"John, I never thought I'd say this, but I think I might be stumped," Sherlock said, while having a staring contest with his violin. He turned to face John.
"I never thought you'd say that, either," John responded, genuinely surprised. "I am definitely blogging that," he decided. He flipped his laptop open and began to type intently.
"I've gone through the facts over and over," he told John. Sherlock his fingers though his dark, curly hair in agitation. "There was a power outage in the Davidson's mansion last night. The next morning, after power had been restored, there was only one person left: a maid. But, none of the neighbors saw anybody leave the mansion at all, and those people couldn't just have disappeared into thin air, could they?"
Both Sherlock and John's mobile phones sounded as they received text messages.
"Wrong," Sherlock said, reading the message from his phone. He chuckled a bit. "Well, it seems that this is a fan who finally figured out my trick," he said with a smile.
Both of their phones signaled again. Sherlock scanned the new message.
"Wrong again. The D," Sherlock read off of his screen.
John sighed, frustrated.
"When are people going to figure out that we're not actually gay?" John cried. He held his head in his hands.
"Well, I don't think that's what it means," Sherlock began.
Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. It was around noon, so Sherlock suspected that the noise had come from a client. So, he opened the door.
The man from the hall dived into the room. He was wearing a tweed jacket and bow tie, and looked to be about six feet tall. His brown hair was swept over to the side, and his face looked oddly like that of a giraffe's.
"Mrs. Hudson let me in, if that's okay. Also, I'm the Doctor."
John pouted his lips.
"Doctor…who?" he inquired.
"Exactly," the Doctor said, with a smile. "Just call me the Doctor."
"So, ah, Doctor… I presume you were the one to send those text messages?" John asked.
The Doctor chuckled. "…And your presumption is correct. I couldn't let you two have all the fun after all, could I?"
Sherlock was beginning to get impatient.
"So, why exactly are you here?" he questioned the Doctor.
"Well, I heard that you two were working on the Davidson case. I've always wanted to work with you two; I know you're marvelous at what you do. Maybe I could just tag along. I wouldn't be a burden. In fact, I think I'm actually pretty good at solving mysteries – "
"Boring!" Sherlock said, cutting him off. He began to drag the Doctor towards the door.
"No! No! Stop!" the Doctor begged, swinging his legs wildly in an attempt to grab hold of something. "Just…just tell me what you can deduce about me."
Eager to show off his skills, Sherlock stopped dragging the doctor, and began instead to examine him closely.
"Well, from your boyish appearance and your giddiness, it would seem that you were a young man." Sherlock said. He squinted and tilted his head. "However, your clothes would suggest otherwise. And it seems as though you know something that I do not; you brain contains knowledge that could only come with age," Sherlock noted, perplexed. His eyebrows scrunched together.
The Doctor nodded, and a grin began to form on his face. "Continue," he urged Sherlock.
Sherlock came close to the Doctor and began to smell him.
"You also do not smell like a normal human," Sherlock noted.
"Sherlock! Apologize, right now!" John scolded.
Sherlock crossed his arms in annoyance. "Fine. I'm sorry," he told the Doctor.
"It's all right; it's true." The Doctor responded back, shrugging. "Anyways, now that I've obtained your interest, how do you feel about letting me accompany you on your investigation?
"Just give the man a chance, Sherlock. Please?" John asked to Sherlock.
Sherlock bent his head back, irritated. Reluctantly, he agreed. The three boys then caught a cab, and went back to Davidson Manor to re-examine some evidence.
"Ah! We're here; let's go find our maid, shall we?" the Doctor said, excitedly. He was the first out of the cab. Sherlock and John followed close behind him. Also, the Doctor now donned a deerstalker, which he had stolen off of Sherlock's head in the cab. He had proclaimed, "I now wear a deerstalker. Deerstalkers are cool."
As they stepped through the gate, Sherlock stopped, and tilted his head.
"Something's changed," he decided.
John rolled his eyes.
"Well of course! All of the police and reporters are gone!"
"Maybe it's nothing," Sherlock admitted, but he still thought there was something going on.
The mansion was weirdly deserted. The two of them wandered through the halls for about ten minutes before finding the maid huddling in the corner of one of the bedrooms.
"Hello, Mrs.?" John asked, gently.
The woman's head jerked up, sharply, as she feverishly surveyed the three boys.
"Can you tell us a little about last night?
"Nobody believes me," she began. She avoided eye contact as she told her tale. "Last night, we were just getting ready to have dinner. Then they came. The demons. The stone demons from the garden. When we were looking at them, they were completely still. But as soon as the lights went out…" the woman trailed off, and put her head back in her hands.
"Angels?" the Doctor asked?
The maid nodded nervously in reply.
