Discovering Torchwood - Chapter One
"Sherlock," John prompted, stuffing his hands deep into his jacket pocket, feeling an overwhelming sense of deja vu. "what am I doing here?"
Sherlock looked bemused at John's annoyance. "Helping me make a point."
John sent him a whithering glare. "Here we are in the middle of Winter, out in the open, at Roald Dahl Plass, ...in Cardiff, of all places!"
"Perfectly sound analysis." Sherlock interrupted.
"And you won't tell me why we're here, or, better yet, who you're supposed to be making a point to!" John let out a huge breath. "And here I was hoping for a nice, relaxing day off from the clinic. Not asking for much, just a bit of peace and quiet at Baker Street, maybe a few books and a good, warm cuppa. But no! You had to drag me all the way out here!" John continued ranting miserably, sniffing.
"Well, first of all," Sherlock began. "you should know that there's no such thing as 'peace and quiet' in 221b Baker Street, I won't stand for it."
"Yeah, 'hateful' I remember you calling it." John muttered.
Sherlock ignored him. "Books and tea could easily be acquired anywhere." he tried to placate his disgruntled flatmate.
"Couldn't we, at least, I don't know, take this trip any season other than Winter?" John questioned.
"We could," Sherlock hummed. "But Anderson hates Spring, he has an allergy. Mycroft hates Summer, he's allergic to sweating. And Sally hates Autumn, Halloween, and all."
John blinked. "So we couldn't get away from London because you want to watch your enemies suffer?" he snorted.
"What? Not good?" Sherlock furrowed his brow in genuine confusion. Had he said something wrong again?
John shook his head. "Whatever floats your boat, Sherlock." he sighed. "But really, what are we doing here?"
Sherlock glanced around. "We are... waiting."
"Waiting for...?" John egged him on.
Down in the Hub, Jack jumped up from where he was observing the CCTV footages with Tosh. "Ah, that would probably be my cue."
Tosh followed his movements with her eyes as he bounded to the invisible lift. "Who are those people, Jack?" she asked curiously.
Jack straightened his coattails and smoothed out his lapels. "Guests." he informed her with a bright smile. "Be ready to greet them." And then he was off.
"Aliens, seriously Sherlock! Back at it, with the aliens?" John was groaning when he heard what his flatmate had to say.
"What? You don't believe me?" Sherlock looked just a little bit wounded.
"I didn't believe you when you claimed you could tell a software designer by his tie..."
"...And a retired plumber by his left hand. I remember." Sherlock cut him off. "But, it was all very true."
John nodded. "I realized that... after you gave me an example."
Sherlock turned to John impatiently. "And here I am, giving you an example. Better yet, proof!" He peered at John intently. "Aliens do exist."
"And where would they come from then?" John quesitoned, unwilling to be defeated. "There's no way you could know where they come from, you can't even name the third rock from the Sun!" Jack snickered a little, hearing the last part of the conversation on his way up.
Sherlock squinted his eyes at Jack, taking no more than 0.5 seconds to see him through the perception filter. John, however, still hadn't noticed anything. But he seemed to have sensed something, he stopped dead in his tracks and swiveled his head around curiously. "Is something the matter?" Sherlock asked, feigning ignorance. He inwardly laughed, John was standing with his back facing the invisible elevator, not three feet in front of Jack.
Jack craned his neck to peek over John's shoulder and waved at Sherlock silently. John finally stopped looking for an invisible watcher, but his shoulders were still tense. "No, must be my imagination. Do you get the feeling we're being watched?" It took all of Sherlock's self control to keep from bursting out into laughter right then and there.
He glanced around a little for John's sake. "I don't see anybody."
John hummed to himself. "Hm, funny..." Then he seemed to brush it off. "So, you were saying... proof?"
Jack stepped out of the perception filtered area, then. "I guess it's my turn to explain?"
John whirled around, fists tight, but he didn't lash out like he did last time. "Mister Harkness." he greeted curtly, half-glancing around, wondering where the man had popped out from.
"Oh, please," Jack smiled charmingly. "call me Jack."
"Jack." John corrected himself with a strained smile. Obviously, he hadn't forgotten about The Doctor's severed hand. "Nice you see you again, how are you doing?" Pleasant, bordering on overly polite, just the attitude to undertake when talking to a man who keeps a human hand in a jar. Jack couldn't help but smile amusedly at the thought.
"I'm great, you?" he asked, in turn.
"Cold." was the annoyed reply, more directed at Sherlock than at Jack.
"Well, we'd better fix that, then." Jack chuckled and motioned to the invisible elevator. "Ianto makes the best coffee in the universe, just the thing for a cold day. Shall we?"
John sent Sherlock a dubious look, obviously wondering 'Shall we... what?' Sherlock smiled and led John onto the elevator with a firm grip on his elbow. Jack joined them, standing so close they were nearly touching. John looked like he was uncomfortable with their close proxemity, but he didn't say anything.
"And what, exactly," John said slowly. "are we going to do on a stone slab?" Someone had to ask, and apparently it wasn't going to be Sherlock.
