Sherlock crossed his arms, "Why is he here?"
"That's the thing, I don't know why he's here," the Doctor shook his head. Sherlock blinked, "Where did he come from?"
The Doctor groaned, indicating that he didn't know the answer either. John looked at Sherlock, "What do you think?"
"I think this case of ours just became interesting," Sherlock stared at the Doctor. Clara sighed and said, "We were looking into places where he hides out in the day, but we haven't had luck."
"What about the ravens, couldn't they tell you where this man is?" John asked. The Doctor responded instead of Clara. He said, "The ravens aren't as friendly as everyone thinks of them. They almost gouged out my bloody eyes when I tried to find our "friend's" hiding place."
"The ravens attacked you, why?" Sherlock watched the Doctor as he moved around the TARDIS. The Doctor stopped to reply, "I think I was getting too close for comfort."
John looked at them, "If he's that dangerous as you say he is, why hasn't anyone died? Why haven't we heard about him until now?"
"He recently arrived, John. Still, he's a dangerous man," the Doctor said. John flinched, "He's been feeding the homeless. And from what I've seen, no one's said anything ill about him much less die."
"Look here, Mr. Watson, he's no man. He is no man. He's a machine," the Doctor stared at him. Clara cleared her throat, "What the Doctor means is he's not… a person."
Sherlock eyed her, "How do you mean?"
"There are things in this world that should not be, Sherlock," the Doctor responded.
Clara went around the TARDIS, looking for something until she found it and presented it to John. It was a cassette player with a cassette already inside. John played the newer version of the London Crow song. The way it went, it might've come from the late fifties if not earlier than that. John wasn't sure what year this version came out. It's sung by a young woman in her mid-thirties with an upbeat tempo in the background:
Have you seen the doctor man?
The London Crow was his name,
A great hulking man with eyes,
That pierces even the Iron Maiden.
He lumbers through London in the night,
Always gone by dawn's light,
To where is a great question,
You'll never get an answer.
His eyes that which bewitch even the witches of the east.
His height keeps the beasts at bay.
Ghosts will turn white at the sight.
Bogeymen become scarce if they see him.
He'll haunt the ways that many have forgotten,
Those begotten might find him,
And never come around again.
The London Crow is no man,
No one quite knows what he is,
Other than the ravens adore him so.
And he will never answer a soul,
So no one will ever know.
Whatever he was, he isn't now.
And in any way that you see,
You'll never hear a peep.
The poor man will never speak,
He can never speak again,
Why is anyone's guess?
John crossed his arms, "Not to disregard the fact that we're in a bloody time machine, Doctor. But how could a… machine as you say arrive here in Sherwood?"
Clara looked at the Doctor and the Doctor shook his head. Sherlock then came to a startling conclusion. He looked at John, "Because John, he never existed in our universe."
"Do you hear yourself?" John threw up his arms and stomped around the TARDIS. "Now you're going to tell me this bloke's an alien!"
He pointed at the Doctor. The Doctor gave a strange look and Clara looked at him. John and Sherlock both shared a look before they stared at the Doctor, dumbfounded. They each had a look on their faces. Sherlock tried to understand the implications while John looked at the Doctor. It was not and John buried his face with his hands, "I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming!"
"Maybe they should see it, Doctor," Clara suggested. The Doctor pondered then sighed, asking for her to get it. Clara went and disappeared into another part of the TARDIS and handed Sherlock a folder. He took it into his hands and looked through it. There was no way the papers are fakes, nor was the seal of approvals on some of them. This file was confidential, evident by the seals and red ink dotting pages. It was an investigation, signed and approved. Indeed, written in the files, someone had died.
A one Patrolman Alice Walker was on patrol one late night and was spooked by something. He requested an early termination of his patrol. The Base accepted his request and he was heading back to his vehicle when radio died. Alice was nowhere around the area during the search.