"Not good, not good!" the Doctor fretted. Quickly, he glanced out of the window. He could only see one angel in sight.
"Maid! How many…demons were there last night?" he asked, impatiently.
"I think there were about eight, but I was too scared to really comprehend anything," she answered.
"Come on!" the Doctor yelled, grabbing Sherlock and John. "We need to run, now!" The Doctor pulled them along. They ran back towards the lobby. However, something greeted them at the entrance. Three angel statues stood in the doorway, frozen. The Doctor decided that he needed to explain the situation.
"Do not be deceived. These angels are much more than statues; they are aliens," the Doctor told Sherlock and John, his voice deadly serious. "They cannot move while we're looking at them, so, ah, just keep doing it. We can squeeze through them and make our escape through the doorway, but we need to keep looking at them. Just don't blink. Come on; I'll go first."
The Doctor ran up to the creatures, and slithered in between them to reach the bright light of the outdoors. John followed, as the Doctor kept his eyes on the stone. The lights in the lobby began to flicker, and the Doctor urged him onwards. Finally, Sherlock squeezed through the creatures. The men proceeded to run off of the premises. They sprinted all the way back to the road, but their cab was long gone. Fearing the angels, they hopped onto the nearby bus. They took it downtown to the flat, and went upstairs to talk things over.
"They are called the Weeping Angels, or the Lonely Assassins," the Doctor began. "When they catch you, they send you back in time. They feed off of the time energy of what would have been the victim's future. Their only weakness is that when they see each other, they turn into stone – actual dead stone. That's why they're so lonely; they are never able to connect to any other beings," the Doctor explained, a star of sadness gleaming in his eyes.
"No! Just – just stop! Why should we trust you? We don't know anything about you. I guess Sherlock does because he is the master of deduction and whatnot, but because I am a regular person, you are a mystery. The only thing you've told us is that you're a doctor. A doctor of what, exactly? Medicine? Science? Vagueness?" John yelled, his voice consuming the room. The Doctor decided that it would be best to cooperate with John. After all, if they were going to be working together, John deserved to know the truth.
"If you really want to know the truth, I'll give it to you," he told John and Sherlock. He knocked his head on both of theirs, transmitting the story of his life into both of their heads.
"Those deductions that Sherlock made earlier were correct. I have a young body; this one makes me look like I am about thirty years of age. But I am much older, and I contain knowledge, about 900 years of it. I'm an alien, a Time Lord to be exact, and the last one of my kind. I travel through time and space. I came to this exact place because I wanted to meet you two – the legends of deduction."
"Fine," John said, crossing his arms. "Just let me get this straight. You're a time-traveling alien who has just come to meet us because you think we're cool?" He said.
"Correct," responded the Doctor. But, I wasn't expecting to see those angels. They won't be able to do much during daytime, because people will be able to see them easily. However, under the cover of the darkness of the night, they will be able to move around freely and feed off of London," the Doctor told him, solemnly.
Meanwhile, Sherlock was jumping up and down in excitement.
"Yes! This is exactly what I have been waiting for. This is just so interesting and new, you know? Time travel! Aliens! What more could you ask for?" Sherlock exclaimed, grinning in anticipation.
John tried to calm him.
"Yes, Sherlock, I know it's all very exciting. But, we need to focus on the problem at hand, which is protecting the city."
"Boys!" Mrs. Hudson called, interrupting John. A fan just came by with some apples for you. Here you go," she said, handing the apples to Sherlock.
On one of the apples, the letters I.O.U were carved. On the other, a smiley face was carved.
When he saw the "I.O.U." apple, Sherlock became perplexed and frustrated.
"It's not possible!" he yelled. "It just isn't possible."
While Sherlock was ranting the Doctor had snatched the other apple from Sherlock's hands.
"Oh Amy Pond," the Doctor sighed. "The girl who waited."
At this point, John was the only one without an apple.
"Hold on!" he urged. "Sherlock, Doctor – what do these apples mean?" he inquired.
The Doctor began. "Well, it seems that this 'Moriarty' knows me as well. This apple belonged to one of my best friends, Amelia Pond. Not many people know that much about me," he told them.
Sherlock figured that he should explain his, too. "Well, I never told you this, but the day before I faked my fall from the Reichenbach, Moriarty paid me a personal visit. He told me, 'I owe you a fall," and carved the letters into an apple. The apple looked exactly like this one," he said, holding up his apple. "But Moriarty is dead. I watched him shoot himself in the head with my own eyes. There's no way he could've brought me this apple," he said, upset.
"And that's where you're wrong!" the Doctor said, grinning.
"How?" asked John. "For Moriarty to have brought us those apples, he would have had to regenerated his body or something!"
