A Skeleton in the Closet

4 | A Word in Edge-ways

4 | A word in edge-ways

"Doesn't make sense." Sherlock blinked twice, feigning fortitude.

"What?" The man placed 'matter of factly', more of a weak, effortless statement than a question. Standing tall now, the man was at least 5''8, and Sherlock rather didn't approve of his fashion sense.

"You, The Doctor, The Doctor, your name." Sherlock shifted his weight back and briskly placed his hands on his hips, he looked down at the man with an intrigued persona, eyes never leaving the other's. "It doesn't make sense.''

The raggedy man flicked his hair out of his eyes. "Oh, yes. I get that a lot." A cheeky smile drawing at his lips, showing his teeth teasingly.

Sherlock shifted his weight warily. "I think we all know that a man who gives himself such a undermining relinquishment as an epithet deserves to be respected, for all the wrong reasons of course."

"You don't trust me." The smaller man replied as he swayed from his toes to his heels, hands fixed loosely by the side pockets of his tweed jacket. "Well never mind!" He beamed as he stood on his toes to meet Sherlock's eye level. He looked down at Sherlock's chest, his eyes tracing the line of buttons down the centre of his shirt, a striking deep shade of purple. "Not many people do at first, it's a bit sad really" he croaked, patting Sherlock's chest twice. "And annoying" he said with a surprising dose of cheek, tilting his head playfully to the side, a huge grin lighting up his face as he met Sherlock's stunned gaze. The blood had all drained from Sherlock's cheeks, leaving him pale and cautious. The man who'd so quickly become aroused by the alighting of a new case had changed his tune more suddenly than was believable; one couldn't fathom why he was so affected by this quirky man's presence.

"I.." Sherlock began, stunned, eyes blue and skin blanched.

"Oh, you don't like me" the man teased. His voice raised, with striking affection. A feigned look of anguish spread across his face. Jaw jutted out. He even went as far to deliver a slight pout. Realising he'd left his hands resting on the man's chest, he drew them back immediately, fingers retracted and flicking slightly. He pulled a face, drawing his lips back and feigning disgust, clicking his tongue.

"I told you I'm The Doctor." He said with imperceivable annoyance, his words folding out as if they were lined up in front of him like a row of dominoes. He flicked the first. "Me, here, now." He said, shaking his hands towards Sherlock and then back at himself, in a subconscious attempt to convey the spoken word more efficiently.

"I am..The Doctor. The. Doctor." He recited, eyes darting across the space between them, across Sherlock's shoulders. "Doctor who?, Doctor what?, The Doctor, that's me, hello!" He waved then, he reached out and waved at Sherlock Holmes, just centimetres away from his face.

A squeak came from the corner. The shorter man darted quickly to the left whilst Sherlock stayed facing him, eyes curiously tracing his face, then darting to his bow tie.

"Excuse me, sorry to interrupt but what the hell is happening here" John said breathlessly, his face had turned frighteningly pale, only to be accentuated further by the terrible lighting, which was just the small blue glow emanating from the sides of the blue box. The stranger pushed past Sherlock gently, but with exaggeration, swaying to the side being careful not to knock the purple shirted man. Sherlock turned.

"You're wearing a bow tie" he picked.

"Bow ties are cool!" the quirk of a man replied instinctively, turning, hands held comfortably at chest height. He winked at Sherlock and swayed back around and continued to the other man. It seemed as though he covered the room in just a few strides, he walked around as if he owned the place.

"Oh, and who are you?" he inquired as he reached John. He pushed his face forward, so very close to him, almost as if he had no idea that a thing such as personal space even existed.

"John. John Watson" the horrified man replied quietly. His eyes had darkened. His moth was open slightly, showing of his disbelief and general nihilism of the whole appearance of this strange man and his glowing blue box.

The raggedy man shot back, and his face suddenly bare host to the widest grin possible as he opened his arms becomingly. "Dr John Watson!" he cheered, voice high with excitement, his eyes shining and adoring. He reached forward and brought him into a tight hug. John didn't reciprocate however, he was still rather shocked by the whole series of events. He kept his hands by his sides, balled into fists. He looked at Sherlock with wide, vulnerable eyes over the odd man's shoulder as he started to push himself away from his body and wiggle his way out of the hug. With wild movements, The Doctor turned and held his arms towards the other.  "And you're the great Sherlock Holmes, the one and only Consulting Detective!" His voice was filled with such adoration and voice magnified with brilliance and flattery, that Sherlock found it quietly beautiful.

"Oh God, he reads the blog" John said with frustration as he looked over to Sherlock with disbelief. Sherlock's eyes darted to The Doctor. There was still a comfortable amount distance between their bodies, as he'd fortunately remained by John.

"No, there's something more, there is something abnormal yet incredibly familiar about you Doctor. Why do you insist we call you Doctor? I mean it's obvious you're not a surgeon, or even a general practitioner judging by the clothes you're wearing. You walk with such blundering awareness and acknowledgement for everything around you, but you chose to act like a child. You're scared then, possibly scared of what is out there in the dark, the torments, the demons haunting your past. More likely though, the reason you act so incredibly incapable is because you're frightened of yourself, of what you've done or what you know you will do if pushed. You're frightened of what you're capable of, your power. Which tells me that either way, if you're a genuine threat or just sickeningly egotistical, you Doctor are a very dangerous man. Am I wrong?"

Silence fell.

The Doctor stood, with his head tilted down, gently nodding in agreement with Sherlock's accurate analysis. Bringing his eyes up to Sherlock, it was suddenly so easy to see his deep dejection and quiet, resting fury.

"Familiar" he muttered.

A sudden, unsermountable dose of rage left The Doctor standing just inches from Sherlock's face. He calmed, but spoke with traces of disgust, head stupidly close to the other.

"Do you always judge people on their clothes?"