EDIT: I've been putting this off. I wanted this fic to be a proper epic. A deliberate long fantasy/scifi/adventure story. But although I have plenty of ideas, its just difficult to write those inital first chapters and my skill in writing is not great. It's not flowery or full of long words or beautiful metaphors, fancy dialogue. It's just average. And that bothers me XD.
So please, if you are interested in this fic, bear with me. A beta or help is welcome too. (it keeps wanting me to change woulds like threw to through or rain to reign, it's really weird.
Being 'kitted out' meant replacing his respectable clothes with an assortment collected from large wicker baskets. Lestrade had inferred that he would stand out otherwise. At least John had been allowed to choose them, rather than have them chosen for him. And judging by how the others chose to dress, would not have been a good thing. The clothes he had picked looked comfortable and would still look respectable, not at all outlandish. Though that seemed to be the fashion here. After his selections were made they proceeded to a place known only as 'The Outside Hotel'.
"Why is it called The Outside Hotel? Are not all hotels...outside?" Isn't everything?
Sherlock huffed. "Don't be obtuse. it used to be called the Inside Hotel. It was inside a large shopping complex. But when it was destroyed, the hotel still stood."
"So they simply renamed it?"
"Yes and turned the remaining shops that were left into hotel rooms."
A large brick building loomed ahead, several stories high. In front of it were the ruins of the old shopping centre, their walls still standing for the most part. Though some were reinforced with an all manner of things. The ceilings were a tangled mess of creepers and vines. So thick John doubted even rain could seep through. Though Mycroft replied that it would not rain here. It was against the rules. But many things that Mycroft said had to be taken with a grain of salt and a large glass of whisky.
"It's beautiful." John remarked.
"I suppose." Droned Sherlock, dragging his feet.
They entered the tall building, went up a level and finally found reception. Apparently it had a tendency to move. A weary looking man with a burst of red hair, was shuffling papers. He looked at them with suspicion and then dread. "What do you want?" He snarled, his shuffling and filing interrupted.
"One room, please for a J Watson." Mycorft responded, with an air of authority.
"No, that's not alright at all! Can't have one of you lot, rebels or renegades, coming in here like you own the place. It's bad for business. The Hounds would be on us as soon as they found."
"Because you would alert them of course, rather than help us. But that is beside the point. Mr Watson here, is in fact, a Doctor Watson. And he is not a rebel, a renegade or even a revolutionary. He is simply in need of a room." The man sighed and pulled out a yellowing piece of paper.
"I suppose he can stay then. How many nights?" John was amazed at how quickly the landlord had changed his mind. But then, like most people he'd met so far, he didn't appear to be completely sane.
"As many as are needed."
"Very well. Sign here Mr Doctor Watson." He pushed the paper forward and handed him a quill pen. The form seemed to be most gibberish. But there were X's in all the places he needed to fill out. He signed his name with a flourish and then handed the paper back. The landlord stamped his hand with a large round stamp, leaving the bright blue logo of the hotel.
Ow. John winced. He doubted that had been necessary.
"Here's your key. Mr Plum will take you to your room." Mr Plum, whose named suited him from his clothes to his plumb, reddening face, snorted and picked up the meager amount of luggage John had recently acquired.
"We leave you here, Doctor Watson. We shall see you tomorrow." Mycroft smiled, Sherlock frowned.
"You aren't staying?" No, don't be ridiculous, John. The owner of the hotel just said they couldn't! Oh, it had been a trying day.
"Too dangerous." Sherlock answered from beside the doorway.
"Yeah and because you blue up the kitchen the last time we were here."
"I did not blow it up, Lestrade!"
"I meant blue as in the colour, I hear they're still trying to scrape it off the tiles." Greg grinned to himself and John. Sherlock mumbled something along the lines of 'it was an experiment.'
"So, night, John. We have lodgings not far from here. You're be safe here for the night. Lovely meeting you!"
And with that...they had gone.
Mr Plum snorted again, which was either his own way of announcing himself or the only sound he was capable of making. He led John down several corridors and hallways until they finally arrived at Room 21. Room 21 contained a luxurious looking bed, a night stand with the oddest lamp he'd ever seen. A black bookcase, a wardrobe and there was a dark screen framed in silver was embedded into the wall. At the foot of the bed he discovered a chest, with the key and lock resting on it's top. A door to the side led to a private lavatory, sink and bath.
The entire room was bigger than his lodgings at back in London, in his world. Mr Plum threw the luggage on the bed and left the room without a snort. John closed the door behind him, then sat on the bed, testing his softness. The flowers that covered the ceiling with slowly unfurling, their petals like pale moonlight. But they didn't look entirely safe. Probably poisonous.
He opened his cases and placed his new clothes in the wardrobe. The removed his night clothes. A thin, blue top of long sleeves and loose fitting, spotted trousers. Beneath them were several pairs, in various colours, of small pants. The undergarments worn in this world. Beside those were his toiletries, most of which had to be explained to John. The ...electric razor, was especially confusing. It looked rather dangerous as well. He left that in its pack and changed. The bed was softer than he was used too and he was sure he would not be able to sleep tonight.
So many thoughts were running through his head. He was in a new world, a strange world. And he'd arrived by falling down a rabbit hole, following a rabbit that wasn't really a rabbit. To find the oddest group of people he'd ever met in his life, because they wanted him to join them on a quest to save their homeland. It sounded like a dream. It should be a dream. But it was real. It was real and that made the least sense of all.
He turned over in his bed, the birds outside cried hauntingly in the night. John closed his eyes. Sleep, Watson. Go to sleep. Maybe you will wake up and be back home.
But do you want to be?