"Exactly," said the Doctor. "I think that I know the man we're looking for. He also goes by another name, the Master. He's the only one who could have knowledge about both of us. He is a cunning criminal, and he is also a Time Lord, like myself. He probably just regenerated himself."
Sherlock frowned. "If only we could locate him," he said.
"Wait!" the doctor yelled, alarmed. He took out his sonic screwdriver and tested the room. "Somebody is listening in on our conversation!" he cried. Quickly, he examined the rest of the room, and found a little listening device hidden in the eye of Sherlock's skull, which was resting on top of the fridge. He pulled out the device, and examined it some more with his screwdriver, picking up the signal.
"The signal is coming from the top of the Reichenbach! We need to head there right now!" he exclaimed. "We have just found, our villain."
"They are coming," said the man listening to their conversation, into his phone. Just like the Doctor had said, he was perched on top of the Reichenbach. He was a tall man of about six and a half feet. He had his black hair in a buzz-cut, and his bright blue eyes pierced through the day. He sat idly on a lawn chair for about 10 minutes, until Sherlock, John, and the Doctor arrived.
The Doctor stepped up to confront the Master.
"I should've known you weren't dead," said the Doctor, shaking his head, grinning slightly.
"Correct," responded the Master. "I've led multiple lives, but I perform the same job in both: I am a consulting criminal. I am both Moriarty and the Master," he said, pulling out some M&Ms from his pocket.
"Ok, that wasn't funny," he admitted. "But the point is that I am both of your arch enemies," he said. Moriarty walked over and grabbed Sherlock and the Doctor's hands.
"Why do I always get left out of everything?" John complained. He crossed is arms and pouted his lips in frustration. "Well, I guess I might as well get comfortable if I'm going to have to wait," he said, annoyed. He took a seat in Moriarty's lawn chair.
After a moment of silence, Moriarty began to speak again.
"I've had chances. Soooo many chances. Sherlock: I've been watching you your whole life, because I always knew what you would grow up to be. And Doctor, I've had about 1000 years of opportunities to kill you, yet I haven't done it yet. Because I knew that an ordinary death wouldn't suit either of you. You need something extraordinary; something exciting. And that's what this is: the final solution". As soon as Moriarty uttered these words, the lights began to flicker.
John saw the angels coming towards them. His army experience kicked in, and he was able to stay calm. He ran from the lawn chair to meet the others.
"The angels! They're approaching!" he informed them.
It began to get darker and darker, as the angels advanced.
Both the Doctor and Sherlock stood frozen; they knew there was no escape. John couldn't seem to pull them into action, so he did what he could.
He grabbed Moriarty's arm. John grimaced. "You're coming back through time with us too, Time Lord," he said.
A micro-second after John voiced these words, all four of the men were touched by the angels. As they went back though time, they felt as if their minds were being stretched. Their minds became blank as they passed out.
John awoke to the sound of strong wind. He looked around. He was lying in an empty field. Next to him, Sherlock was still passed out. He slapped Sherlock's face, which was something he had wanted to do for quite a while.
"Sherlock! Wake up!" he yelled.
Sharply, Sherlock's eyes flicked open. He sat up quickly.
"John!" he said, relieved. "Wait. Where are the Time Lords?"
"Um, they seemed to have disappeared," John informed him.
"Well, good riddance. But where are we? What time?" he inquired, frantically. He scanned his surroundings. He began to make deductions. "Based on those buildings, I'll guess around the 1880's, Scotland. Correct?" he asked.
John shrugged. "Well, actually, I don't know," he admitted.
"Well then," Sherlock said, grabbing john to pull himself up to a standing position. "I guess we'll just have to find out."
The two of them walked over to a man strolling about 20 feet away.
"Sir! Sir!" John called out.
The man turned around to greet them. He looked to be about 25 years of age, and had a wide mustache.
"Hello?" He asked.
"Yes," said Sherlock, shaking the man's hand. "I'm Sherlock, and this is my friend, John," he said, gesturing. "So, ah, what year is it? The architecture of that school would suggest the 19th century, Scotland. I think I have that bit right. But can you give me the specifics?"
"Okay", said the man. He found the situation unusual but interesting. "It is November 5th, 1880."
"Ah. Yes. But who are you? Wait; I know. A medical man, definitely. Maybe you just opened up a new practice? Perhaps you had money problems?"
"How could you know that?" said the man alarmed. He took a step back.
"Deduction, my friend. You know, I used to say that if you eliminate the impossible, what is left must be the truth. But I now revise that statement. Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent," he told the man.
The man smiled. "You know what? I like you. Your personality is just so unique and fantastic; you would make the perfect character to write about. The name is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle."