A/N: Sorry this took so long, everyone, I had midterms and tests and homework and life things that got in the way! But as a consolation, this chapter is a tad longer than the others. Enjoy!
"My God," a man breathed in horror, staring down at the body in the middle of the street. "Just like Nichols' murder…"
"Of course it's just like Nichols' murder; this is a serial killer you're dealing with. This is his method, his trademark," Sherlock rattled off impatiently. The people here were just as thick as those in the modern world. No wonder so little progress had been made. "Swollen face and the obtruding tongue there between the teeth—sign of suffocation. Slit across the neck—he started here, on the left, possibly with the intention of severing the bones of the neck. Afterward, he removed the organs—"
"Eh, just who do you think you are?" a young man demanded, and the others began to nod and agree that they wanted an answer.
"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective," he introduced himself, somewhat irritated by their prying and skepticism.
"Consulting?" one of the few women who had joined the crowd called out confusedly.
"Yes. Means I assist the Yard with cases when they're too stupid to figure them out themselves," Sherlock somewhat patiently explained.
"Are you a member of the Yard, then?" another man asked.
"No, but I can assure you—"
"Then we don't need to listen to you!" the young man who had first spoken up insisted.
"No, you don't, but do you want to keep asking stupid questions or would you rather try to solve this murder and put an end to 'Jack the Ripper?'" he asked, raising an expectant eyebrow at the crowd.
For a moment they were all silent, and then the young man who had spoken up begrudgingly nodded. "Alright, fine."
"There's a good boy!" Sherlock said mockingly, feigning a pleased grin. The young man scowled, but said nothing as Sherlock stepped past him and several others and kneeled down beside the body. As he reached out a hand out to begin to survey Annie Chapman's body, someone called out once again.
"You're not supposed to disturb the body. Detective Anderson gave the last guy who did that a hard time about it." Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the name. Yes, of course there was a Detective Anderson. He was the head of the Detective Department in Scotland Yard at the time of the Whitechapel murders. Hopefully he wasn't as dim-witted as the Anderson Sherlock knew.
"That's right," a third man added, "Unless you want to be spending the night in the Old Bailey under suspicion of murder, I'd stay away if I were you."
"Oh please, I'm not moving the body I'm just examining it," the detective answered, rolling his eyes. "Now if you wouldn't mind, I need silence. Complete and utter silence," he commanded, and to his surprise, not another word of objection was made. More likely because they were all so astonished by him, strange and rude Sherlock, striding onto the scene out of the blue and rattling off deductions and not because they actually respected his authority in any way.
"As I was saying, suffocation and blood loss were the cause of death; the other incisions were caused after death. The incision on the neck is deep and not very precise. Look at how jagged the cut is," he said, tracing a finger over the area. "What did the murderer use to do this? A sharp yet thin and narrow blade approximately eight to ten inches; something like you might even see used in a post-mortem, speaking of which, the murdered obviously had to have surgical and anatomical knowledge to be able to so quickly remove the organs, let alone remove them at all. Even the best of medical professionals in this day and age would've had to have had fifteen minutes to nearly an hour to do this sort of work. Whoever it is that did this is smart, he knew what he was doing and he did it quickly.
"As for the rest of the body, the murderer pulled out the intestines and laid them here on the shoulder, however he completely removed the pelvis, the uterus and its appendages, as well as a good portion of the bladder, approximately two thirds, and the upper region of the vagina. These bruises up here," he said, trailing back up to the face as the men circled around him gaped, "are particularly recent and heavy, while there are a few older ones up on the forehead," Sherlock observed, pointing to the area, "probably several days old. These newer bruises on the chin and jaw, however, indicate that the murderer, so-called 'Jack the Ripper,' probably held her by the chin quite roughly as he made the cut across the throat and—"
"Who the Hell are you and what do you think you're doing?" shouted an angry voice from behind, and Sherlock whipped around, still kneeling beside the corpse of Annie, to see a man who could only be Detective Anderson, looking extremely disgruntled, and a somewhat shorter man who looked back at Sherlock accusingly.
"What do you think I'm doing? I'm helping you solve your case," Sherlock replied rather obviously. "Oh, don't look so upset, I wasn't nearly done yet. There's still plenty here for you to figure out, too, if you're capable. The Anderson I know certainly isn't."
