Sherlock Holmes was sitting cross-legged on the floor staring in the direction of seven TV monitors of varying sizes, each one cycling through different news segments. His bare torso was drenched in sweat, shimmering like reddish-bronze. His arms outstretched with his wrists resting on his knees, palms up. Sherlock did this as a way of enhancing and perfecting his spacial memory and knowledge of current events. It was also a way of keeping him occupied during a dry spell.
"Sherlock, are you still in here?" Joan Watson asked stalking into the room, carrying her jacket in the crook of her arm, "And why does it feel like a sauna?" as she switched off the monitors.
Sherlock glared up at his American companion, "A sauna? I hadn't noticed. I must have forgotten to switch on the air conditioning," he remarked snidely, "As for your first question, where else would I be? I haven't been called on by Gregson. No one has been murdered, no house burgled, or pets stolen. So, tell me," he snarled, standing in a huff, "what reason would I have for being anywhere other than here?" he picked up his blazer from next to where he was sitting and brushed it off before throwing it on.
"It's been three weeks. You sleep in here and when you aren't having someone else bring you your food, you aren't eating at all. Also," Joan thrust a stack of envelopes at him, "you have mail," she stated flatly.
"I don't get mail," Sherlock replied, ignoring the bulk of Joan's remarks as he headed downstairs, "I only receive junk."
"Not this one," she said handing it over his shoulder from behind, "It's typed. Addressed to Sherlock B. No return."
Sherlock stopped halfway down the staircase, turned and glared directly into Joan's eyes. The ex-doctor stood only just at eye-level to him, despite being one step up and in slight heels. He noticed speck of dirt in contrast to her pale skin on the right side of her wide, yet understated nose. Her eyeshadow above the right of her narrow, though, wide-set eyes was darker than her left. She must have had uneven lighting where she applied her make-up that morning.
Snatching the envelope from her, he sniffed it along the fold. Then holding it up close to his eyes at an angle, he scrutinized every inch of the plain white envelope as he finished descending to the first floor of the house he shared with Joan. She followed him into the living room, where Sherlock sat down on a wide brown chair. From his jacket pocket he produced a small pocket knife. Flipping it open, he carefully sliced open the letter. Inside he found a note. Typed out on a typical sheet of 8 ½ by 11 computer stock. The note read:
Where in the world is Carmen SanDiego?
You're invited to the party.
June 1
19:08:05
Bring a friend.
Sherlock stared at the page with a furrowed brow. He flipped the paper over. On the back, near the bottom, was a grouping of numbers. Four sets of two digit numbers.
"Coordinates?" Joan asked from the small, chestnut, footrest across from him.
"Most likely," Sherlock answered, "An invitation to a party without an address. Coordinates becomes the only logical conclusion."
"Are you going to go?"
"It is intriguing. The theme of Carmen SanDiego expresses an intent for mystery. The fact that instead of using greeting card invitations, it's on a full sheet of paper is quite curious. If it were greeting card style, then being printed off from a computer wouldn't appear so bizarre. There's no other information apart from the date and time and as you've noticed, probable coordinates. Then there's the question of why it's addressed to Sherlock B instead of Sherlock H."
"Could it be a misprint? The letter b is located just below the h on a standard QWERTY keyboard."
"I don't think so. If it were typed on a typewriter that may have been a possibility. Either way, surely, the sender would have noticed the mistake as soon as the envelope was printed and would have simply printed a new one after correcting it. I believe this was intentional. It could be a message, or a hint towards the objective of the gathering."
"Well, if we're going to find out what this is all about, we're going to need plane tickets," Joan said glancing up from her phone which she had used to look up the coordinates, "The party is in Cardiff."
John turned the handle of the abandoned warehouse and stepped through into a vast open area. He was wearing a light, navy-blue coat over a plaid button-up and khaki's. His light brown hair combed to the right. Following him through, Sherlock strode confidently toward the center of the large building, his scarf and long coat flowing behind him. His dark brown hair elegantly disheveled.
"See Sherlock?" John said from just inside the doorway, "It was probably just some prank. You are getting somewhat famous remember?"
"No, John," Sherlock disputed, "The envelope was addressed correctly except that the initial for my second name H was substituted with an A. No one confuses an H for an A," he explained lifting his hands as though he were holding one of the characters in each, "except when taking dictation, but the mistake would have been obvious to the sender immediately after print if that were the case. The numbers on the back were indeed coordinates that brought us to this location, on this day" he checked his watch, "thirty-eight minutes from now."
