Disclaimer: I own nothing of these brilliant creations, although if you believe in the collective unconscious then really no one owns them.

Author's note: I just would like to apologize for this long lapse in writing this fanfic. I've been trying to finish this thing since December, so it's been on the back burner of my life for a while. But now I'm done I feel a sense of wonderful accomplishment…Enough with my babbling…So without further ramblings I would like to present you with the conclusion of The Unearthly Quandary!

After the strange events and the interesting findings at the Molar Complex, what happened afterwards seemed surprising pretty normal…

The next day, Sherlock and I went to go talk to Eartha's coworkers, specifically the man that she was supposed to go on a date with. I pointed out that the police probably had already did this, but Sherlock just scoffed and repeated his long-lived adage that the police were simple-minded idiots that missed even the most obvious of things. That was the reason of course why they hired him.

And sure enough, he did discover things that they had missed. It was shortly after talking to the coworkers and Sherlock pointing out some amazing deductions that we found that the man Eartha was going to see had an extremely clingy ex-girlfriend who worked at the corner store across the street.

I really shouldn't have to tell you how quickly it took us to go over and talk to the ex-girlfriend. But you would be surprised how quickly after we arrived that we got a confession…at least what Sherlock took as a confession. The ex said that she had dosed Eartha's coffee with a handful of laxatives as a prank and a signal to back off from her man.

Sherlock smiled at this, a sort of knowing and mysterious smirk that so often plagues his face and drives me absolutely bonkers at times. He then continued to make me text the aforementioned dim-witted police to tell them to test Eartha's blood for laxatives as cause of death. I of course questioned my flatmate's outrageous conclusion, but all he gave me was that stupid smirk of his before walking out to the main street to hail a cab. I naturally followed, still completely perplexed.


"Such a simple end. I'm surprised that I didn't figure it out sooner," muttered Sherlock, once the car was heading back to our flat. He was staring impassively out the window as London zoomed by.

"But it doesn't make sense," I began. "How could Eartha Rood die from too many laxatives? And what about the passport and ticket, the yellow skin, the 'radial excrement,' the figure on the roof, and the fact that her car was 5 miles away from where she died?"

"You think I don't know that?" replied Sherlock, looking at me like an idiot. "I just ignore those facts because I know 'John Smith' will explain them later. There's two mysteries surrounding Eartha Rood, and we only solved one. The other one isn't relevant to our situation at the moment. And especially not relevant to what the police are asking for."

"Since when have you worried about what the police want?" I questioned incredulously.

Sherlock only smiled again, turning back to the window and the flying city streets.

I was more puzzled by his words than normal. It all made no sense! The reason why Sherlock would be this disinterested in something so baffling and intriguing and mysterious was the thing that I was struggling to grasp. And then he just went on and settled with an impossible answer…it all was just so bewildering and bizarre.

And then he just smirked like that.

Sometimes I just would like to punch that arrogant little grin off his face. There are times that there's whole plans mapped out in his head that he refuses to tell me for some reason. And it's not always a good feeling being play like his ruddy violin. There are so many secrets and plots that I constantly feel like I'm in the dark. God, help me! Why am I friends with this man?


Those questions and frustrations were still buzzing and reproducing in my head by the time we reached our flat. When I walked through the front door and up the stairs, all I wanted was a nice cuppa and a good book to take my mind off of my infuriating flatmate. Unfortunately, I didn't get my wish, for when I opened the door to the flat, I was met by a pair of converse and an open newspaper.

"W-what…," I stammered, staring at Smith and completely shocked.

"About time you showed up," stated Sherlock, addressing Smith and pushing past me to put up his coat.

"H-how did you get in here? I locked the door," I asked walking towards the foreign DI, still pretty startled with confusion seeping into my voice.

"Oh come on John. You know as well as I do that locks are the easiest things to get past," Sherlock answered for the man, as he sat down on the couch and Smith put down the newspaper.

"Okay…then how did you know that he would be here?" I questioned.

"Weren't you listening to me at all in the cab? Now be a good boy and get us some tea," replied Sherlock, expecting me to act like his bloody servant as he turned back to Smith.

"Nah, that's okay," said the man in question with his quirky smile before I could even think about following the genius's orders. "I don't really want tea…just ate."

"So tell me 'Smith'…," began Sherlock, like nothing had happened and I wasn't even in the room. "Who was Eartha Rood really?"

"Oh, I think you already know the answer to that question," responded Smith, the smile still engraved on his face.

"She was an alien wasn't she?"

"Wait what?" I exclaimed, startled into dropping my coat as I was hanging up. I had been keeping an open ear, listening to their conversation, knowing it would contain all the answers to my questions, but while I couldn't tell you what exactly I expected Sherlock to say, I could tell you that that wasn't it. "Seriously? An alien. You've got to be kidding right?" I added. The whole idea seemed absolutely absurd, and therefore not a conclusion I thought Sherlock, the logical genius, to jump to.

