And for those people who aren't quite as into classic who...Lethbridge-Stewart is the Brigadier, one of the founders of UNIT, Kate Stewart's father, and one of the Doctor's best friends.
"Sherlock Holmes to see Lethbridge-Stewart," the tall, trench coated man said, flashing an official ID at the lady at the UNIT reception desk.
"Straight through the doors on the end, third door on your left," the receptionist said in a bored voice. Sherlock walked off without another word.
He hadn't any idea when he took this case how interesting it would be. Working for the top-secret government organization known as Torchwood was a new experience, even for him. When they wanted him to track down this supposed "alien", he thought it was a joke, at first. Perhaps Torchwood was simply attempting to deter him from another case that they thought he might take on in the near future. However, he simply could not deny the amount of evidence littered across the internet: photos that where clearly not photoshopped, evidence that was clearly not faked. All this was scattered across the entire history of the Earth if one simply knew where to look. This job could still be a very clever governmental ruse, but there was one type of evidence that could not be denied: firsthand experience. If he could talk to someone who knew this…Doctor, then he would be able to determine whether or not he was real.
He entered into the office to see the man, a dignified-looking grey-haired man who was diligently writing some paper or another.
"Mister Holmes, I presume," Lethbridge-Stewart said, looking up at Sherlock.
"Correct," the consulting detective said, filling the seat across from the elderly man. "I assume you know why I'm here?"
"I know that you're hunting the Doctor," Lethbridge-Stewart said. "I suppose it was only a matter of time."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and the ex-brigadier elaborated: "I did a simple background check on the Doctor when I took over the position of Brigadier all those years ago. I know that he was banished from the country and that Torchwood is hunting him."
"Then why haven't you done your duty and assisted the investigation?" the resident of Baker Street asked.
Lethbridge-Stewart leaned in. "Because he's a good man."
"And you're going to allow a criminal to escape because you believe him to be a good man?" Sherlock responded. "Everyone at Torchwood believes that he's a menace. An alien who will come at the head of an invading army of little green men to destroy the planet."
At that moment, a gangly man in a tweed jacket, a crimson bow tie, and a matching beret entered into the office behind a pile of paperwork, which he slammed onto Lethbridge-Stewart's desk.
"There you go!" He said, plopping his beret onto the UNIT founder, "Work done, all the I's are dotted and the T's are crossed, everything is alphabetized and numberatized and cross-indexed and it's all fab."
"Good gracious, Mr. Smith." Lethrbridge-Stewart said, examining the huge pile of work. "You did all this in the amount of time I gave you?"
"And had a nice chat with that Osgood Lady. She sounds cool enough to get a promotion." He turned to Sherlock. "And you must be Mr. Holmes. I knew another guy named Holmes once. He had a striking resemblance to Tony Stark."
"If you wouldn't mind waiting outside for a bit, Mr. Smith," Lethbridge-Stewart said somewhat wearily, "I would just like to finish my conversation with Mr. Holmes before you can take him to the location we discussed."
"Right-o!" The man turned and left from the room, his enthusiasm not dampened in the slightest after being kicked out.
"So, what do you think of the Doctor?" the founder of UNIT asked.
"I think he's a very elaborate fake," Sherlock said without emotion. "Some kind of hoax someone is pulling on me in order to distract me from something important."
Lethbridge-Stewart snorted. "Sometimes I wish he had been a hoax. Sometimes I fool myself into thinking that it had all been a dream: shop window dummies coming to life and rolling pepper-pots attacking peace conferences and the entire UNIT headquarters transported to some strange alien planet in the middle of nowhere…but it all happened, Mr. Holmes, I can assure you, and the Doctor isn't a threat. On the contrary, he's a trusted ally and a friend. Without him none of us would be here today, I can assure you."
Sherlock couldn't believe the man was real. Obviously, Torchwood was doing quite the good job if this was a hoax, the poor man believed every single word of what he was saying. On the other hand, if this wasn't a hoax…
"But I can see that my testimony alone cannot persuade you." Lethbridge-Stewart said. "Perhaps talking to the Doctor in person will help ease your remaining doubts. Mr. Smith will take you to talk to him now."
"Thank you," Sherlock said, politely rising and leaving from the room.
After the helm of Sherlock's cloak had vanished from the room, Lethbridge-Stewart added fondly, "And it's nice to see you again, Sherlock Holmes."
"Love the scarf," Mr. Smith added as he led Sherlock down the hallway.
