A/N: You would not believe the amount of work I have to do. I am hammering out this Author's note whilst simultaneously attempting to learn French verbs. It's rather ridiculously impossible to do either of them well.

Disclaimer: Non. Je ne possède pas ces caractères

Review replies:

Chalcedony Rivers: Thank you again m'love for your lovely comments. Sorry about my evilness! (Actually, on second thoughts…) :')

ephemeral violet: Indeed it is. But worry not! I am attempting to work through this logically, and with enough Doctor Who magic for it to make sense. ;D

kawaikittey: Thank you (: The unfolding begins here!

SH: Glad you think so, Sherlock dear.

Bookninja15: Wow! Thanks very much, you lovely reviewer, you! Here, you can have a T-shirt if you so wish :D

Onwards and upwards my friends…

Mrs Hudson hadn't moved two inches since Sherlock had left the room, frowning over her lack of compliance, his purple eyes still gleaming from the expressionless expanse of his face. He'd left in a hurry, all patience suddenly disappearing, along with mutterings of 'John' and 'Timelines'. She didn't pretend to understand, or even care all too much.

She could hear his muffled voice at first, through the locked door, coming from the hallway - John's too. They sounded stressed, worried even.

The cold was back again now, forcing her worries to the forefront of her mind. Was John ok? What was wrong with Sherlock? He wasn't back on drugs again was he?

Why did she feel like the impossible was happening on her own doorstep?

…..

The Doctor looked around the Tardis slowly, neck craning, never once moving his body away from the console. The worrying readings on the screen stayed exactly where they were - flashing menacingly whenever they came across any turbulence. Sherlock and John had been dropped off to check-in with Scotland Yard, leaving only the himself and the Ponds.

"Doctor" Rory asked, appearing from the doorway to one of the bedrooms. "Where exactly are we going anyway?"

The Doctor shook his head dazedly, "Nowhere, nothing." he muttered, not really paying attention.

"So we're just sort of… drifting?" Rory frowned. "That doesn't sound like you. You always have a plan, or somewhere to save, or an old friend to visit-"

The Doctor seemed to snap out of whatever daydream he was having, and turned to Rory with a reproachful expression. "What? Oh come on, Rory. I never just drift… you should know that by now" he smiled, straightening up.

"So - you have a plan then?"

"Of course I do! Do I look like the kind of person that wouldn't have plans?"

"Well…"

"Think your next words through carefully, Pond."

Rory grinned. "Ha. No, of course not. Not once have you ever just muddled your way through a situation." he ground out sarcastically.

"Correct answer." The Doctor grinned, turning the screen off and flinging himself down onto one of the Tardis' seats.

"So, you going to tell me what's going on then?"

The Doctor leant forwards, "I'm going to need your help."

Rory smiled back, "Is that so?"

"I require brains, charms, bravery, good looks… and a bloke called Rory." The Doctor winked, dodging the mock punch Rory sent his way. "Right, in all seriousness, we need your wife. This is going to take more than a little bit of acting."

….

Amy frowned. "I don't understand."

"They're not human." The Doctor replied, pausing after every word, giving them time to sink in. "Well, these ones aren't anyway."

"These ones?" Rory repeated.

"Well, yes. A modern day Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, they aren't the ones from the books are they? Of course not, books can't come to life, except from when they can. But this isn't one of those times. Anyway! We've now got two aliens masquerading around London, and living in 221B Baker Street."

"And committing murders." Amy pointed out.

"And arson." Rory added. "Quite possibly kidnapping too."

There was a silence as the three of them contemplated the conversation, before they simultaneously broke out into noises of dismissal.

"No way!"

"That can't be right, not those two!"

"I'm missing something, something big."

The Tardis fell back into silence as three brains whirred madly; admittedly some faster than others.

….

Lestrade sighed, rubbing his hand across his forehead, as if he were trying to smooth out the worry-lines that had permanently taken up root there. "We're doing all we can." He told the two men in front of him. "But it's like all the clues have just… gone. Our forensics tests haven't turned up anything about the ash, and we can't seem to find any other traces around the place. I'm afraid your flat has been… quite badly damaged, as has Mrs. Hudson's. The basic structure of the building is fine though…"

"It's alright." John smiled tiredly back at him. "We're trying our best too, we understand. Don't we Sherlock?"