John watched from the door as Sherlock crouched and started moving slowly about the open floor. He couldn't help but laugh when he imagined the tall man pulling out a giant magnifying glass like one of those old cartoon characters. Sherlock didn't seem to notice. He was busy tracking paths of footprints in the thick layer of dust that covered the floor. Suddenly, Sherlock stopped, peered up toward the ceiling, and then tiptoed in a circle around one particular spot. Then he called for John.
"Tell me what you see here," he said, pointing John to a large square impression in the dust.
John walked over and crouched down where Sherlock was pointing and tried his best to see what Sherlock might want him to see.
"Well, there appears to have been a large box here at some point," he answered, "Recent I'd say. If it wasn't, the dust would have evened out the way snow covers footprints."
"Yes, John, but where's the box now? How was it removed from the warehouse?"
John looked at the floor around the square and didn't see what his companion was implying.
"I don't know, Sherlock? Could someone have just carried it out? There are footprints all over the place."
"Two sets, yes. And no. No one carried the box because other than ours, none of the footprints extend to any of the doors. Whoever was here and whatever was in the box appeared here on top of the dust, then–"
Before Sherlock could finish his observation, a sound reverberated through the warehouse. The sound of stirring and air rushing and an electronic instrument all at once. As the sound continued over and over, a blue box materialized right in front of the two men. In the exact same spot where the square was on the ground. When the vworping stopped, Sherlock and John were staring at a large blue Police Call Box.
"Oh, of course!" Sherlock exclaimed, "How did I not see it? The disappearing box. The footprints that came and went nowhere. There's only one person that it could have been, John."
John was just about to say the name when the doors to the box opened and a tall man in a bowtie and suspenders under a long, tweed, sport coat hopped out, "Hello, I'm the Doctor."
A female voice from inside the box called out, "Are we early again? I told you, you should have let me drive."
The Doctor looked out at the empty room and ran a hand through his shaggy, brown hair, "No, no, no, River. I'll get it. Third times–" as he turned back to reenter the TARDIS he noticed Sherlock and John on either side, "Sherlock Holmes. How glad I am to see you!" he said, clapping Sherlock on the shoulders followed by an adjustment of the detective's collar.
"Good to see you as well, Doctor," Sherlock replied, straightening the collar the Doctor had just ruffled.
"Did you say something, sweetie?" River called out.
"River," the Doctor spun on his heels and brought his hands together, rubbing them excitedly, "you'll never guess who I found."
"Is it Sherlock Holmes?" she answered before stepping out of the box herself. She posed at the entrance like a superhero; her feet were shoulder length apart, one leg more straight, supporting her torso with the other leg angled outward for balance. Even without wind, her voluminous mane of light brown curls seemed to flutter behind her.
The Doctor leaned over to Sherlock and muttered, "Lucky guess."
"It wasn't luck," River stated.
Unable to come up with a retort, the Doctor turned behind Sherlock. John had made his way around the police box to the same side as the others.
"And John Watson," the Doctor beamed as he shook the doctor's hand.
"Welcome back, Doctor."
"Unfortunately," River interrupted, "we're still early."
"Early for what?" John asked
"For the party!" proclaimed the Doctor as he ran back into the TARDIS and reemerged wearing a fez and leaning in the box's doorway added, "You're never supposed to be early for a party. Fashionably late is cool," then the Doctor disappeared again into the depths of the TARDIS.
"What's he doing now?" John asked.
River sighed and answered, "You don't want to know."
While the Doctor was making a commotion inside the TARDIS and while Sherlock and John were getting reacquainted with River, a new couple took their first steps into the now mostly empty warehouse. The man, with ruffled, dirty-blonde hair and the woman, who had her brunette hair pulled back into tight ponytail, stood just inside the doorway. He in a gray, three piece, suit that was tailor made to his physical shape and she, almost a foot shorter, in black jeans and a white t-shirt under a black leather jacket.
"Jane," the woman started, her eyes wide, "Why would she be here?"
Jane quietly surveyed the group standing by the box with half-closed eyes and a wide grin before responding, "She probably got the same invitation I did, Teresa" he said, "I'm more interested in the big blue police call box."
"Big, blue—" Teresa realized she'd heard that phrase before, "You mean like the one from that show Van Pelt keeps trying to get me to watch? What's the point of getting together an actress, a prop, the other two and us together like this?"
