Morning at 221B Baker Street was usually normal. Sherlock would wake up from his bed, blink several times, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom. He'd get up and shuffle around his room, scrounging up clothing for the day while sorting things out in his mind. Believe it or not, Sherlock was never really a morning person. He'd get up in the morning if Lestrade requested his presence or there was a case on his website that he was interested in, but otherwise, Sherlock never cared for mornings at all. He bemoaned them in his youth and bemoaned them now as an adult. He never really understood mornings at all.

Truly, Sherlock would've never gotten up at all today. He'd already checked his website through his mobile while in bed, checked his texts, there was nothing for him to suffice on. However, he made an exception for this morning. His friend, the Doctor, had asked him to come along. The Doctor had found out where the Compound was located, it was deep within the Pacific Ocean somewhere in another universe, where Cybermen were commonplace and a daily threat.

The Doctor was sure they'd never encounter any, since the Cybermen had never considered the Pacific Ocean viable, allowing them to operate without fears of an altercation between them and one of the most terrifying things imaginable, in terms of uncanny valley.

Sherlock opened his eyes; they twitched as he rubbed them before his light blue eyes moved toward the alarm clock on his nightstand. It was only 10 AM, two hours before the Doctor was supposed to arrive at his flat. Sherlock forced himself up from his bed and continued to blink. He grimaced when light from the sun made contact with his face as he swatted the curtains back over the exposed parts.

He went about his room, grabbing his clothes. He'd decided on something light, since he suspected there'd be situations where his normal attire would cause issue. A simple pinstripe suit with faint lines, dark blue for base and a lighter blue for the stripes, a white cotton shirt tucked in and simple brown loafers. Sherlock went about, readying, he ran a hand through his hair, jiggling curls that clung together apart while yawning loudly.

By the time Sherlock got to the kitchen, it was only 10:30. Sherlock made himself a simple breakfast, or, he just grabbed whatever he had on hand and made do with what he made. Some tea biscuits slathered with some butter and a touch of honey, some dark coffee, and for good health, an apple.

When breakfast concluded, it'd just turned eleven, so Sherlock went about checking his website, his phone, and then some. He made sure that Lestrade, John, and who else that he bothered, wouldn't come around while he was gone. It was a simple plan, of course John already knew where Sherlock was going, but the others had no privy to that kind of information and Sherlock decided to lie: he gone up to Scotland, reasons for he kept vague. No one questioned it at all, they were used to him going off on his own, never coming around unless he was needed. And no one would ever dare to come looking for him in the flat, so that was a bonus.

Sherlock decided to tidy up the flat, removing books from the floor and stacking them properly on the table, collecting scraps of papers and tossing whatever ones he had no use for. He was told where the TARDIS might land so he pushed the furniture away as he could from where it would appear.

He yawned and rubbed his eyes, muttering to himself. He hated mornings. Hated mornings then, hated them now.

Sherlock checked the time once again; the Doctor would be arriving in roughly thirty minutes. To past the little time he had, Sherlock grabbed for his violin and began to play. He walked around as he played, stopping once or twice to keep track of time. Sherlock had been working on another tune, he wasn't quite done with it but it was almost done. It was a version of the peculiar song, "The London Crow". He was fine tuning it to be properly played on the violin; some parts were scratchy at best while others were a little flat. Sherlock intended to complete the tune, but work had been increasingly exhaustive weeks after his first encounter with the Doctor.

Sherlock stopped on a soft note when he heard a peculiar sound, the sound of metal rubbing against a hard surface. His light eyes fell on to the TARDIS slowly appearing in the center of the den. When it was corporal, Sherlock put away the violin and headed toward the TARDIS.

The TARDIS's door slowly opened and the Doctor poked his head out. "Sherlock," the Doctor greeted him. Sherlock nods, "Doctor."

"I didn't land on anything, did I?" the Doctor looked around. Sherlock shook his head. "No Doctor, you didn't," he replied. The Doctor sighed and nods. "Good, so, ready?" he blinks. Sherlock nodded. The Doctor allowed him inside the TARDIS.

"Have you had any luck figuring out who wrote the letter?" Sherlock asked the Doctor as he went around the control panel. The Doctor shook his head and replied, "No, I haven't been able to."

"Wonder what changed," Sherlock pondered. The Doctor rubbed his eyes, "Letter said that Sofia went mad, that she's threatening to detonate the Compound if anyone tried to stop her."

"She must've heard about him," Sherlock shook his head. The Doctor sighed, "Well, with what I've gathered, we'll see to Sofia getting her comeuppance."

The Doctor set the dials, pressed dozens of buttons, lowered and raised some switches, before he looked at Sherlock, "Ready?"

"As always," Sherlock nodded. The Doctor pulled on a lever and the TARDIS begun to shake as it slowly disappeared from the flat.