As if reply to his asked question, the elevator began moving downward. John wobbled, caught off guard, but regained control of himself with a speed that disappointed Jack slightly. Usually, people would grab whatever, or whoever, was closest and hold on tight until the elevator stopped. So far, he had caught all the Torchwood members with that trick. But not John? Sherlock's reverence for the man's adaptability was quickly understood.
John was gaping, an utterly gobsmacked expression on his face as he peered around the Hub. "What...?" There was a screech overhead and John's gaze shot up just in time to catch a glimpse of some sort of gigantic bird with leathery wings. "What the Hell...?"
"That would be Myfanwy, our pet Pterodactyl." Jack smiled at the look of utter amazement on John's face. "Torchwood's 24/7 guard-alien."
"Your pet Pera- what?" John gasped.
"Pterodactyl." Sherlock informed him from his other side. "It's a dinasour."
John blinked. "Oh..." then he sent Sherlock a look. "But don't think I'm convinced, Sherlock, if it's Pterodactyl, it's a dinosour... from Earth, decidedly not alien."
Jack chuckled. "Not quite 'decidedly', Watson."
John was about to request being called by his given name when Sherlock stopped him with a 'Don't bother, he already knows a 'John'. And before you ask, he knows a 'Doctor' as well.'
"Hulloo, what's goin' on here, then?" Owen poked his head out of the autopsy bay curiously.
"Sherlock, Watson, meet Owen Harper, our medical officer." Jack introduced him, then he turned to John. "I'd say you two would get along... but he's not exactly a nominee for 'best conversationalist'. He's quite rude sometimes." he said, lowering his voice, but still loud enough for everybody to hear.
"Oi! Heard that!" Owen yapped after him. Jack ignored him.
"This is Toshiko Sato, our technical expert." Jack patted Tosh on the shoulder. "We call her 'Tosh' for short."
"Hello, hi, nice to meet you." Tosh responded distractedly, not looking away from her computer screen.
Jack pointed across the Hub to where Gwen was just walking in. "Gwen, our newest recruit." Gwen started at the presence of strangers, and awkwardly lifted a hand in a half-salute-half-wave.
"And Ianto... where's Ianto?" Jack wondered aloud. Then he smelled the positively enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee and knew exactly where the archivist was. "Ianto!" he called out toward the break room.
"Sir?" Ianto's head popped into view. Then he saw Sherlock and John, he caught Jack's expectant look nodded politely. "I'll make a few extra cups, then." And he disappeared once more.
"Don't know what we'd do without Ianto and his industrial coffee." Jack chuckled affectionately.
"First things first." Sherlock interrupted their tour. "Do you happen to have a few alien species lying around for observation?"
Jack peered into Owen's work space and grimaced. "I'll take you downstairs to see the Weevils."
John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock. "Weevils?"
"Not your usual Weevils, mind." Sherlock smiled grimly. "They're big and violent enough to take off your head, if you're not careful." John's eyes widened but he followed Jack and Sherlock.
"And here we are!" Jack motioned them to the cells with a flourish. "Alien holding cells for illegal immigrants." He announced dramatically, Sherlock snorted at that.
"Alright, let's see if this one is alive." he murmured, Jack rolled his eyes at him.
"It was one time, Sherlock. One time!" Sherlock frowned at Jack.
"You killed it! I said I'd let you keep it, but I wanted it kept alive!" John seriously wondered if he really wanted to know what they were talking about.
"Well that's what you get for harboring an alien without the proper resources!" Sherlock hiding away aliens? Unlikely, but this was Sherlock so, who knew?
"Like you'd have done any better! How was I suppose to know that it was allergic to the hydrogen in the air!"
"Lots of aliens are allergic to hydrogen!"
"No, ...Really?" John ignored the two bickering blokes and approached the cell to observe the Weevil.
"Fantastic!" he gasped in amazement. The alien was sitting crosslegged, his shoulders slack, and one of its pupils were dilated more than the other. "Hello." he called over his shoulder. "I might sound daft, but are alien pupils supposed to dilate at different rates?" Jack immediately stopped arguing with Sherlock and neared the cell as well.
"Well, I have no idea." he admitted. "I'll ask Owen later."
John nodded and backed away from the alien's gaze. "So," Sherlock smiled smugly. "believe me now?"
John looked from Sherlock, to Jack, then to the Weevil. "Okay, you got me. Aliens do exist." Sherlock gave a sweeping bow and began walking back up to the bullpen. "... But there's no way there's a species called Raxacoricofallapatorius! Who do you think you are, Mary Poppins!" Sherlock shot a half-confused, half annoyed look.
Jack just laughed behind them.
"But it's true!" Sherlock trotted back upstairs.
"No, Sherlock! There's no way you're making me believe that!" John cried adamantly, trailing distractedly on his flatmate's heels as he continued his observation of the Hub.
"Didn't take well to the Weevil, I take it?" Gwen asked Jack sympathetically.
Jack chuckled, watching the two guests. "Oh, no. He took in the situation well enough, he just has a problem with the names of a few other alien races."
Their conversation was interrupted by Sherlock impatiently exclaiming, "The information came from Mycroft! Mycroft wouldn't make a mistake like that! If he says their race is called 'Raxacoricofallapatorius' then it is!" Gwen glanced at Jack with a grim 'ah'.