"Step away from the victim's body now, sir," Detective Anderson instructed, and Sherlock, while he did roll his eyes, obeyed.
"I told you, Detective, it's the man himself come back to admire his work and tamper with the scene," the man beside Anderson murmured, although it was loud enough that Sherlock heard.
"Really? You think it's me? You think I'm Jack the Ripper?" Sherlock said, addressing the man, before bursting out into a fit of derisive laughter. "Oh, you couldn't possibly be more wrong," he told the man through his laughter.
"Don't lie, I saw you with the woman right before she was killed! And Miss Long over there," he said, pointing to a woman in the crowd who was in her early forties and currently holding onto the arm of a man in the crowd. At the mention of her name, her eyes grew anxiously wide and she gasped a bit, gripping the man's arm a bit tighter. "She said she heard you two talking."
"Did she?" Detective Anderson asked, turning his head to look to the so-called witness.
Miss Long looked a bit frightened and panicked, and given that they were all under the ridiculous notion that Sherlock had committed the murder, he supposed she had a right to be. "Well," she began slowly, "That is true, but…" The man beside her gave her an encourage pat on the arm and she reluctantly continued. "Well, I heard him say he was drunk and needed to know where he was at and what day it was. And…and what year it was," Long continued, frowning curiously at that last detail. "He doesn't look very drunk to me, though. Didn't look very drunk to Annie, either. She said he looked like the cleanest, soberest drunk she'd ever saw."
"Seen," Sherlock corrected.
"What?" Long asked, looking confused and taken aback.
"The correct wording is that she thought I looked like the cleanest, soberest drunk she'd ever seen, not saw," he explained, and the others turned to look at him. "Oh, come on, you can't really be that thick to believe I was the one to kill her!" He insisted at the suspicious stare they were all giving him. "If I ever did kill someone, I would never do it like this. Too much mess," he said with distaste, to which a couple women gasped in disgust, and Sherlock rolled his eyes yet again. "If you must know, I'm here visiting London and I only just arrived this evening. I was looking for a place to sleep for the night and got a bit lost. It's been a while since I've been here," he said, making up the tale on the spot.
"Got any proof?" the man beside Detective Anderson asked skeptically.
The consulting detective sighed. "No, but as is frequent in these days with the very poor lack of acceptable deduction tools, you'll simply have to do with my word and my word alone."
"Alright, well regardless of your alibi, you're going to have to come with me, mister…."
"Holmes. Sherlock Holmes."
"He said he was a detective, by the way, Detective Anderson," the young man who had given Sherlock a hard time earlier said.
"Detective? Do you have papers to prove it?" Anderson asked curiously.
"I don't have any papers, I don't work for any department, I'm what I call a consulting detective."
"Consulting detective?" Anderson repeated.
"Yes. The first and only one in the world. I help the police solve their cases when they need my assistance which is always because they're a hopeless bunch."
"I see…" Anderson said slowly. "Well, as soon as the rest of the men and the coroner get here and we're good to leave, you're coming with me, Mr. Holmes."
"Dandy," Sherlock deadpanned, rolling his eyes once more. "Can't wait."
Present Day in the Tardis
"So, how are we supposed to find Sherlock's message? How do we know he'll send it?" Amy asked as the Doctor began to move about the console of the Tardis, looking like he was preparing to take off somewhere.
"Good question. Doctor Watson?" the Doctor said, pausing to turn and look at the ginger, diverting the question to John who was still trying to get used to the whole "bigger on the inside" thing. And yes, just as he thought, John had been thinking it. In fact, he'd even said it when the Doctor had asked him if he was alright. After all, there had been people who had been completely overwhelmed by the Tardis and he hadn't been alright, so he had made a habit of checking.
When he had asked, of course John's answer was, "Just trying to get used to the whole 'bigger on the inside' thing." And naturally the Doctor had laughed like the giddy 12-year-old he really was at hearts and told the ex-army doctor that it was the most perfectly natural reaction in the world and that he was sure John would adjust quickly.
"Wait, you're asking me?" John asked at the Doctor's response to Amy. "How should I know?"
"You know Sherlock best, don't you?" the Doctor asked, to which John nodded slowly. "So by all means, if you just think, a few ideas will come to you."