In response, Sherlock sighed. It was a sound of annoyance and weariness, like the noise a teacher would make when they found themselves explaining the same thing for the millionth time to a particular slow student. It was irritating as hell.

"How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the possible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?" he said to me.

"Best remember that, Dr. John Watson. It'll come in handy later," added Smith, with a wink and an impossibly large fanboy smile.

I ignored the detective's strange expression. I was still too caught up in the fact that Sherlock seemed to be saying not only that aliens real, but also that the woman we were investigating was one of them. It was all just so unrealistic and unexpected and astonishing that I couldn't accept any of it.

"B-but…t-that's just impossible…," I muttered.

"Come on, John. How long have you lived in London? I realize you've been away in Afghanistan for a bit of that time, but still alien attacks have happened practically semiannually or more, since 2005."

"But that stuff ain't aliens…," I replied, still refusing to believe this conclusion despite Sherlock's increasingly reasonable argument.

"Yes, I know…It's mass hallucination, or stunts for a movie, or something else random that's complete nonsense. Just because they haven't contacted you personally, doesn't mean they don't exist."

"B-but you. You who…You who doesn't…" No, I refuse to acknowledge any of it, I thought. This just wasn't the Sherlock I knew. He was a logical person, one who jeers at the concept of God and any other superstition. So the fact that he, who doesn't even know the order of the planets in the solar system, believes in aliens was just simply…wrong.

"John, please, we can have this lovely conversation later, but right now, I want to know what 'Smith' has to say," spoke Sherlock, brushing me off and turning back to the foreign DI. "What else do you know about her?"

"Oh…Well…She was a scout. Earth has been pretty loud lately…and well her species was curious and just a bit power hungry. She was sent to Earth a few years ago…," replied Smith, causally leaning back in the chair like he was talking about the weather or something equally mundane.

"Mind if I interrupt you there, 'Smith.' I guessing they hacked various databases and created her past, and even found her a family, a sister to be precise who thought Eartha was a long lost sibling. Clever. Very clever…," interjected Sherlock, leaning forward in eagerness and interest.

"Yeah…well it's not that hard with your technology…Anyways, Eartha began to make a life for herself, reporting occasionally to her superiors. That figure on the roof was one of them," continued Smith, the last part directed towards me.

While those two were talking, I just stood there, my coat still at my feet. I was still in shock. It was almost as if my brain refused to process the information that was passing between those two men. As much as I would hate to admit, their words were answering my questions in a strangely rational yet completely impossible manner. Nevertheless my reasonable mind still couldn't accept them. So I just stood there, unable to handle the knowledge that was being revealed.

But the one thing that my brain was able to take in was the way Smith and Sherlock interacted with each other. It was strange listening to those two. It was as if they were each parts of a whole, that this back and forth was just a series of thoughts conducted by a single mind, like twins of some kind. But what made it completely bizarre was that I knew no one, save Mycroft, that could do this with Sherlock. The two were both eccentric geniuses, and it didn't take a genius to see that.

This day was getting stranger and stranger.

"But she then got used to Earth. In fact, she started to like it. And I'm hazarding a guess that her superiors weren't so fond of our little planet," added Sherlock.

"Yep, they were planning to invade and conquer," replied Smith.

And it was that phrase, possibly because it involved some implied danger and my military brain decided to step up and take control over what my rational brain was refusing to do, my shock finally departed and I was left with clarity enough to notice the tense in which Smith was using.

"Wait. Were?" I questioned.

"I stopped them…," replied Smith offhandedly like it was something he did every day. "But anyways, so Eartha told her superiors what she thought and…well you can guess what their reaction was. She knew they were going to take her away-"

"And that's why she had the passport and new ID. She was trying to flee her superiors. Didn't want to be a scout anymore, but she was still hesitant to leave London and her sister. She didn't get a chance even to go because that was when human jealousy got in the way. The envious ex tried make her miserable by putting laxatives in her coffee, but because of her otherworldly anatomy, she ended up poisoning her," added Sherlock.

"Oh, good. You've solved that bit. Knew you would. Brilliant you are," commented Smith with that odd smile of his.

Strangely, ever since I interjected, I was listening to the conversation and taking everything in stride. It seemed, that along with my shock, my disbelief had also run away, though not completely. While I was now focused on trying to pick up on the information more efficiently, the rational part of my mind still protested. But it was obvious that it currently was the minority. In seemed that my brain had made an executive decision; in order to get the answers I craved I was going to have to put aside my doubts and just deal with the impossibility of the natures of those answers. And it was because of this deal I made with myself, that I made sure that all my questions were going to be answered.

"But what about the 'radial excrement' and the fact that she her skin was yellow?" I asked.

"Defense mechanism. They don't normally look like humans. They're bipedal amphibious creatures. When the human form is compromised they try to transform back into their natural form, which is yellow, hence the yellow skin. This transformation usually leaves radial excrement, which was why it was left on the body, but the poison reacted with her biology in a way that prohibited her from changing (that was why the radial excrement was green because it was a reaction to the laxatives) and so since she couldn't change, she died," Smith stated like it was as normal and simple as clouds dropping rain.

