The Doctor loved these moments. The moments when it was just him and the TARDIS, together, flying to who knows where, when a sort of contented silence filled the air. A smile slowly crept across his face.
And Clara. He'd promised Clara the trip of a lifetime, truly, the most spectacular trip she'd ever had with him. He hadn't really known exactly where to go, but it had to be glorious. Besides, with the entire universe at his fingertips, it couldn't be too hard, right?
He studied the console. Something felt…wrong. No. Nothing ever felt this looming and this wrong in the TARDIS. He swallowed and turned.
"Where are you?" he asked, his voice quavering.
Silence.
He smiled again-but this time a bit worriedly. "Nothing to worry about," he muttered to himself.
Are you sure?
He turned frantically. No. No. No, it couldn't be true. He was going mad.
"Sh-show yourself," he repeated, his voice not as commanding as before. The Doctor was scared. How?
Oh, I don't think that'll help, Doctor… The r sound was drawn out, perhaps a bit too much.
"I don't understand. How are you in here?" the Doctor inquired.
Nothing needs understanding now. You are an enemy of us. We need you. That is all.
"The Intelligence. You are the Intelligence-aren't you?" he demanded. That had to be it.
Nothing. Perhaps he'd been imagining the whole affair.
It's best not to jump to conclusions, Doctor… The r sound was drawn out, again.
"No, it's-"he felt himself swaying. He opened his mouth to speak, but it was as if he couldn't speak, not really. He blinked rapidly.
We'll see you soon, won't we, Doctor?
Then, darkness.
Clara Oswald didn't want to be worried, so she decided not to be. After all, three days wasn't that long of a time period. The Doctor could have been doing anything. He would be there, soon enough.
She sighed. What to think, what to believe anymore? The Doctor had shown her things so fantastic, so extraordinary, everything seemed so-so bland. Ordinary life was so deplorable.
A ring at the doorbell interrupted her musings. "Now now!" she groaned to herself as she ran to open it.
The men at the front door were oddly familiar. That hat…she knew that hat.
"Hello," Clara greeted, albeit a bit flustered.
The man on the left smirked. "Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective."
"Oh, you!" Clara exclaimed. "What do you want me for? I haven't got a case and I'm not very interesting. And how'd you find my house?"
"I know every street in London. As for why I want you…" Sherlock paused.
The man on the right took over. John Watson, wasn't that his name? "He wants you because you're the Doctor's companion."
"You know the Doctor?" Clara asked, perhaps a bit too excitedly.
"'Course I do. Why would you ask that? Anyway, living room," Sherlock directed.
"Living room. Yes," said Clara, leading them to the room with the sparsely decorated walls. Sparsely decorated but for the few pictures of her mother. They sat in the firm gray sofas, an awkward silence filling the air.
Sherlock broke it. "The Doctor has been missing for three days," he announced curtly.
"I-I know," Clara stammered. "He was supposed to pick me up Sunday and he never did. I just assumed that-that maybe he had some errands to tend to or something. Nothing too bad."
"A foolish theory," Sherlock remarked. "But do tell me, what exactly did he say to you?"
"W-well he rang me up Thursday. He offered to take me one of the most spectacular places in the universe, if I wanted to. And I consented, of course. Then he asked me when and I said Sunday and he told me that it would suit him just fine. Then I added to probably pick me up around two in the afternoon because I wouldn't be babysitting and he said that was fine too. And then we hung up," Clara replied, gazing at her brown shoes. "What I want to know is, why are you so interested and how do you know the Doctor?"
"I refuse to answer the latter. As for the former, he called us. He sounded desperate. Gave us no specifics. Bu something was afoot," Sherlock answered.
"What do you mean he called you? Why you?" Clara demanded hotly.
"Miss Oswald, there are more pressing matters at hand. Do not focus your attention on a topic of such triviality," said Sherlock, as if having to utter such words gave him a foul taste in his mouth. For such an intelligent person, it probably did.
She sighed. There was one more thing left to say, really. "Well, what do we do?"