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tweedandtinsel2010-12-15 01:48 am
oxfordtweed) wrote in tweedandtinsel2010-12-15 01:48 am
Mislaid Memories (3/4) - The Great Game
Fandom: Sherlock; Doctor Who
Character/s: Holmes, Watson, the Doctor (12), River Song, Moriarty
Word Count: 2800
Rating: G
Summary: The Doctor and his companion investigate a very evil and dastardly being who calls himself Moriarty.
Notes/Warnings: Spoilers for everything, and very likely anything up to and through the fifth series of Doctor Who. To avoid any confusion, we’ll just say that this is the 12th incarnation of the Doctor (unless you’re reading this after Matt Smith has handed the sonic screwdriver over to the next guy, at which point we’ll just call it a full-blown AU).
This is where the chapters get a bit longer, because there’s a bit more happening. More questions are answered, and a few more are posed.
“What are you?”
Sherlock stared at the man with cautious astonishment. The man, in turn, stared at Sherlock with abject incredulity.
“Flying thing that shoots lasers, and you want to know what I am?” he asked.
They were stood in a small house, just under a flight of stairs, where they had tried (rather unsuccessfully) to hide from their attacker. Sherlock looked at the flying thing that shot lasers, which was now no longer flying nor shooting lasers, but instead lying in several sparking pieces on the floor.
“Whatever it was, it’s now an ex-thing,” Sherlock reasoned. “You are very much alive, and therefore more immediate, so I ask you again, what are you? Because you, like that ex-thing on the floor there, are certainly not of this world.”
Sherlock could see that this man was impressed, even before the mad grin spread across his face.
“I’m the Doctor,” he said simply.
“The Doctor?” asked Sherlock, managing to sound not even vaguely impressed. The man didn’t look like any sort of doctor he’d ever seen. “Doctor of what, exactly?”
This seemed to take the man by surprise, which seemed rather odd to Sherlock. He’d acted like this flying metal monster was the most ordinary thing in the world, but a simple question caught him off guard.
It wasn’t the question he was expecting. He had another answer already planned, but it wasn’t one that would fit Sherlock’s question.
“You know,” said the Doctor, trying quickly to come up with a suitable answer. “Doctory... things. Listen, that thing there—”
“Is an ex-thing,” Sherlock said, again taking the man by surprise. This was not, Sherlock noticed, a man who was used to being interrupted. “And likely not the only one. Something like that wouldn’t come all the way down here from the heavens on its own if it could be defeated so easily. It was clearly designed to cause damage, but designed without defences, which makes it rather ineffective as a singular unit. Defence didn’t factor in, because it relies on others like it to keep it safe.”
The Doctor regarded him for a long, silent moment, trying to figure out this lanky and fairly ragged man. Sherlock let him, making a point to look very bored.
“You’re human,” said the Doctor, as though this was something that didn’t make sense.
“Of course I’m human,” Sherlock shot back. It didn’t occur to him that even though this Doctor person looked human, he might not be.
“But... You’re all wrong.” The Doctor stepped closer to Sherlock, seeming to actually examine him. “Sorry, that sounded bad. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.”
“I’m not wrong. I’m different,” Sherlock said.
“Yes,” the Doctor agreed eagerly. “Very different. And absolutely wasted picking pockets and pretending to read palms. Why would you do that?”
“Because it puts bread on the table,” Sherlock said, managing to sound even more bored than previously.
The Doctor frowned. While he didn’t seem surprised by this, he was clearly disappointed. “But you’re a proper genius,” he said after a moment. “Or you could be, if you applied yourself to more than just stealing from people.”
Sherlock didn’t grant him the satisfaction of an answer. He wasn’t sorry for anything he’d done, and wouldn’t pretend to be just to impress this man.
“What’s your name?” asked the Doctor after a long moment.
Normally, Sherlock would lie, but he there was something very strange about this situation. Something that almost compelled him to be truthful, despite everything he knew about personal safety.
“Sherlock Holmes,” he answered after a moment.
The Doctor’s face fell. “No,” he said, almost panicked. “No, this is all wrong. Sherlock Holmes? Really? No. You can’t be here, doing this.”
“Can’t I?” Sherlock asked.
“No!” The Doctor was frantic. He pushed the sleeve of his thick, knitted jumper up to his elbow to check several watches on his arm. “What year’s it?”
