A/N: A short one-shot about Sherlock and The Doctor. Based on the picture on the side!
The dripping of water slowly falling down broken, rusted drains echoed through the stone tunnels of the outskirts of London. Spluttering and coughing of the homeless who lived in these tunnels mixed into the cacophony of the usual noises of the night. The echo of footsteps stepping in puddles began to get nearer, along with an arrogant-sounding whistle. A man walked through an arch of the tunnels, a ragged looking navy blue-black coat swishing about near his ankles, and a triumphant smile on his face, "Well John, another case solved. It wasn't the butler who did it this time, it was, in fact, the…" The man stopped and the smile dropped of his face as if coming to a solemn realisation. He chuckled softly to himself, "Of course." He whispered. He continued working and came around the corner, before coming again, to an abrupt stop. There standing in front of him, was a strange, but familiar sight. A blue, glowing, fluorescent Police Box stood dripping in the damp night. The man took slow, careful steps up to the front double doors of the box. 'Pull to Open', the doors said. The man looked closely at the door and then laughed out loud, "Oh, Doctor," he laughed through the doors, "I see you've been abusing her again!" Suddenly, the doors flew open and a gust of wind blew through the tunnels. A man stepped out of the box wearing a bow-tie and suspenders and looked angrily at the man, "I have not!" He shouted. The man with the coat stood back from the doors, allowing the man to walk into the tunnels. As he walked forward, he could see a faint, blue glowing light coming from inside the box. 'A whole world in there'.The Doctor would say. Not that he had ever seen it. It was highly impossible anyway, "There are marks on the door from the doors being pushed inwards not out, which could only lead to one possible explanation, you've been pushing and not pulling." The Doctor glared at the man, but then let a small smile onto his face, "Oh Sherlock." The Doctor said, "You still haven't lost it." The Doctor held out his hand, and he was greeted by a strong handshake from his oldest friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes, "Nice place you've got." The Doctor said, smirking as he looked around the damp and dusty tunnels, "Yes, well my circumstances have been…" Sherlock looked for the right word, "compromising." The Doctor lent against his precious box. 'The T.A.R.D.I.S'. He'd called it. Again, highly illogical. "So what about you?" Sherlock asked, "What have you and your famous companion been up to now? Where is your little friend? You're not one to travel alone." A shadow crossed over the Doctor's face, "I've been alone for sometime now." The Doctor said quietly, quite unlike him, "It's never been the same since Manhattan." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Curious, with a thousand ideas and questions running through his mind, he dropped the conversation. The Doctor shook his head after the brief intrusion of memories, "So, I here you've been impersonating me again." Sherlock said, quite obviously changing the subject, "Doyle's version of you, there's a difference." The Doctor replied, obviously thankful for the change of conversation, "Besides," he started, "I'm not the only one that's been up to something lately. Faking your own death?" Sherlock smirked. He wasn't completely surprised the Doctor knew. He was one of those sorts to know everything, quite a bit like himself, "How's John taking it?" The Doctor continued. For a minute, Sherlock stopped, briefly overrun by emotions. Without letting it show, Sherlock turned the discussion away from him and his old accomplice, "Why are you really here Doctor?" The Doctor tensed up for a second then relaxed, "I need you to help me find someone."
