Xxxxxxx
The Doctor stumbled as the TARDIS shook dangerously, something big was happening. He closed the door on the cosmos, still feeling the ominous cold of that crack, how it had left him feeling like something was crawling on his skin, watching him. He tried to reset the co-ordinates to get back to Amelia, the old girl needed some practice again -she was all confused- but as he entered digits, the TARDIS spun crazily, knocking the Doctor onto the floor, crashing against the sofa.
There was a final spark that reminded him of a cough and then the TARDIS was still, her interior darker than usual. The Doctor stood up, rubbing his back; he glanced around, not liking the unhealthy demeanour of his baby.
"That's twice in one… however long it's been!" He stroked a hand over his groovy, new console, relieved when the power systems lit up and flickered under his touch, and rapidly brought the scanner screen around. He touched a few keys and suddenly a picture of outside was brought up.
"Where have you brought me, Sexy?" The Doctor murmured, studying the screen, his hands roaming through his messy, thick hair. A black splattered laboratory was outside with expensive looking equipment on metal tables and a rather large man who was staring in confusion at his TARDIS. He looked abandoned all alone in this wrecked laboratory.
"Why'd you bring me here, huh?" The Doctor murmured, his fuzzy eyebrows converging, looking at the tall, large man with long, brown locks of hair worthy of a L'Oreal advert. He paused to look at the screen a second longer before tapping the screen, turning it black, "Ah, could be fun though!"
He swivelled round, tweaking his bowtie and grinning. "Time to meet…" He frowned, unsure how to finish his sentence, he still felt all jumbled up and new. It was disconcerting, which probably explained his next word. "Moose!"
He skipped over his glass floor, charging down the steps and swinging open the door. He fell outside, and straight into a bit of weird, timey-wimey, spacey-wacey stuff. He garbled a shout between "Whoa, it's all feely!" and "Gah, moose!" as he saw the tall man from his Scanner. Who was pointing a gun straight at his face.
He was staring right at him, looking lost and slightly shocked, but not the usual 'ah, that man just came out of that box that wasn't here a minute ago', he was breathing heavily, the man looked close to breaking down. Even as The Doctor's stomach churned and he leapt away from the all the weird stuff, he was contemplating how he may have just appeared at a very bad moment. But that was just how it always was.
"Who the hell? What the hell?" Moose muttered, his American accent drawing The Doctor's attention as he waved the gun at his face. He was shaking ever so slightly, but that was to be expected, it was weird when people stepped out of 1960s London police boxes that weren't there seconds before. But it didn't mean there was a need to put a gun in their face.
"I'm the Doctor and that's a gun. And I really do not like guns so please put it away." The Doctor scowled, eyeing the man. He was wearing a worn pair of old jeans, a brown plaid shirt and a blue jacket but his clothes looked limp on him like he'd shrunk. His eyes were red but they were focused now, The Doctor had provided a good distraction it seemed.
"No. What are you?" The man growled, his hand steadying and he stepped forward, waves of confusion and anger rolling off him. The Doctor frowned, retreating slightly, hands up. This really was a bad moment.
"Look, look now. Just put the gun away, there is no need for a weapon. I haven't got anything to hurt you with and I certainly have no motivation to hurt you – except for you pointing a gun at me, but that's why we're-"
"Shut up! Tell me what you are and what you want." The Moose grunted, a dark coldness lining his words. This certainly wasn't what the doctor had expected.
"That's enough." The Doctor withdrew his sonic screwdriver, aiming at the Moose's gun as it let out its warbling sound. The Moose jerked back, firing off a few rounds redundantly. Hopefully that weapon wouldn't be usable for a while.
"What did you do?" The Moose cried, staring at the gun as though someone had died. Americans.
"Setting 92. Permanently jam gun. First time I've bothered with that setting actually, very glad it works." The Doctor nodded to himself, using this peaceful moment to properly acquaint himself with his surroundings. It really was just a messed up lab, some crushed cardboard boxes which looked suspiciously like someone had been thrown at them. A pool of black liquid on the floor and splattered on the walls yet Moose seemed unaffected so maybe he hadn't been in the room when whatever had happened had happened.
Moose looked resignedly at The Doctor, repeating once more. "Are you going to tell me what's happening or what?" The Doctor grinned, much happier with this request, it had a much less distinct taste of threatening.