“You don’t know?” Sherlock asked incredulously. “1882.”
The Doctor frowned at him. “Something’s gone wrong,” he said as he started to pace around the room. “Terribly, terribly wrong. You can’t be here, doing this, right now in 1882. What are you? Twenty? No! This isn’t right. It’s very wrong.”
Sherlock folded his arms over his chest. “What are you talking about?” he asked.
The Doctor stopped moving about, and stared at Sherlock. “You are supposed to be one of the greatest detectives of all time. Instead, you’re crawling around, picking people’s pockets.”
Sherlock laughed dryly. “A detective?” he asked. “Boring.”
The Doctor’s entire demeanour changed almost at once, and he smiled up at Sherlock. “Bound to be more fun than what you’re doing,” he said.
“And you’d know this?”
The Doctor nodded down at the ex-thing on the floor. “This? Child’s play. Just a quick way to fill the time between tea and supper.”
Sherlock looked down at the ex-thing, curious to get in and start taking it apart, but weary that it might still have some bite left in it.
“How does it work?” he asked slowly.
The Doctor smiled. He pulled out that odd green thing of his and knelt down beside the ex-thing, inviting Sherlock to join him.
“I don’t think you’d have much fun if I just told you.”
The Doctor had been right. It was far more interesting to be able to pull the thing apart himself.
No. Of all the ways in which this situation could have possibly gone wrong, John stepping into view was the worst. He could be bloody useless as a human at times, but seeing John buried in that anorak living, breathing (likely soon to not be living nor breathing at the rate things were going) proof that the plan had failed catastrophically.
Sherlock hated hearing him talk, voicing words that weren’t his, like some grotesque parody of a ventriloquist dummy.
Only most ventriloquist dummies don’t wear semtex vests.
“I gave you my number. Thought you might call.”
How could he have possibly missed it? He noticed everything else, and completely blew off the phone number. It occurred to Sherlock that this had been the idea from the very beginning, but he tried not to think about it. There was nothing he could do about it now, except try to get out of there before he or John got killed.
So this was Moriarty. The whole reason Sherlock and John had been hiding out in London, both pretending to be something they weren’t. He didn’t look so scary; didn’t look like some powerful being who could alter the fates of entire planets.
Then again, neither did John.
Sherlock kept the sights trained on Moriarty, letting the man monologue. Sherlock did like the clever ones, because they always loved to show off just how clever they were. It wasn’t enough to just say that they’d done it; they had to explain every how and why and insignificant minutiae.
He hadn’t expected John to jump on Moriarty like that. Whether it was John, or just another fragment that hadn’t been properly repressed, Sherlock wasn’t sure, but it was dangerous either way. Stupid, even.
It had to be John.
At least he had the sense to back away when the lasers started pointing from the other direction as well. But of course there wasn’t just one shooter. Moriarty would want to be covered from all angles, and wouldn’t let something like someone grabbing him from behind get in the way of his fun.
Sherlock was surprised when Moriarty left, apparently done with the game. It was too easy, and Sherlock knew it, but that didn’t stop him from tearing that damn vest off John before it could go. He didn’t care that if the vest did go, it would still obliterate half the damn building and take them both with it, but at least it wasn’t on John.
He wasn’t even watching when John’s leg gave out on him, and he dropped in a controlled fall to the ground. Under different circumstances, Sherlock might have marvelled at how well the camouflage had worked at not only concealing details, but creating new ones. At that moment, though, Sherlock was busy, frantically moving back and forth to make sure that nothing more was going to happen.
Just as they’d begun to exchange nervous witticisms and things seemed safe, the little red dots showed up. Maybe up to a full dozen of them, although the way they kept jigging about made counting rather difficult. Not that Sherlock needed to, because he knew exactly what the little red dots meant. They both did.
“Sorry, boys!”
He was back with that horrible put-on voice, monologuing again, and Sherlock couldn’t help but wonder briefly what it must feel like to be a living cliché.
Sherlock looked down at John, and saw it – that small hint that there was still something else inside him – a small, almost invisible nod.
“Probably my answer has crossed yours,” Sherlock said, rounding on Moriarty.
For a second, he trained the pistol’s sights on him, and then slowly moved it, down to the semtex vest on the floor. He held a bead on it for just long enough to make everybody in the room nervous, until that terribly smug smile started to spread across Moriarty’s face. He knew Sherlock wouldn’t fire.
