"Let me get this straight." John leaned his head against his fist, already sick of dealing with River's visit today. "You stole the Rosetta Stone."

"I'm borrowing it!" she insisted. "It's safe on the moon. I need it for my archeology degree."

"But you stole it from 1798," Sherlock clarified. "It will never properly be found unless you take it back to precisely the exact time you stole it."

"I will!" she insisted, flashing her wrist. "Vortex manipulator, remember? It's far more exact and reliable than the TARDIS." A brief memory flashed in John's head of their accidental trip to Rome, the planet, instead of Rome, the city. Too many naked aliens. Sherlock had deleted the experience altogether. John almost wished he had that luxury.

"Why are you even here?" John asked, letting his hand fall to the armrest. "You must have better things to do than tell us about all the things you've stolen."

"The Doctor is coming to pick me up here," she clarified. "Sometime."

"That could be years from now," Sherlock pointed out, just as the wheezing sound of the TARDIS began to sound from the living room.

"Or now," she said, pleased. The machine ground to a halt and the Doctor raced out of it, panting heavily.

"River, there's a war brewing. Someone stole the Rosetta Stone from 1835 and-"

"You see?" John said, grabbing his newspaper from the side table. "That thing on your wrist isn't as reliable as you seem to think."

"What?" The Doctor looked back and forth between John and River, confused as confused could be.

River rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, alright. Let's go and get it." She dragged a bewildered Doctor back into the TARDIS and they took off, much to John's relief.

"She almost needs a leash," Sherlock murmured, tapping a drop of purple liquid into a petri dish.

"You could say that again."