He sat on the rug staring at where the box had been for many hours. Making a circular motion, Sherlock stroked the slightly flattened threads, replaying the entire encounter with the strange man in his mind.
What was he doing? Why wasn't he possible? What did "The Oncoming Storm" mean? Where did he come from? What did that green device do? How could that blue box just be there and then not in so little time?
Sherlock had never had so many unanswerable questions echo through his head before. All this illogic just overwhelmed his brain too much; he couldn't come up with any rationalizations. It was the most frustrating thing he had ever experienced in his life. His eyes closed shut as he retrieved to his mind palace to search for some answers.
"Sherlock, I'm home!"
Well, tried to retrieve.
His eyes opened, as he turned his head around to face his flat mate, not bothering to get up from the ground. John Watson was just taking off his black coat, shaking a little of the raindrops off it and hanging it up. It was a dull, boring site, and yet Sherlock couldn't help but watch because at least it made him forget him. John turned around and found his partner sitting on the floor. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing and walked passed him to the kitchen, Sherlock's gaze carefully watching his every move. John was just about to go through the entry way when he let out a huge sigh, lifted his arms up in exasperation and turned back to the consulting detective.
"What the hell did you do to the kitchen?!" Sherlock didn't understand at first.
The test tubes, oh.
He didn't know what to say. Wasn't it also John's business if someone had somehow parked a huge blue police box in the middle of their living room? Maybe John would even have some vital clue for what had just happened. It seemed highly unlikely, but he was stumped. Wouldn't it be possible that on the rare occasion he was, his friend wasn't? However, Sherlock didn't want to tell John. He wanted to be the only person who knew what those marks on the carpet were from and why the test tubes had all broken. He wanted "The Oncoming Storm" to be his secret.
"I... I wanted to see if my laboratory could withstand an earthquake." He got up and walked up to his friend. Sherlock let his eyes travel from John's small, round pupils over to the kitchen, which had glass splinters all over the floor and smelt strongly of smoke. He could sense that John was containing his anger, like a volcano about to erupt. The blonde man blinked for a longer time than necessary, took a deep breath, and then turned to Sherlock.
"Sherlock..."
"Hmmm?" the taller man asked innocently.
"What the hell were you thinking?! Come on, Sherlock, you must've been pretty damn sure this would happen!" He pointed at the burn marks on the floor. But Sherlock, simply ignored the doctor, and went to his room. The glass crunched under his slippers, as he slightly slouched between the counter and the isle.
"What? You expect me to clean this up for you?" John pointed at the mess. Sherlock heard him but kept on walking to the corridor.
"Sherlock!" Bitterly the detective turned around.
"I'll take care of it, I promise but first I need to go to my mind palace." John considered negotiating more, but then decided this was the best he was going to get from his flat mate.
"Fine... Fine!" He said and turned around.
"Wait!" came from behind the blonde man. He turned around to face his flat mate again.
"What?" His tone was clearly frustrated.
"Have you ever heard of 'The Oncoming Storm'?" John thought a little.
"No." Sherlock's mouth curved into something that might've been a frown then turned away, heading for his room.
He sat on his bed, his eyes closed, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. This form of meditation brought him into focus, and soon he was back in his mind palace. Sherlock searched all the main stash drawers for any files on "The Oncoming Storm", but came out of the archive of the palace empty handed. He wondered about the building he'd made up, searching every inch for anything that had something to do with "The Oncoming Storm". Nothing. Sherlock double-checked the archive then ran through the entire place again. Not even a trace. He then looked for any photos of the odd, green device "The Oncoming Storm" was holding onto. Again, nothing. After those hopeless attempts, Sherlock tried one more thing: "Blue Police Box"; Bingo.
He found several files about boxes, precisely like the one he'd seen, which were in use in the sixties like public phone booths reserved for emergency calls. However, none of these police boxes were able to simply appear and disappear anywhere.
He'd spent hours in his palace, just triple checking every drawer, looking for something that could possibly explain to him who this man, who had only been a part of his life for a few hours, was, and why he had come. None of his oh so many queries had been solved and he was still nowhere. He wanted to meet that man again and ask him how the police box could just appear, ask him what about him was impossible and what his device did.
He wanted to see him a second time.