He was wrong, of course. Sherlock quickly jerked the gun up again, firing a shot near Moriarty’s head. He knew that shooting the man himself would only end badly, so Sherlock fired past it, at a fuse box on the far wall. It was a risky, stupid shot, but he’d become very good at risky, stupid moves over the years.
With a shower of sparks, the fuse box exploded, throwing the swimming pool into blackness. Sherlock dived at John, pulling him into the nearest cubicle as gunfire rained blindly from all directions.
“Jesus, Sherlock!” John hissed. “You had one shot, and you missed!”
“I didn’t miss,” Sherlock hissed back, fumbling in his pockets.
“Well, that’s what it bloody looks like from where I’m sitting!”
John was on the verge of a flashback, and he knew it. He clutched his head tightly in his hands, trying to think of a way out of this that didn’t get both of them killed. When Sherlock grabbed at one of his wrists and pulled, fighting back had happened automatically, and John swung his arm in protest, clipping Sherlock on the jaw with his fist.
Sherlock ignored it for the time being, and shoved something small and metal into John’s hand. By now, the gunfire had stopped, and Moriarty was screaming in rage, stomping in their direction.
“Sherlock, what is this?” John hissed quietly.
“It’s your watch,” said Sherlock.
“Why do you have it?”
He’d been warned about this. Some sort of perception filter on it that would make John all but hate the thing.
“Because you need to open it!” Sherlock said, trying to work John’s hands around it.
“But it doesn’t open. It’s broken,” he protested. “And there are more important things happening right now!”
Moriarty was almost on top of them, now. Sherlock finally got John’s hands around the watch, and while he wasn’t sure if it would work, manipulated his fingers to press the large button on top.
“Do it!” he shouted.
The watch opened, and three things happened at once. John lurched as though he had been punched in the stomach as the sound of an asthmatic jet engine sounded from somewhere above them, which Moriarty began screaming at.
“No!” he shouted at the sound, doubling over with his hands clapped over his ears. “You can’t do this!”
Something crashed through the ceiling and landed with all the grace of a brick on the floor. It was big, blue, and towered over Moriarty.
The door on the front of the TARDIS flung open, revealing a very shaken woman, backlit by the warm orange glow of the centre console.
“Hello, Sweetie,” she called into the dark.
“Wonderful!” John grabbed Sherlock by the wrist as he jumped to his feet, running full speed for the TARDIS.
“Excellent landing, Dear,” he said as he ushered her and Sherlock into the TARDIS, closing the door behind him. “That ought to hold. I think.”
He looked up at the door, badly out of breath, before turning to face Sherlock, who approached him cautiously.
“Is it you?” he asked. “I don’t know how to tell.”
The grin that spread across the familiar face was nothing of a dignified war hero, and everything of a mad man with a box, and was all the answer Sherlock needed. He answered the grin with one of his own, pulling the Doctor into a tight hug.
“You haven’t changed a day,” he said, quickly letting go and stepping back.
“And look at you. You’re all grown up. How did that happen?”
He was still grinning, despite the screaming and banging around that was happening outside the TARDIS.
“Five years ago,” Sherlock said.
“Five years?” His grin was quickly replaced by an embarrassed grimace. “Five? It was only supposed to be two.”
“I know.” Sherlock’s grin never faded. “I was rather hoping you might have decided to make it ten.”
Satisfied that everything was all right, the Doctor turned his grin to River. “I told you those lessons would come in handy,” he said smugly.
River shrugged indifferently as she made her way over to him. “And I told you, no spoilers.”
She kissed him quickly before making her way back to the centre console, just as one of the monitors flicked itself on.
“Oh, good!” Moriarty’s image chirped happily. “The Doctor and his pets. I knew it was you. Even if you did use that dirty little cheat of yours. Turning yourself human, so I wouldn’t hear your hearts beating? That ought to be against the rules.”
The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Does he ever stop?” he asked tiredly.
Moriarty grinned. “How cute. I always did like your little trained puppy.”
The Doctor and Sherlock exchanged a quick glance, both asking the same silent question. Before either of them could say anything, though, Moriarty went on.
“Oh, and who’s this?” he asked. And then he gasped dramatically. “Oh, is she The Woman? I’ve always wondered what she looked like. Hmm. Not quite what I’d expected. I’m a little disappointed, actually.”
