December 15:th - Kidnapped
Stephen had discovered that he liked to potter around in the kitchen. Now that he had time - on days when there wasn't any potentially world-devouring crises, anyway - he took the chance to work in the kitchen. Baking bread, making stews, all of those things were comforting in their familiarity.
Not that he had used to cook a lot, before his accident. He had not. But especially baking reminded him acutely of surgery, only not in a painful way. He had gained distance, over time, was happy where he was, and so, the memory wasn't anything like the unhealed, infected, festering wound it had once been. With that change, cooking became not a painful or unpleasant reminder, but a comforting rutine. He could still not deal with sharp blades, but there were plenty of others passing through the Sanctum who could, and novises were sent to do such chores for him. He managed.
He had started to eat porridge in the mornings - no knives needed, and plenty tasty, he had somewhat grudgingly admitted to himself. He spent most of his days reading, studying increasingly obscure forms of magic, and divising new spells much to the alarm of his new colleagues and to the obvious pleasure of his loyal cloak. He trusted the cloak more than his human companions, especially in this matter, and so he continued at it.
He was playing catch with his deeply amused cloak, when the TARDIS showed back up. It was just under a week since its last appearance, but this time, no Doctor, nor any carpet (to the clear disappointment of the cloak) came out of it.
"What is the matter?" Doctor Strange asked it, as it blinked in a far too fast pace, not the peaceful twinkle it had emitted during the Great Bake Night. As one of the doors swung open, he entered, the cloak having let itself fall into a chair in disappointment.
He looked around, inside of the TARDIS, not noticing how the door shut itself behind him. It really was much bigger on the inside. Right about when he had established as much, he could feel the tell-tale sensation of magic. He could not pick up on any travels through dimension or even time, having become sensitive to it after having used the eye of Agamoto for so many time-loops, but he did feel the magic.
When it ceased, he opened the door and found himself in London. They were outside a building numbered "221B", and he could only conclude that he had been kidnapped by a magical artifact. Judging from the pleased blinking of the TARDIS, this had been the plan all along. With a sigh, he pulled out a spare sling ring from inside his robes and put it on.
Not wanting to be conspicous, he opened the door he assumed the TARDIS meant him to go through, into 221B Baker Street. With the smooth movements come from much practise, he opened a portal just as an older lady stepped out into the hallway he stood in. "Ho-ho! Sherlock is that you, dear?" Upon seeing him, she expressed no surprise, but merely smiled and greeted him with "Oh, Stephen, it is nice to meet you". "The same" he replied, too accustomed to the curious to be truly surprised, and stepped through the portal, closing it behind him. "Englishmen and their relics are a bit odd" he told his cloak, before he returned to his book.
I have noted before that one must be an idiot to be a sorcerer and not carry a spare sling ring, and I was glad to get that in here! Myself, I always make sure to have a good supply of spares!
;D Tomorrow, Doctor Who meets Sherlock Holmes! Just in case you need something to look forward to in the Christmas stress.
I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!
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To the guest Irene:
I am thrilled to hear that you enjoy it! I hope you will like the next few chapters as well. As the focus shifts between the fandoms, the type of crossover it is listed as might change, as I cannot cross between three stories, so I hope you will always be able to find it!