Title: Cause and Effect
Disclaimer:
I neither own Doctor Who nor Transformers. Both belong to all respective creators, producers, and distributors. I make no money from this work of fiction.
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sam, 11th Doctor, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson
Summary: Sometimes the Doctor meets his Companions out of order. Sam is decidedly not pleased when this happens.
Important Note: Because Time is not a linear progression and is instead a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-whimey... Stuff.

Chapter 12: The Mind and the Heart

Sam shut the door of 209C with more force than was necessary and tossed a bag onto the coffee table and in the same motion, flopped down onto the sofa with a groan. He slung an arm over his eyes and sighed. It really didn't matter how much of a genius he was, in the medical field, it was simply not done to test out, no matter how tedious a class was. As a result, Sam, who had gotten used to the fast track life of the Tardis and testing in and out of classes in Princeton and Cambridge, found himself bored out of his skull traversing his training the long way at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Funnily enough, boredom was more exhausting than running down successive stretches of corridors for one's life. Still, if it hadn't meant that his peers in St. Bartholomew's would have given him evil looks and that he'd likely find it rather difficult to find work in the future, Sam would have gladly tested out of several classes the way he had in Princeton and Cambridge. Still, he hated the slow route. Give him adventures and adrenaline any day. Anything as long as it was not this mind numbing stretch of boredom.

A quiet click drifts up the stairs. There is gentle grinding noise, lower than the human ear can hear. Sam turns his head so his right ear is aimed at the door. He hears the tmptmptmptmp of quiet footfalls. Based on the patterns and the differences in impact, two people, the timing between each footfall showed that one was taller than the other and one weighed less than the other. The unconscious psychic emanations that Sam could just barely feel because of his half-breed status indicated excitement and vague annoyance and exasperation, but no malice. Whomever was coming had no ill intent, the only problem being that they were heading straight down the stairs for the basement flat and the two were strangers.

"Walk quieter, John!" a low baritone hissed, "He'll know we're here!"

"If the Doctor's in, then he already knows we're here, Sherlock," a different voice murmured, a vague hint of exasperated affection slipping into his voice.

Sam felt a pang of annoyance. Another case of people knowing him before he knew them then. Lovely. He'd never liked such situations, after all, look at what happened with Mel and River. Or better yet, look at what occurred because of Mel and River, see how he'd always second guessed himself when dealing with the two, worried that he might upset the timeline with a misstep. Thank goodness that such encounters were rare, even with the multiple different versions of himself floating around the universe at any given time.

There was a soft clattering from the door, the sound of a lock being picked. Sam made the snap decision to nip the situation in the bud.

"Whomever you are, leave that lock alone and go away!"

"Don't be silly, Doctor," the baritone replied, "Let us in."

"Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!"

There was a pause and the owner of the baritone said in a confused tone, "Was that supposed to be a no?" while the other voice sniggered.

"That's a rather vehement, 'No,' Sherlock."

"Well, why didn't he just say so?"

"When, in all of time and space, has the Doctor ever given us a straight answer?"

"Good point. Still, we're coming in, Doctor!"

"Rassilon forbid that I ever have Companions who do as they are told," Sam muttered and closed his eyes as the lock clicked and the door swung open.

"If we were prone to doing as we were told, we would be boring, and you would never have taken us onto the Tardis," The owner of the Baritone announced as he flounced into the room, swishing his coat dramatically. The other man followed more sedately after closing the door behind them.

"You look like you had a long day, Doctor," he remarked.

"Why are you in London anyway?" Sherlock demanded, "You're normally rushing about in the Tardis, and here you are taking the long way."

"I've taken the long route before you know," Sam murmured, "Most of the time, my life does not involve running down corridors or city streets being shot at."

"But it's much more interesting!" Sherlock protested.

"Nope. Nothing doing. Future Companions, out!"

"Oh," Sherlock paused, "You haven't met us yet."

"And now I have. Out please."

Like all other Companions he'd ever had, they ignore him when he orders them, but when he asks nicely, they obey. The two leave.

"Um…" the other voice said cautiously, "I'll leave our numbers and address here. Call us or drop by when you feel better, Doctor."

There is the sound of a card being set on the table, heavy, uneven footsteps are muffled by the door clicking shut and the murmur of voices from the hall fade as they climb the stairs. Sam turns his head and cracks an eye open at the card propped up against his bag.

"Sherlock Holmes and Captain John H. Watson MD. Consulting Detectives."

Sam sat upright, starring incredulously at the card.

"What on Gallifrey?"

~*~

End