"But Doctor, what if he doesn't know to send a message to us. He doesn't even know about you and all he learned from Doctor Song—"
"Call me River. There's three doctors in here, we wouldn't want to get confused," River interjected. At this realization, the Doctor grinned, finding the fact that there were three doctors on the Tardis at once an amusing prospect.
"Right," John replied, quickly getting back on track with what he was saying. "Anyways, the only thing Sherlock knew was that the angel could send a person back in time and that they would have to live out their lives there and while Sherlock is normally a very good problem solver, I think this kind of stuff is really out of his element."
"That's right, Doctor, Sherlock was sent back in time before realizing you or the Tardis were even there at the house. And he thought the Tardis was one of our ringtones," River said. "The whole reason he was near the angel was because he absolutely refused to believe it was possible that something like time travel and the weeping angels could exist."
"Oh," the Doctor said, frowning a bit. "Still, if he cares about you, John, which I think he does, then he'll try to get in contact with you, anyway."
"How?" John asked.
"A letter," the Doctor replied simply.
"He could ask someone to hold onto it until this year, this very day, and get someone to deliver it to you right after his disappearance. While he may not have believed time travel was possible, he will now that he's done it himself and I'm sure he'll quickly figure out just how to work it to his advantage, am I right?" River asked.
"Sounds like a soundproof plan to me," Amy said.
"Where and when is he going to send the letter, though?" Rory asked. "The perfect time would've been right after he got sent back by the angel and we arrived, but that didn't happen."
"Maybe he sent it to Baker Street," John thought, although he didn't sound very sure of the idea.
"It's worth a shot," Amy replied with a shrug. "What's the harm in checking?"
"None at all," the Doctor replied brightly, returning his focus to the Tardis console. "Off we go, then!"
"Hold on, what are you doing?" John asked, sounding a tad alarmed.
"I'm taking us to Baker Street."
"Oh, right," John said, feeling a tad foolish, and then he felt the floor shudder under his feet and a dizzy feeling come over him for a moment before everything seemed to settle again. "Are we there already?" John asked, glancing from one companion to the other and finally to the Doctor.
"Indeed we are," the Doctor happily announced, running over to open the door to the Tardis.
"Well come on, then, out of the way so we can all see this Baker Street," Amy called, trying to get the Doctor to move out of the doorway so she could step outside of the Tardis.
"No, wait a moment," the Doctor replied softly, not sounding too happy now.
"Doctor, is something wrong? Did we land in the wrong spot?" Rory asked, looking a tad worried.
"Just a moment, Rory," the Doctor replied impatiently, putting a hand out behind him to stop anyone from approaching. "Nobody let John near the door," he instructed before shutting it behind him and walking out.
John looked over at the Doctor's three companions, utterly bewildered. "What's with him?" he asked.
"I don't know," River answered with a frown. "But it must have something to do with your timeline and therefore you're not allowed to step out of the Tardis."
"Let me guess, if I do the universe will implode because of some time paradox of sorts?" the doctor asked somewhat sarcastically.
"Yes, that's it exactly," River answered quiet seriously, to which John raised an incredulous brow.
"Wait, seriously?"
"Yes, seriously," River said with a firm nod.
"I only got a glance of what was outside, but by the looks of it, it was a flat of some sort," Amy told John. "So we're probably in the right spot but in the wrong time," she reasoned.
"It sounded like something was wrong, though," Rory added. "Like…something bad had happened."
"Bad stuff happens to us all the time," John said. "I'm sure it's nothing…" he said, sounding none too sure of that statement and looking quite uneasy.
Amy took a step forward to comfort and reassure him, but before she could come close enough the door to the Tardis opened and the Doctor hurriedly stepped inside again.
"Well, that's certainly not where we want to be!" he said, sounding and looking cheerful on the outside, but everyone including John could tell there was something bothering him on the inside. He had clearly seen something haunting, but he wasn't saying anything about it for now. "Let me just adjust a few things here," he said, moving to the console again, "and tweak a couple things there," he muttered as the four other occupants of the Tardis looked to one another with concerned expressions. "And next time, no eating jammy dodgers near the console again, Rory, you got crumbs all over, no wonder we landed in the wrong spot," he said, brushing off the surface near a few red and blue buttons.
"Perhaps we shouldn't have agreed to have tea with Queen Elizabeth II, then," Rory shot back, and John silently watched the exchange with amazement.
