Doctor Who: 221b Chapter 8
"Kill them!" Charles the Bald shouted across the throne room as he pointed furiously at the Doctor, Sherlock, and John.
The guards advanced on the trio before Sherlock held up his hands and shouted "Stop!"
Briefly, the guards stopped.
"It is my understanding you like public executions of Northmen, no?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes." Charles replied, noticeably confused by the question.
"And you already have a store of Northmen in the dungeon awaiting execution?"
"Indeed."
"Why kill three now when you can execute three more later?" Sherlock asked.
"I like this Northman." Charles said. "He shows brains and courage, do as he says. We will execute him in a glorious fashion. Pray to your gods; Northman, they cannot help you now."
"Sherlock, what was that?" John asked.
"Buying time." He whispered.
They were led down several flights of stairs. The farther they went, the darker everything became. Soon, the torches on the wall became small candles until there was no light at all. Darkness crept up in every corner as the guard opened a metal door none of them could see.
One by one they were shoved into the darkness and left alone to rot. Shackles were placed on their wrists and the door was chained three times.
"Excessive for three Vikings." John said.
"Baldy isn't taking any chances." The Doctor said. "Paris is under siege."
"So, Sherlock." John began. "Do you even have a plan for getting us out of here?"
"I may be a genius, but I never said I plan far ahead."
"We don't even have a light." John complained.
The whir of the screwdriver piped up as the green glow illuminated most of the cell. "What was that about light?"
"Is there something that screwdriver doesn't do?" John asked.
"Make pizza." The Doctor replied with a faint grin.
Chains began to rattle in the corner. Curious, the Doctor pointed the screwdriver at the dark corner to see who or what was making the noise.
Huddled in the corner was none other than Mr. Holmes. His Victorian Era clothes were torn and his shoes and socks removed, exposing bare feet to the cold underground room.
"Who are you people?" Mr. Holmes asked.
"We're the inventors you met on Baker Street some hours ago."
"More like one thousand and forty one years from now." John muttered.
"What was that invention?" Mr. Holmes asked.
"Well, Mr. Holmes, our invention was a machine that carries a person through time."
Mr. Holmes' expression went blank.
"Okay, you met us in 1886, we are from 2016 and we are currently in 845. Understand now?" Sherlock said forcefully.
Holmes didn't reply.
"Sherlock?" The Doctor asked.
"Yes?" Both Sherlock and Holmes said.
"No, him." The Doctor pointed at Sherlock. "Telling someone that not only are we a millennia in the past but that we are from a century into his future doesn't help, it makes things worse!"
"I'm impatient." Sherlock defended.
"This much is true!" John interjected.
"Oh, don't get involved, John!" Sherlock shot back.
"Oi!" The Doctor shouted. "I have a way out, and now that Mr. Holmes here is safe with us and not Moriarty, we can go now."
The Doctor stood up, pointed the screwdriver at his shackles and let them fall harmlessly off his wrists. He calmly walked to the door and pointed the useful tool at it. The chains snapped and the door swung open.
"Mission Impossible style." The Doctor said.
"Doctor?" John said.
"Yes?"
"Never reference Mission Impossible again please." He asked.
The Doctor scoffed and walked through the door. Humming the Mission Impossible theme song as he went. John and Sherlock exited the cell with Holmes in tow. Looking down the corridor, they saw Charles himself with ten guards behind him.
"He told me you'd try to escape!" He called.
"Who did?" The Doctor called back.
"Moriarty. He said you'd be here, Sherlock. That you'd come for Monsieur Holmes. Well, he was right."
"So, Mr. Baldy. How do you plan to kill us? Ten men with swords versus a Time Lord with a screwdriver?"
"No. That is why Moriarty gave us the Knights."
"Knights?"
Five Cybermen marched out in unison from behind the soldiers. Their plated chests were painted with the colors of France and their heads were designed to resemble French knight helms.
"Knights, be a dear and kill them all." Charles ordered.
"You will be deleted." The Cybermen said.
"Yes, yes, whatever that means." Charles replied.
"So," John said. "You have a sewer to drop these ones in?"
"Not exactly. I have charm."
The Doctor stepped forward to meet the advancing robots.
"You!" He shouted, making the Cybermen stop. "You want to delete someone? Delete them!"
The Cybermen stood still for a moment before turning around to face the soldiers.
"What are you doing? Destroy them!" Charles commanded.
"The Cybermen have no allegiance to Moriarty, Your Highness. Whatever orders he gives them can be easily counteracted. Only, someone from the Medieval age doesn't understand computing enough to order them around effectively."
"You will be deleted." The Cybermen called as the soldiers and the King of France ran back up the stairs.
The Doctor turned to face his three cohorts. "Just another day at the office.