"I have no idea," Jane smiled, making his perpetually squinted eyes even more closed, and began to approach the group, Teresa keeping pace at his side, "Hello," he called as he walked, "My name is Patrick Jane. This is my colleague, Teresa Lisbon," and pulling an envelope from his jacket pocket announced, "We have an invitation."
"So, do we," a voice called from the warehouse doorway.
Everyone turned to look toward the newcomer. The British accent belonged to an annoyed looking man with short, slicked-back, brown hair in a dark suit. Standing next to him was a darkly tanned woman with shoulder length, black hair wearing blue jeans and a brown leather jacket over a gray cotton V-neck on top of a blue tank. Just behind them were two more men. One was a tall white guy with short, spiked brown hair in a blue t-shirt and blue jeans, with aviator sunglasses perched on his nose. The other was a bulky, bald, black guy wearing a red Hawaiian shirt with green and yellow flowers, a pair of black shorts, and a straw porkpie hat.
"No way," Teresa said, "that's the guy from Reservoir Dogs. And that's the guy from the Green Mile."
"Here we go!" the Doctor exclaimed, emerging once again from the TARDIS with two more hats sitting atop the fez that he was already wearing, "Sherlock," he said, handing him the deerstalker, "and John," whom he handed the bowler.
"Doctor," Sherlock expressed.
"I know, I know. Not really your style, but it was all I could find on such short notice," he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice.
"Sweetie."
"Sorry, River, all of the other hats had holes in them."
"Turn around, Sweetie," she instructed.
The Doctor stopped what he was doing and for once, did what he was told. He turned around to the collection of guest that had arrived while he was searching for hats.
"Well, hello," the Doctor said, "I suppose everyone has an invitation?"
As Jane, Lisbon, and the other four crossed the distance from the entrance to the TARDIS, Watson answered the Doctor's question, "Yes. All of us apparently. Did you send them?"
"Oh, no. It wasn't me," the Doctor replied defensively, "I tried that once, it wasn't the best plan."
"What happened?" John inquired.
"River slapped me."
"You bet I did," added River with a chuckle.
The guy in the blue shirt whistled as he scanned the enormous room, "Now this is a venue for a party. I just hope they don't expect us to decorate."
"I thought we determined that there was no party, Walter," Hawaiian shirt guy said, "We're here because you thought the invitation was entertaining enough to get your attention."
"Come on, Leo, I know you wish that this was really a Carmen SanDiego themed party."
The woman in the brown jacket chimed in, "The Carmen SanDiego thing was what got us here, too."
Leo held his hand out toward the woman, "Glad to see we weren't the only ones suckered into this."
Shaking his hand she replied, "I hear that. My name's Ria and that," she hooked her thumb toward the guy she arrived with, "is my boss, Dr. Cal Lightman," she paused, "You were in The Green Mile, right? Michael Clarke Duncan?"
Teresa found her way into the chatter, "That's what I thought."
"Michael Clarke Duncan?" Leo questioned, "No, I believe the actor in The Green Mile was Ving Rhames. I'm Leo Knox and my friend here is Walter Sherman."
"Who's Michael Clarke Duncan?" Walter asked.
The Doctor stopped reminiscing with John and turned to the rest of the group after overhearing their conversation. He lowered and tilted his head and as if every eye in the world were on him, he said, "Isn't that interesting."
Before anyone could begin to even try to figure out what was going on, the door to the warehouse opened again. In strolled two more people. The tall one was a guy with brown hair, dressed up in plaid pants, tie and suspenders, and purple shirt and fedora. The shorter one, a young girl, was wearing a red fedora and trench coat over a black shirt and jeans.
The short one stopped dead in her tracks, "Oh. My. God. Ohmygodohmygod! Dad," she shouted, "it's the TARDIS!" and she started to run to the box.
"Alexis," her father commanded, but she was already half way there.
As she was crossing the room she realized who was gathered in front of her, "No way! Dad, the Doctor. It's him! And River!" Her mind was blowing up, "And Sherlock and John, dad! Like, all the famous people are here," she pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of her red coat and approached Sherlock, "Ummm, Mister Cumberbatch? Could I please get a picture with you?"
"Oh, yeah, Benedict Cumberbatch," Ria confirmed, "from that modern retelling of Sherlock Holmes on the BBC. Loker got me to watch an episode of that."
"What's that?" John giggled, "Benedict Cumberpants?"
