Warning(s): brief mentions of war violence
Word count: 5,618
Summary: Two Doctors, a nurse, a detective and a Scot walk into a TARDIS. Stop me if you've heard this one...
Two Doctors, A Nurse, a Detective and a Scot
It's Rory who finds the first stranger who had wandered into the TARDIS (well, technically the second stranger, but they won't find the first one for another twenty minutes, and since the second stranger wouldn't have wandered in if the first stranger hadn't strode off into the blue box in the first place, it's really all the first stranger's fault anyway). The second stranger (though Rory's first) is a short blond man who looks less enraptured with the fantastical environment of the console room and more like halfway on his way to livid.
"Uh," Rory begins thoughtfully. "Hello."
"D'you live here?" the short man asks, quick and brusque and he sounds like he's used to being overlooked when he tosses out important questions.
"Sort of," Rory says slowly. "Most of the time. Um, excuse me but," he walks down the steps to the console (where the short man is standing, though not close enough to the myriad instruments and levers and flashing buttons to be disconcerting), "who are you?"
"Look, I'll be out of your hair soon as I find my friend," the short man tells him, craning his neck here and there. "Tall bloke, lots of curls, stinks of ego. Probably off somewhere pulling wires out of the wall."
To his credit, Rory doesn't panic. Much. "That's. That's really not good."
"Yeah, he tends toward that," the short man grumbles.
"Rory," comes the Doctor's voice from somewhere back in the corridor, "Rory, your wife is cheating. This really isn't fair."
"Oh, like when you tried to pass off Raxicoricofallipatorious as a word?" Amy's voice snaps playfully.
"Rory!" the Doctor calls again, and now he's moving toward the console room. "What are you doing? This is important! I never lose at Jeng—" The Doctor stops because he sees the second stranger (also his first) standing with his arms impatiently folded by the console. "Oh. Hello."
"Yeah, hi," says the short man. "Can we get looking for my friend now?"
"Your friend? There're two of you?" The Doctor does a spin at the top of the stairs to look about, and then he hops down to join Rory and the stranger. "Rory, who's this in my console room?"
"I don't know, I was just asking," Rory reports.
"Some centurion," the Doctor says before he steps forward into the stranger's space, peering at him as if he's some space anomaly. The stranger doesn't flinch. "You're in my TARDIS."
"Looks like," the short man answers tersely.
"The door was locked," the Doctor continues.
"And he's got lock picks."
The Doctor cracks a grin. "Ooh, he sounds like fun. Okay!" He claps his hands together. "First off, who are you? Second, who are we looking for? Third, do either of you play Jenga?"
Strange enough, this seems like enough to please the stranger, enough for him to deflate from the defensive position he'd adopted, and he suddenly looks almost kind. "John Watson. Doctor John Watson."
The Doctor utters something not unlike a giggle, and Rory's eyebrows press concernedly together on his behalf. "Oh, that's brilliant, doctor. I do love a good doctor. You see, Rory, it's funny because—"
"He's the Doctor," Rory cuts in, jerking a thumb at the excitable man. "Just the Doctor, don't ask. I'm Rory. And Amy's up there..."
"Oi, Stupid Face," the redhead says as she suddenly rounds the corner. "What're you two getting up to without me?" And then her eyebrows go up when she sees the figure John is cutting with his arms crossed and suddenly less than cross. "Oh."
"How many people have you got in here?" John asks as Amy bounds down the steps to join her boys.
"Enough for a search party," the Doctor announces, throwing his arms up in premature success. "Right, your friend, what's he look like? What's his name, so we can run about shouting it?"
"Sherlock, tall idiot in a long black coat," John answers, momentarily distracted when Amy tosses her hair and Rory lightly rolls his eyes. "Sherlock Holmes."
"All right, good. Good name for shouting. Amy, you head for the Cloister Room, Rory, the swimming pool and—" The Doctor stops halfway through his mad whirl, stops dead still, and he rounds very slowly back to John. "Did you say Sherlock Holmes?"
"Yeah," John says, cocking his head questioningly.
"Sherlock Holmes," the Doctor says again, and it's almost rapturous. "Sherlock Holmes on my TARDIS. The Sherlock Holmes. Amy, Rory, forget everything I told you—"
"Um, everything?" Rory asks, finger punctuating the air and largely ignored.
