The morning air was cool and damp against Sherlock's skin. He smiled slightly to himself. It was the perfect weather for investigating murder. His mood brightened further when he arrived at the crime scene. There was no sign of Doctor Smith.

John followed faithfully behind him as he walked up to the house, just as he always did. He had to be the only man in the world who would agree to hunt down a murderous, extra-terrestrial reptile with Sherlock. Nerves of steel, Sherlock had once told Lestrade. He had been right (of course, he was always right), and John proved it everyday. Sherlock was relieved to have finally found someone that could keep up with his lifestyle.

Sherlock pulled his attention away from John and examined the sidewalks. He could see faint scratch marks, possibly from a very large, clawed creature. The door, likewise, was covered in similar marks, as was the floor of the house. He had been so focused on the body yesterday, that he hadn't been paying as close attention as he normally would. It was probably the most gruesome death Sherlock had seen, of course he would be a little distracted.

"Do you see the claw marks?" Sherlock asked.

John stepped through the doorway behind him, his eyes taking in the scene. "Yes," he answered. "Sherlock, this creature is huge."

"Indeed. I would say its about eight feet tall, very bulky, yet also a fast runner."

The detective approached the spot where the body (which was now at the morgue) had been. He knelt down next to the pool of dried blood and began to feel the carpet with his fingers. They closed around something small and hard. A scale. He brought it up to his face to get a closer look.

He heard footsteps approaching and nearly groaned. Doctor Smith and Clara Oswald had arrived. Sherlock pocketed the scale and rose. He gave the pair a hard glare. Clara glanced down, uncomfortable, but Doctor Smith returned it. "What are you doing at my crime scene? You'll contaminate the evidence! Who are you?"

"Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective," he replied cooly. "I was actually called here by the police."

Doctor Smith grit his teeth. "Fine, just try not to get in the way." He pulled out the silver stick from yesterday and began pointing it around the room. It whirred and glowed. It's a scanner, Sherlock realized. Some sort of alien technology. Perhaps stolen?

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and really examined Doctor Smith. "You're much older than you look. You're a traveler, going wherever the danger is. Oh, you're a soldier too, or at least you were at one point. Ah, I seem to have struck a nerve, so you feel guilty about something, which is why you are here hunting down aliens that would do harm. That's who you are, not a UNIT agent, though I already knew that."

Doctor Smith's eyes widened. "You're good, I'll give you that," he admitted.

Sherlock nodded before continuing. "And then there's your friend, the school teacher adrenaline-junkie. You've been traveling together for a long time now, long enough for her to grow accustomed to blood, and long enough for you to love her. No, don't bother trying to deny it. Even if it's purely platonic, you do love her. You'll give your life to protect her, and she would do the same."

Doctor Smith huffed in annoyance. "Yes, you're very smart," he said, his voice laced with bitterness. He was clearly uncomfortable. His movements had become stiff and agitated. Clara also was nervous. She was pulling at her clothes and hair, doing her best to look busy.

"Doctor, what are we looking for?" she asked.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock rattled off his deductions before he got a chance. "You're looking for a pale green reptilian creature about eight feet tall, very wide, with superhuman strength and speed, calcium based, poisonous, female, remorseless killer, yet curious about human biology. A Raxacoricofallapatorian."

Doctor Smith and Clara were both gaping at him. Sherlock would be lying if he said that their reaction didn't please him. Of course, what pleased him even more was John's smile. John always smiled when he was being brilliant. "Oh, do close your mouths, you look like idiots," he remarked.

"Is there anything else?" Doctor Smith snapped in irritation.

"Yes. Your name is not John Smith. You simply go by the Doctor."

The Doctor froze. The anger was gone, replaced by fear. "Did you research me?" he asked softly.

"No," Sherlock replied. "I simply deduced. Though I did have to research UNIT, which is how John and I discovered the existence of aliens."

After a long, drawn out moment of silence, Clara finally said, "That's amazing." Jealousy flashed across the Doctor's eyes. Sherlock smirked. He had a feeling the Doctor was about to tell him to piss off. Most people did.

"Do people ever punch you in the face when you do that?" he asked. His voice was dripping with sarcasm. He had adopted a defensive posture- straight back, stiff muscles, crossed arms. The anger was back in his eyes.

"How did you know so much about the Raxafilico- er, whatever they are?" Clara asked.

Sherlock produced the scale from his pocket. "I observed."

The Doctor stretched out his hand. Sherlock quickly memorized every detail before giving it to him. He scanned it with his silver stick and frowned at the results. "He's right."

Sherlock huffed. "Of course I'm right."

From off to the side, John cleared his throat. "Look, before you two argue anymore, I would like to point out that we are on the same side." He met Clara's eyes and smiled encouragingly. "Perhaps we should work together."

Their knowledge and experience would be useful, Sherlock mused. "It does seem logical," he said. "Doctor?"

He bit his lip as he considered his options. "Alright," he finally agreed.

More footsteps echoed from outside. These sounded rushed, panicked even. Lestrade burst into the room, looking rather pale. There's been another one, Sherlock thought to himself.

"There's been another one," he announced, out of breath.

"What do you say, Doctor? Shall we investigate?"

What happened next took Sherlock by surprise. The Doctor actually smiled. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

John was suddenly by his side. His blogger. Affection rushed through Sherlock at that thought. "Alright, John. The game is on."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

He was lonely. She could smell it on him. He had no family, no friends, and nobody to miss him. An easy target.

From the shadows, she watched him enter his home. His neighbors were out. She had been stalking him for long enough, she decided. Now was the time to attack.

She took a deep breath and took off at a full sprint. She launched herself at the door, ripping it off its hinges easily. The man jumped at the sudden noise and spun around to face her.

The sweet scent of fear filled the room. She moaned with pleasure, savoring the delicious aroma. Fear was her favorite scent. It never got old. She knew it was sadistic of her to enjoy it so much, but she couldn't help the way she was wired.

The bloodlust began to overpower her. The last death had been to quick. She wanted to savor this one. She took a few steps closer to the man. He kept blinking and shaking his head, trying to focus on her, but he just couldn't. His eyes held an odd, vacant look. He knew she was there, but it was as if he couldn't see her. She grinned, adjusting the perception filter on her neck. She could smell the exact second she came into focus.

He tried to scream, but no sound came out. She lunged at him, knocking him to the ground. She dug her claw into his chest and sliced him open. It wasn't long before she was covered in blood. The light slowly faded from his eyes as he stopped struggling. It was a quicker death than what she had hoped for, but it would have to do.

She set to work dissecting him. This time, she cut his skull open. She was looking forward to studying the human brain. Perhaps she should take his eyes as well. She had always been curious about them.

In ten minutes, his neighbors would be arriving, and they would undoubtedly call the police. How tedious. She packed up and turned her perception filter back on. She had a lot of work to do.