John shot. The bullet pierced through Dean's shoulder, ripping through leather and flesh and burying itself in the wall behind the hunter. Dean cursed loudly and dropped his gun, his hand flying to his shoulder. John acted instantly, scooping the girl into his arms and backing towards Sherlock, angling himself so that the girl was almost behind him.
Sam rushed to his brother as he crumpled to the floor. Dean was still cursing, gripping his shoulder tightly. Blood ran through his fingers and onto the floor.
"Dean! Are you ok?!" Sam asked, moving his brother's hand so that he could look at the wound. Dean shot a look at John that would have dropped the doctor dead if looks could kill.
A loud whooshing sound suddenly filled the room. Everyone froze. The sound was coming from the kitchen, a sudden draft blowing papers off tables and ruffling everyone's hair. Slowly, everyone turned their heads to the kitchen. John gasped. Sherlock stiffened.
A big blue police public call box from the 1950's was sitting delicately in the kitchen, tucked neatly into a corner.
"That's not possible." Sherlock breathed. John stood still in shock. He blinked multiple times before raising a hand and rubbing his eyes, only to open them and still see the box. One of the front doors creaked open the wrong way. A man stepped out.
The man wore a tan brown jacket with leather patches over the elbows. The simple yet dressy undershirt was accented by a dark blue bow tie that was secured snugly around his neck. Nestled in his brown hair sat a bright red fez with a golden tassel. The man looked around briefly before saying, "Oops. Wrong room."
Two other people stepped out of the box, a redheaded woman and another brown-haired man. The redhead had her arms crossed and was observing her surroundings curiously. The other man was doing the same but seemed more tentative.
It took the trio a few moments to realize that other people were in the room. The man with the fez grinned widely. "Ello!" He greeted, doing a little bow. "Sorry about this, TARDIS is a bit on the fritz lately. We'll be out of your hair in a few ticks."
"Is… is that a phone booth?" Dean asked, fear and confusion clear in his voice. The more tentative man looked over at him and instantly noticed his shoulder. Saying something about being a nurse, he kneeled beside Dean and gently removed his hand from the wound. Dean let him, still in a state of utter shock.
"Doctor, he's been shot," The man said, taking a close look at Dean's shoulder. "I'm Rory by the way."
"What do you mean doctor?" John asked, ignoring the nurse's introduction. "You don't look like a doctor."
"Neither do you." Sherlock and the man with the fez said in unison. They stared at each other for a moment before the 'Doctor' made his way over to Dean, observing over Rory's shoulder.
"So, you're a doctor too, yeah?" The Doctor asked John over his shoulder. John just stared at him and slowly nodded. "Well, do you feel like helping out any or are you just going to let this nice man bleed out?"
"U-um, I…" John trailed off then shook his head to clear it. "I'm the one who shot him."
The Doctor stood instantly, spinning on his heels and approaching John with a hardened look in his eyes. John swallowed, facing the taller man bravely as he was towered over. The grip on his pistol tightened at the Doctor drew closer.
The Doctor reached down and took the barrel of the gun, wrenching it from John's hand. Without looking away from the soldier, he threw the gun at the window, shattering the glass in the process.
"No one will be shooting anyone, thank you." The Doctor said sternly. After a moment of silence, he spun on his heels and went back to Dean. John released a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.
As the Doctor and Rory hovered over Dean, Sam noticed something. "Where'd the girl go?"
"What girl?" The asked the Doctor. John glanced down and around himself, cursing softly. The Doctor spun around and scanned the room, finding the child by the window.
"Oh, that girl! Oh, yes. You're not human are you." He began to inspect her closer, circling the child. "But what are you? You have all the parts for a human, but... you're empty." He narrowed his eyes and met hers. A gruff, yet weak voice echoed from across the room, Dean was still bleeding.
"That's because the son of a bitch is a demon who we've been hunting for months, isn't that right Lailah?" Dean coughed. The girl locked eyes with the man in the fez.
"My vessel is human, you've had experiences with vessels before you know how they work. You've had 12, isn't that correct? This is my 858th. Their bodies can't hold me. This is my 5th one since the hunters over there have begun tracking me." She said, nodding her head at the brothers.