"—I know exactly where we'll find Sherlock Holmes." And he smiles, a smile that would look a home on a nine-year-old boy and a clever rogue.
They find him in the library.
Sherlock looks up from a tome nearly as large as he is, and he grins widely when he sees his doctor. "John, this fascinating—"
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" John is suddenly shouting, and the three time-travelers look rather taken aback. "Walking into crime scenes, fine. Chasing criminals into power stations, all right. But a ruddy Police Box that's got a... a..."
"Another dimension?" Rory suggests.
"A Police Box that's got another bloody dimension in it! Sherlock!"
"Well," Sherlock begins, standing fully and looking only slightly dressed-down (they must do this often). "I can't be expected to ignore something this dimensionally transcendent."
"Ooh, good one," Amy murmurs.
"No, no, no," the Doctor cuts in shaking his head and waving his arms as if to clear the vision away. "You're doing it wrong. Where's your hat?"
Sherlock stares blankly at the alien in front of him. "My hat."
"Your hat! The one with the flaps on it, and it's houndstooth, and you haven't even got a pipe! How can you be proper Sherlock Holmes without the hat?"
"Who is this imbecile?" Sherlock asks John quietly.
Amy throws a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, even harder when the Doctor glares weakly at her from under his floppy fringe. "I'm not an imbecile, I was head of my class at the Academy."
"Not what I heard," Rory cuts in.
"Yeah, Doctor," Amy coos, "what was all that about getting thrown out of your astronomics lecture?"
"Twice?" Rory supplements.
"Three times," the Doctor corrects them, and then he slaps the heel of his hand to his forehead and points savagely at the both of them "That's not the point!" He rounds again on Sherlock. "The point is, I'm really quite clever most of the time, and you're not even a proper Sherlock Homes, so who are you to tell me I'm not clever at all?"
Sherlock is smirking (the kind of smirk that spells danger and adventure, and John is fairly sure they're both spelled the same way: H-O-L-M-E-S). "If you're so clever—Doctor, is it? Then why don't you prove it?"
"Maybe I will," the Doctor pouts, crossing his arms and pretending to be very not interested, even if it's painfully clear that he is really quite very interested.
"Then do," Sherlock prompts.
"Maybe you should stick around."
"Maybe we will."
"Er, Sherlock—" John presses in.
"Oh, come on, John," Sherlock says with a crooked smile. "Clearly the man is alien, there's no other explanation for this sort of technology; the books in this room alone would say that much. But his companions are human enough, even if slightly Scottish."
"Hey," Amy snaps, but it's clear that Sherlock's just good-looking enough not to argue with (looking is just fine, thanks).
"So, an alien has just invited you to take a spin in his ship." Sherlock grips John's shoulder. "So, where's your sense of adventure?"
"I think now's as good a time as any," the Doctor butts in, "to point out it's a time ship. Time machine. My ship travels in time." He waves it off, as if syntax isn't important (on some planets it isn't).
"Tell them what TARDIS stands for," Amy says quickly, grinning and practically hopping in place.
"Time," the Doctor begins importantly.
"And Relative Dimension in Space," Amy finishes quickly. "It does space too. Are you coming?"
"Quick trip," Doctor says. "Show them how clever I am."
John and Sherlock exchange a long glance (almost as though they can speak without saying much of anything), and before long, John turns back and says: "We can do a short one, yeah. Impress us, Doctor."
"Will do, doctor," the Doctor says with far too much amusement in his voice.
Three days later, they find the Doctor preening in front of the mirror in the wardrobe, fixing his bowtie and clutching a plastic pipe between his teeth, a proper Sherlockian hat on his head. "I wear a deerstalker now," he says to the mirror, cocking an eyebrow. "Deerstalkers are cool."
Both Amy and John break into unabashed fits of laughter, and neither quite knows how to stop.
Keeping track of time, on and off the TARDIS, has become something of a puzzle for Sherlock, and whenever his internal clock has gone through another 24-hour cycle, he marks it down in his Blackberry's calendar (of course the Doctor has given both of their mobiles an upgrade, even when Sherlock laughs at the idea of "universal roaming"). John has a much more laid-back approach to the concept of living in a state of non-linear time.
"So long as you don't forget my birthday."
(They don't. When John turns 40, the Doctor surprises him by nearly running the TARDIS into a black sun and apologizing later with a cake from somewhere in Baltimore.)
