Disclaimer: nope.
A/N: Chapter two, as promised. We'll see what reviews this gets, but I should post another few chapters tomorrow.
Read and remember, right at the bottom is that little review button! Takes about two seconds. Review both chapters if you so desire, for I would greatly appreciate all input.
221B Baker Street
With a thump, they landed. "Here we are. London: April twentieth, two-thousand ten."
For a moment, no one moved. The girls were the first to react.
"Let's go, Doc!" Ashlyn cried, running for the door. Sarah grabbed him by the hand and tugged him after her. He quickly grabbed Donna's hand, taking her with him. Sarah towed them down Baker Street so that they were practically running.
Together, Ashlyn and Sarah rang the bell of 221B. A moment later, they door opened to reveal Mrs. Hudson. "Hello, can I help you?"
The girls squealed in a very fan-girl-ish way. The Doctor remained skeptical, while Donna eyed the scene critically. The girls calmed themselves. Ashlyn gestured to Sarah to do the honors. "We're here to see Sherlock Holmes. Is he in?"
Mrs. Hudson smiled. "You're in luck. He just got home. Go on up, dears." She stood back to let them in. They tried to walk in civilly, at first—several paces in, however, they gave up and charged up the stairs like raving elephants. The Doctor and Donna followed at a much more modest pace. The Doctor was frowning. Donna voiced his thoughts.
"But, Doctor, Sherlock Holmes is a fictional character."
After a pause and a nod, the Doctor said: "Well then, we better find out what's going on here." He hurried his pace. "Girls, wait for us!" he took the stairs two at a time.
Donna called: "Sarah, Ashlyn!"
On the second floor landing, the two girls were peeking with wide, glittering gazes into the sitting room of 221B. The Doctor and Donna cautiously peered in, all four of their heads in the room.
From the table, John Watson sat with his fingers hovering over the keyboard of his laptop, staring at the four people in their doorway. Form the armchair behind him, Sherlock Holmes sat in his blue dressing gown; he joined John's scrutiny of their visitors. Previously, he had been bored out of his mind and was complaining to John—now, he was quite curious. Finally, something interesting was happening.
His bright, keen eyes darted over the group of four, drawing deductions. His brow was drawn and he found significance particularly in the only man among them. The other three were open books to him, but not this man. He had old eyes—ancient, yet somehow youthful. He carried the air of a man of wisdom and experience, and so many more years than he appeared to possess.
John was simply confused. He could draw a few conclusions, but not many. The man was the head of the group, and the woman was with him. The two girls had been the ones to come see the Consulting Detective. The adults had followed. "Can we help you?" John spoke now.
The man in the blue pinstripe answered hesitantly, clearly somewhat confused. "Ah, maybe. I'm the Doctor, this is Donna, Ashlyn and Sarah. Are you Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" he addressed Sherlock.
"Yes, I'm Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock answered. "The Doctor?" he questioned, "No name?"
John agreed, "Yes, Doctor who?"
Sarah and Ashlyn gave fan-girl squeals. They had a silent conversation, nudging each other in the arm excitedly.
Sarah mouthed: He said Doctor Who!
Wholock! Ashlyn replied. Our two favorite fandoms in the same room!
They're so beautiful! responded Sarah.
They squealed again.
The Doctor shrugged at the question asked him. A smile was slowly making its way onto his face. "Sherlock Holmes, you say?"
"Yes," both John and Sherlock said.
The Doctor looked back at Donna, who was open-mouthed in amazement. Sarah and Ashlyn were grinning, 'I told you so' written all over their faces. "Oh, that's brilliant, that is!" he moved further in to the room and held out his hand to Sherlock. "Sherlock Holmes!" he said as he shook his hand. "You're brilliant, you are!" he turned to John and shook his hand as well. "And Dr. Watson!" he pointed at them excitedly, mouthing 'Holmes and Watson!' to Donna and the girls. All three nodded vigorously.
"Sorry," John interrupted. "Can we help you?"
The Doctor looked around at the girls. They both smiled and stepped cautiously in to the room. Ashlyn spoke up nervously: "Could we hear some deductions, Mr. Holmes?"
John raised his eyebrows. "Uh, no—Sherlock, that's really not a good idea."
Sherlock's eyes gleamed at the challenge. "Oh, please, John," he said, "I've been cooped up for ages. My mind needs work." His eyes darted to Donna. He went off on a quick-paced tangent: "You type a lot, or at least you used to. You're used to sitting around and you like nice things—probably a secretary or a temp. Your mother thinks you're worthless, and as a result, you have little to no confidence in yourself, which you probably appease with food and activity of the mind."
Donna's jaw dropped.
He continued, eyes scrunched and lips pursed for a moment, "Bit overweight, but you've been running a lot and you've got a quick mind. You're clever and clearly have a lively nature."