"I believe it was batch, John," Sherlock corrected, though confused as to why the girl thought he was this other man, "Wait, did you say 'retelling'?"
"Alexis," her father said again sternly, finally having caught up, "Sorry about that, Benny. It's almost like this is my daughter's first time meeting a celebrity."
Alexis rolled her eyes, "Your famous writer friends don't count, dad. These people are all on TV," her father reacted by catching an invisible arrow in his chest and feigning distress.
"You must have me confused with someone else, what did you say your name was?" Sherlock inquired.
"Oh, yeah, sorry, I guess we've never officially met," the strangely dressed man explained, "I'm Richard Castle. Maybe Hugh Laurie mentioned me while you two were doing Fortysomething."
"Richard Castle?" Ria questioned, "Doesn't Loker watch a show about some detective named Castle?"
"I wouldn't know, Torres," Lightman claimed, "I do know this, though," and for the first time since his entrance, Lightman gave his input into the situation. Standing in a peculiar way with his left hand in his pocket and his head tilted down so that he had to look up past his brow in order to see everyone else, and gesturing with his right hand, he explained his observations, "Mr. Duncan clearly believes that it was Ving Rhames and not he who was cast in The Green Mile. The short one," he motioned to John, "called long coat here," shifting his gesture, "Sherlock and they both are genuinely confused by your assumption that he is this Benedict fellow," a brief pause lingered before Lightman continued, "And this one," he spun to face Teresa, "keeps staring at me like I'm some kind of extra-terrestrial."
Jane chuckled as Teresa blushed and stammered out, "I wasn't—I mean—"
"She said you look like Tim Roth from Reservoir Dogs," Jane helped.
Walter snapped his fingers, "Yes! See," he nudged Leo, "I told you I recognized him from something."
"Tim, I didn't recognize you," Castle beamed, shaking Lightman's outstretched hand, "Long time no see."
"What are all of you talking about?" Torres asked.
The Doctor whipped out his sonic screwdriver, a black and bronze device, and activating it, began waving the green light around in each person's face. Then, holding it to his eyes he said, "I definitely didn't see that coming."
"What is it Doctor?" River asked.
"You," he pointed the screwdriver at Alexis, "who do you think I am?"
"The Doctor?" she responded.
"Okay, but how do you know that?"
"From Doctor Who on the BBC," Alexis explained, "You're the Doctor, that's River, and the Police Box is the TARDIS."
"A TV show. And you know some of the others from this TV show?"
"Well, not all from Doctor Who, but they are Sherlock and John obviously by the way they're dressed. That guy is Roth's character from the short lived but awesome show, Lie to Me, so that makes her the new recruit to the Lightman group, Torres. Those two are Patrick Jane and Detective Lisbon from the Mentalist, but those two," she pointed to Walter and Leo, "He's Michael Clarke Duncan, but I don't know the other guy."
"Ouch," Walter said, "but still, who is Michael Clarke Duncan?"
"Oh my god, Gus! The Mentalist!" with all of the commotion, no one had heard two knew guys enter the building, "I told you this party was gonna be bangin'!" said a guy wearing what appeared to be a pantsuit. The blazer was gold in front with red sleeves and pinned to the lapel of the white blouse beneath it was a large red flower. His hair was a wig; a dark brown, 80's style Afro making him look like a very light tan, Lionel Richie.
"No, I told you Shawn," the other guy countered through furrowed brow. He was dressed in a red fedora and trench coat just like Alexis, though the attire looked brighter against his deep brown skin.
The two guys exchanged looks out of the corners of their eyes before making a mad dash over to the already massive group gathered in the center of the warehouse. Shawn made a beeline for Jane but skidded to a stop as Teresa put herself between them, hand to her holster that was situated on her right hip. Gus sprinted toward the Doctor but was also blocked when River crossed between them and raised a blaster with each hand.
Castle jumped in front of Gus, waving his hands at River, "Whoa, whoa, whoa!"
"River," the Doctor said, "put your guns away."
"Give me a good reason."
"Look at what he's wearing."
River craned her neck to see past Castle and eyed Gus from top to bottom before shrugging and holstering her weapons, "You can never be too careful," she crooned.
Relaxing a bit Castle said, "Thank god my daughter ran to the TARDIS and not the Doctor."
"Your daughter wasn't a threat."
"Children are more threatening," the Doctor contradicted, "You of all people should know that."
Deciding it was safe to move, Gus cautiously approached the Doctor. By that point Teresa had also lowered her guard and allowed Shawn to advance, "So who are you guys, then?" she asked.