Five people in the TARDIS is a bit of a handful ("Don't worry, I've done this before. Once. A long time ago. Say, have I ever told you about the Brigadier?"), and sometimes half of them get left behind (John and Rory), while the rest of them go about having adventures (Amy, Sherlock, and the Doctor)—so much so that John and Rory have got it down to nearly an exact science when they should leave the TARDIS after them and rescue all three from another fate worse than death (John is good at the saving bit, and Rory with the inevitable untying or unlocking).
The Doctor doesn't much like John's gun, but after he sees the way John uses it (he only ever fires once, and that's back in 1916 when a rather unkind Austrian tries to skewer Sherlock with his bayonet, and even then John only shoots him in the arm) he lets John take it with him.
There are the quiet moments, too. Quiet as you can have, on a ship with the Doctor and Sherlock Holmes in it. There are times when the two of them will be standing at the console, both pulling levers and pressing buttons (of course Sherlock picked up how to fly the TARDIS, simple enough by measure of observation and experimentation; he's not as good as the Doctor, but more than once he's piloted the TARDIS to somewhere the Doctor needs it to be, and the Timelord gives the detective a quick pat on the back as his only congratulations), arguing without even looking at one another. Rory sticks his head into the kitchen and tells Amy and John that there's another battle of the clever people going on, and so they go about strapping things down.
And sometimes they'll gather around and watch the two smartest beings in the universe have it out. Rory makes tea and gets out the tin of biscuits from the market on Antigone, Amy throws blankets over everyone's shoulders, and they settle in for the show.
Amy gets a very different kind of show when she turns her eyes from the gesticulating form of her Doctor to the doctor sitting quietly beside her. She knows that look. Silly grin, big eyes full of Sherlock like the whole world is made up of the detective alone. She knows that look because it's exactly they way Rory looked at her for fourteen years. So she matches John's smile and she nudges Rory with her elbow.
"Go get some more milk," she urges in a whisper.
"But we've got plenty—" Rory begins, but she nudges him harder.
"Go on, silly boy. We're talking about boys."
Rory definitely doesn't understand. But he goes anyway.
"So, John," Amy starts in, and they pause to hear a particularly scathing remark about the Doctor's sexuality (or lack thereof) from Sherlock before she goes on. "You and the sociopath. How'd you two meet up in the first place?"
John shrugs at first, takes a long drink of his tea. "Through a friend. We both needed a flatmate and no one who'd want to live with us, aside from each other. Funny how things work out."
"One thing you learn living with the Doctor," Amy says, and she leans in conspiratorially, smiling over the shouting. "Coincidence is nothing. Things happen because they're supposed to happen. You think we land wherever there's trouble on accident? No way."
"So you're saying it's fate, me getting a flatshare with Sherlock?" John laughs, and he glances up to the battling party at the console (where the Doctor is pointing rather viciously with his screwdriver, and Sherlock says something about putting up cabinets).
"Look," Amy cuts in, and she scoots closer to keep her voice low, "I know you're trying to be all secretive about it, but you and my husband have the same stupid way of going about it. Y'know, the kind of stupid where it's really not secret at all and it's really sort of obvious?"
John halfway blanches, halfway goes red to his ears, and it makes for an uncomfortable medium. "Don't know what you're talking about," John mutters into his tea.
"Yeah, you do," Amy shoots back. "And you need to talk, now, before Rory gets back and sticks his big nose in and ruins everything."
John gives a halfhearted laugh. "So. Obvious, then?"
"So obvious." Amy rolls her eyes playfully.
"Hell," John murmurs, and he rubs a hand over his face. "And if you've got it figured out, sure as hell he does too."
"Don't count on it," Amy assures him. "He's oblivious. They all are."
"He's just," John waves a hand at the two men at the console, verbal blows traded back and forth with neither recoiling. "Well, you know Sherlock. Too smart for his own good. Too smart for me, by a long shot." Then, there's a sad light in his eye that wasn't there before. "Sometimes I can't see why he bothers to keep me around."
"Well, the Doctor's cleverer than all of us put together, but he keeps us around." Amy slings an arm around John's shoulder, and together they watch as Sherlock and the Doctor finally dissolve into loud, unexpected laughter. She bows her head slightly to John's, whispering. "It's a bit like a brain that needs a heart."
Then John smiles.
"Rory, why are you wasting my milk?" the Doctor asks as the nurse reappears from the kitchen and the Doctor hops down from the console.
