Mondo thanks to everyone who favourited, alerted or reviewed this story; it gives me warm fuzzies! Also, if you're a fan of Jim/Molly, I've another story called 'Anti-Ordinary' (which is mostly just a humour fic) and I would be honoured if you would check it out. Muchos gracias! ~Hayley (JJ).
2.
The Doctor fumbled around the TARDIS, looking for some source of light. A torch, perhaps. Or even a candle would do. He knew he should've put one where it could be found easily if needed but, really, when did the TARDIS lights ever go out upon landing? Never. That's when.
"Okay," The Doctor began reasoning with himself. "There was a big bang and then the lights went out." He scratched his head. "That's probably not good-no, that's definitely not good." He reached into his pocket and snatched his Sonic Screwdriver, using its light to attempt to see around the TARDIS interior. Green. Not a good colour for the TARDIS, he decided. He used the Sonic to guide himself towards the TARDIS console, almost tripping over his own feet twice on the way there.
"And The Doctor said 'let there be light'," He flicked a switch.
Nothing happened. "And there... Wasn't?" His brow furrowed. "What?" He Sonic-ed a few things here and there, as per usual when he didn't know what to do, and still nothing. "Right then." He said, looking towards the door. "Time to see what's out there." He glided towards the door in a way only The Doctor could. "This could be extraordinarily dangerous." He said to no-one in particular. "Cool."
The Doctor pulled a stethoscope from his inner pocket—it had been a while since he'd used it but, if your pockets are bigger on the inside, it's always handy to have around. Placing it against the door, he shushed the room. "Quiet," He whispered. "Ssh." Listening intently, he could just make out bits and pieces of what someone—or something—was saying on the other side of the TARDIS.
"Sherlock," John looked, rather curiously at his housemate. "Does it really matter whether or not this thing is real?" He stepped away from the box, but never moved his eyes off of his friend. "Shouldn't the question be what it's doing in our kitchen?"
"You always ask the wrong questions, John." Sherlock sighed. "No wonder you never get anywhere."
John made a point not to be offended by that comment and instead just rolled his eyes and scoffed lightly.
"Well," He said, rather stubbornly. "Let me know when you figure out why the box being a fake is important. I'll be down in the cafe. Okay?"
A pause.
"Okay?"
No response.
"Sherlock."
Again, nothing.
"Yeah, alright then." John said wistfully. "I'm taking your card. Might do a bit of shopping. Maybe get myself one of those electric razors..." Still no response. "Or a new phone..." Nothing. "Or a car."
"Get yourself a call girl if you wish, John. Whatever you like, just once you stop talking." Sherlock told John in a monotonous tone.
"Right." John muttered, heading for the door. "I'll see you later, then." He grabbed his coat, and half-slammed the door behind himself.
"Laterz!" Sherlock called; his hands moving up to his chin, all the while never taking his eyes off the Police Box.
Almost fifteen minutes of intense staring had passed before Sherlock pressed his ear to the door of the Police Box. "What the..." He trailed, hearing the low hum of an engine coming from its interior. He took a step back from the box, giving it a once over with his pale green eyes. "What on earth is inside you?"
The Doctor jumped as the lights in the TARDIS shimmered back to life. It was only momentary, however, for, no sooner were they lit, than the TARDIS went dull again. "What's wrong with you, then? Eh, Sexy?" He asked, scanning the area around himself. Putting his stethoscope back in his interior pocket, he skipped towards the TARDIS console. Stoking it gently, his brow furrowed. It was stone cold. In fact, he realised, taking a step back out of shock, it was stone. "What?" He dropped to his knees, frantically trying to find the source of this wizardry. "No, this can't-"
But he was cut off, mid sentence, by a knocking on the TARDIS door. His head snapped around to face the door, and he shut his eyes; praying to whatever god that would listen to him that he had miscounted the knocks. But, of course, he knew that he hadn't.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Sherlock knocked at the door of the Police Box and then straightened up. He knew he was being ridiculous- knocking on the door of a Police Box for crying out loud—but, no sooner had he done it, he regretted it.
"John?" He called apprehensively, as the room went cold around him and the lights went out. He looked around the flat, his eyes darting into corners and narrowing at the shadows. He'd never been a superstitious person but, even as a sceptic, he knew that this couldn't be good.
Thanks again for reading, guys! It means the world. :)