"Sure, I was in my TARDIS – that blue box – when suddenly it was shaking and spinning and it landed me here where I got out and was confronted with a gun. Hello, I'm The Doctor." The Doctor held out his hand which Moose just raised his eyebrows at, but The Doctor was patient and after a minute of awkward silence Moose took it.
"Sam, my story is quite a bit longer." He still seemed wary and he let go quickly, casting his gaze around the room, a flicker of despair entering his expression.
"Well, I have plenty of time." The Doctor smiled gently.
Xxxxxxx
Sam was still getting over the fact Dean was gone. Crowley had took the prophet and left with the news that Sam still had to keep the Leviathans from getting organised again but this time it would be on his own because Dean was gone, along with Castiel and Bobby had been burnt to ashes and all the Hunters they knew were either dead or still bristling over the fact the Winchesters had brought the Devil up. He was utterly alone.
Until the British hipster guy turned up, calling himself the Doctor. Saying he'd come from the tiny blue box now parked in the corner of the room where Dick had exploded. Sam didn't even know what to make of him except he really didn't like having a gun pointed at him, which was reasonable, and he was weird because people don't appear out of nowhere unless they're demons or angels. But Crowley had no need to contact him, he'd been here seconds ago, and angels didn't usually turn up in old fashioned blue telephone boxes or waving about strange multiple setting wand things.
"You still haven't told me what you are." Sam reminded The Doctor, less wary now. Though he was weird he seemed pretty harmless, if he'd wanted to hurt him surely he'd have done it by now.
"Okay, promise you'll keep any weapons out of this discussion?" The Doctor waited until Sam nodded. Then he edged towards his blue box – TARDIS- standing in front of the doors.
"Right, I'm a Timelord from the planet Gallifrey and this is my spaceship, the TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimension I-" The Doctor began but Sam couldn't hold in his disbelief for long. Did this guy think he was funny?
"You're a freaking alien? That's what you're telling me! Did someone put you up to this? Gabriel?" Sam suddenly burst out, he felt the need to get his knife out but he kept his hands down, no weapon would do him any good if this was Gabriel's doing. Sam shook his head; Gabriel sure couldn't have picked a worst time to mess with his head.
"Yes! I'm an alien, a Timelord!" The Doctor exhaled in relief, taking his outburst for something other than disbelief apparently, and promptly opened the doors to his "spaceship". Sam didn't even want to look, he imagined some sick parody of a spaceship, a probing machine and a disco ball where they'd later slow dance if Gabriel still had the same sense of humour since death. But as he pushed away his doubts long enough to peer inside, his jaw dropped, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Nothing like what he would expect of Gabriel. He moved forward unconsciously, staring at the stairs and the console and the room ten times the size of the box he could see.
"What? How?" The questions left him without his permission. He touched the door, it was solid and real, what was happening?
"It's a TARDIS. Like I was explaining, Time and Relative Dimension In Space, basically its bigger on the inside." The Doctor added when Sam looked at him, his hand holding his forehead as he tried to absorb this.
"Go in, it'll help." The Doctor grinned, pride evident in his voice but Sam could barely concentrate on The Doctor as he took a step inside, his feet landing on a solid, glass floor, he almost fell forward. He had been expecting this hallucination to end.
"And you're an alien…" Sam murmured, walking up the steps that shouldn't have been in such a small space.
"Yep!" The Doctor shouted gleefully, happy that Sam was beginning to accept it. Sam cupped his jaw, staring round at the stairs leading up and down into other areas. It was huge.
"There's a library, a pool, some squash courts, my own wardrobe. It's great in here." The Doctor studied Sam, and Sam looked back.
"Then why do you look like humans?" He took in The Doctors form, though he was strange looking with floppy, brown hair and wore weird clothes like that tweed jacket and the bowtie and red suspenders he was definitely human looking.
"Actually Timelords came first so you look Timelord. Now, I've told you everything about me, what happened here?" The Doctor looked more serious, his eyes sweeping over his TARDIS and then back to Sam as if he was part of a puzzle and he was trying to see where he fit.
Sam sighed, giving in. This alien was probably the only guy who could help him anyway.
"This is a long story. Have you heard of Leviathans?" The Doctor shook his head, intrigued. And so Sam explained how it had took everything to bring them to this point.
Xxxxx
"Um, John Watson. We booked a room for a night." John gestured to himself and Sherlock and the woman nodded, her eyes lingering on Sherlock longer than John thought necessary.
