he slammed the door and stormed down the steps, stopping short as he saw the trio of strangers watching him.

Naturally, the Time Lord was first to break the awkward silence.

"Hello there," he beamed, stepping forward and grasping the man's free hand. "You must be Doctor Watson."

"Y-yes," he replied, looking completely bewildered. "And you are?"

"John Smith, London Police." The Doctor flashed his psychic paper to prove his alibi.

"Ah. Are you in Lestrade's unit by any chance?"

"Yes, the three of us have joined the unit. Allow me to introduce Martin Jones and Donald Noble."

Alternate Watson shook their hands and motioned back towards the house.

"You're welcome to go and talk to him – Mrs Hudson will let you in – although I doubt he'll make much sense. He doesn't to most people."

"Oh, I'll give anything a go once," the Doctor enthused, giving the house an eager look.

"Well, you have my blessing. Good day, gentlemen."

As soon as Doctor Watson was out of earshot, the comments began.

"That was me…"

"Donald?"

"…but not me."

"What kind of a name is Donald?"

"We look completely different."

"You can't just go around recycling names left right and centre."

"At least Mickey and Ricky looked the same."

"Sentimentality is becoming a frequent demise of brilliance."

"But then again, he wasn't bad-looking…"

"But still, why Donald? You could have just called us John and Edward and been done with it."

"Alright! Alright," the Doctor interjected, voice and hands raised. "Let's just find Mrs Hudson – we can ask questions later."

The woman who answered the door was stern-faced and tense. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun and her otherwise immaculate grey dress carried a brown, muddy-looking stain at the skirt's hem.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, you can. Smith, Noble and Jones from Lestrade's department." Out came the psychic paper once more.

Mrs Hudson visibly relaxed. "Of course, in you come."

The parts of the house they saw were immaculate – until they reached Mr Holmes's room. Plants obstructed every skirting board, various Petri dishes covered each surface, and a small pony sat in one corner by an open window, proudly displaying the leavings which had clearly tainted Mrs Hudson's dress. A figure sat slouched in a worn armchair, a mess of dark hair sat on his bowed head and a hand rested on the head of his pony. The other hand held a small revolver which was pointed at the opposite wall.

"Do give him something to do," Mrs Hudson pleaded in a whisper. "He's messier when he's bored."

As she slipped out of the room, the reclined figure raised his head in a sharp jerk, his dark eyes analysing the new arrivals. He approached the group slowly, eyes constantly darting between them, never relinquishing his grip on the gun.

"Mr Holmes."

Sherlock stepped forward and extended a hand towards the alternate detective. Mr Holmes hesitated before taking it, his eyes never leaving Sherlock's. The silence was deafening as they scrutinised one another, waiting for one to talk first, both apparently fully aware of the other's true identity. They appeared to be talking volumes to each other just through eye contact, and no matter how hard John focused he couldn't tell a single thing that was going through either of their heads; living with Sherlock for a couple of years, he had picked up a few observational skills, but here they were useless. Their expressions gave nothing away, but after a few moments both smiled at one another.

The Doctor looked as though he'd received an early birthday present. "Why have I never done this before? This is brilliant; the ultimate intellects bonding, aware that they're on completely the same level with someone for once, and we get to watch." He poked John's arm excitedly, grinning his head off.

John didn't seem quite so enthusiastic.

"I don't know; two Sherlocks seems like a pretty good reason not to mess with time to me."