"This one is noticeably the best so far. It's funny, you wouldn't expect that from a child. I believe she might actually last for a good month." All the people and alien glared in cold blood at the girl. The redhead woman was the first to speak.
"Demons aren't real. Who are you? What happened to the girl you're possessing?"
"She's dead. No need to worry about her anymore." Spoke Laihah. Sam and Dean exchanged empty looks while John shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. Sherlock had his eyes locked on the girl, no doubt deducing everything he possibly could about her.
"The sooner you accept that demons, monsters, and everything that goes bump in the night is real, the easier this will be. What are all of you anyway? We haven't seen anything like you or your 'TARDIS'... Are you an angel that went rogue?" Sam, who had torn a blanket and wrapped it around his brother's arm, questioned. The Doctor responded almost immediately.
"I'm an alien, I suppose. I'm from the planet Gallifrey and I've been alive for 1,643 years. My planet was destroyed, so I help others… I'm the last of my race. I've tended to favor Earth, though; you're simple creatures. But never have I meet anything 'supernatural.' May I?" He asked the girl, indicating to her arm to inspect.
"Don't touch me." The girl hissed. Her eyes turned pure black for a mere blink. Everyone in the room but the brothers and the child gasped, the loudest being Sherlock Holmes. He stumbled backward, his mind reeling.
"You're not possible. NONE OF THIS IS POSSIBLE." He quickly grabbed John's shoulders. "MYCROFT PUT YOU UP TO THIS!" He accused. "HOW DID YOU DO IT? DID YOU DO IT TO SEE IF I FOUND THE HEROIN STASH?!"
John, noticeably shaken, spoke quietly. "No, I'm just as clueless as you…"
"See? We told you so!" Yelled Dean. "Now help us take care of it!"
"Ok, ok, everyone just calm down." The nurse said, raising his hands in a calming manner. "If anyone is going to do anything, it will be introducing themselves. I'm Rory, as I said earlier," he said, pointing to his chest, "and this is my wife, Amy." He gestured to the redhead, who waved upon being called out.
"My name is Sam Winchester and this is my brother, Dean," Sam announced, still hovering close to his injured brother.
"I'm the Doctor, as most of you know by now." The Doctor said, announcing himself with a wide smile.
John took a deep breath, attempting and ultimately failing to calm himself. "Dr. John Watson. This is my friend Sherlock." He said, motioning to himself then to the still internally panicking Sherlock. "I swear he's usually much more collected than this, but… well, you know." John straightened his rumpled jumper awkwardly, clearing his throat as he did so.
Rory nodded to him in understanding. Then, he clasped his hands together. "Alright, now that that's settled…" He trailed off, turning to the Doctor. "What are we doing again?"
"How about helping this man out?" Amy reminded him, kneeling next to Dean, "Dean, was it?"
"Well," Dean smirked, a flirty tone in his voice, "you can call me anything you like, sweetheart."
"Don't call me sweetheart," Amy responded coldly, backing up a bit to let Rory through to continue his examination. Dean winced slightly as his wound was exposed once again.
"Oh, come on, sugar. How about after all this is over, you and I go to the bar for a drink or two? You know, just the two-OW!" Dean cut himself off as pain shot through his shoulder. He turned to Rory, growling, "What the heck are you doing over there?!"
"Oh, sorry," Rory murmured, voice portraying no emotion, "just don't appreciate you hitting on my wife." The last word held some malice. Dean took the hint, huffing and going silent.
Silence filled the room for a few moments. John cleared his throat awkwardly before saying, "So, um, shall I prepare some tea?"
The Doctor spun on his heels to face the soldier. He smiled warmly. "Yes, please do." John nodded, smiling politely back at him. Then, he walked into the kitchen rather stiffly. Soon, the resumed silence was filled with the gentle clinking that followed the preparation of tea.
Rory broke the near silence next. "It looks like the bullet went right through. All I need to do is clean the wound and wrap it up properly, then you should be good to go." He looked to Amy. "Could you go ask John if he has a first-aid kit?"