"Mycroft, kidnapped me! Forgive me if I don't trust him much!" John was quick to retort. "And how does Mycroft know all this?" he demanded.
"Because Mycroft is a man who has many pudgy fingers in other people's pies. Funny, he still complains about getting his hands dirty." John chuckled a little at the pun. "It's only logical that Mycroft would be keeping an eye on alien incidents that go on in England. But really, why arn't you worried about how I know all of this?" he asked, eyebrow raised.
"That there, is a good question." Owen piped up from his workspace. Jack quickly mentioned the Weevil's dilated pupil to him and ushered him to go check it out. He wanted to see John's reaction!
John shrugged his shoulders helplessly and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "To tell you the truth, it's sort of a relief that aliens do exist." he admitted. "I actually think I won't be surprised if you told me that you're an alien too, because honestly, it would explain so much." he deadpanned. "Well, the body parts, in the very least."
Sherlock blinked at John for a second, just one, then a smile stretched across his face. "Does this mean I can stop hiding away my alien DNA samples?"
John groaned, rolling his eyes. "No, Sherlock, please keep that to yourself!"
Ianto walked in with his blessed coffee, handing out mugs of the scalding liquid and John was drawn to him like a fly to honey. "Must've been cold out there." Ianto smiled at him sympathetically, handing him a cup.
"Yes, what was with that wait? You could see us through the cameras, couldn't you!" Sherlock complained to Jack.
"I just got back from tracking down Weevils! Tosh just informed me!" Jack defended himself.
The woman in question approached Jack with a phone wedged between her cheek and shoulder as she thankfully accepted coffee. "Jack," she called out after a dainty sip. "UNIT's on line for you." She handed the phone to her boss.
Jack rolled his eyes annoyedly but took the call. He was only on the phone for five minutes of heated conversation before he turned to Sherlock. "The call's for you, actually."
The phone was juggled successfuly into a new pair of hands and Sherlock raised it to his ear. "Hello?" This courteous greeting was immediately overtaken with hushed obscenities and whispered insults.
John raised his eyebrows but said nothing, too distracted by his warm, and absolutely addicting coffee. It seemed that Jack wasn't exaggerating Ianto's skill with the coffee machine. After a few minutes of ignoring Sherlock's rambling, he turned to Jack. "Sherlock's already told me all about Torchwood, but UNIT is an unfamiliar title..."
"UNIT is, in short, a covert counter-terrorist unit combating alien invasion." Jack explained, John nodded in understanding. "And, it is quite infamous for its estranged working relations with Torchwood III." he added.
John laughed, shaking his head. "Of course Sherlock and Mycroft would associate themselves with opposing groups." he said just as Sherlock was in the process of accusing his brother of breaking into his flat and destroying every scrap of alien evidence in his posssession. Why can't John be told about aliens anyway? It's not like he's going to tell anybody!
John rolled his eyes mouthing 'who's there to tell?' to Tosh, who just shrugged her shoulders. Then, a moment later, Sherlock was grabbing John by his arm and leading him to what looked like a large, barred cog. "We've got to get home. Mycroft's been threatening the skull."
John only had time to hurriedly put his coffee cup down on someone's desk before the bars opened and the cog rolled out of its place automatically. So it was a door. "Come on! Come on!" Sherlock was chanting agitatedly. "Before Mycroft decides to crush it, or worse yet, paint it up... again!"
Just as they were nearing the exit door, they heard a loud screeching noise. John near jumped out of his skin, moving into a defensive position. "What was that!" he asked nervously.
"There's been a breach in security in the cells!" Tosh called, fingers blurring over her keyboard. "The Weevil's escaped!"
"Where's Owen?" Jack demanded concernedly.
"Looks like he was knocked out when the Weevil broke free!" Gwen exclaimed, leaning over Tosh's shoulder to see the live video footage.
Ianto glanced around a bit and found what he was looking for in Owen's desk. John furrowed his eyebrows. Was that pepper spray? Sherlock smiled a little at John's baffled look. "Don't worry, John, they're professionals."
A moment later, there was a crash and the Weevil ambled into view. John sucked in a sharp breath. Observing this creature while it was locked up and sedated was one thing. But what teeth it had when it was lucid! John felt a tremor of genuine fear run down his spine. All of a sudden, he was back in Afghanistan biting bullets, back in a darkened swimming pool strapped in a Semtex vest, Moriarty's voice sending cold chills down his spine.
He ran a perfectly stable hand smoothly across the back of his waistband for his gun and blew out a calming breath. Sherlock noted the movement and smiled.
Tosh jumped back from the Weevil with a yelp when Gwen was thrown across the Hub and into a wall. Jack tightened his jaw and narrowed his eyes. Ianto moved into a defensive position, Weevil spray poised and ready, just waiting to the opportunity to get within striking distance.
But the Weevil wasn't out for blood. He wanted his freedom. He turned his ugly gaze toward the first exit he could find. Sherlock and John gulped, fight-or-flight instincts taking over.
To be Continued...