Left alone after Sherlock's sudden departure, John settled more comfortably in his chair and resumed his reading. Reading out loud added a certain something to a book, he thought. Words were meant to be spoken aloud. And if Sherlock couldn't appreciate that then he could just stay out for a bit.
"As I crossed the street, I saw the thin guy. He didn't see me. I guess that's how it began. I followed the skinny guy for two more blocks before he turned, and I could ask what he was doing. He looked a little scared, so I gave him a smile and my bluest eyes. He said–." John paused, blinking twice. No, that can't be right, I must be seeing things. His eyes moved back to the top of the page, tracing carefully over the words instead of reading them aloud again. When he got to that spot in the middle of the page, he paused again. "What in hell?" he muttered to himself.
Sitting alone in the flat, that's when he heard it—that so familiar and so welcome noise. It wasn't loud, but it was close and insistent; it came with a million promises and hopes and dreams. It made your ears perk up and your heart skip a beat.
It was the Doctor's TARDIS.
And it was in John's kitchen.
John jumped up from his chair as the familiar blue box materialized.
"I don't know about you, but it's been ages for us Doctor. Where've you been?" he called out amicably as the TARDIS door opened, book fallen forgotten on the floor. The Doctor rushed out of the door, eyes wild, bowtie askew, and just generally looking out of sorts. "You okay?" John asked. The Doctor looked around for a moment, looking confused, before stepping forward clumsily and clapping a hand on John's shoulder.
"John! Yes, lovely to see you, I'm afraid we haven't time for pleasantries, where is Sherlock?"
"Out for coffee, why?" John asked. The Doctor held up a book. The same as John's.
"No, he's not. And we have a problem." He opened the book and read aloud, "He said 'I just went to get coffee for John and myself. Hello, Doctor Song.' "
.
.
.
"Hello, Sherlock." Doctor Song purred. Sherlock blinked twice, adjusting to the sudden darkness. He hadn't moved from his spot, but the scene was different. Smooth pavement replaced with rougher cobblestone, air warmer and damper, even the babble from the streets over sounded different. I feel wrong, slightly nauseous, but not in the normal way.
"We're back in time. How?" Sherlock demanded. River chuckled
"Oh, you do catch on quick, don't you smartypants? Where are we in your timestream?"
"It's been four months since Demon's Run, we've been home." His said, preoccupied with his surroundings. Something moving in the shadows behind the building, whispers close, footsteps coming from behind."And I believe we are about to have company." As he spoke, cold steel pressed against his back. "Might want to raise your hands." He added loftily. He raised his hands slowly as four men surrounded the pair. They don't bother to cover their faces, so either not the brightest bunch or we're in immediate mortal danger. Someone's lackey's most likely. Three of them keep glancing at the man directly behind Doctor Song, the leader most likely then. Long trench coats, fedoras, Remington pistol, so somewhere in the 1930s, maybe early 40s.
"Melody Malone?" the larger man behind River inquired. The first to speak, definitely the leader then.
"Of course, you're Melody. 'My lipstick was combat ready' I should have known, that narration reeks of you." River quirked an eyebrow.
"Narration? I'm to write a book? And you've read it, I'm flattered. "
"Don't be, John was reading it."
"Enough!" the man behind Sherlock growled, jabbing him sharply in the spine with the barrel of his gun. Eager to prove himself, or masculinity issues perhaps. A car pulled up abruptly next the odd group, engine humming softly in the night air.
"In. Both of you, now."