I can because it's nearly Christmas.
In the immortal words of Doctor #9 "Who says I'm not red bicycle when you were twelve!"
I do not own the Doctor, if I did I'd be long gone.
"Doctor!"
The very piercing shout reverberated through the vast halls of the ancient space-ship known as the TARDIS, echoing off of her coral pillars.
"Doctor!"
The voice was sharp and commanding, and obviously accustomed to making itself heard over great distances.
"DOCTOR!"
Rose Tyler sighed and put down her copy of A Christmas Carol, It wasn't exactly her idea of a thrilling read anyway, her Doctor might be Dicken's biggest fan but she found him to be a little dry. Why should she struggle through it when she could watch puppets with large blue noses and singing frogs perform it for her anyway?
Rapid footsteps pounded out their owner's irritation in the hall outside and a moment later the door burst open.
"Doctor-"
The fellow in the doorway faltered as his eyes fell on the blond girl stretched out on the sofa.
"Oh." His face fell. "My apologies, Ms. Tyler, I'm looking for the Doctor."
"Which one?" Rose sat up, wishing that the gray eyes currently fixed on her face were not quite so...probing. Every time he looked at her it was like she was being visually dissected, she could just see the cogs running a million miles an hour in his brain…rather like her own Doctor.
"If you're looking for the tall hyperactive one he's probably in the consol room…"
"If I could find both of them it would be preferable." Said the man a little testily, Rose noticed he was gripping something in his left hand rather tightly.
"What's that?"
He looked down at his hand in surprise as though he'd forgotten he'd been holding what Rose now saw was a book.
"A mistake which is going to be remedied." He said and turned without another word to the door.
Glad for any interruption of her boredom Rose got up and followed.
As it turned out both Doctor's were in the consol room, Rose and the man with probing gray eyes stopped just inside the door, bathed at once in its soothing blue light as the familiar deep hum drifted over them.
Noises from the floor, or rather under it, drew their attention at once and the man hurried over to a hole in the grating and spoke above the muted racket of bangs, thumps and voices.
"Doctor!"
There was an almighty thud, and swearing in a language that neither Rose nor the gentleman understood, and a head with big, brown hair emerged, rubbing a spot on its temple.
"What'd you do that for?" the Doctor groused, taking his sonic screwdriver out of his mouth.
The gray eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Where is Watson?"
A second head emerged, this one with a rounder face, a military moustache and hazel eyes.
"Holmes," the fellow said excitedly, "You simply must see this, the Doctor's been showing me the workings of his ship!"
Sherlock Holmes, was not amused, he practically shoved the book under his friend's face.
"Watson, just what the devil is this?!"
Watson blinked in surprise at the words imprinted on the worn, leather cover.
"I'm sure I don't know…Great Scott!"
"No!" the Doctor's eyes widened in alarm and he tried to snatch the book away too late, Watson took it and flipped it open.
"The Collected Adventures of Sherlock Holmes…" Watson's eyes widened further in incredulous pleasure. "This is marvelous! Holmes they put my writings in a book!"
Holmes sighed in annoyance. "That's what I want to talk to you about Watson..."
"You shouldn't be looking at that…" the Doctor said trying to sneak his hand over Watson's shoulder to catch hold of the book.
"Look here! A Scandal in Bohemia!"
"Watson, would you listen to me for a moment!"
"It's a first edition! Are there other editions?…I say, Doyle's put his name on it, blasted editors!"
"Watson!"
"You really shouldn't…"
"The Devil's Foot…We haven't had that one yet…" Watson flipped the pages eagerly.
"OI!"
Both he and Holmes turned at the shout and the Doctor took the opportunity to take the book away.
"Neither of you, should be looking at that." He repeated stuffing the book safely into one of his pockets, "It would create an unbelievable paradox, reapers everywhere, and Rose doesn't like reapers, just ask her, horrible things."
Watson looked up, noticing Rose for the first time, he smiled.
"Ah, Ms. Tyler, forgive me I neglected to…"
Holmes cut him off again.
"Watson…those stories of yours…"
Watson sighed. "Holmes, if you want to argue about this could you at least wait for me to climb out of this hole first? It's deucedly uncomfortable trying to look up at you from this position."
Grumbling, Holmes stepped back and his friend clambered out and then rubbed his hands clean of grease with a handkerchief from his sleeve, not that it really made a difference, all the rest of him including his face was covered in it.
The Doctor, miraculously, was not, he came to stand beside the other three, nearly two inches taller than Holmes himself.
"Holmes," he said, "You're not to bother him about the stories, he writes them and you let him print them. Technically it's already been done and over with…"
Watson secreted an amused look to Rose, which she returned with a grin. Very few people could talk to Sherlock Holmes with that condescending tone.
"Of course it's not done." Holmes retorted hotly, not in the least bit cowed, "This is a time machine, you yourself said that history is being rewritten by the moment."
Very few people could talk to the Doctor in that tone either…it seemed that the world's only consulting detective was one of them.
"Not this part." the Doctor answered. "These stories have been around for centuries, and besides I enjoy them. If you don't like it that's too bad, I'm the last say on these sorts of things."
"They last for centuries?" Watson whispered, his whole face lighting with awed pleasure.
"Longer." The Doctor said automatically.
Rose Tyler settled herself on the Jump seat, still grinning.
If only the TARDIS had a popcorn maker.