A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed/followed/favorited! ily guys ugh. Also, to those who were asking who else will be joining the party, well read on;)
"How about what?" asked Merlin, grimacing in pain. "Ugh, Arthur I think you broke my foot when you landed on me."
"Why do I even keep you around?" Arthur grumbled.
Dean laughed. "This is fucking amazing. Arthur. King Arthur."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Well look at that, our captives recognize me."
Dean smirked. "Buddy, you've got a lot to learn." His smirk grew as he saw Arthur pull out a sword. "Oh, that's cute, look Sammy, a swo-"
With a swift, split-second movement, Arthur managed to shove Dean against the wall with the sword pointed at his throat.
"Arthur!" yelled Guinevere and Merlin simultaneously.
"Step away from Dean," Castiel ordered, advancing upon Arthur
"How about we add swords to the list of things-you're-not-allowed-in-my-TARDIS?" the Doctor suggested. "Guns, swords, pears and drugs."
"Well you're not trying to oppress us?" asked Guinevere who clearly seemed to be the brains of the trio.
"Nope! Nada! Not at all!" the Doctor exclaimed joyfully. "It's amazing to have you here! You're probably wondering what's going on, aren't you? Just some cracks in the universe, realities collapsing, people being thrown across time vortexes, all thanks to the god we – or rather River – stole from."
"Okay," said Guinevere, evidently not comprehending this. "So where are we?"
"Well you're in your home, Albion, over a thousand years into the future. Specifically speaking we're in my TARDIS. Well we won't be for much longer; we're going to having breakfast. Ha! Imagine that. Breakfast with King Arthur! And Guinevere! And Merlin! That's amazing."
"Let me get this straight," Amy muttered, "You have a time-machine and you've never checked out Camelot?"
The Doctor shook his head. "Lost point in time, woven into the legends so tightly that it's literally impossible to find them."
"Breakfast." Arthur repeated. "Well that's what Guinevere and I were going to have in the forest before somebody let his guard down and got us stuck here.
"It wasn't my fault!"
"Course it was!"
"Oh shut up, Dollop Head."
"Idiot."
"Clotpole
"Assbutt." Intoned Dean, smiling faintly at Castiel.
"What?" enquired several voices
"Never mind," said Dean, still smiling at the angel.
The Doctor clapped. "Well then! Breakfast it is! Let's go then."
And so, the Timelord, the Centurion, the Scot, the Timelady/Human, the Angel, the two Hunters, the Warlock, the King and the Queen advanced onto London's streets.
"God help this place", muttered Amy to herself.
l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l-l
Sherlock sipped his tea and gazed around the other people in the mainly empty restaurant. They were incredibly boring. A middle-aged account that was cheating on his wife with a younger male colleague. Boring. An old lady, suffering from arthritis that recently got into an argument with her children, probably over the items in her will. Just as boring. A boy about seventeen, recovering from a break-up, whilst trying to puppy-train a spaniel. All so boring. Just like everyone in this restaurant. Sherlock didn't even know why he went there. The 'Best Traditional English Breakfasts Of The Year' award pinned on the wall was undeserved in Sherlock's opinion. So why was he here? Well of course he knew the answer to it. John. John loved the place, he had once told Sherlock it was a place his mother often brought himself and Harry as children, before their family lost the cosy family type image, and somehow, Sherlock didn't mind the slow service and horrible pop music, considering how much John loved the place.
He wished John would hurry up and come back from the bathroom. Although Sherlock would never admit it, John was the only person in the world he felt comfortable with. Of course, he didn't mind the company of Greg, and Mrs. Hudson was fine, despite all her fussing, and he was rather fond of Molly, but John was the only person Sherlock truly felt as ease with, and he couldn't help but feel a rush of joy when he saw his friend exiting the restaurant toilets.
John took a seat and sipped his own tea. "So this case," he enquired. "Care to explain anymore?"
Sherlock smirked. "Do you want the real version or the version I simplify so you can comprehend it?"
John rolled his eye. "Just get on with it, would you?"
Sherlock took out his various notes and diagrams and shoved them across the table to his best friend. "As I hope you know, there are many laws in this world regarding Physics. I wasn't working on anything related to the specific laws this conversation is revolving around, but I happened to hear some information from a source."
"Molly?" asked John with a smile. Sherlock ignored the truth.
"I didn't believe her – it, but I did some investigating in my spare time and it's almost as if our universe as we know it is collapsing. The rest of that side of the story is extremely complicated. Shall I stop?" John nodded and Sherlock continued the next part of his findings, and producing some DNA samples in a small packet. "And then this "appears out of nowhere."
"What is it?" John asked, wishing Sherlock would realize that John simply didn't have the mental ability to deduce a case from a momentary inspection of an object.
