The Adventures of a Consulting Time Lord

By Soledad

Episode 01: Ginger, At Last! (But Still Rude)

Disclaimer: Both Dr. Who and Sherlock belong to the BBC. I'm just borrowing them to have some fun.

Author's note: We know the job wasn't actually created this way, but, well, in this context I hope I can get away with it. *g*

Chapter 08 – The Consulting Detective

Fifteen minutes later Ianto served them the best coffee one could get on planet Earth (and beyond), with custard cream biscuits, to the Doctor's delight who'd loved custard cream in practically all his incarnations. Then he left the two Gallifreyans alone, so that they could work out the little details of the Doctor's upcoming stay on Earth.

"We need something where you can satisfy your natural curiosity and use your powers of deduction," Mycroft said. "Those are very useful traits and it would be a shame to neglect them. I've given this a great deal of thought, long before you'd even show up, but frankly, I'm at the end of my tether."

"Well, I used to work on Earth as a scientist before," the Doctor pointed out.

"Yes, but that was a long time ago, when UNIT knew exactly who and what you were and the Brigadier supported you," Mycroft replied. "You could only work as a scientist in your human disguise, but not even Mummy can create a decades-long scientific career out of thin air, not in these paranoid times. And your mind is too brilliant to start from the bottom as a lab rat. So, working scientist is out of the question, I'm afraid. A shame, really; you could have done a great deal of good in that area."

"I could work independently," the Doctor suggested, but Mycroft shook his head.

"We can't stomp a fully equipped lab out of the earth for you; less so considering your multiple and far-reaching interests. The income of the Holmes estate can carry a lot, but not that much. Besides, there would be the lacking history problem again. Nobody would take your seriously without a long string of published articles and actual results. We can't fake everything. Although," he added as an afterthought, "I could probably plant you in the New Scotland Yard as a detective; or as a forensic scientist at St. Bart's."

"Boring," the Doctor interrupted. "I don't want a dull job, Mycroft, not even as a human. I want something challenging; something to occupy my mind. Solving crimes could be interesting, yes, but all that tedious paperwork… no, I can't be bothered with that. And forensic scientist… yes, figuring out what's happened and why and how, I'll like to do that very much, but not with some stupid ape interfering with my work."

"Well, I'm afraid that will be the case with any job you choose to pick up," Mycroft said. "Unless…"

The Doctor's ears literally perked up at that. "Unless what?" he asked eagerly.

Mycroft shrugged. "Unless you go into the detective business on your own."

"A private detective?" the Doctor shuddered. "Looking for lost pets and spying on cheating husbands or wives for a living? Oh, please, are you trying to kill me through boredom? The mere idea is most dreadfully dull!"

"I thought we could create evidence that the police have consulted you repeatedly in the past, whenever they couldn't solve a particularly complicated or… sensitive case," Mycroft said. "That would encourage them to do so again; and we can arrange for you to use the labs at St. Bart's, should you want to check the evidence for yourself."

"A consulting detective, eh?" the Doctor mused. "That has a certain sound to it that I like. But what if someone wants to look up those old cases I've supposedly solved?"

"Oh, the cases do actually exist," Mycroft coughed, a little embarrassed. "Sometimes I couldn't just sit and watch them struggle, and, well, provided them with the solution… under the name of my odd, brilliant brother who's a genius but, unfortunately, also something of a sociopath. A high-functioning one, for sure, but still a sociopath."

"You had a dead person solve their cases from out of a mental institute?" the Doctor asked in stunned disbelief.

Mycroft shrugged. "Well, I couldn't do it under my own name, could I? I'm supposed to be the mysterious power behind the throne; or rather behind the government. It would have ruined my air of mystery completely. In any case, the fact that none of them has ever met 'Sherlock' in person will serve our purposes nicely."

"How did you reach them, then?" the Doctor asked.

"Text messages," Mycroft replied curtly. "The fact that Mummy can hack into their network any time helped a lot, of course. We'll provide you with a special phone that can do the same; and with a database that will prove helpful in your detective work. You'll believe that you were the one who'd set it up, as you'll no longer remember Mummy or what she and Anthea really are."

"What kind of database?" the Doctor asked. "Old police cases?"

"That and much, much more," Mycroft replied. "You'll have instant access to up-to-date scientific research, online encyclopaedias, confidential personal files and the likes. All you'll have to do is to update the database regularly and you'll stay ahead of the police all the time. As you'll pose as my younger brother, nobody will be surprised that you can have access to things other people can't."

"That could work," the Doctor allowed, "but what if I fail without direct access to my TARDIS? I could ruin the reputation of 'Sherlock' you'd built up so carefully."

"Nonsense," Mycroft replied. "Even as a human your brain capacity will be high above the average. The chameleon arch only changes your biology, not your intelligence. Anthea will be watching your cases and feed your database with the facts you'll need. Your scientific mind and your observation skills will do the rest. You've always been bright, even by Gallifreyan measures; you'll do just fine."

For a while they fell silent, contemplating the profound changes that were to come.

"Why are you doing all this?" the Doctor finally asked. "You never liked me, and frankly, the sentiment has always been mutual. You thought I was a rogue and I still think you're a pompous, annoying, self-righteous and meddlesome arse. So why?"

"First and foremost, I'm the Watcher," Mycroft said. "It's also my duty to look out for stray Time Lords, in case they'd need help. And since there are only the two of us left – unless the Master is still lurking somewhere out there in human disguise – that means basically you."

"The Master is dead," the Doctor said. "I watched him die. He refused to regenerate, out of sheer spite, and died in my hands."

"You forget that he was a genius," Mycroft reminded him. "A mad genius, undoubtedly, but still a genius. If he wanted, he'd have found a way to preserve himself while he still held your TARDIS captive."

"His body was dead," the Doctor insisted. "And it got cremated. I know that for sure. I was there."

"Then let's hope that you're right," Mycroft said. "The last thing I'd want would be a criminal mastermind of his format on the loose. I've got enough problems of my own."

"It must be hard to be the British government," the Doctor deadpanned. "And MI5 at the same time. And the CIA as a freelancer."

"You have no idea," Mycroft replied without missing a beat. "Now, why don't you go and prepare your chameleon arch with Anthea's help – she has all the necessary data – while Ianto and I work on refining your human background?"

~TBC~