He was later found, slumped near a rubbish bin near the shores. His bones snapped until intense pressure, as if something had crushed him. The investigators haven't been certain on who could've killed Alice or why. The fact was, no one was sure what happened. Feeds from cameras were far and between, so it's hard to assume.
Shaking his head while muttering under his breath, the Doctor flicked his wrist. He pulled down several switches before pushing buttons. He glanced over his shoulder as John was coming toward the control panel. "You might want to brace yourself," the Doctor said to him and Sherlock. John glanced at him in return. The Doctor sighed and added, "You may find yourself stuck some place."
John peered at the control panel, lined with buttons, switches, levers, and the like. He watched as the Doctor touched them, as if he had been doing this for some time. It left John bemused. The Doctor and Clara actually existed and that time machines were possible. Clara smiled as she stepped near them and followed John's eyes as he kept up with the Doctor. "He knows what he's doing," she assured him. It seemed by the tone of her voice, people had before questioned the Doctor before on this matter. John turned his head to look at her. He shook his head and said, "I don't doubt that, at all."
"It's a miracle," the Doctor sneered. He flipped the final switched and turned around to face John. Sherlock continued to read through the files until the lights blinded him as they lit up the interior. The TARDIS continued to hum and both John and Sherlock stumbled around. Sherlock attempting to hold onto the files. The moment there was a bump, a common mishap explained by the Doctor, it sent John onto the floor. It caused Sherlock to spill the papers onto the grated floor. Sherlock managed to fall backwards as papers littered the ground. John groaned as he lay across the floor and moved his head to see a black and white photo peering back at him. It was none other than the Plague Doctor. The photograph looked to be from a surveillance camera that hung up on the streetlights. The static still present in the photograph. And it appeared that the Plague Doctor was near a marketplace. The location was London, Sherlock noted, but something about it was off. The marketplace, Churchill Markets, was something that Sherlock never even heard about. Sherlock was someone who always knew the hereabouts, whereabouts, anything that went on in London. If there was a marketplace such as the Churchill Markets, he'd heard about it.
It dawned on him he had brought this up before. The Plague Doctor was not from his and John's universe and it meant that there were other universes like theirs.
Sherlock continued to look over the photograph. The Plague Doctor was walking, his hat moved in the breeze. The bronze mask gleamed in the light and looked as if there were blotches on it. The cowl that wrapped around the Plague Doctor was leather, Sherlock could tell. Indeed, the Plague Doctor was a large foreboding machine. It was taller than Sherlock by almost 0.3 meter (1 FT.) Thin with a compact appearance that gave him a thin hourglass shape. His hands were large, larger than Sherlock's and John's hands combined. With wider gaps between the longer and thicker fingers too. Yet, the one thing that stuck out to Sherlock was the Plague Doctor's silver eyes.
His silver eyes glowed in the bright light. The pupils were not dilating as they should. Something about them gave Sherlock chills, a rarity. There was a chance those eyes were fake, his real eyes hidden under them. But Sherlock was someone who wouldn't necessary hide behind false notions.
The Doctor points as he stood near the control panel. "He's a dangerous machine. Much more than any mortal nemesis you two might've had over the years," he explains. John looked down to the files he held as well and stared at a photo of the Plague Doctor, his eyes were empty, soulless. He compared his photo with the one Sherlock had and they both gave each other a look.
"Doctor, could it be possible he might've discovered a wormhole?" Clara theorized. The Doctor pondered, "With the way he's wired, he picked up on a hotspot and mosey his way into this universe."
"What could he know about this universe to jump through a wormhole?" Clara continued to put together a theory. The Doctor rubbed his brow, "If he wasn't so wired, I'd be able to know."
The Doctor cleared his throat and looked at Sherlock and John. "Alright boys, let's get dangerous," he gave a smile.
"I wish he hadn't said that," John groaned. Sherlock stared, "What's your plan?"
"I need to know who programmed him and why," the Doctor said as he went to the door of the TARDIS.