They stood speechless, mouths open. Sherlock, enjoying the attention and exercise for his brain, kept going. John sat chewing on his cheek. Sherlock's eyes rested on Ashlyn, who blushed deeply. "The dark-haired one is infatuated with me—" she smiled happily, keeping his eye contact, visibly concurring to Sherlock's statement, "And the blonde one is clearly obsessed with John." Sarah looked away, blushing, but she was grinning. John looked around in shock. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock continued without a break, still looking at Ashlyn. "You're a writer, not much for exercise, though you obviously do some sort of recreation. You've got a knife in your pocket, so you're paranoid. You have low self-esteem, but a high opinion of yourself when you feel superior. You've got to take your stress out somehow, so you turn to chocolate." She nodded slightly in acknowledgment.
"Sarah, is it?" Sherlock persisted, "You ate a muffin for breakfast by the crumbs on your shirt. At the moment, you need to use the restroom. You're very plainly the humblest person in the room, unselfish and plain in your needs, but when you obsess, it can get out of hand—you think. You're smart, a bit clumsy, and you pick at your cuticles when you get bored or anxious. You're an actress—"
"Alright, that's enough, Sherlock, I think you've proven your point," John cut him off.
Sherlock frowned, "I'm not done yet."
"Yes, you are."
The Doctor held out a hand. "No, really, let him. Go ahead, Mr. Holmes. What can you deduce about me?"
Sherlock steepled his hands before his mouth, considering. "You're older than you look," he began, much slower than the others, "The Doctor. No first name, no surname? That's odd. Mysterious, even. You're not a medical doctor, or at least not primarily. A lady-killer, probably. You're very fit and slim, so you run, exercise—you see a lot of action, both in body and in mind. You're clever; I would even go so far as to call you a genius like myself."
The Doctor's eyebrows rose, "Anything else?"
"What's your name, Doctor?" he asked.
"That's not important," the Doctor said dismissively.
"He hasn't even told me," Donna jumped in.
"Oh, you are a mysterious one, Doctor," Sherlock said, rising from his seat. It was impossible to tell who was taller. "Who are you?"
"Oh," the Doctor huffed, "So many things. I've been called the Oncoming Storm, the Lonely God—the stuff of legends. More men than you have tried to figure out who I am, Sherlock Holmes. I don't think even your brilliant mind and your deductions could figure it out without data."
Sherlock's lip curled in a slight smile. He held out a hand. "I hope we meet again, Doctor."
"As do I," the Doctor replied, "Sherlock Holmes."
"Please," Sherlock said, "Call me Sherlock."
"Sherlock," the Doctor grinned, trying it out. "Well, ladies, we'd better go. Don't want to keep them."
Sarah and Ashlyn shared a furtive, suspicious look. Before the Doctor or Donna could stop them, they leapt at Sherlock and John like flying squirrels. Together, they pulled John to his feet and took turns hugging him—Sarah around the neck, Ashlyn around the torso. He patted their backs hesitantly. Then Sarah planted a kiss on John's cheek, and at the same time, Ashlyn sprung up on the arm of the chair, grabbed Sherlock by the face, and fixed one on him as well. They both blinked, and by the time they turned to watch the girls go, they had already darted from the room, giggling and squealing.
"Farewell, Sherlock Holmes!" they heard Ashlyn call.
"Goodbye, John Watson!" came Sarah's shout.
Then, together: "Bye, Mrs. Hudson! Doctor, Donna, let's go! Places to go, people to see!"
Donna shook both Sherlock and John's hands, repressing her excitement, before turning to go. The Doctor saluted them both. Hands in his pockets, he followed the ladies out.
As soon as the flat door below slammed shut, John and Sherlock both hurried to the window to watch them. The girls were running down the street, babbling mindlessly, with the Doctor and Donna jogging closely behind. The girls stopped at a blue police box towards the end of the sidewalk, running around it and talking far too fast for anyone to understand. When the other two reached it, the Doctor stopped before the doors of the box and seemed to unlock it. He stepped inside, and Donna went next. Ashlyn and Sarah paused before following, and they pointed at someone watching them, laughing. They too entered the box.
"What can four people do inside a wooden police box?" John asked, confused. "How do they even fit?"
Sherlock didn't answer. He didn't how they could all fit, either; his sharp mind worked furiously, but he didn't have sufficient data to analyze properly. He barely had a theory. About any of them.
There was a ring from the bell downstairs—they both looked around at the sound. They heard Mrs. Hudson say a few brief words, then a distressed voice, and the door closed as she directed them upstairs.
"Thought he was coming up—a client! Marvelous," Sherlock rejoiced. He turned away to make himself decent.
John grinned sparsely and turned back to the window. His gaze wandered to the end of the street, searching for the blue box. He found it in time to see only a vague, blinking rectangular shape vanish in to nothing. He frowned, concentrating harder on the spot. The police box was gone. "Sherlock…" he began.
At that moment, however, their client entered, appearing anxious and concerned. He set the matter of the blue box aside. They had a client—and Sherlock was sure to offend them.
Another two tomorrow! Thoughts?
Review! Takes about three seconds to write a few words and submit it. I shall send much love your way and thank you at the end of next chapter.
-Anevay