“What?” asked Sherlock.
The Doctor shook his head. “Spoilers, sorry.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Get to the point,” he snapped. This monologuing was beginning to grate.
Moriarty laughed at him. “Ooh, I like you this time. You were never this feisty before. It will almost be a shame to kill you.”
The Doctor realised what was going on and considered correcting him, but stopped himself at the last minute. He couldn’t help but be curious about where this was going to go.
“But, you ran and hid, which just isn’t playing fair at all,” Moriarty continued. “So, you’re going to have to pay. Well, not you. Them.” He jerked his head oddly. “What do you think? Shall I decimate them? Decimate’s such a great word, isn’t it? Just say it once.”
“Decimate them?” the Doctor asked.
“This planet has what? Almost seven billion people? They don’t really need that extra ten percent, do they?”
The Doctor lunged at the monitor. “Don’t you dare!” he screamed.
Moriarty laughed. “You do like the loyal ones, don’t you?” he asked. “Loyal and broken. How else would you convince them to follow you around so easily?”
Sherlock pulled him away from the monitor, hoping to keep Moriarty confused for as long as possible. It had never been part of the plan, but it just might be able to work in their favour.
“I’ll tell you what,” said Moriarty airily. “You come out of that silly little box of yours, and I’ll spare them.”
This time, River stepped forward. “You expect us to just take your word for it that you’ll do anything?” she asked. “Kria hasn’t got that sort of tech.”
Moriarty grinned. “Who says I came alone?” he asked. “Or, for that matter, that my friends are from Kria? I’m sure you’ll find that they can be very... effective. I believe you’ve dealt with Striterax before, haven’t you?”
“You don’t have to do this,” the Doctor told him. “You don’t want to do this.”
“He’s so cute,” Moriarty said. “I bet you’ll miss him. But he’s right. I don’t want to. Any idiot can decimate a planet. Where’s the fun in that? So, why don’t you come out here so he can finish our little chat? I’ll give you thirty seconds to think it over.”
The monitor switched itself off.
Character/s: Holmes, Watson, the Doctor (12), River Song, Moriarty
Word Count: 2800
Rating: G
Summary: The Doctor and his companion investigate a very evil and dastardly being who calls himself Moriarty.
Notes/Warnings: Spoilers for everything, and very likely anything up to and through the fifth series of Doctor Who. To avoid any confusion, we’ll just say that this is the 12th incarnation of the Doctor (unless you’re reading this after Matt Smith has handed the sonic screwdriver over to the next guy, at which point we’ll just call it a full-blown AU).
This is where the chapters get a bit longer, because there’s a bit more happening. More questions are answered, and a few more are posed.
“What are you?”
Sherlock stared at the man with cautious astonishment. The man, in turn, stared at Sherlock with abject incredulity.
“Flying thing that shoots lasers, and you want to know what I am?” he asked.
They were stood in a small house, just under a flight of stairs, where they had tried (rather unsuccessfully) to hide from their attacker. Sherlock looked at the flying thing that shot lasers, which was now no longer flying nor shooting lasers, but instead lying in several sparking pieces on the floor.
“Whatever it was, it’s now an ex-thing,” Sherlock reasoned. “You are very much alive, and therefore more immediate, so I ask you again, what are you? Because you, like that ex-thing on the floor there, are certainly not of this world.”
Sherlock could see that this man was impressed, even before the mad grin spread across his face.
“I’m the Doctor,” he said simply.
“The Doctor?” asked Sherlock, managing to sound not even vaguely impressed. The man didn’t look like any sort of doctor he’d ever seen. “Doctor of what, exactly?”
This seemed to take the man by surprise, which seemed rather odd to Sherlock. He’d acted like this flying metal monster was the most ordinary thing in the world, but a simple question caught him off guard.
It wasn’t the question he was expecting. He had another answer already planned, but it wasn’t one that would fit Sherlock’s question.
“You know,” said the Doctor, trying quickly to come up with a suitable answer. “Doctory... things. Listen, that thing there—”
“Is an ex-thing,” Sherlock said, again taking the man by surprise. This was not, Sherlock noticed, a man who was used to being interrupted. “And likely not the only one. Something like that wouldn’t come all the way down here from the heavens on its own if it could be defeated so easily. It was clearly designed to cause damage, but designed without defences, which makes it rather ineffective as a singular unit. Defence didn’t factor in, because it relies on others like it to keep it safe.”