"Thank you," Sherlock said without gratitude. "Your bow tie is quite charming. I hate it when people go out of their way to make their outfits drab and dreary."
Fascinating, the consulting detective thought as he watched the man blather on about how cool his bow tie was. He seems to be beaming with happiness over the fact that I like his bow tie…I assumed when he complimented my scarf that he was simply attempting to get on my good side, but he wouldn't blabber on like this unless he's either an incompetent member of UNIT staff or just overly excitable…perhaps both…or I'm looking for signs of deceit that are not there…
"Right then!" Mr. Smith said, leading Sherlock into a deserted parking lot at the back of the UNIT headquarters, "I want you to analyze that for me." He pointed to an ordinary, but out of place, blue police box at the edge of the parking lot. "If you do, I swear I'll let you talk to the Doctor."
A test, Sherlock mused, to see if I am who I say I am, perhaps, or maybe he's going to attempt to convince me that that box is bigger on the inside. Sherlock approached the box and began to touch it, examining it in an attempt to figure out what Mr. Smith wanted him to uncover.
This hoax theory looks very dim at this point. He thought, as he turned back to Mr. Smith, who had pulled out some kind of Nintendo handheld system and was playing away on it.
"Well?" He said, putting away his game.
"It's interesting." Sherlock said. "Not only is it new, and I am quite certain that police boxes have not been constructed in quite some time. It is also apparently not attached to the ground. The box is much heavier than it should be, given the material and volume, and the lock is designed to incinerate anything used to pick it."
Mr. Smith burst into a grin, from ear to ear. "Noticed that, did you? Well, then, why don't you analyze this?"
He snapped his fingers, and the doors to the box slammed open of their own accord. Glistening golden light shone out of it.
"A simple remote control," Sherlock said, turning to the other man.
"Not quite," He corrected excitedly. "Take a closer look."
Sherlock curiously approached the police box. Whoever had placed the holographic image inside of the police box had done a great job. It did look as though there was depth to the interior beyond the actual volume of the box…
It was when he was within two yards of the police box that he began to suspect more than just an image - perhaps some hyper-advanced holographic projector?
It was when he actually crossed the threshold that his doubts began to fade away. By simply reaching out his arm, he could confirm that there was no wall next to him, and that ruled out most logical explanations.
"When you eliminate all logical explanations," Sherlock said to himself, in a voice that was as awestruck as it was going to get, "Whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."
The doors closed behind him, and Sherlock turned around to face Mr. Smith.
"You're the Doctor," Sherlock accused, "Aren't you? And this is the TARDIS, your time travel machine?"
The Doctor mimed shooting him with finger guns, grinning like a kid in a candy store. "Spot-on, Mr. Holmes." He raced up to the TARDIS console, and began to throw levers. "Just a wanderer, really. Someone who wants to explore all of time and space." He spun around to look at the detective. "I've met you before, Sherlock."
"At a previous point in time?" Sherlock asked, approaching the TARDIS console. At this point, he recognized that all of his deductions were pointless until he re-determined the line between fact and fiction.
"Many previous points in time." The Time Lord elaborated, working at the console like a man possessed. "And, actually" he turned again to face Sherlock, and walked up to him. "I need your help. It's very urgent."
"But we're in a time machine," Sherlock pointed out dryly. "Surely urgency is a matter of relativity? You can come back to the split-second you left."
"It's not necessarily that simple," The Time Lord explained, his voice as expressive as the detective's was shy. "The TARDIS is alive, and therefore it runs into human error every now-and-then. Sometimes I turn up in places and times I don't want to go."
"So you're saying that I could end up hundreds of years form where I started?" Sherlock asked.
"I can get you back, I promise," The Doctor said, before turning back to the TARDIS console. "But first-"
"You're a bad liar, Doctor," Sherlock said, joining him at the TARDIS console. "Particularly for someone as old as you."
"How did you know?" The Predator said, turning to him, then added, "Never mind, it was probably the eyes. Lots of people comment on the eyes."
"And some deductions I made about you based on all the clues you left for me." Sherlock said. "You did a terrible job of covering your tracks."
"I did cover my tracks!" The Doctor said incredulously. "It took me a whole year in order to get it done, and then I travel to some off-kilter Universe, and now I'm getting interrogated by someone with a scarf that is far too short. No thank you!" He began to flip more levers.