"Okay…," I replied, my rational mind causing skepticism to seep into my voice. "But what about her car being 5 miles from where she died?"

"She was meeting with her superiors. They of course knew of her plans to escape to America, and were trying to talk her out of it. They then gave her a lift to her work, where she was then poisoned and then on her way to her date she died."

"And that explains everything, doesn't it?" interjected Sherlock. The tone of his voice was the same as one he displayed the last time Smith was in our flat. It was the one that said he just was saying something because he needed to speak, yet it was clear that he'd rather be saying something else.

"Yep. Pretty much…now I would love to stay and chat some more…but I got to get going," replied Smith like he didn't notice my flatmate's tone. And with that he stood up and took his first few steps towards the door.

For a moment there it looked like everything indeed was complete. All the questions had been answered, even though most of those said answers were completely impossible and unrealistic they were still answers. And while, yes, I would, for nights in the future, ponder this strange conclusion to Eartha Rood's story, my mind was satisfied, save the rational minority. But for now everything was currently traveling into my long term memory.

That was until my flatmate opened his annoyingly brilliant mouth.

"I know who you are," blurted out Sherlock, finally saying what he had been wanted to say ever since our last meeting with the DI. I wondered what my friend could possibly mean by that.

"Pardon?" responded Smith, turning back to face Sherlock.

"You're not John Smith. You're someone else. Someone that I never thought would actually exist."

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What did my flatmate mean that Smith wasn't Smith? But as I asked myself that question, I knew that Sherlock had at least suspected that since the beginning. What was the phrase he had used? He's not a DI as much as I'm a bus driver.

But that wasn't all. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that during the whole case Sherlock had always addressed Smith like his name was in quotations, like he knew that wasn't his real name. Yet it really wasn't until now that I connected the dots. I felt so stupid for not seeing it, but I guess I was just too wrapped up in the case to truly listen all of what Sherlock had deduced.

"Yah? Who do you think I am?" questioned Smith that quirky smile once again engraved on his face.

"You're the Doctor," replied Sherlock confidently, standing up to face the man.

"Wait," I began. More dots were being connected as things slid into place in my mind. "That was what the figure called you on the roof…but doctor who?"

"Just the Doctor," answered Sherlock.

"Yep, just the Doctor…," confirmed Smith, or really the Doctor…which I really wasn't about to believe was his name. "But how did you find that out. I work extremely hard to stay in the shadows."

"Yes, I figured that out when I crashed John's laptop a few time searching on the internet. Don't worry, I'll have it fixed sooner or later…," he continued in response to my glare. "Anyway, I did end up finding something online. Just a few rumors, which after talking to Mycroft…" He grimaced at that fact, like it was the worst thing in the world that he could've done, which for him was practically the truth. "I was able to confirm.

"The Doctor's the reason why London isn't a pile of ash and why the human race aren't all intergalactic slaves or food and why the Earth is still in the sky along with other minor things. He's also a time traveling alien. That's why he knows that I'll become famous in the future."

"W-what?" I stammered. Now accepting that Eartha Rood might've been an alien was one thing, but accepting not only that Smith wasn't Smith but he was instead a world-saving, time traveling alien named the Doctor was completely different. It was almost too much to grasp and make sense of. It was all just so impossible. And what was almost even stranger was that Smith agreed with Sherlock's conclusion about him.

"Yep. Pretty much sums me up. At least what I am now…savior of the Earth and all that jazz," confirmed Smith, that smile still plaguing his lips. "Knew you'd figure it out sooner or later. With someone that curious and brilliant with a strong hatred of boredom it was only a matter to time. But-" He was cut off by a beeping coming from his pocket. At first I thought it was just his mobile ringing, that was until the DI took out an odd pieced-together device that actually looked like it could've once been a phone.

"Well, that's my queue to leave," Smith continued once he had the beeping device in his hand. "Hopefully see you later, Sherlock Holmes. You too Dr. John Watson. Keep up the good work." And without a second to spare, the foreign DI rushed out of the door and probably out of our lives for good.

A silence followed his departure. For me, it was a shocked silence. I was having a hard time wrapping my mind around what had just occurred. All the impossibilities of the day were weighing on my shoulders and causing my brain to spin. I had to say something.

"Well that was probably the weirdest conversation…no man…no whole bleeding case that I've ever and probably will ever be involved in," I muttered under my breath.

To tell you the truth, as I said that my brain was already unconsciously trying to forget those particular unfeasible aspects of the case. If not forget, file away as a bad dream or a hallucination caused by Sherlock's chemicals somehow making it into my food. Although I somehow knew it would pop up again whenever something otherworldly happened to London. Be for now, my brain was trying to turn everything back to something realistic and normal. Whatever normal was…

"The day is still young, John…now how 'bout that tea?" replied Sherlock as he sat down and picked up the newspaper.

I sighed as I picked up my coat, making my way towards the kitchen. I could use a cuppa myself.