Amy nodded, trotting to the kitchen where she found the blond man filling some mugs. He jumped slightly on her approach.
"Sorry, didn't hear you at first." He muttered, looking fairly troubled and very tired. Amy felt sympathy for him. He had been forced to swallow a lot of unnerving information in just less than an hour, and his flatmate was obviously no help to the situation.
"Um, do you have a first-aid kit around here?" She asked, leaning on the counter. John nodded and left the mugs, exiting the kitchen without a word. He returned shortly, carrying a red and white box in his hands.
"Thanks," Amy said, taking the box from him with a smile. John smiled back at her out of politeness. Amy debated asking him if he was ok but decided against it. Instead, she left him to his tea and went back into the living room.
As Amy delivered the first-aid kit to Rory, Sherlock, who had seated himself shortly after John went into the kitchen, sprang to his feet and began frantically moving things. The Doctor looked at him curiously.
"What are you looking for?" The Doctor asked, watching the detective as he threw things around.
"Nicotine patches," Sherlock replied breathlessly. He continued searching, muttering something about a five patch problem. "JOHN!" Sherlock screamed, throwing things more violently now. "WHERE IS MY 21 MILLIGRAM STASH?"
"I'm not telling you, Sherlock." John's exasperated voice sounded from the kitchen. "You've been doing so good, why stop now?"
"I WOULD THINK THAT WOULD BE OBVIOUS!" Sherlock shouted back angrily. The Doctor dodged books and other things that whizzed by his head. He grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders. Spinning the detective around, the Time Lord looked him in the eyes.
"Stop. If you apply five patches like you say you're going to, you will overdose and probably die." The Doctor said sternly. He gently sat Sherlock back down, patting him on the head and draping part of the torn blanket over his head. Amy stared at the scene for a moment. She gave a confused look to the Doctor and an indication with her hands pointing at the detective. The Doctor responded with a hush and a statement.
"He's in shock, he'll be just fine… in a few hours… or months."
"I am not in shock! I'm perfectly fine!" Sherlock, voice muffled by the blanket, protested. John then stuck his head out of the kitchen. "Sherlock! Mind palace!"
"Yes… mind palace… I'll be back in a few minutes…" Sherlock mumbled in return then became silent.
"Umm, John…" Sam started, "what is a mind palace, and is he ok?" John emerged holding a tray of tea cups and a kettle in his hands.
"It's where all of his memories and knowledge is stored," John replied simply, setting the tray down and falling into his chair. He takes a tea mug, swirling the creamy liquid absentmindedly.
"How long does he stay like that?" Rory asked, looking concerned. John shrugged and took a long drink.
"It depends. Usually about 45 minutes. This time though, it'll probably be about an hour and a half, maybe two." John stared into his mug. Then, he chuckled dryly. "He usually doesn't even notice when I go out. He'll come out of it and talk to himself."
Amy exchanged a look with Rory. After a moment of quiet, the Doctor clapped.
"I'm starving," he announced, "how about we go get dinner? I know this amazing place just a few ticks away."
John got up, setting his cup down and grabbing a coat. "I'll get a cab." He offered, then hesitated. "Actually, we might need two…"
"Nonsense!" The Doctor proclaims, "the best ride in the galaxy is in your kitchen!"
"Right… I forgot about that." said Dean "Normally, I would be freaking out right about now, but I'm starving and this day can't get any stranger."
"That would be where you're wrong," Rory responded. Dean swallowed nervously.
The Doctor marched over to the TARDIS and waved everyone over with a knowing smile. The three that were unfamiliar with the TARDIS approached tentatively, apprehensive about what was going to happen.
"Are you ready?" The Doctor asked, his smile growing more and more. The three looked at each other, then back at the Doctor. Taking that as a yes, the Doctor snapped his fingers and both doors opened.
Sam and Dean gaped at the sight. Sam rubbed his eyes, blinking a few times to see if what was before him was real. Dean kept mumbling about how this shouldn't be possible. John, however, just took a very deep breath and said, "Ok," before walking in.
"That was an… unexpected reaction." The Doctor said, sounding disappointed. "No one said-"
"It's bigger on the inside..." Sam murmured.