"Right. Oh, um, there seems to be a mistake. It says twin room; do you want me to change it?" The woman looked up, totally confident in her assumptions and John was so close to shouting he was not gay but he shoved it down, forcing a polite smile.
"Um, no. A twin room is what I asked for. Thank you." The woman looked surprised but she didn't push him, after signing the appropriate documents they finally got their key and took their luggage up to their room. Sherlock watching everyone, probably deducing who was an alcoholic, having an affair and just being Sherlock.
John just couldn't wait to go to sleep, the flight had been long. He'd flown long distances before but ten hours with Sherlock moaning and fidgeting because he wasn't able to sit perched on his seat like at home had strained him direly. Sherlock had ended up bitching about half of the people on the flight which just wasn't cool, not when they were in an enclosed space for ten hours in mid-air and the majority were Americans.
John didn't know if he'd ever forgive Mycroft for sending them here. He kept thinking that he'd have to endure the same thing all over again when they went back, the idea made him cringe.
"You okay, John?" Sherlock asked, looking sharp as ever, seemingly unaffected by jetlag. John felt only dislike and dread. If Sherlock stayed this alert, he may not be able to get any sleep.
"Fine, tired. Aren't you?" John sighed, seeing Sherlock staring at a woman trying to get into her room. She looked completely plastered if John was honest.
"That's the fifth time she's put that key into the door." Sherlock murmured before charging off and taking the girl's arm. She looked groggily up at him, not seeming concerned at all that a strange man had roughly stolen her limb.
"Are you okay, madam?" Sherlock asked directly, John grimaced, rolling his eyes.
The woman giggled, "you're British!" She then sobered slightly and slurred "I can't get into my room."
John raised an eyebrow. It was still only 7pm, a bit early for her to be this drunk.
"Let me see that." Sherlock whipped the key from her hand, looking at the number; he gave her the look he usually reserved for Anderson.
"You're at the wrong door, that's why. It's this one." He pulled her roughly down the hall, dragging her till she was standing outside her room.
"Sherlock!" John hissed, no matter how drunk she was, this woman might remember in the morning and there was no Lestrade or Mycroft in the USA to help them if they got in trouble.
"Shh, John." He scowled at John, pulling his 'don't you see how serious this is?' face. Sherlock turned back to the woman. "Would you like me to open it for you?" The woman looked in a daze, still trying to comprehend how she had got here and why.
John couldn't help but feel sorry for her, Sherlock really didn't have any social etiquette, it wasn't fair for this woman to get dragged into his obsessions.
"Why are we doing this, Sherlock?" John growled, keeping an eye out for anyone who might suspect what two men were doing with this intoxicated woman. He sighed, this was so bad.
'Oh, come on, John." Sherlock groaned, opening the door and striding inside as though this was completely normal. He pulled the woman inside and meaningfully eyed the door so John closed it.
"This woman is acting stoned and yet I smell no drugs on her breath, her eyes aren't dilated nor are there any other symptoms of drug usage. She's dressed in a business suit that's either shrunk or she's gaining weight exponentially, her nails look they were once manicured regularly but now are chipped and…" Sherlock grabbed her handbag, the woman looked confused for a moment then pottered off to turn on the telly and sat on her bed. John watched her, unbelieving. Even a drunk person would have reacted by now, called the police or tried to punch Sherlock, he would have.
"Ah, ha! Yes, and she's carrying around a bag full of food, yet look at her, this is a woman who cares or at least used to care about her appearance. Her nails and highlighted hair and suit all suggest this. But now she's just a lazy moron." John was still staring at the three wrapped burgers Sherlock had pulled out of her Prada handbag as Sherlock paced, his hands roaming through his hair like he did when he was so close to realizing something.
He picked up one of them; it was cold and slimy in his hands. He removed the layer, and then cried out in shock as the burger gurgled and released a burst of blue slime. He covered his mouth, feeling sick but he held it in. He'd still seen plenty worse, this was just weird.
"Oh, this is just perfect. I think we've caught onto something already, John. Though this seems a big large-scale for Moriarty, you know, not very personal." Sherlock seemed almost giddy as he picked up the burger, examining the slime.
"Well, I think I've got everything here. Bye, Madam, thank you for letting us in!" Sherlock waved, opening the door and leaving, excited about his new discovery.
The woman didn't even acknowledge their absence.
xxxxxx