"Amy said—" Rory begins, but the Doctor is shoving him back where he came from in an instant.
"That's not cheap, you know. It's not like the TARDIS restocks herself. Except when she does. That happens sometimes."
Amy moves to follow, but she turns before she leaves the console room, sees Sherlock move up to John, sees John open his mouth bravely...
"You won that one, then, did you?" John asks, half a smile on his face.
Maybe next time.
The Doctor gets a call on his console phone from somewhere in the 27th Century, and he starts off as if with an old friend. He has so many old friends.
"Jack! Good old Captain! Yeah, long time no see! New face! Me, not you. Probably." He turns to Sherlock, who is still in his dressing gown and lying under the console, pulling wires out with abandon. "Oi, stop that. No helping when you're bored. Go find your own doctor."
Sherlock makes a derisive grunt and doesn't move, but he ceases all experiments with the console in mid-flight.
"Look, Jack, TARDIS is a bit full at the moment. I've got a temporally-displaced Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson on board and frankly, they're driving me up the wall."
Sherlock aims a kick at the Doctor's knee, and the Timelord hops out of the way in time.
"No, lovely chaps, both of them. So, what did you need? Pop 'round for tea and a chat?" The Doctor frowns. "No, I figured as much. Save the world. Again."
"Dull," Sherlock says for him.
"Well, all right, but I won't like it," the Doctor says bitterly. Then changes his mind. "Oh, no, no that won't do." Because he's looking at Sherlock, symmetrical face all cheekbones and lips, tall and handsome and feline and Jack would be all over that in a second. "You'd never detach."
But of course the Doctor is the Doctor, and he doesn't turn down a friend in need when he's asked. So he lands and, as Amy and Rory are ready to go through the doors, the Doctor pulls Sherlock and John aside.
"I need you two to stay in the TARDIS this time."
"What?" John protests. "But Amy and Rory get to go."
"Amy and Rory are married, they're safe." And the way the Doctor says it is as if they're under heavy shelling across enemy lines. "Say what you like about old Captain Jack, but he respects the sanctity of marriage. Most of the time. Oh, blimey." And then he's off.
Of course, they sneak out not two minutes after the Doctor has gone off, what sort of companions would they be if they didn't? And the Doctor's not that cross. Not really.
It's not the first time someone punches Jack Harkness. But when your first words to Sherlock Holmes are "I didn't know they made 'em that handsome if they're not Greek and covered in oil", at least by John Watson's standards, you really sort of deserve it.
While the Captain is still sprawled on the ground, testing the clicking in his jaw, the Doctor says: "Ah, right. That went... well. Doctor Watson, this is Captain Jack Harkness. Jack, John Watson."
"That's my kind of doctor," Jack says with a laugh. And John nearly punches him again.
And they do end up saving the world. One of them, at least, whichever one the Doctor brought them to this time. To his credit, Jack doesn't try any more of his clever lines on either Sherlock or John (and the one time he does try to sweet-talk Amy, the look in Rory's eyes is stronger than any punch to the jaw could have been). All-in-all, a successful trip. They don't stick around for a celebration afterwards, because Amy is tired and Sherlock is already bored, but mostly because the Doctor knows if John and Rory aren't separated from Jack soon, they probably will kill him.
Not that it'll have the desired effect, but still.
"So you're a nurse," John says, handing Sherlock a spanner which he applies to the opened roundel he's working in (a tangle of wire thrown over one shoulder and the pilfered sonic screwdriver between his teeth).
"Yeah," Rory answers, holding one long cable of wire in both arms for the detective at work. "Well, I was. I mean, I still am, I passed all my exams. Just. Non-practicing at the moment."
"Where'd you do your time?" John asks, ducking under Sherlock's arm when he swings it away from the sparks he's created from the end of the screwdriver.
"Leadworth," Rory answers. "Grew up there, just seemed, I dunno, right that I stick around and help the people I grew up with."
John nods, chides Sherlock briefly on how to hold the screwdriver properly ("I know how to hold the screwdriver, John, don't patronize me!"), and then he does a rather large double-take. "Hold on, Leadworth? North of Gloucester, that Leadworth?"
"He knows Leadworth?" Amy asks, peering around Rory in disbelief. "I didn't even know it was on a map."
