Finally. He was onto something. After hours of searching through government sites, he had finally tracked down UNIT.

UNified Intelligence Taskforce is a military operation under the authority of the United Nations designed to investigate and combat paranormal and extraterrestrial threats to the Earth.

Sherlock paused. Extraterrestrial? He clicked on the link and entered Mycroft's password. After a few seconds, he was taken to the UNIT data bases. He saw a long list of names he didn't recognize, presumably alien species. Cyberman. Dalek. Sontaran. Silurian. Vashta Nerada. Raxacoricofallapatorian. Weeping Angel. Silence. Sherlock held his breath. This was amazing.

He clicked on a few names and read through their files, committing everything he could to memory. After a few minutes, he focused his search on aliens with claws. The Raxacoricofallapatorians looked promising. They were rather large creatures who would have no problem breaking into somebody's house. But then, how would they stalk the person and remain unseen. He needed more information. He needed to examine the body again. After all, he couldn't have this Doctor Smith stealing the show.

Sherlock laughed out loud. Oh, this case was brilliant. He almost couldn't believe that he was researching actual, live aliens, but the evidence was there and there was no point in denying it. Though he doubted he would actually run into aliens after this case was done. He had never really cared much for what was beyond the stars, so he supposed that it didn't matter much.

He shifted his attention to the mysterious Doctor John Smith and his companion, Clara Oswald. Something was off about them. Why had they used a blank paper to get inside the house? And why did everyone seem to believe them?

A quick search through UNIT's members confirmed what Sherlock had already guessed. Doctor Smith and Clara Oswald were not working for UNIT. So, who were they? Sherlock laughed again. He loved a good challenge. He pulled out his phone to send a quick text to John.

Be careful. Doctor Smith and Clara do not work for UNIT. Come back as soon as possible. -SH

Alright. I'll see what I can find out. -JW

Sherlock began a google search of Doctor John Smith and Clara Oswald. Nothing. Well, the enigmatic pair would return to the crime scene at some point. When they did, he would be ready.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

This is definitely the place, Clara thought as the stench of formaldehyde hit her nose. Somebody's storing something dead here. "Have there been any other murders like this?" Clara asked. "Like, with the gaping hole in the back?"

"No," John answered. He checked his phone and frowned. Was that Sherlock again? Clara felt her heart pick up as John gave her an odd look. They knew something wasn't right. Especially Sherlock, who couldn't read the psychic paper. Better make this quick.

This was the perfect hiding spot. The whole building was in disrepair. Parts of the ceiling were missing, and the paint on the walls was pealing. Dust covered every surface. It was unlikely that anybody would happen to wander in by accident. Clara crossed the empty room to where the smell was strongest.

"It's coming from this area," Clara decided. She was standing in the corner furthest from the door. The stench was overpowering. She had to breathe through her mouth and cover her nose. "Perhaps there's something in the walls?"

"No," John answered. He knelt beside her and pried loose the floorboards. "Here."

Clara knelt next to him and examined the space. The smell hit her nose even stronger, causing her eyes to water. There, under the floor, was a small collection of human organs.

"We need to get out of here," Clara said quickly. "Now. Before they return." Her voice rose a pitch in fear.

"Agreed," John mumbled as he replaced the floor boards.

Clara grabbed his hand and dragged him outside. They ran down the street, back to the main roads. Despite everything, she felt a laugh bubble in her throat. John laughed too. When she felt that they were a safe distance away, she stopped running. "We are insane," Clara said, panting.

"Absolutely," John agreed.

"Thank you for your help," Clara continued, getting her breathing under control. "I really should be returning to the Doctor now."

"Will you be alright?" John asked.

"Yes," Clara said quickly. As much as she liked John, she had to get away from him before their cover was blown. "I'll just get myself a cab."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The sun was setting when Clara walked back through the TARDIS doors. "What did you find?" the Doctor asked quickly.

"Its hideout," she said. "An abandoned store on the other side of town. We saw the body parts."

The Doctor looked up from the monitor. "We?" he asked.