The Doctor regarded him for a long, silent moment, trying to figure out this lanky and fairly ragged man. Sherlock let him, making a point to look very bored.
“You’re human,” said the Doctor, as though this was something that didn’t make sense.
“Of course I’m human,” Sherlock shot back. It didn’t occur to him that even though this Doctor person looked human, he might not be.
“But... You’re all wrong.” The Doctor stepped closer to Sherlock, seeming to actually examine him. “Sorry, that sounded bad. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.”
“I’m not wrong. I’m different,” Sherlock said.
“Yes,” the Doctor agreed eagerly. “Very different. And absolutely wasted picking pockets and pretending to read palms. Why would you do that?”
“Because it puts bread on the table,” Sherlock said, managing to sound even more bored than previously.
The Doctor frowned. While he didn’t seem surprised by this, he was clearly disappointed. “But you’re a proper genius,” he said after a moment. “Or you could be, if you applied yourself to more than just stealing from people.”
Sherlock didn’t grant him the satisfaction of an answer. He wasn’t sorry for anything he’d done, and wouldn’t pretend to be just to impress this man.
“What’s your name?” asked the Doctor after a long moment.
Normally, Sherlock would lie, but he there was something very strange about this situation. Something that almost compelled him to be truthful, despite everything he knew about personal safety.
“Sherlock Holmes,” he answered after a moment.
The Doctor’s face fell. “No,” he said, almost panicked. “No, this is all wrong. Sherlock Holmes? Really? No. You can’t be here, doing this.”
“Can’t I?” Sherlock asked.
“No!” The Doctor was frantic. He pushed the sleeve of his thick, knitted jumper up to his elbow to check several watches on his arm. “What year’s it?”
“You don’t know?” Sherlock asked incredulously. “1882.”
The Doctor frowned at him. “Something’s gone wrong,” he said as he started to pace around the room. “Terribly, terribly wrong. You can’t be here, doing this, right now in 1882. What are you? Twenty? No! This isn’t right. It’s very wrong.”
Sherlock folded his arms over his chest. “What are you talking about?” he asked.
The Doctor stopped moving about, and stared at Sherlock. “You are supposed to be one of the greatest detectives of all time. Instead, you’re crawling around, picking people’s pockets.”
Sherlock laughed dryly. “A detective?” he asked. “Boring.”
The Doctor’s entire demeanour changed almost at once, and he smiled up at Sherlock. “Bound to be more fun than what you’re doing,” he said.
“And you’d know this?”
The Doctor nodded down at the ex-thing on the floor. “This? Child’s play. Just a quick way to fill the time between tea and supper.”
Sherlock looked down at the ex-thing, curious to get in and start taking it apart, but weary that it might still have some bite left in it.
“How does it work?” he asked slowly.
The Doctor smiled. He pulled out that odd green thing of his and knelt down beside the ex-thing, inviting Sherlock to join him.
“I don’t think you’d have much fun if I just told you.”
The Doctor had been right. It was far more interesting to be able to pull the thing apart himself.
No. Of all the ways in which this situation could have possibly gone wrong, John stepping into view was the worst. He could be bloody useless as a human at times, but seeing John buried in that anorak living, breathing (likely soon to not be living nor breathing at the rate things were going) proof that the plan had failed catastrophically.
Sherlock hated hearing him talk, voicing words that weren’t his, like some grotesque parody of a ventriloquist dummy.
Only most ventriloquist dummies don’t wear semtex vests.
“I gave you my number. Thought you might call.”
How could he have possibly missed it? He noticed everything else, and completely blew off the phone number. It occurred to Sherlock that this had been the idea from the very beginning, but he tried not to think about it. There was nothing he could do about it now, except try to get out of there before he or John got killed.
So this was Moriarty. The whole reason Sherlock and John had been hiding out in London, both pretending to be something they weren’t. He didn’t look so scary; didn’t look like some powerful being who could alter the fates of entire planets.
Then again, neither did John.
Sherlock kept the sights trained on Moriarty, letting the man monologue. Sherlock did like the clever ones, because they always loved to show off just how clever they were. It wasn’t enough to just say that they’d done it; they had to explain every how and why and insignificant minutiae.
He hadn’t expected John to jump on Moriarty like that. Whether it was John, or just another fragment that hadn’t been properly repressed, Sherlock wasn’t sure, but it was dangerous either way. Stupid, even.
