Sherlock, who had already gone inside for closer inspection, stood facing a wall, fingers tracing over the patterns. He stopped and turned around, eyes focused on the Doctor. "How?"
"Well it's quite complicated actually-" he began, but was suddenly cut off by a sudden wailing sound from what appeared to be the control center in the middle of the room.
The Doctor danced around the console flicking switches, smacking buttons with malets, throwing levers, grinning wickedly as a scraping sound swelled and ebbed around them. He gestured for John to shut the door behind him. "I recommend you grab a hold of something," he suggested as the room took to shaking nastily.
Sherlock grabbed at the staircase railing, John braced himself by the door, and the Doctor laughed, holding onto a piece of the console. The T.A.R.D.I.S. gave one last hard shake then settled. The Doctor's brow puckered, something was wrong. In a couple of long legged strides, he stood in front of John, attempting to peel him from the door frame.
"Excuse me," he muttered, looking perplexed. Pulling the doors towards himself, he poked his head out tentatively. Nothing dangerous that he could see, however a high pitched giggling sounded from behind the box. "Here we go, you two. Come along now."
The Doctor ushered the pair out onto the slick pavement. Sherlock looked around, feeling something off about where they were. It appeared to be London, but there was far too much smoke coming from the surrounding buildings for it to be modern day. His bright eyes examined every detail of the alley they seemed to be on.
Raining...two hours previous; smoke stacks not relevant to the twenty first century; street signs different; images warped in glass windows-definitely not the same time as when we left; child's laughter, but no children anywhere to be seen; people rushing, work-week day; bright enough to be roughly two o'clock in the afternoon; overcast; walls close together, not accessible to vehicles, rarely used; absolutely London.
"What year is it?" Sherlock asked, his deductions falling flat on that detail. He was not liking where they were.
"About 1893," the Doctor supplied, locking the box he had just pulled closed. They shouldn't have landed here.
"Excuse me?" John sputtered, his eyes wide as he gazed at the strange man before him. All he had wanted after work was to pick up some milk and have a nice cup of tea, but apparently that was not going to happen any time soon.
The Doctor raised his voice. "I said about 1893!"
John was horribly confused, how could they possibly be in the late nineteenth century when just five minutes ago...well five minutes ago some sort of electricity sucking creature was apparently in his flat tormenting his friend. "Wait..." John began, folling Sherlock and the Doctor away from the Police Box, "what about whatever you say was in our flat?"
"Oh, it's no big deal really. Just a straggler. It's a dying species actually, had people start hunting them in Nixon's day in America. Not at all dangerous. Oooh, what's that?"
The pin striped man wandered over to a sweets shop store window where many brightly colored lollipops and other treats were on display. The contrast between the shop and the dull gray of the city was rather shocking in comparison. Sherlock's contorted face continued to maintain a pensive quality as John followed the Doctor inside. Excitedly, the Doctor picked out three large, colorful lollipops that had caught his eye and set them on the counter. He payed the man and stuffed two of the three in his pocket, unwrapping the first and licking at the artfully spun sugar as John began asking more questions.
"How did we get to 1893?" John asked, annoyance clear across his solemn face. "Was it that bloody box?"
"Yes it was my box, it's called the T.A.R.D.I.S., which stands for time and relative dimension in space. It's my time machine. It can take us anywhere at anytime to anytime, however I did not ask her to take us here. This is a bit of a mystery." He waggled his fingers curiously at the word 'mystery'. He grabbed Sherlock by the sleeve and towed him along as he began looking around for clues that might lead to why his beloved machine brought them there.
Another bout of giggling began behind them in the alley to their left. Sherlock turned, his brow furrowed. Who was the laughter coming from? Shaking his head, he turned back towards the cobbled road ahead, putting off the giggles as they came again.