Location: TARDIS

Time: ?

"What's he doing now?" Rory was still pretty new to the whole time-travelling experience. He hadn't quite picked up on the Doctor's behaviour or frequent mannerisms.

"He's grumpy because those detectives kicked us out of their flat." Amy made a mock-pouty face, imitating the Doctor—who was indeed, very grumpy.

"Sherlock Holmes," He muttered with a pouty face of his own. "Sherlock 'Know-it-all' Holmes. The hat detective. He doesn't even know…"

"Doctor," Amy sat down next to him, "Where are we going?"

"509 St. Cross Street." The Doctor jumped up, toggling a few switches on the control consol. "That's the address where Sherlock Holmes and John Watson went to, following the lead of their 'case.'"

The wheezy-groaning sound of the Tardis engine halted as the trio landed on the corner of St. Cross Street. It was still late; 12:20 in the morning, when Rory checked his watch. The entire street was lit only by the lamp posts. 509 revealed itself to be an office building, most of the lights were off. The Doctor casually slipped by the door, sonic-ing it behind his back, he and Amy and Rory slid through the door. They located the warehouse door rather quickly. Once again, the Doctor waved his sonic screwdriver around the door. "Hmm," the Doctor scrunched his face up at the reading, "No, why are you doing that?" he complained to the sonic.

"What's wrong?" Amy implored.

"The reading's throwing off the settings. It's all…timey wimey." The Doctor's face washed into a pout. A weeping angel resided here, there was no doubt in his mind. He set his hand to the warehouse door, turning it carefully.

Rory nearly chewed his finger nails off as the door handle squeaked open with the eerie, unsettlement of suspense.

"WOO-WOO-WOO!" An alarm bleated loudly, it must have been wired to the warehouse door! And boy, was it loud!

"Doctor!" Amy's hands raised to her head quickly, "Turn that alarm off!"

The Doctor's sonic screwdriver flicked on with it's signature green light and the blaring noise of the alarm subsided.

"Thank god!" Rory exclaimed, as the three took their fingers out of their ears. But it was all too late, the red and blue lights of Scotland Yard shone through the windows of the office building. Their sirens echoing down the street.

"Run?" Amy inquired, adjusting her mini-skirt, ready to bolt if need be.

"No. Not run." The Doctor shot his hands into the air, "We surrender!" he eyed Amy and Rory, "Running is a bad idea. Wouldn't recommend it, not from Scotland Yard."

A team of officers raced into the building, pulling the Doctor, Amy and Rory out of 509 St. Cross Street and onto the bonnets of their cars, slapping handcuffs on them in the process.

"Does this happen with a lot with him?" Rory asked Amy during their ride to the Police Department. The Doctor had been put in another car.

"Depends," she said, "normally, we don't end up breaking and entering, so I don't know."

"You two might want to reconsider talking," the officer in the passenger seat, after that Amy and Rory remained quiet.

The Doctor, however, found himself in a cheery mood for someone recently arrested. He sat happily in the backseat of the police car. "How are you boys doing?" he queried. Of course, the officers didn't respond. "Talkative bunch, aren't you?" The Doctor scoffed, turning to look out the window. He seldom travelled anywhere by car. It just wasn't an adventure if it wasn't in the Tardis, his sexy. He smiled at the thought of the pet name for his ship.

"Now let's see, here," the detective began as he walked into the interrogation room, where the Doctor, Amy and Rory had been cuffed in chairs behind a table. The detective seated himself in front of them. "You're the people who tried to break into the warehouse at 509 St. Cross?"

Another detective rushed into the room, "These were confiscated from them during the arrest." She set his sonic and psychic paper on the table in front of the first detective. "You'll want to look at that, sir," she gestured to the psychic paper, "It' doesn't make any sense."

"Alright, Donovan, I'll look at it, thank you." The detective grabbed the sonic screwdriver and held it up for the three of them to see, "What the hell is this?"

"A screwdriver," the Doctor shrugged, with a slight smile across his lips.

The detective clearly wasn't convinced, but moved on anyway grabbing the psychic paper from the table, the other detective glanced at it, suspiciously, over his shoulder.

"Jesus." The first detective remarked, raising his hand up to scratch the back of his greying head.

The Doctor smiled, confident at what it had displayed. He eyed the detectives and saw their disbelief clear as day on their faces.

"Donovan, put these three into holding." He glared at them angrily, The Doctor's grin wiped off his face.

"What seems to be the problem, detective inspector?" He questioned. As the officers who arrested them re-entered the room, pulling them from their chairs.

"The problem is," he barked, "You, sir, are NOT, Sherlock Holmes!"