It had to be John.
At least he had the sense to back away when the lasers started pointing from the other direction as well. But of course there wasn’t just one shooter. Moriarty would want to be covered from all angles, and wouldn’t let something like someone grabbing him from behind get in the way of his fun.
Sherlock was surprised when Moriarty left, apparently done with the game. It was too easy, and Sherlock knew it, but that didn’t stop him from tearing that damn vest off John before it could go. He didn’t care that if the vest did go, it would still obliterate half the damn building and take them both with it, but at least it wasn’t on John.
He wasn’t even watching when John’s leg gave out on him, and he dropped in a controlled fall to the ground. Under different circumstances, Sherlock might have marvelled at how well the camouflage had worked at not only concealing details, but creating new ones. At that moment, though, Sherlock was busy, frantically moving back and forth to make sure that nothing more was going to happen.
Just as they’d begun to exchange nervous witticisms and things seemed safe, the little red dots showed up. Maybe up to a full dozen of them, although the way they kept jigging about made counting rather difficult. Not that Sherlock needed to, because he knew exactly what the little red dots meant. They both did.
“Sorry, boys!”
He was back with that horrible put-on voice, monologuing again, and Sherlock couldn’t help but wonder briefly what it must feel like to be a living cliché.
Sherlock looked down at John, and saw it – that small hint that there was still something else inside him – a small, almost invisible nod.
“Probably my answer has crossed yours,” Sherlock said, rounding on Moriarty.
For a second, he trained the pistol’s sights on him, and then slowly moved it, down to the semtex vest on the floor. He held a bead on it for just long enough to make everybody in the room nervous, until that terribly smug smile started to spread across Moriarty’s face. He knew Sherlock wouldn’t fire.
He was wrong, of course. Sherlock quickly jerked the gun up again, firing a shot near Moriarty’s head. He knew that shooting the man himself would only end badly, so Sherlock fired past it, at a fuse box on the far wall. It was a risky, stupid shot, but he’d become very good at risky, stupid moves over the years.
With a shower of sparks, the fuse box exploded, throwing the swimming pool into blackness. Sherlock dived at John, pulling him into the nearest cubicle as gunfire rained blindly from all directions.
“Jesus, Sherlock!” John hissed. “You had one shot, and you missed!”
“I didn’t miss,” Sherlock hissed back, fumbling in his pockets.
“Well, that’s what it bloody looks like from where I’m sitting!”
John was on the verge of a flashback, and he knew it. He clutched his head tightly in his hands, trying to think of a way out of this that didn’t get both of them killed. When Sherlock grabbed at one of his wrists and pulled, fighting back had happened automatically, and John swung his arm in protest, clipping Sherlock on the jaw with his fist.
Sherlock ignored it for the time being, and shoved something small and metal into John’s hand. By now, the gunfire had stopped, and Moriarty was screaming in rage, stomping in their direction.
“Sherlock, what is this?” John hissed quietly.
“It’s your watch,” said Sherlock.
“Why do you have it?”
He’d been warned about this. Some sort of perception filter on it that would make John all but hate the thing.
“Because you need to open it!” Sherlock said, trying to work John’s hands around it.
“But it doesn’t open. It’s broken,” he protested. “And there are more important things happening right now!”
Moriarty was almost on top of them, now. Sherlock finally got John’s hands around the watch, and while he wasn’t sure if it would work, manipulated his fingers to press the large button on top.
“Do it!” he shouted.
The watch opened, and three things happened at once. John lurched as though he had been punched in the stomach as the sound of an asthmatic jet engine sounded from somewhere above them, which Moriarty began screaming at.
“No!” he shouted at the sound, doubling over with his hands clapped over his ears. “You can’t do this!”
Something crashed through the ceiling and landed with all the grace of a brick on the floor. It was big, blue, and towered over Moriarty.
The door on the front of the TARDIS flung open, revealing a very shaken woman, backlit by the warm orange glow of the centre console.
“Hello, Sweetie,” she called into the dark.
“Wonderful!” John grabbed Sherlock by the wrist as he jumped to his feet, running full speed for the TARDIS.
“Excellent landing, Dear,” he said as he ushered her and Sherlock into the TARDIS, closing the door behind him. “That ought to hold. I think.”