"Found on the corpse of a murder victim in Ireland. The case would have been unusual enough to alert the local gardaí, but not so much that I would come into it, if it wasn't for the sample. Unusual in the way that the man had no enemies, nobody with a grudge against him and yet was found dead with no physical harm done. Moll- somebody commented that it was like he had simply been 'switched off'. Childish explanation, but it fits. There's nothing wrong with him at all."
"Aside from the fact that he's dead", commented John wryly.
"Well yes. Aside from that."
"And the DNA sample found on him?"
"The experts in Ireland inspected it. Couldn't grasp it at all, so it was sent onto America, then to me. And it's impossible but, from what I can tell, it's not human. A completely foreign DNA."
John frowned. Ever since he met Sherlock, his life had certainly taken a turn to the strange side, but it was never this strange.
The door of the shop opened and a large group, of young adults crowded in, seven male and three female, a few of them dressed extremely strangely.
"Tourists," John muttered sceptically, making a start on his toast the waitress had just brought down.
Evidently the group was far larger than expected in the restaurant, as there were no tables with sufficient seating numbers. Two of the men, the dark haired one in the odd clothes, and the one with the slightly long nose were forced to go without and had to find other chairs to pull up.
"Excuse me?" said the long nosed man, gesturing to a spare chair at John and Sherlock's table, "Can I borrow this?" He spoke with a British accent. Alright, not a tourist.
"Sure," John said, at the same time as Sherlock said, "Your wife."
"Excuse me?" the stranger asked.
"Your wife." Sherlock repeated. "The redhead, she thinks the man on her right" – he gestured towards the short haired plaid-wearing man – is attractive."
The stranger opened his mouth to retort and closed it again, at a loss for words.
John sighed; he was used to Sherlock's constant verbal abuse thrown casually at strangers. "Ignore him", he said apologetically, "He's a bit stroppy today."
The victim of Sherlock's deductions nodded, tight-lipped, and grabbed the chair. In his haste to remove himself from Sherlock's presence he somehow managed to knock the chair against the table, resulting in John's breakfast being knocked down.
John swore loudly and received a glare from the waitress as he was mildly scalded by his lukewarm tea. Somehow Sherlock had managed to avoid getting as much as a breadcrumb upon him. However, his notes were soaked and barely readable.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry, I'm really sorry, let me get that," he babbled as he dabbed the spilt tea on the table with a small tissue but his attempts were in vain, it would have been just as easy to dry up the ocean with a mop.
His redheaded wife and a different man, a strangely dressed man, who despite looking to be in his early twenties dressed with the style of an seventy year old, bowtie and all, approached John and Sherlock's table, sighing at the mess.
"Honestly Rory," chided the redheaded woman, "I'm so sorry," she said to John and Sherlock, giving them her best smile. "I'm Amy Pond and this is my-"
"Husband." Sherlock interrupted. "Yes, we know."
The bowtie wearing man was peering at Sherlock's nearly undecipherable note with a frown. "Hang on Amy." He said, gesturing for her not to leave. He peered at Sherlock. "Are these yours?"
Sherlock nodded curtly, and resumed his sipping of tea, as if nothing had happened.
"These are good. In fact, these are beyond good." He peered at Sherlock suspiciously and lowered his voice. "You're not a non-human by any chance?"
"Believe me, I ask myself the same question every day," muttered John to himself.
The man inspecting the notes shook his head. "Nope, you're human. Just immensely clever. Too clever maybe. But that's good; clever is good. I'm the Doctor by the way. And you are?"
John wondered if the man was alright. "Just leaving," he said pointedly.
"Isn't that a coincidence?" the Doctor beamed. "So are we, aren't we Amy?"
"But your group's still ordering," John pointed out, not wanting to be in the company of this strange individual for any longer; Sherlock alone was more than enough.
"Well strictly speaking, we're not with any of them, except the pretty one with the big hair. She's my wife," the Doctor informed them.
"I know." Sherlock responded in a bored tone.
"Well we better get going home then, shouldn't we?" John said to Sherlock, deciding the 'Doctor' definitely had a problem.
"Home?" the Doctor said. "Brilliant! That's just where we're going."
John sighed. "Okay, this is getting ridiculous. Unless you're trying to help us out in some way, please just lea-"
The Doctor shushed him and brought a strange looking screwdriver out of his inside coat pockets, pointed it at Sherlock's destroyed notes and clicked it. It lit up and made a soft buzz and somehow managed to soak the water from Sherlock's notes.
John didn't know what to say.
The Doctor winked.
"Well then, we better start walking home then, shouldn't we? I'm sure we've got a lot to talk about."