"My great aunt's up in Leadworth, at the pensioner's home. Old and daft and—"
"Wait a minute," Rory cuts in excitedly, and he nearly drops the length of wire he's been holding. "Eleanor Watson? That's your Watson?"
John gives a triumphant sort of laugh, which Rory joins in on, and after a moment Sherlock cuts in with a harsh: "If you would kindly stop guffawing over your less-than-fortunate relations, John, I need you to hold this."
"Is it still miserable?" John asks, worming his hand into the roundel with Sherlock's to hold the desired bauble aside.
"Worse," Amy suggests from around Rory again.
Sherlock utters the loudest sigh any of them have ever heard, like a petulant teenager who needs attention immediately.
"Yeah, all right, calm down you big girl," John mutters, smirking, and Amy nudges Rory with the toe of her shoe. John and Sherlock don't even notice they've left.
They're on their way to St. Petersberg, 1916 (something about a revolution, and the Doctor has a purportedly invincible mystic to see to), the Doctor throws a lever wrong and the entire console room lurches and flips and everyone goes flying. Rory has hold of Amy, the Doctor is clinging frantically to the console, and it's Sherlock who reaches out to keep John from crashing into a wall or the doors or that thing that the Doctor's been trying to grow in the corner for the last two weeks.
The TARDIS groans and there's a high-pitched whine, and it tumbles again, throwing everyone back the way they'd come. (Amy could slap Rory for shouting "Doctor, stop this crazy thing!")
Then, like she's made up her mind to behave, the TARDIS sighs and lights up and then she sets down just as easy as ever. Rory looks about as if something is bound to explode, but the Doctor cheerfully assures him that everything is under control. Amy stands immediately to start a headcount to be sure no one's hurt, when she catches John sprawled out on top of Sherlock where they'd landed seconds ago. And neither one is moving, just staring.
"Um. Thanks," John says. "For, y'know."
"Yes, well," Sherlock cuts in quickly (too quickly), "what use are you with a lame leg?"
"Thanks anyway," John says again. And for a moment, Amy thinks this is the big one, this is where John will make his move and they can all just move on.
But then Rory gives a shout, because he's sprained his ankle, and John is suddenly in doctor mode and moves right to his side. Leaving Sherlock on the ground by the console, half up on one elbow and looking after him like a kid watching his dog go off on his last walk.
Sherlock's head snaps suddenly to Amy, knows she's been watching, and the man is so pale that it really looks almost disturbing when he blushes. So he gathers himself very quickly and storms off for the lower levels.
John helps Rory limp off for the infirmary, leaving Amy and the Doctor alone in a quiet console room.
"You did that," Amy accuses him, coming up right beside him, face to grinning face. "You did all that with the tossing us around, and you did it on purpose." Amy leans in close, eyes sweeping the room to be sure they're alone. "Doctor, are you trying to hook them up?"
"Well," the Doctor says, patting the console fondly, "the TARDIS is a romantic old thing, you know."
"John Watson, have I got a treat for you!" the Doctor announces, flipping a lever triumphantly.
Sherlock glares out from under the console, grease and dirt from accumulated decades sticking rather nicely to him instead of the machinery. "John always gets to pick."
"No, no," the Doctor corrects him. "Amy picked last Saturday."
"That was John," Amy reminds him from the bottom of the console room, peering up through the glass.
"Oh." The Doctor fidgets. "Well, Rory, surely you got to pick some time or another."
"Uh," Rory begins.
"Well, all right, yes, John gets to pick. A lot." The Doctor frowns to combat John's growing white-toothed grin and Sherlock's scowl. "But," the Doctor insists, "he doesn't get to pick this time. This is a special, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity I've got ready for Doctor Watson. So, I picked it. Amy can go next."
"Well, what is it, then?" John asks, sidling up with his hands in his pockets. "Or where. Er, when?"
The Doctor's sly grin, the one he saves for when he's really and truly clever, comes back. "November 2009. Afghanistan."
John isn't grinning anymore. Sherlock has stood abruptly from under the console, weary from repair work but very clearly attentive and worried. Rory and Amy exchange a worried glance (because the Doctor always has a plan. Usually always. Most of those don't involve taking an ex-veteran back into combat).
Something in John's eyes darkens. "Why?"
"You were shot," the Doctor says, coming close (and everyone can see the way Sherlock frowns). "In the shoulder. It didn't kill you, not John Watson. But it did a number on your nerves, and a field surgeon can't have a tremor in his hand. Not even a little one. That bullet ruined your life."