He looked up at the door, badly out of breath, before turning to face Sherlock, who approached him cautiously.
“Is it you?” he asked. “I don’t know how to tell.”
The grin that spread across the familiar face was nothing of a dignified war hero, and everything of a mad man with a box, and was all the answer Sherlock needed. He answered the grin with one of his own, pulling the Doctor into a tight hug.
“You haven’t changed a day,” he said, quickly letting go and stepping back.
“And look at you. You’re all grown up. How did that happen?”
He was still grinning, despite the screaming and banging around that was happening outside the TARDIS.
“Five years ago,” Sherlock said.
“Five years?” His grin was quickly replaced by an embarrassed grimace. “Five? It was only supposed to be two.”
“I know.” Sherlock’s grin never faded. “I was rather hoping you might have decided to make it ten.”
Satisfied that everything was all right, the Doctor turned his grin to River. “I told you those lessons would come in handy,” he said smugly.
River shrugged indifferently as she made her way over to him. “And I told you, no spoilers.”
She kissed him quickly before making her way back to the centre console, just as one of the monitors flicked itself on.
“Oh, good!” Moriarty’s image chirped happily. “The Doctor and his pets. I knew it was you. Even if you did use that dirty little cheat of yours. Turning yourself human, so I wouldn’t hear your hearts beating? That ought to be against the rules.”
The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Does he ever stop?” he asked tiredly.
Moriarty grinned. “How cute. I always did like your little trained puppy.”
The Doctor and Sherlock exchanged a quick glance, both asking the same silent question. Before either of them could say anything, though, Moriarty went on.
“Oh, and who’s this?” he asked. And then he gasped dramatically. “Oh, is she The Woman? I’ve always wondered what she looked like. Hmm. Not quite what I’d expected. I’m a little disappointed, actually.”
“What?” asked Sherlock.
The Doctor shook his head. “Spoilers, sorry.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Get to the point,” he snapped. This monologuing was beginning to grate.
Moriarty laughed at him. “Ooh, I like you this time. You were never this feisty before. It will almost be a shame to kill you.”
The Doctor realised what was going on and considered correcting him, but stopped himself at the last minute. He couldn’t help but be curious about where this was going to go.
“But, you ran and hid, which just isn’t playing fair at all,” Moriarty continued. “So, you’re going to have to pay. Well, not you. Them.” He jerked his head oddly. “What do you think? Shall I decimate them? Decimate’s such a great word, isn’t it? Just say it once.”
“Decimate them?” the Doctor asked.
“This planet has what? Almost seven billion people? They don’t really need that extra ten percent, do they?”
The Doctor lunged at the monitor. “Don’t you dare!” he screamed.
Moriarty laughed. “You do like the loyal ones, don’t you?” he asked. “Loyal and broken. How else would you convince them to follow you around so easily?”
Sherlock pulled him away from the monitor, hoping to keep Moriarty confused for as long as possible. It had never been part of the plan, but it just might be able to work in their favour.
“I’ll tell you what,” said Moriarty airily. “You come out of that silly little box of yours, and I’ll spare them.”
This time, River stepped forward. “You expect us to just take your word for it that you’ll do anything?” she asked. “Kria hasn’t got that sort of tech.”
Moriarty grinned. “Who says I came alone?” he asked. “Or, for that matter, that my friends are from Kria? I’m sure you’ll find that they can be very... effective. I believe you’ve dealt with Striterax before, haven’t you?”
“You don’t have to do this,” the Doctor told him. “You don’t want to do this.”
“He’s so cute,” Moriarty said. “I bet you’ll miss him. But he’s right. I don’t want to. Any idiot can decimate a planet. Where’s the fun in that? So, why don’t you come out here so he can finish our little chat? I’ll give you thirty seconds to think it over.”
The monitor switched itself off.
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Otherwise, yes. He's totally confused about who the Doctor is. XD
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Anyway, great story, we need more Doctor Who crossovers in this fandom!
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It's flimsy, I admit, but so's a lot of stuff that happens in the Whoniverse. So, that's why. lol
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And, mostly of why I liked it was because of how original it was. (And how it solved both problems; the snipers and the explosion consequences. )
I look forward to part 4!
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My husband and I spent about an hour the other night, bouncing ideas around about how they'd get away from Moriarty. Eventually, we sort of went with an almost Occam's Razor approach, and just asked, "why don't they just turn out the light?"