"Hey, he wasn't the only one, mister," Amy scolded, giving the Doctor a mean Scottish glare, and John couldn't help but let out a small laugh in spite of himself.
"Alright, alright, I did, too," the Doctor consented, knowing better than to argue with the fiery Amy Pond. "Now, off we go then!" he declared jovially, and at the pull of a wacky-looking, squiggly lever, they were off again.
This time, after peeking outside for a moment, the Doctor seemed quite confident they were in the right moment in time now and directed the Ponds and John out of the Tardis.
They had landed right in the middle of the flat to John's surprise. The place was empty and Amy and Rory began to curiously look around until the sound of light footsteps coming up the stairs made them all pause.
"Maybe it's someone with the letter?" Rory guessed, but John shook his head, already knowing the footsteps quite well.
"Boys, would you try to keep it down, I'm trying to watch the telly," a woman's voice said before opening the door and freezing in the archway.
"Hello, Mrs. Hudson," John greeted the woman casually.
Mrs. Hudson only sighed exasperatedly, much to the bewilderment of the Doctor, River, Amy, and Rory. "What is that thing and how on earth did you two get it up here?" Mrs. Hudson asked, looking at the Tardis.
"Um…" John began, not knowing how to answer the question.
"Who's this lot?" she asked, gesturing now to the four other occupants of the room. "Have you two managed to make some friends?" she wondered, looking pleased at the prospect. "Oh wait, that's the woman from earlier, isn't it? Awfully rude of you earlier, pushing through the door uninvited like that…"
"Sorry, it was an urgent matter," River answered.
"Mrs. Hudson, this is Amy, Rory, River you already know, and…"
"The Doctor, pleased to meet you," the Doctor said, taking it upon himself to introduce himself and greet her hastily in the manner he had when he had greeted Craig. Mrs. Hudson looked a tad overwhelmed by his forward manner, but politely smiled back at him nonetheless. The humans did tend to have that sort of reaction…which was odd, seeing as he thought a kiss on each cheek was a standard greeting for them. "Mrs. Hudson. You seem like a delightfully charming woman, but now's not quite the time to get to know each other. I'm afraid we've come here on a sort of mission," he explained. "Might anyone have stopped by with a letter?"
She looked confused by the question, but ultimately shook her head. "No, I'm afraid I haven't."
"Well, perhaps they're just running late or he got the time wrong," the Doctor said, looking back at John in a reassuring way. "I suppose we'll just have to wait a bit," he decided, plopping himself down on a nearby armchair.
"Shall I get some tea, then?" Mrs. Hudson offered, to which the Doctor laughed.
"Ha, I was exactly right. Wonderfully charming little old lady you are, Mrs. Hudson. Strange box in your flat, strange people in your flat, and as soon as they say they're staying—didn't even ask, just declared that they were—you offer to make tea."
Mrs. Hudson grinned, blushing a bit at the compliment. "Oh, you're a sweet young thing," she said with a laugh, "Is that a yes to the tea, then?"
"Absolutely!" the Doctor replied.
"Oh, lovely, I love having company!" she said cheerfully, heading down the stairs.
"Wait, why don't you let me help," Amy offered, following after her.
"I like her," the Doctor told John, pointing after Mrs. Hudson. "Nice lady. Know what? For once I don't think it'll be so bad waiting around like everyone else always does. Cup of tea, bit of friendly company…" he said pleasantly, spreading his arms out on the arms of the chair. "Can't be long now, anyway, can it?"
Rory, River, and John merely exchanged glances, the two companions knowing that while the Doctor was patient, he wasn't very good at waiting, and John simply anxious to see his best friend again and know he was safe.
A/N: All the facts Sherlock stated about Annie Chapman's murder are true, just so you guys know. I did a lot of research on the subject and if you're interested in learning more, send me a PM and I'll send you the links I have.
Also, Detective Anderson was a real person and he actually was the head of the Detective Department of Scotland Yard. And Elizabeth (not sure if that's her first name) Long was a real person who knew Annie and claimed to have overheard Annie talking to someone shortly before she was killed.
I hope the deductions, the storyline, and all the characters were okay! Let me know if you think there were some issues or if you really loved this update, please! Reviews mean a lot to me and they keep me moving forward!