Sherlock stands, statuesque in the middle of her flat and watches a police box materialise before her.
Perhaps the Metropolitan Police force or Scotland Yard weren’t as useless as I thought.
Her ears grow accustomed to the singular, dissonant scrape of the little blue box come to land.
A young woman flings open the door to the TARDIS, and sticks her head out of it, dark hair swinging out underneath her earlobes.
“Hi, uh,” she steps out cautiously, wearing a fit-and-flare tartan collared dress with neatly-styled dark stockings underneath. “You haven’t seen a woman come through here have you? Quite tall, very, uh, eccentric, wearing a suit, bow tie, big chin?”
“No,” Sherlock says, tone thick with honesty. “But I’d wager you’ll be needing my help.”
The young woman tilts her head in not-so-quiet consideration. “Uh, yeah. Help might be really good, actually. TARDIS is being a bit stubborn.”
Behind them come the steadily advancing steps of the good Doctor Watson, hauling up bags of shopping.
“Watson,” Sherlock calls over her shoulder, without removing her gaze from the little blue box. “We have a case.”
“Oh yeah?” Joan says, finally looking up, wrists red from the plastic bags.
“… bloody hell,” she breathes, setting the shopping down on the table and wandering over. “S’this, then?”
The former soldier turns her face to Sherlock, as she always does when she’s looking for answers.
“It’s a TARDIS. Stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space. It’s one of the remaining advanced pieces of Time Lord technology and can transport pilot and passengers to any point of time and space in the universe. It has a chameleon circuit allowing it to blend in with its surroundings and a translation system based on telepathy,” Sherlock takes a few long, leggy strides and opens the door, turning her chin back over her shoulder.
“Oh there’s one more thing,” the detective says.
“It’s bigger on the inside,” the former captain remarks, smiling up at the young girl in front of her.
Hello, yes, I’m Joan Watson and this is my terribly rude colleague Sherlock Holmes. Yeah she’s the only one in the world, yeah. Oh, reminds you a bit of her, does it? Is that…who we’re looking for, then?
“Yes, Clara, what exactly happened? You can tell us on the way. Do close the door, please, Watson.”
“Ah, well, it’s all a bit complicated, but I lost my doctor.”
“Lost your doctor?” Sherlock echoes, raising a delicate, aristocratic eyebrow. “Well, then, that is very careless of you.” The taller woman touches the ship’s controls with alarming familiarity, coat catching the wind as she spins.
“Is there any tea on this space ship?” Joan calls, ever hopeful. Clara, spritely as ever, leaps forward to help but isn’t sure if they won’t get lost on the way.
The question causes Sherlock to smile in the corner of her mouth, in the corner of her mind.
She settles beside the centre console, puts the TARDIS on-course, lets her fingers fall into a pyramid and waits.
(So this is the first part of a series of posts that I’ll be doing over the next few days. I might post something in between, but I will finish them so don’t panic. I’m not sure how long they’ll be, or how many of them there will be. But I’ll put them all together and I hope you like reading them as much as I like to write them.)
(… so part two is done, and you can find it right over here.)