"Then how does it work?" Sherlock asked, somewhat sickened with himself. He despised people who just babbled out questions like a leaky faucet, but he had to know more about this world he had suddenly been thrust into, and the Doctor seemed to be willing enough to give him answers. "And these human devices you have on your ship-" He indicated the gramophone and the typewriter that where part of the TARDIS console. "Are they here because aliens invented them and you integrated them into our time stream, or did you adapt them from humanity?"
"Well, I'm pretty sure they were human-invented," The Doctor said, pausing to ponder this for a moment before continuing, "But I think you can deduce why I would have them on here."
Sherlock watched as the Time Lord threw more levers.
"Because you're old," Sherlock said, a note of awe entering his voice for the second time that day. "Impossibly old. And you've lost so much…so you cover it all up by acting like you're a child."
"And I'm going to lose even more if you don't help me," The Doctor said urgently. "If you need proof that I'm a time traveler-"
"I don't waste my time in frivolous things, Doctor," Sherlock said. "I'm sure you know that much by now."
"Then we'll go ahead and pop right to our destination," The Gallifreyan said, flicking a few more levers and pulling down a larger one. At once, a wheezing, groaning, lurching noise filled the TARDIS, and it began to lift off.
"That noise…" Sherlock said.
"You've heard it before?" The Doctor said, puzzled.
"It was mentioned in LINDA's notes." Sherlock elaborated. "I reviewed their files."
"Right." The Doctor said, grinning. "I missed being around you."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Really." The Doctor said. "It's nice having someone who can actually keep up with everything that I say. We should be landing right about-" The TARDIS groaned again as the floor of the dimensionally transcendental ship lurched underneath the pair of them.
"Sorry," The Doctor said apologetically, springing from the TARDIS console and heading towards the door, "Not quite used to this Universe yet, I think." He then led the way out of the TARDIS and into a military-looking sickbay, which was nearly-deserted.
"Over here," The Doctor said, leading the way to a bed in the back of the room.
The woman lying on the table was distinctly odd-looking. She was quite lithe, with a veritable cape of dirty blonde hair, witch cascaded around her cot like a long sheet around her, reaching from her head to her toes. Her outfit was quite bizarre-she had radish earrings, a necklace of bottle corks, and a very garish and modest dress that had dozens of different symbols etched into it in different colors of what appeared to be sequins.
Fascinating, Sherlock mused. Definitely superstitious, or perhaps simply seeking attention. Out loud, after looking at the glass of water sitting next to a fez he said, "Marvelous place for a base, eh, Doctor?"
The Doctor burst out laughing. "You did it again, Holmes! I love not having to explain things for a change." He grinned, but then the girl stirred in her sleep, and his face fell as he looked at her.
"You really do care for her." Sherlock said, watching his fellow. "Is she one of those humans you pick up every so often?"
The Doctor frowned at Sherlock. "I don't go around having hanky pankies with all of them, you know. I just…need someone to ease my loneliness."
"Surely there are others like you-?"
The Oncoming Storm silenced him with a haunting look.
"But this one's different." Sherlock said, gesturing to her. "The way you looked at her...perhaps a wife or a daughter-?"
At that moment, the Doctor was saved form answering when the doors burst open. Osgood, Kate Stewart, and Martha Jones entered into the room.
The Doctor's jaw dropped for a moment, then he closed it. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."
"And whatever do you mean by that, Doctor?" Kate said, as the three of them stood in front of him. "And who's this?"
"It's…Timey wimey." The Doctor said.
"Timey what?" Sherlock asked. "You didn't seriously just-"
"This is Sherlock Holmes." The Doctor said, jerking his thumb at him. He paused for a moment, analyzing their reactions.
"Sherlock Holmes?" he added. "None of you have heard of him?"
"He's a detective in Britain, I believe, I read the file on him." Kate said. "And he's been sighted with you often before."
"And no one here thinks that he should be wearing a tweed jacket and a funny little hat?" The Doctor pressed.
"Well….Maybe." Martha admitted. "It's like…that version of him is under a perception filter and I can't hang onto him."
"Precisely." The Doctor said. "That means that you haven't been completely synced in yet, that's good…"
"Synced in to what?" Sherlock asked.
"You know the concept of parallel worlds, don't you?"
"Of course," Holmes said tentatively, "What are you getting at?"
"It's not always like you see on TV," The Doctor said, "Where realities are all the same, except for one thing's different or everything is opposite. There are worlds that have nothing in common and worlds that have some things in common. There are countless Universes all swimming around out there-"
"Swimming?" Sherlock asked.
