elysium ≫ wholock [[ON HOLD]]

v ➳ lost

“Hello! I’m here about the flat!”

The Doctor stood on the doorstep of 221B Baker Street, flashing his psychic paper at the woman who stood before him - Mrs. Hudson, he presumed.

“Oh, I had no idea John put out an ad,” Mrs. hudson said, referring to the small newspaper clipping she’d seen from the psychic paper. “Please, come in. You’re looking at the upstairs one, aren’t you?”

“If it’s alright with you,” the Doctor said, folding his hands behind his back. He stood on his toes for a moment then fell back onto his flat feet impatiently. Mrs. Hudson led him upstairs and left to let him have a look around.

As soon as the door shut, the Doctor checked over his shoulder, listening for footsteps. Once they were far away, he pulled out his sonic screwdriver and, feeling like these were special circumstances, pulled down the shades to the windows that showed a view of Baker Street.

He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he scanned anyway, with a sense of importance. Recalling anything he could remember from the novels depicting the life of the infamous detective. The Doctor was nearly positive that the flat wasn’t described as this neat and tidy in the books.

He reached into another pocket, grasping Clara’s stolen phone in his hand. Discreetly, he dialed the TARDIS’s number. “Hello…?” Clara answered the phone unsure.

“I’ve gotten a little sidetracked. Just a tad,” the Doctor said, checking that the door wasn’t opening again. “Sit tight, the TARDIS’ll keep you company.”

“You’re not trying to prompt me to talk to it again, are you?” Clara asked; the Doctor took note of her annoyed tone.

“Firstly, the TARDIS is a she. Secondly, I’m at 221B Baker Street - ”

“The real thing?!” Clara said suddenly, so loudly that the Doctor had to pull the phone away from his ear. “Are there experimented-on body parts? Or files and papers everywhere? Ooh, is there a skull?” She was a bigger fan of the books than she let on.

The Doctor smiled for a moment at Clara’s excitement - he could practically hear her bouncing up and down - then frowned. “Well, I suppose there was at one point. Now it’s just… empty.”

“Oh. What about John Watson? How did that go?” Clara replied, more calmly than before.

“I’ve set up another appointment.” Clara sighed on the other end of the line; the Doctor knew that was a sigh that was paired with an eyeroll. “Later tonight, actually. I don’t think we’ll have to wait that long, though.” At Clara’s silence, he continued quietly.

“I’ve got a plan - well, a bit of a plan. Maybe about forty percent of a plan. I’m bringing John to - er, I’m - no, we’re bringing the TARDIS to John. I’m not totally positive yet, but we’re going to attempt to find Sherlock Holmes.”

“Just like that?” The Doctor faintly heard Clara snap her fingers, then her heels clicking, making him guess that she’d accidentally opened the TARDIS’s doors. “You’re just going to wing it? Again?”

The Doctor scoffed lightly. “When has winging it not gotten us out of something?”

“Winging it didn’t get you out of your new trousers, did it?”

The Doctor blushed at the memory of getting stuck in the stupid trousers, and his cheeks burned harder when he remembered that Clara had had to help him. “That was one time!” he said defensively; Clara laughed. “I’ll be back soon,” he added dismissively, then hung up.