Sherlock sniffed, wandering away to read the write-up of the evidence found at Baker Street. "Hmm." He nodded in vague agreement.

"We've got some tests of our own currently in operation on the ash. If we find anything we'll be sure to let you know." John promised.

Lestrade turned back to him, "Thanks mate. I take it you found somewhere to stay, then? Sorry I didn't check up on you, it's been hectic as hell round here."

"Oh, don't worry about us." John smiled, "We're just fine."

Their mundane conversation was interrupted when Sherlock gasped loudly from the corner, and snatched one of the pages from the report from the staple. "John!"

"What is it?" John asked, walking over, "What've you found?"

Sherlock grinned, "A mistake."

"A mistake?" Lestrade frowned. "Sherlock, now is really not the time to be spell-checking the reports."

Sherlock ignored him. "Someone hasn't covered their tracks very well." he pointed out, gleefully.

John sighed, looking at Lestrade and seeing he was just as confused "Sherlock, you need to explain."

Sherlock looked mildly put-out by John's calming voice. "Really? Oh come on, it's obvious!" The two blank stares facing him illustrated just how much they thought wasn't obvious, at all. "Look here" Sherlock held out the report for them, reading out the section he had found fault with. "The arrival of one Superintendent John Smith from Cardiff, as well as two assistants, meant that evidence was collected quickly and easily. There were no sighting of a suspicious kind. No further clues have been found up to the current date on this report. I can state that to the best of my knowledge no evidence was taken without consent blah, blah, blah." He trailed off. "But come on, 'Superintendent John Smith from Cardiff', 'two assistants'?"

"Well, that was the man who turned up to help." Lestrade frowned, "You were there, I saw his ID."

"Yes, but did you write the report?"

"Well, no." He laughed, as if the very idea was ridiculous.

"And who did you tell about 'John Smith'? Who else was there to see the others? We left before the rest of your team turned up."

"No one, of course. He was barely there - and if I'm honest Sherlock things have been too busy to check up with Cardiff. Why, do you think he was the arsonist?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course not. The point I'm trying to make is that someone wrote the report who knew more about it than they should have."

Lestrade gave him a very odd look, before opening his mouth and dropping the bombshell. "But I don't understand - you wrote it, Sherlock."

There was a moments silence whilst the three of them stood in mutual confusion.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, slowly. "I didn't write anything."

"Sherlock, you came in and wrote this only hours after you swept away." Lestrade turned to John for back-up, but found no reassurance in his gaze. "Oh come on, I'm not falling for this one."

"It's true." John stated, "This is the first time I've seen you since the crime scene."

Lestrade looked unconvinced, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Well you weren't there for the statement-writing." He pointed out, turning back to Sherlock. "You brought in some CCTV of your flat as well." He held up a tape from the top of his messy desk. "Said your brother had dropped it round at the flat."

John turned to Sherlock, "I knew we'd forgotten something!" He sighed, exasperated. "That would have been useful."

Sherlock didn't reply, instead choosing to bring his hands up under his chin and block out the sounds of the men in the room. This did not make sense. He hadn't written any reports, he'd been with the Doctor the whole time they were away. Someone else had picked up the CCTV footage, brought it to Scotland Yard pretending to be him, and whilst there, written his statement. Somehow all whilst maintaining the façade of being him… Impossible, surely?

Greg interrupted his thoughts with a comforting hand on his shoulder, "Look Sherlock, I know you're under a lot of stress at the moment, but I really think you should just stop for a bit, ok? Get some sleep, take a break-"

"I don't need a break!" Sherlock shouted over him. "Now shut up, I'm trying to think!"

"Sherlock." John hissed, reproachfully. He turned back to Lestrade, "Sorry Greg, I hadn't realised he was this tired… I'll take him home."

