20 Minutes into Baker Street
[Author's notes: this uses Holmes and Watson from the Sherlock series, but during the classic Holmes era]
Chapter 2
"Well," said the Doctor once the noise and machinery had stopped, "shall we see where we are?"
River slid a control and the door opened.
"Aw, don't spoil my fun," the Doctor mock-sulked.
"What do you mean 'where we are'?" Bryce question. "How can we be somewhere else. Okay, I accept that you appear to have mastered transquasidimensional physics but..."
"Hm," River smirked at the Doctor. "Sounds to me like someone who might understand you." She turned to Bryce. "Of course he'll probably tell you it's a bunch of timey wimey stuff."
"River!" the Doctor exclaimed.
"Time?!" Bryce cried out. "You mean we traveled in time also?"
"Sure," the Doctor stretched out his arm like a genial ringmaster. "Shall we explore?"
Bryce shrugged. "Why not?"
The trio stepped out of the TARDIS and into the midday streets of an older London.
As they walked along, Bryce looked around and noticed a distinct lack of skyscrapers and television sets.
"We really have traveled in time," he whispered. "It's hard to believe there was an era where television didn't dominate people's lives."
"If it did," the Doctor said, picking up a newspaper, "here's what your headline would be."
The newspaper was dated Friday Evening November 9 1888.
"Almost a hundred years before I was born," Bryce mentioned casually before scanning the headline.
"Jack the Ripper?"
"An interesting and most baffling case. Wouldn't you agree, Dr. Watson."
Bryce looked up at the two new arrivals.
The man who had spoken looked Bryce over cautiously. "Curious," he noted. "Not of the Nobility. But not a commoner, either. Note the cleanliness and lack of wear on the hands, save for the pads of the fingers."
"Perhaps he is a typist, Holmes?" Watson made a guess.
"Perhaps," Holmes did not seem convinced. "But notice the lack of typing fluid residue on the fingers. Typewriter keys almost always get jammed. And we can determine based on his age, which I estimate to be no more than sixteen, that our new acquaintance does not play piano in the local establishment. A curious individual indeed."
"So, who is he?" Watson asked.
"Bryce Lynch," was the only answer Bryce gave. If this was, indeed, the legendary Sherlock Holmes, Bryce was going enjoy watching him go through his deductions.