Before Falling yet After Drowning

Chapter One

The shaking of the TARDIS finally stopped. The Doctor swung the door open, expecting to see something at least remotely exciting to distract him. Instead, he found himself on a dreary street on Earth. From the looks of it, he was in London. What a bore. Still, it was less painful than staying on the TARDIS, so he closed the blue door behind him. Locked it for what he thought would be the last time. He stepped out onto the drizzly street, feeling more alone than ever. His tweed jacket was nothing against the cold.

He began to walk, feeling invisible without a companion by his side. According to Earth records, he didn't exist. He needed a place to stay, but where? The only money in his pocket that was actually from Earth wouldn't even cover a night at a modest hotel. The cold outside was becoming uncomfortable, so he slipped into a cafe across the street. After ordering a coffee, he sat at a window seat, staring at his own reflection. He tried to focus on the bustle of cabs outside, because he really hated his face. Not just this particular one, but the face behind all of his regenerations. The one that murdered and destroyed and burned.

He turned back to his steaming drink, trying to forget. Even though everyone in the cafe had stared at him strangely when they'd seen his bow tie, he still felt as though nobody could really see him. Nobody here could even begin to guess as to who or what he was. He was just another sad little bloke with odd tastes in clothes alone in a cafe. Yet somebody had seen him. He'd caught the eye of another mysterious man, peering out of the window of 221b Baker Street. A man who at the moment was briskly tying his scarf, preparing to go across the street and investigate the man who'd come out of the blue box.

***

The door to the cafe swung open, but it wasn't the usual adult coming in after an exhausting day at work. This man held himself differently, as though he were assessing everyone in the room. His pallor was pale. His dark hair was messy, as though he hadn't slept in days. His face was thin. His eyes seemed to see through everyone. His cloak swished as he strode across the brightly lit room. Right toward the Doctor.

Nobody strayed into his path. They all appeared to know who he was. And that he had quite a repuptation. The man stopped in front of the table where the Doctor sat. In a low voice, he asked, "Might I take the seat across from you."

The Doctor nodded distractedly, still staring out the window. The man looked him over. His eyebrows scrunched together, as though he couldn't quite put a finger on who the Doctor was or what he was doing there. Not that anybody else would have been able to, either. But this was no ordinary man.

He politely held out a hand. "Hello. My name's Sherlock Holmes. Where are you visiting from?"

The Doctor shook it. "Oh...um...how did you know I was just visiting?"

Sherlock waved his hand. "Simple. There's mud on your shoes, yet it's only started raining a few minutes ago."

"Impressive."

"Yes," Sherlock said cooly. "That, and the fact that--"

"Sherlock!" He was interrupted by a shout from the entrance to the cafe.

In the doorway stood a short man of about thirty-something, completely drenched in rain. His blond hair was plastered to his forehead. He has a look of permanent annoyance on his face.

"Sherlock," he panted, striding over to the table.

"Oh, hello John," said Sherlock, his attention still focused on the Doctor.

"What the hell are you doing here? You said you would make dinner. I was counting on you to make dinner. But then I came home, and you were here, and--"

"Yes, yes, John, one moment," Sherlock waved his hand, turning back to the man across the table. "Where did you say you were from?"

"I didn't. I'm sort of...ah...homeless at the moment."

"Sort of?" Sherlock frowned. He could usually tell everything about a person at a second's glance, yet here was someone he couldn't even begin to figure out.

"I'm a traveler."

Sherlock nodded. He was about to ask another question (a pet peeve of his) when John interrupted. "Sorry, but who exactly are you?"

John seemed upset that Sherlock had been talking to this man, for reasons seemingly unknown.

The man didn't seem bothered by the question at all. "I'm the Doctor."

John shook his head in sarcastic disbelief. "Doctor who?"

The man replied with, "Just the Doctor."

John rolled his eyes. "Ya, okay, well, we have to go. Come on, Sherlock, let's leave 'the Doctor' to his coffee."

Sherlock's eyes widened. "But John, I only just got here. And I'm sure the Doctor has some interesting stories to tell about his travels."

The Doctor was about to respond with the fact that it was quite alright if they left, but John beat him to it. "What, now you're calling him that rubbish name too? No. I can't tolerate more than one crazy person in my life, thank you very much."

Sherlock turned. "And who might the other one be?"

John groaned. "Okay, goodbye, Doctor man. Sherlock, you'd better be home by nine. I'm going to go pick up some Chinese for dinner."

With that, John pushed open the cafe doors and disappeared into the gloom. It had started to pour.

"Well," Sherlock sighed, turning back to the Doctor.

The Doctor's eyes were laced with confusion. "Aren't you going to go after him?"

"Oh no," Sherlock replied. "I think he's quite capable of getting dinner on his own. Now, how about these travels of yours? Where have you gone? What have you seen?"

"Well, I've been to many places. In fact, probably too many to count," the Doctor replied.

"Yes, yes, quite interesting. So tell me- what do your travels have to do with the Police Box?"

The Doctor pushed his eyebrows together, trying to feign confusion. Was it possible that this Sherlock character was actually another alien? Just his luck.

"You know," Sherlock clarified. "The big blue box? The one that has never been on Baker Street before today. Actually, before exactly 6:47 this evening. The one that you stepped out of?" 

The Doctor shook his head, trying to act relaxed. "Nope."

"Mmhmm..." Sherlock's mouth twitched upward in the corner, as though he were sharing a private joke with himself. "Yes, well, that will be all. Thank you very much."

He stood, then held out his hand to shake. The Doctor took it, and Sherlock held his arm for a strangely long amount of time. Was that how they did things now on Earth?

The look of confidence on Sherlock's face slowly melted away as he withdrew his hand, replaced with one of utter confusion. He regained his composure, and as he was about to leave he turned back, long cloak swirling about him. He asked of the Doctor, "Where are you staying tonight?"

The Doctor shrugged. He had no money, so he'd probably end up just sleeping in the TARDIS, even though he really didn't want to go back in there.

"Why don't you stay at my place?" Sherlock offered. "You can take the couch. John won't mind. The flat's just across the street."

The Doctor looked the man over, from cheekbones to shoes, trying to gauge of he might somehow be an alien imposter. Nothing obvious stood out, and he was awfully tired. Coffee didn't do much for timelords.

He nodded his head. "Yeah, thanks. I appreciate that, I really do."

He then followed Sherlock out of the cafe and across the street to 221b.