~ The Rescue Part I ~
"I'm telling you for the last time, I am not the Doctor!" John bellowed. He was on his knees in front of a throne, a guard on each side of him. He couldn't see the face of the King, as it was hidden behind an ironic bird mask. His daughter had been questioning him with a haughty air, a permanent smirk plastered to her face.
Why are you here, Doctor?
What interests you on our planet, Doctor?
She laughed and muttered something that sounded like "Not the Doctor?" Taking a box from near the trine, she opened it and flung the contents in front of John. It was his jacket and flashlight.
"If you are not the Doctor, then how come your jacket claims you to be its owner?"
The jacket's tag had "Doctor" written on it in neat black writing. John rolled his eyes and flicked the garment away with his bound hands.
"He lent it to me! It isn't my fault if he still writes his name in his clothing."
"I don't believe you. If you weren't the Doctor, you wouldn't have stepped out of the time machine." She smiled when she saw his eyes widen. "Yes, I know all about the TARDIS. Infinite space and time travel. It would be stupid not to know of such power."
It was John's turn to laugh. "Then you must be really stupid to think that I am the Doctor. I can't and won't help you. My hands are tied."
"Quite literally, I might add," said a voice from the entrance of the throne room. "You really should be more careful with who you let into this place." The Doctor was striding down the hall, tucking a piece of paper into his coat pocket, Sherlock right behind him. The Doctor had a large grin on his face and was playing around with his Sonic screwdriver as he came nearer to the throne.
The King's daughter looked worried now; clearly this was not part of her plan. She regained her composition however. "This is a royal matter. Who the hell let them in?" she demanded, looking around accusingly at the men near her. A little ways behind Sherlock was a younger guard, his face written with guilt all over it. "I'm sorry, Madam Opal, he said he was the ambassador. He had a paper to prove it!" he pointed at the Doctor, his arm slightly quivering.
"You idiot!" Opal yelled, her pearly face turning a shade of pink. "We don't have an ambassador!" She grabbed an odd looking gun from her belt and raised it at the newcomers, then pointed it at John. She looked at the Doctor angrily. " I suppose he isn't you then."
The Doctor nodded and spoke slowly, as if addressing a child. "Yes, and these are my companions, and I'm the Doctor. Hello!" He waved. Furious at being made fun of, she targeted the gun at the Doctor's fez and shot it, disintegrating the hat into ash with one beam of light.
"Ah, a Disintegrator pistol. Excellent model! My wife had one as well. You two would be great friends."
"I'm not here to make friends. I want your machine."
The Doctor drew closer, and all the guards in the hall raised their guns at the same moment. This didn't seem to bother him. His face was stony now, and John had a feeling that the happy-go-lucky attitude was just for show.
"Listen, I know what you want with my TARDIS, and I know that you're kidnapping innocent people and selling them for a profit. But we're not negotiating today. Today, you are releasing them."
"No more Daddy to make you birds, huh?" John muttered, knowing this sentence would come with punishment. It did, in the form of one high-heeled boot to his stomach. He doubled over and coughed violently. Looking up through the flash of pain, he saw Opal slowly climb up to the throne, and peel the mask off the King's face. John almost threw up when he saw that what he had thought was a living breathing person was actually a corpse, garbed in royal clothing.
The guards suddenly flickered and vanished like holograms. Lasers blinked on and surrounded the Doctor, Sherlock, and John, creating an electrical cage. Opal turned and her face had changed completely. It wasn't the arrogant smirk, or angry glare. It was pale, wild, and worst of all: bloodthirsty. She dropped the mask on the floor. "Oops. I guess Daddy wasn't too keen on my ideas." She shrugged, walking slowly towards them.
"She's mad." John murmured, frightened.
"No, she's a sociopath. We've walked into a trap." Sherlock looked around the grand hall, careful not to touch the lasers.
The Doctor was still pressing his sonic screwdriver, a twinkle in his eye. He said nothing, but smiled.