"You're kidding, right?" Castle chided, "This is Shawn Spencer and Gus Guster. They're psychic detectives."
"I'm not psychic, he's psychic," Gus said with a hint of ridicule in his voice.
"There's no such thing as psychics," claimed Jane.
"Ah!" Shawn cried, "He said it! Gus, he said the thing," then looking directly at Jane, he said, "I had a premonition you'd be here."
"Really?" Jane responded.
Completely in sync, Shawn and Gus both said, "No. Lisbon told me."
Jane tilted his head and said, "What are you talking about?"
"And how do you know my name?" Lisbon added.
"I believe we've already covered that," the Doctor tossed in.
"Christina Frye," Shawn said to the Mentalist.
"Who?"
Shawn threw a confused glance to Gus before answering, "Christina Frye, remember?" he waited for recognition and then added, "Redheaded psychic lady?"
When Jane didn't say anything, Gus tried, "You investigated her client's death and then almost started dating."
"I don't know anyone by that name."
Shawn held his index fingers up as a way to say, just a sec, then bounded over to Gus. Leaning in together Gus said, "This actually kind of makes sense cause after Red John whammied her, she was pretty much forgotten about."
Shawn straightened up and called to Jane, "She went on tv and bad mouthed Red John?"
"If someone did that, Red John would have retaliated," Lisbon said, "If that had happened we surely would have heard about it. We haven't had a Red John case in months."
Shawn leaned back to Gus, "Simon Baker and Robin Tunney would remember seasons two through five, right?"
"You'd think so," Gus agreed.
"Spoilers," sang River.
"You two weren't here for the grand revelation," the Doctor declared, "Now would be a good time to explain."
"Maybe I can help with that."
Again, everyone turned to see a new face standing in the doorway. The woman had her hair in a wide Afro. She wore medium earrings that were in the shape of compasses. Her uniform was a calm blue with strong red shoulder pads, orange lapels, and a gold braid wrapped around her right shoulder. Pinned to the right lapel was a gold emblem resembling an air force pin, except in place of a shield there were two overlapping disks and where there are normally wings, it had lightning bolts. On her left, just off of the lapel and pinned directly on the uniform was name tag that read: The Chief.
"Dude," Shawn breathed.
"First," she said as she approached the collective, "let's make sure that all of our guests have arrived. Do you have your invitations?"
The carriers of the invitations all retrieved the envelope from somewhere on their person. John Watson unfolded Sherlock's from his right jacket pocket. Patrick Jane and Dr. Lightman slid theirs from the inside pockets of their suits. Leo Knox plucked Walter's from his back pocket and passed it to his friend who shrugged before accepting the paper. Both Shawn Spencer and Richard Castle were patting themselves down in a frantic search before being handed the envelopes by the red-clad Gus and Alexis respectively. Finally, the Doctor found his invitation tucked into the breast pocket of his tweed blazer.
"Sound off," the Chief ordered to the group.
Watson was the first to comply, though stammering in a bit of confusion, he said, "Uh, Sherlock, I guess?"
"Well, ours says Sherlock, too," Lisbon announced.
"Ours does, too, dad," Alexis told her father.
"I think you'll find that everyone's invitation was addressed to Sherlock," the Doctor suggested.
"Ours as well?" River asked.
"Especially ours," he answered before adding, "Does everyone have a letter corresponding with their 'Sherlock'? I am letter H."
"We are letter A," Sherlock stated.
"C," said Jane.
"We're G, dad," Alexis told her father.
"What are we, Gus?" Shawn asked his friend.
"I don't know, Shawn, I didn't memorize the whole envelope before I gave it to you."
Walter said, "We're E."
"And we're F," Lightman added.
"D, Gus, we're D."
"Just like your grades in high school."
"You know I got those on purpose."
"So, why were all of the invitations addressed to Sherlock? And what are the letters supposed to mean?" questioned Torres.
"The name was an intern's idea," the Chief explained, "As for the letters, they were our way of keeping track of you, the guests, when we got you all gathered together. We sent out eight invitations, A through H; unfortunately, it looks like one of our guests couldn't make it."
"Letter B," Sherlock determined, "The only letter not said was B."
"Sherlock B," announced a punitive British accent that drew everyone's attention back to the entrance where a man and a woman were standing, "That would be me, I presume."
An immense grin developed on the Doctor's face as he witnessed the late arrival, "Now that is cool."