December 16:th - The Three Musketeers
The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS with some surprise. He had let it chose itself where to go, and now he stood inside a flat with a cozily burning fire. He truly had no idea why it had chosen to come here.
The next second, he realised exactly why as the magic carpet came flying in cheerful exuberance. The next moment, he decided that he might have very much to explain, as a little old lady turned around the corner and saw them. He was wrong, he realised the next moment, as she merely tutted about the state of his shoes and went on to talk to his TARDIS like they were the oldest of friends. Within minutes, it was clear to him that they were, in fact, old friends.
Not wanting to intrude on the conversation between his TARDIS and the motherly woman who intoduced herself as "Mrs Hudson, dear, and you must be the Doctor! Well we've spoken before, dear", the doctor settled before the fire, letting the carpet challenge him to a game of dominoes. He couldn't help but wonder who had taught an ancient, magical carpet such a game. Whoever it was must be a bit crazy. He very much wanted to meet them.
It only struck him as he lost the second time (out of three games) that this room looked very little like an older lady's livingroom. The wallpaper was oldfashioned, but there were lab equipment of the kitchen table, a skull (he had already nodded to her in respect) on the mantelpiece and a pile of letters secured with a pocket knife to the wall.
"Who lives here?" He asked suddenly, making the older woman and the carpet look at him curiously. "Should we really be here?" He questioned further. "Maybe it would be wiser to move somewhere a little less out in the open". "Oh, there is no need, dear" Mrs Hudson assured him off-handedly, still smiling warmly in a kindly fashion. "John is not in today. Work at the clinic, you see".
Just as she finished explaining as much, a tall, darkhaired man appreared in the doorway, wearing only a slightly puzzled expression. The carpet immediately rose fromt he game - knocking a few pieces over in the process - and raced to his side, weaving around his legs like an affectionate pet welcoming its owner home.
"Oh, Sherlock dear. How was the morgue?" Mrs Hudson asked him. "Dead" he replied with no trace of humour in his tone. He seemed utterly undisturbed by the magical carpet swirling around him, and merely went to drop into the couch at the side of the room. The carpet would not have it, though, tugging at him until they found themselves together before the fire, leaving the TARDIS and Mrs Hudson to conspire over in their own corner. The DoctorsSpent the rest of the day there, accepting Mrs Hudson's offer of tea and comparing notes on the science of mortals and timelords with the man, whom Mrs Hudson - with a stern motherly reprimand about manners - belatedly introduced as Sherlock Holmes.
The Doctor found his company intriguing, but then again he always knew he had to like a man who played dominoes with a magical carpet, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The doctor, of course, knew that it was, but he was not expecting such insights from a being with only the one heart.
Or the one where Sherlock, Doctor Who and most everyone else are insane: because all the best people are!
No one knows, somewhat ironically, how many the three musketeers really are. Here, they might be two, or they might be five. Nobody knows!
I do not own anything you recognise - I don't even know where some of it is from!
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