Lestrade just nodded, thankful to have the problem and added stress removed from his life. He had far too many things to be worrying about before he could spare the time to panic about Sherlock Holmes' mental health. John left with Sherlock's arm gripped in his, nodding his goodbyes as they passed through the door. Once outside in the cool air he spun around to face the lanky detective, the small crease between his eyebrows showing his nervousness. Sherlock hadn't responded; he stood still, eyes focused on something in the distance, and John knew not to disturb him.

….

The Doctor handed Rory another book. "A Sandal in Bohemia" He read aloud. "I remember reading this one as a kid. Had a bit of a crush on that Adler woman."

"Well, get reading." The Doctor ordered, over his own copy of 'A Study in Scarlet' "We must be missing something."

"How did you even get these anyway?" Amy asked, eyes never leaving the pages, "I thought they didn't exist here."

"They don't." The Doctor replied. "But the Tardis is holding them in space, anything can exist out there. Probably does." He smiled ruefully.

"What do you mean, 'in space'?" Rory asked, giving the book a fearful glance.

The Doctor sighed, turning the page with the resigned air of a schoolboy who knew the only thing that was to come was failure. "We only feel like we're holding them. Really, the particles are being held in a kind of temporal loop; they exist only inside the Tardis, and wherever it is she's decided to hold base - probably Mars."

"Oh. Right. Okay then." Rory nodded, shooting Amy a questioning glance. She just shrugged.

There was a blissful silence for a few minutes, whilst they all scanned the pages with a ferocious intensity. "A-ha!" The Doctor shouted, gleefully. "Here. This is it, staring us in the face!"

"What?" Amy raised an eyebrow.

"The very beginning of it all… how did they meet?" The Doctor smiled, "We never even asked."

"Why does it matter?" Amy frowned

"Oh, it matters alright." The Doctor shook his head, "Matters quite a lot. This book -" He paused, chucking it to Amy, "Is where they must have come from. Correct?"

Rory nodded. "And how does it start?"

Amy frowned, "With the two of them being introduced, right?"

"Exactly." The Doctor nodded, waving his arms around to illustrate his points. "So the question is, where does the story begin?"

Amy nodded, catching on, "And where does real life stop?"

"Exactly" The Doctor nodded, "Did they just come out of nowhere?"

Rory grinned. "How much are we betting that somewhere there's a 'Stamford'?"

"I don't know about betting." The Doctor stood up, still looking smug, "But I think we should pay him a visit."

"Ooh, can I say it?" Amy cried, standing up and following the Doctor to the console excitedly.

He sighed, "Fine"

"Geronimo!"

….

Mike Stamford had been having a normal day. He got up a little too late, ran around the kitchen trying to simultaneously pull his socks on and brush his teeth, and left for the bus stop with a piece of dry, burnt, toast in hand.

His day had taken a rather sudden turn towards the extraordinary when he finally made it to the bus stop, ruddy faced and more than a little out of breath. Instead of finding the bus stop as he did every morning; yellow and green, and empty, he found it obscured by a large blue box. A police box.

It got even stranger when a strangely dressed man stepped out of it, holding aloft a collection of rubbish that appeared to be held together with parcel tape and will-power.

"Hello!" The stranger greeted him, smiling widely and giving him a flash of brilliantly white teeth.

"Yes, morning." Mike replied, nodding in return. His mother had always taught him to be polite, even when dealing with people he'd rather not have to. Especially when dealing with those.

"You're Stamford I take it?"

"What?" He frowned, swallowing around the chunk of dry bread in his mouth. "Who are you?"

The man smiled. "I'm Sherlock Holmes' friend." he explained, waving the odd machine around Mike's head. "And you, Mr Stamford…" he stopped, studying the flashing lights on the box, "…are not human."

Another A/N: The mystery unravels (a little) :P

Next chapter there will be more explaining, I promise. For now, relish the chance to be Sherlock Holmes yourself, and tell me when you have it all worked out (:

Reviews would be lovely. As would any other form of communication. (I hear it's sometimes nice for hermits like me to talk to people. Huh. Who knew?)

(Also - any of you lot nerdy/amazing enough to have a Pottermore account? I'm all lonely on mine! *chokes on un-subtleness of hints*)