Chapter Two
"You're mad!" John
exclaimed.
"Yep, that's me." The Doctor's smile was wider than the Cheshire Cat's.
Sherlock chuckled mirthlessly. "Get it out."
"Get what out?"
"The tool. It's hanging from your coat pocket."
A lopsided grin quickly formulated. "Why don't you get it yourself?"
Sherlock arched an eyebrow but stood nonetheless. He approached The Doctor hesitantly. Settling his forearms on the arms of the chair as to not come into contact with him, Sherlock leaned and wrapped cool fingers around the base of the object, only catching the heat of short breath in his proximity to The Doctor. He then made his way back to his seat, scrutinizing the tool carefully.
"Setting dials, felt tip cap," Sherlock muttered, turning it around in his hand. "Fluid link, user recognition ring..wave amplifiers, master function key, enhanced emitter lens." He tapped each part as he assessed it, eyes widening.
Sherlock nodded appreciatively. "This is spectacular, John. Technology lightyears beyond our time." He said. "Exquisitely crafted too."
The Doctor was dumbstruck. "But, how-possibly-" he wasn't able to form a coherent sentence. "Brilliant! That's utterly brilliant!"
John quickly became frustrated, "Wait, you believe him?!" Neither one spared him a glance.
Sherlock instilled his mask of cold indifference.
"So, I guess it's my turn to assess this..?"
Two seconds had Sherlock burying his hands swiftly through his coat pockets. "My magnifying glass?" He spoke calmly without turning to face The Doctor.
The Doctor clicked his tongue. He held up Sherlock's tool with a grin.
Sherlock finally turned. "Pickpocketing. And to think I deemed it beneath you." Sherlock couldn't help but approve. Nobody had ever successfully pick-pocketed him except Mycroft.
"You never even told us who you were!" John was still adamant.
"A time traveller," Sherlock supplied. "Don't be so redundant, John."
"Bloody hell!" John pushed the heel of his palms into his eyes.
"Sherlock," he started again. "You should be checking him to the nearest mental hospital, not entertaining his insanity! Timelord? Telephone box? Oh, for God's sake!"
The Doctor opted to answer John's question. "Who am I? Who am I! It's marvelous when considered, really. I'm very changeable, and often, I can be multiple people at once." The Doctor rubbed the nape of his neck thoughtfully.
"In terms of personality?" Sherlock quirked an elegant eyebrow.
"Yeah, but not exclusively."
"Give us a name!"
"The Doctor."
"You say that definitively." It was a statement.
"Because I am the definitive Doctor." He smirked at Sherlock.
"Fascinating." Sherlock mused.
"I'll stop by you nutters eventually." John walked out.
"Excuse my flatmate's impudence. He's incredibly close minded."
The Doctor gave an amused laugh. "And you aren't?"
"Not remotely, no."
"To what extent are you willing to believe?"
"By what standards?"
"No standards," The Doctor hummed, trailing off quietly, "Just craziness."
Sherlock smirked. "Shoot."
"Will you help me?"
"Help you regain possession of your blue telephone box."
"Yes," The Doctor replied although Sherlock didn't need confirmation. "I was wondering if you could-"
"No," Sherlock held up a hand. "I'll deduce it."
The Doctor found himself grinning uncontrollably. "Alright."
"You'd just revealed that you are not familiar with this universe, and it's 'literary concept' as you put it, so logically, you'd visit a literary character living close by for definite proof of your theory."
The Doctor nodded, impressed. "Correct."
"Obviously, that'd been only partly the reason as you could've easily interrogated someone on any historical happening and received a response likewise."
The Doctor grinned. "I actually had."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "What?"
"I asked a store clerk about a popular English nursery rhyme in my universe."
"One of Queen Mary and John Knox?"
The Doctor was aghast. "How'd you know?"
"That's infuriating." Sherlock ranted as if he hadn't heard. "Your universe seems entirely more sensible. Mary, Queen of Scots', fright over the popular religious reformer should only have been interpreted in such a juvenile manner. I'd even penned a draft. Yet again, I'd interpreted it symbolically to suggest arachnophobia."
The Doctor was once again caught gaping. "In literary England, you're the writer of..Little Miss Muffet?"
Sherlock arched an eyebrow. "That's the title. How extraneous."
"Well," The Doctor considered. "It rhymes with everything else."
Sherlock chuckled. "I take back my remark on your universe being sensible."
The Doctor laughed. "Are you going to publish it? Since obviously it's so well written."
"Of course not. I'm a detective not an author."
"Afraid they're going to demand encore?"
"But it is very well written."
"By what standards?" The Doctor echoed teasingly.
Sherlock thought of Mycroft, and his appraisal of Sherlock's writing ability. "The British Government's."
The Doctor couldn't stop his hysteric laughter. "Brilliant. Just brilliant." He choked between laughs.
Sherlock smirked. "Oh, Doctor, how I despise your irrelevance."
"Irrelevance?" The Doctor finally regained composure.
"I was deducing what you had come to me for."
"Oh, right," The Doctor sat cross legged on the chair and motioned for Sherlock to continue.
"So, you had come for further confirmation of..my universe."
"Yes." The Doctor tried to keep his responses short.
"Yet, if confirmation was all you had wanted, you would've simply stopped off and talked to John briefly, rather then take him up on his ludicrous offer of entertaining you as a guest."
"How is it ludicrous?"
"Because you're not a guest."
The Doctor quirked an eyebrow, "How'd you mean?"
"You've been here before."
"Of course not!" The Doctor exclaimed.
"You've been frequenting 221B as of late, Doctor. How polite of you to knock this time around. We've been waiting for quite a while."
"I didn't even know this universe existed before today!" The Doctor couldn't believe the accusation.
"Oh?" Sherlock breathed.
"Yes!" The Doctor was outraged.
"There's one problem with that."
"What?" The Doctor snapped.
"I don't believe you.
Just as Sherlock finished speaking, John entered the room. The Doctor glanced between them confused, until John approached him and held a cool muzzle to his head.
He had him at gun point.
Sherlock stood from his seat. "Begin again. This time, the truth."
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