"I'm bored!" Sherlock complained lacing his fingers together and moving so that he sat on the sofa in reverse. His feet were in the air, resting against the back of the couch and his head on the floor. However his frown didn't turn upside down, annoyance still marred his features as no news of any murders or other crimes had come across his scrutiny.
"Take a case then," John said from behind his newspaper, "you have plenty of messages on your website."
Sherlock grimaced. "Dull."
It wasn't as if he didn't get any job requests. However all the e-mails were either too tedious for his attention or was solved in about five minutes and in fact required little actual thinking.
John sighed, put away his paper, and got up, going to the window, "Then go outside and take a walk. Get some fresh air."
"Dull."
"How long have you been in here?" he asked, reaching to raise the curtain in order to let in light.
Before his fingers could even brush the material Sherlock said, "Leave it."
"Then get outside. When was the last time you went outside?"
Sherlock didn't answer for a long while. Finally he answered, "That bird case."
John was exasperated, "That was almost a week ago. What have you been doing since then."
"Waiting for something to happen."
Giving a grunt John tried to pull Sherlock off the sofa. "Come on. You're going outside."
However, Sherlock didn't protest as John dragged him outside.
The two walked in silence.
"John," Sherlock said stopping. "Have you noticed anything…odd?" He looked around, bits a pieces of London were missing and instead replaced with strange pieces. And then there were the people, well lack thereof. He looked over to where John should have been standing, "John?"
John wasn't there.
"Jonathan!" A young woman, about sixteen or seventeen, ran about. Dark hair messy and unkempt, she was shouting for someone hysterically, "Jonathan Watson! I swear if this is some kind of prank!"
"John!" he called out.
"John!" Sherlock turned; a man in strange clothing was running about, as if he had just stepped from the pages of a history book. He had the look of someone out of touch with the world, but still vastly intelligent.
And finally a man with super short hair and a barely there beard called out, "Joan!"
"Brilliant." Sherlock could just hear it. The voice of a man from a blue telephone box. His head, hair messy and spiked up, was sticking out of the door and he wore the biggest grin on his face. It looked like the grin was about to break his cheeks.
Sherlock looked around at the only company of people present.
The young girl with dark hair and a calculating expression that reminded himself of himself.
The oddly dressed man, with the same expression, calculating and quite similar to his own.
And then there was the man with the buzzed hair and five o'clock shadow.
This day was going to be interesting.
Almost as interesting as a murder…