"Yes, I ran into John Watson from the crime scene," she explained. The Doctor looked at her closely. Her hair was sticking out, and her clothes were ruffled. But instead of fear, he found excitement in her eyes. She loved this as much as he did.

"The one who could see through the psychic paper?" he asked.

"No. His friend."

"We need to keep an eye out for that one. It takes a real lack of imagination to beat psychic paper." They couldn't risk blowing their cover if they wanted access to the body. Even though the Doctor really hated the idea of pretending to be UNIT, it was necessary.

He never was a big fan of UNIT. There were too many soldiers for his taste. In fact, he generally disliked military organizations in general. Why were there always soldiers?

You were a soldier once too, don't you forget, a voice that once belong to him reminded him. The Doctor quickly pushed that thought away. He was different now. He wasn't a soldier. So while he worked with UNIT occasionally, he didn't have to like them.

However, there was one face at UNIT that he was fond of. Martha Jones. Martha Smith, he corrected himself. Despite being in a high position, she refused to carry a gun with her. The Doctor was more proud of her than she would ever know.

"Did you get any further?" Clara asked, jarring him back to the present.

"Readings point to the Raxacoricofallapatorians, but I won't be certain until we return to the crime scene."

"Do you think we'll find something new?" Clara asked, leaning against the console.

"We know what to look for now," the Doctor replied.

A different memory found its way to the front of the Doctor's mind. Donna Noble, Agatha Christie, and the giant wasp. He smiled to himself. Now that had been an adventure. He wondered how Donna was doing. Perhaps he should check on her sometime, just to make sure she was happy.

He remembered her wedding day. That was also the day he died. Well, regenerated, but it had felt like dying. The Doctor watched Clara from the corner of his eye. Would she be having a wedding day soon? Would she marry- dare he think it- P.E.? He groaned internally. He knew she would. The TARDIS had seen it in her time stream. The Doctor could only hope to hold onto her for as long as possible.

Even now, as she was smiling and chasing after murderous reptiles with him, he was losing her. He lost everybody. That was his curse. Clara, as if sensing the change in his mood, touched his arm gently. "When's the last time you slept?" she asked.

The Doctor shrugged. "I don't really keep track."

"Well, you should try to sleep tonight. Something tells me we're going to be doing a lot of running tomorrow."

The pair grinned at each other. They loved the running part. The adrenaline, the sense of danger- it was the reason Clara stayed. Because as amazing as the universe was, the Doctor knew that Clara would only find it about half as interesting if it were safe. She was addicted to the rush. It was obvious.

"I'll try," the Doctor lied. He hated sleep. After two thousand years of living this dangerous lifestyle, he had no sleep without nightmares. "You did really good today."

Clara had started to walk away, but she turned back to him in surprise. "Really?" she asked, unable to keep the pleasure out of her voice.

"Really."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

"John, when Doctor Smith held out the paper, what did you see?"

John was back in his armchair, looking through the UNIT data base. "UNIT identification," he replied.

Sherlock shook his head in frustration. "No. The paper was blank. I don't know how he did it, but I know it was blank."

John hmmmed thoughtfully. "You don't believe me?" Sherlock asked. He wasn't angry; just worried. John never doubted him.

"Of course I believe you. This is just a whole lot to take in."

Sherlock closed his eyes and searched through the information stored in his mind palace. It was a lot to take in. He could hardly believe it himself. Aliens. In London. Dissecting people.

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, he was surprised to find himself alone. "John?" he called out.

"I'm here," came the answer from the kitchen. Sherlock went to join his friend. He was making tea. "I got takeout," he said. "And you're going to eat it."

Sherlock couldn't help but grin. He used to never eat during cases, but when John could tell that they had a really long one, he would force it. Over time, Sherlock complained less and less, taking it as a sign of his affection.

"You're also going to sleep. That crime scene will still be there in the morning."

"If I must," Sherlock grumbled. "Did you find anything?"

John pulled a bag of food out of the fridge. "Human organs being stored in that abandoned store on the other side of town," he answered casually.

Sherlock chuckled. This case was brilliant.