"Well, floating." The Doctor elaborated.
"Is this really important?" Kate asked. "We've got stuff we need for you to look into-"
"It's much more important, because none of this should be happening." The Doctor said. ""Occasionally, dimensions interact, I.E. a few people might be able to cross from one to the other on occasion, I might be able to fly the TARDIS into a few nearby connected dimensions, but that's it. But then there was a war. The-"
"Last Great Time War." Martha said in a bored sort of voice. When everyone looked at her, she said, "He talks about it. A lot."
"You would talk about it a lot, too, if you had been there." The Doctor said, bristling, then continued, "My race, the Time Lords-"
"Time Lords?" Sherlock asked in a flat tone. "Is that the name of their race or just a title?"
"Is everyone going to interrupt me?" The Doctor asked, disgusted. "This will make a lot more sense if I could concentrate! Anyway, the Time Lords where attacked by an army of ready-made soldiers. The enemy was already 100% armed and dangerous, and the Time Lords had to take time, they had to mobilize. So they went out and found every single ally they could, from across every dimension, except their own, I made sure of that, so you three-" He pointed at Kate, Osgood, and Martha, "Weren't involved, but you-" He pointed at Sherlock, "Were."
"Then why don't I remember it?" Sherlock asked.
"Interruptions!" The Doctor protested. "They didn't just summon these heroes to the war; how many of them would have protested like mad at becoming soldiers? So the Time Lords used an overly-complicated technique in order to get them to come; they sort of just tore hunks of space itself out of all of these Universes. See, in most cases, these Universes would right themselves automatically. The space would regenerate automatically re-create the hero that it was missing, and voila! You've got yourself a small army without poking holes in reality. In most cases. A few Universes didn't regenerate the hero, and that lead to more problems - in any event, we had this huge army of warriors from all across space at one point. Then, the war ended, and-" He paused, trying to gather his thoughts, still absentmindedly gesturing with his hands, "-everyone died, except for me, and I thought that all of the heroes were destroyed too, but I suppose they slipped out, and somehow or other the bubble of space from their original Universes was still attached to them. These bubbles regenerated pieces of different Universes and BAM, new Universe, completely new timestream somehow. Events are happening that should never have happened, people are meeting who shouldn't-for example, Kate and I shouldn't have met yet, or at least not with me in this body. Basically, this Universe contains grafted pieces from dozens upon dozens of different worlds. Only I have no idea how you three-" He gestured to Martha, Kate, and Osgood, "Are here, and how my TARDIS got into this dimension in the first place or why it's still working because it needs to be synced to the Time Vortex which I left behind, and-"
"Okay, we get it." Martha said, hastily interrupting the Time Lord. "There's a long, complicated case you're working on. So why were you asking us if we recognized Sherlock if he's from some parallel world?"
"Because often times parallel worlds get represented in different ways in other worlds," The Doctor said, in a let's-get-this-over-with-quickly tone of voice "Usually with more sex and drinking than they do in their own world. And you should be familiar with an alternate version of him because that was the one that was more well-known in our Universe. Right, then, Miss Stewart, what is it that's so urgent?"
"A series of psychic fits." She said, "All across the US. We think that some kind of force is stirring."
"A demonic force?" Sherlock asked.
"We think so, but the signs are different." Kate said. "All the hunters we have working for us are baffled-"
"You shouldn't have hunters in UNIT." The Doctor said in a correcting tone.
"Why is that surprising?" Sherlock said. "Whenever hunters can get hired by the government, they are."
"Well, there is one thing that doesn't change in alternate dimensions." The Doctor said. "People. Good guys are always good guys, and that's fixed. So if we're going to fight some kind of demon, then we want the best."
"We want the Winchesters." Sherlock finished.
The putt-putt of a motorcycle effused through the Nebraskan night as a lone figure drove into the darkness. She was wearing a very odd outfit-a raggedy tank top that had a hood sewn onto it, and matching dark jeans. She had a muscular yet lean build, and her eyes darted across the road, as if she expected anything to leap out at her at any movement.
She pulled up to a roadhouse at a crossroads and parked her motorcycle, checking her person to make sure her weapons were still there before entering the establishment.
"We're closed for the night-" The blonde girl who was cleaning the counter said, before turning around and seeing the figure entering into the house. "Anna!" She explained.
"Jo." The black-clad figure said grimly, removing her hood to reveal her crimson hair, "I need you to help me find my sister…"
Sorry. That was a lot of talking. The next chapter will have more action.