Amy can practically hear Sherlock's heart drop into his stomach.
"But!" The Doctor hops away down the steps and toward the door. "We can fix all that. I mean, what's the use of a time machine if you can't go back and clean up a mistake here and there?"
And oh he's so clever, but Amy could just punch him—what if Sherlock won't take the bait? What if Rory messes it all up again? What if the Doctor is wrong about the pair of them and it won't work at all?
"In about, oh, five minutes," the Doctor says, looking at the watch on his wrist, "there's a gunman who's going to fire one round. It's meant for your friend, Bill Murray, but you take the shot. Good man." He smiles too widely. "We can pop out and stop him. No bullet for your shoulder, no tremor in your hand, you're a proper surgeon again!"
John doesn't say a thing. For a full minute and a half.
And suddenly Sherlock bites. "Don't."
The Doctor shoots Amy a wink, and Rory fights his confusion when Amy squeezes his hand and they both look up through the glass floor to watch.
"So you want me to get shot, then?" John asks (and it's not harsh, not really. Because Sherlock stopped him).
"No, not—" Sherlock presses his lips together, searches for words when none are readily at hand. "If you're not shot, you're not invalided home to England and I won't..." He frowns deeply. "If you're not shot, I won't have met you."
There are probably better ways Sherlock could have come to it (probably several ways, much more eloquent or at least not partially insulting). But it's so very Sherlock, so very roundabout and, somewhere deep and dark where he's hidden it, caring.
John's smile is almost too wide for his face, and when he laughs the room feels warmer, somehow. He doesn't waste any more time, and he seizes Sherlock's face in both of his hands and fixes them together at the lips. Sherlock gives in surprisingly easily.
"Oh," Rory says quietly, and Amy shushes him before the both of them, and the Doctor, sneak off to leave them be.
"You big bluffer," Amy scolds the Doctor once they're out of hearing range, throwing a punch to his shoulder.
"Ow," the Doctor whines briefly. "Of course I was bluffing, you can't go about changing established events. Unless you have a good excuse. Or too much time on your hands."
"So wait," Rory interrupts. "If it's not Afghanistan out there, where are we?"
"In a commuter lot in Derry, Maine." The Doctor waves him off. "Don't worry, it's the weekend, we'll be fine."
Suddenly, the TARDIS gives a shout and throws everyone sideways. Once he's got his feet again, ignoring the klaxons and the flashing lights, the Doctor is bounding back to the console room shouting: "SHERLOCK!"
"Sorry!" John calls back. "My fault, sorry!"
After the incident, the Doctor makes a new rule that there is to be absolutely no kissing in the console room, and most certainly not up against the console.
(But when, not even a day later, a lovely woman named River Song shows up in the TARDIS and kisses the Doctor out of the blue, right up against the console, it's clear that the rule is not enforced.)
While John tries to convince Mrs. Hudson that the big blue Police Box won't always be parked in their sitting room, Sherlock shakes the Doctor's hand firmly. "It was certainly an experience," he says flatly.
"A learning experience?" the Doctor asks, grinning. "At least a good one?"
"A good one," Sherlock repeats, and he finally cracks half a grin. "You know, if there were anyone in London with an intellect like yours, I'm sure I'd never be bored again, Doctor."
The Doctor grins. "Keep an eye on your own doctor for a while."
John comes back and warmly shakes Rory's hand in both of his (promising to visit his great aunt in Leadworth, see if he can't do anything about the boredom epidemic while he's in). Then he sweeps Amy up in a tight embrace, manages to get her feet off the ground, and he plants a kiss at her jaw.
"Thanks," is all he tells her.
"Don't settle in, you two," the Doctor calls from the door of the TARDIS. "I'll be back! I will, don't you go forgetting me! That's a threat! Or a promise, one of them. I'm always getting those mixed up."
"Sundays are free," John suggests.
The Doctor pulls a sour face. "Ooh, Sundays. Sundays are so boring." And then he's gone, and he's closed the door after him, and it's only the lingering sound of dematerialization that's left in their wake.
John heaves a sigh. "Oh, I'll miss that."
"Don't worry, John," Sherlock says, taking his hand and pulling him close to look at the inbox of his Blackberry. "Lestrade's called fifty-three times, and my inbox is full of texts. I'm sure we'll have plenty to keep us busy."