Chapter Two
Sherlock sat at the table peering into his microscope and John sat in the living room, typing up a new entry in the blog.
"Sherlock?" said John.
"What?" Sherlock answered in a low voice.
"Why aren't we working on a case? We've had tons of people come to us and you haven't taken a single one! Why is that?"
"I'm expecting something."
"Expecting something?" scoffed John, "What exactly are you expecting? Something to just fall out of the sky?" laughed John.
A loud whorping noise interrupted their conversation. John ran to the window where a blue police box stood on the sidewalk outside the flat.
"Like that, for example," said John. Sherlock ran over to where John stood and looked down on the blue box.
"Why would there be a Police Box from the 1950's on Baker Street?" asked Sherlock with a smile.
"Want to find out?" asked John mischievously. Without giving John a real answer, he simply just smiled at John and walked swiftly out of the flat. There was a knock at the front door just as Sherlock reached it. He pulled open the door and beheld six people; there were two women, a blonde and a ginger, and four men, the man with the ears, the man with the hair, the man with the nose, and the man with the bowtie. Sherlock deduced every part of them and stared at them with a puzzled expression. He couldn't make sense of any of them. The man with the hair pulled out a small, wallet sized booklet with a blank sheet of paper on the inside and showed it to Sherlock.
"I'm Mr. Smith and these are my associates. We would like to speak with Mr. Holmes if that's all right," said the man with the hair.
"That paper is blank," Sherlock stated simply. The six people just stared at him dumbfounded.
"May we please come in?" asked the man with the nose.
"Only because I can't make sense of you," agreed Sherlock. With that, they all stepped in and Sherlock showed them up to the flat. John set out a few seats for them.
"Can I get you anything?" asked John politely.
"Some jammy dodgers would be lovely," offered the man with the bowtie. John walked into the kitchen to look.
"Are you Sherlock Holmes?" asked the blonde girl.
"Yes, and that is my friend John in the kitchen," answered Sherlock.
"Wow, so you're really him?" asked the blonde.
"Yes, I've just told you that. You do have ears, don't you?" snapped Sherlock.
"Yes, we have got ears obviously," spat the man with the ears.
"Who are all of you?" asked Sherlock.
"I'm The Doctor," said the man with the ears.
"So am I," said the man with the hair.
"So am I," echoed the man with the bowtie.
"So you're all The Doctor?" asked Sherlock.
"Doctor Who?" asked John. They all smiled.
"Yes, but technically, I'm the eleventh Doctor, he's the tenth, and he's the ninth," explained the man with the bowtie.
"So call me ten, him nine, and him eleven I guess," said the man with the hair, or Ten as he is now called. The man with the bowtie is Eleven and the man with the ears is Nine.
"I'm Rose. Rose Tyler," said the blonde.
"I'm Rory," said the man with the nose.
"I'm Amy," said the ginger girl.
"Well, now that we all know each other, tell me why you're here," demanded Sherlock.
"Well that's just it, we don't know why. Isn't that brilliant?" said Ten.
"Then how did you get here?" asked John.
"Uh, wibbly wobbly, timey wimey," Ten tried to explain.
"What does that even mean?" Rose asked Ten.
"It's spacey wacey stuff," Eleven explained.
"Oh," said Rose, Rory, and Amy in unison.
"All right, now, what can you deduce about us?" Eleven asked Sherlock.
"I know that Rose was taken away on a trip, a very long trip. That trip caused lots of trauma in her little lifetime. That explains the caution and adventurous demeanor. She's seen things she thinks no one else like her has seen although that's not quite true because Amy has seen the sorts of things she's seen, as has Rory. Rory and Amy are married and Eleven is also married is a complicated way. Ten's in love and so is Rose, in love with each other, as a matter of fact. And you, Nine, you are a fiery ball of rage and sorrow that can only be tamed by one special companion of yours. The rest of you is very odd and I can't make sense of it," Sherlock explained.
They all just stared at him as people normally do. Ten and Rose looked at each other briefly, and turned away. Both Ten and Nine looked over at Eleven. Eleven just sat there, knowing everything. He was clearly the oldest of the group by many, many years. Nine, Ten, and Eleven had old eyes, by Eleven's were the oldest.
"Sorry, Sherlock does that to everyone," apologized John.
After a long pause, Ten finally broke the silence, "That's why we're here."