![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yamxDoctor Who/BBC Sherlock Crossover
Title: Sherlock Holmes and the Adventure of the Blue Box
Author:yamx
Beta:canaana & dameruth
Rating: All Ages
Spoilers: DW: The Doctor Dances; Sherlock: The Great Game
Characters: Ninth Doctor, Sherlock Holmes, Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness, John Watson, other characters from both shows, peripheral OCs.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction; the characters are the property of the BBC and used here without permission. No money was made.
Summary: John and Sherlock stumble across a strange blue box in Trafalgar Square. And that's the least weird thing to happen that day.
A/N: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wendymr, who never reads crossovers but requested one anyway. :)
I had to fiddle with some canon details (of both shows) to make this crossover fit. It's set between The Boom Town and Bad Wolf for Doctor Who, and after The Blind Banker for Sherlock.
on DW: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
on LJ: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
(Fic is finished and will be archived on AO3 when all parts are up.)
Chapter Five
As they pulled up outside New Scotland Yard, Jack looked up at the glass-and-cement building and wondered how this clunky architecture could ever have been considered "sleek and modern."
They were barely out of the taxi when a constable ushered them inside. "Mr. Holmes, quick, Inspector Lestrade needs to see you right away."
Lestrade met them in the lobby. "This was on my desk when I got back. No one knows how it got there." He handed Sherlock a note. It looked like it had been written on one of those typewriters Jack was familiar with from 1941. Completely outdated even by the standards of Rose's time.
Dear Sherlock,
wish you were here.
There was no signature.
Sherlock looked at it carefully, sniffed it, inspected it from both sides. Then the handed it to the Doctor, who scanned it with the screwdriver, seeming equally flummoxed. Jack was about to suggest trying his wristcomp when John spoke.
"Why a typewriter?"
Sherlock's eyes lit up. "Of course!" He snatched the note back from the Doctor.
"What did I say?" John wondered. Rose shrugged. Jack sent him a sympathetic smile. The joys of living with someone whose thought process you can't begin to predict...
Sherlock strode over to the reception desk. "It's a clue!"
"Course it is," the Doctor said. "But to what?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's a clue to the real clue, obviously." He started rummaging through the desk drawers. The sergeant on duty began to protest, but Lestrade silenced him with a gesture.
"Want to elaborate on that, Sherlock?" John suggested. Jack was grateful. Who knew life with two geniuses would be more than twice as frustrating as with one?
Sherlock sighed. "Type levers impact on paper. Ink leaves an imprint – unless you remove the ribbon." He started going through the drawers on the other side. "Aha!"
He held up a pencil sharpener triumphantly. He opened it. The shavings spilled out over the note and the blotter. The sergeant grumbled, but didn't comment.
Sherlock rubbed the pencil shavings over the note with the tip of his index finger. Stepping closer, Jack saw that while most of the paper turned a dark, silvery gray, some symbols near the word "here" stood out in white. He whistled appreciatively. "Clever."
The corner of Sherlock's mouth quirked up in an arrogant smile. "Child's play." Huh. Even the Doctor was less dismissive than that. Usually.
"What's it say?" the Doctor asked, an edge of annoyance in his voice.
Sherlock's self-satisfied expression changed to one of irritation. "It's a number." He held it up for all to see. "40.756 – 74.013." With his other hand, he pulled out his phone. "These must be–"
"Coordinates," the Doctor interrupted. Jack exchanged a pleased grin with Rose.
"Yes," Sherlock said, irritably fumbling with his phone. "But this is nowhere near London. I have to check–"
"Course it's not." The Doctor grinned smugly. "That's New York City." Seeing Sherlock's utterly annoyed expression at being preempted, Jack had to bite back a chuckle.
"New York?" John frowned. "There's no way he could have got there this quickly by ship, and smuggling the altarpiece on an aeroplane would be tricky." Jack wanted to suggest that someone capable of crossing the lines of reality and fiction might also have a functioning teleport, but that was hardly an appropriate thing to say in front of Lestrade and his men.
The Doctor shrugged. "That's where those coordinates are, though. Right smack in the middle of the river."
"The river?" Sherlock asked.
John rolled his eyes. "Please don't tell me you've 'deleted' that, too. New York's on the–" He stopped and his eyes widened. "The Hudson River." His shocked expression seemed disproportional to the news.
Sherlock almost leaped over the duty desk and ran towards the door. "Lestrade, we need a car. One of the big ones." Jack turned to follow, utterly confused.
They ran after Sherlock. Jack took Rose's hand. "I don't understand. What's going on?"
Rose shot him a worried glance as she opened back door of the car Sherlock had clambered into, the Doctor hot on his heels. "Mrs. Hudson is their housekeeper."
"Landlady," John corrected, squeezing into the backseat with them.
"Oh, who cares if we call her a housekeeper or a landlady!" Sherlock exclaimed. "She's Mrs. Hudson! And she's in trouble!" He gestured to the officer at the wheel. "221B Baker Street. Drive!"
As they pulled out into traffic, sirens blaring, Jack saw Lestrade and some officers get into another car and follow them.
Even with the sirens, the drive through crowded London streets took over twenty minutes. The car hadn't fully stopped yet when Sherlock jumped out, closely followed by John. Jack, Rose, the Doctor, and the police officer followed them through a dark wooden door.
"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock bellowed, his voice resonating in the narrow hallway.
"Sherlock!" came a voice from upstairs. She sounded choked with tears. "Sherlock, I'm in your kitchen!" Jack had to squeeze himself flat against the wall as Sherlock barreled past him in his haste to get to the steps.
They ran upstairs, just as the door slammed open to admit Lestrade and some of his officers.
Upstairs Sherlock led the way through a messy living room into an absolutely chaotic kitchen. A woman who looked to be in her late sixties was tied to a rickety wooden chair with several bundles of colorful cables which led to a ominous device on the table in front of her – Jack recognized it as a primitive bomb.
"Rose, get back downstairs," he whispered urgently. She glared at him wordlessly. Damn stubborn– well, if he was honest, he wouldn't go either if the Doctor asked him to. Which was probably why the Time Lord didn't bother asking.
Sherlock leaned over the bomb, resting one hand on the old woman's shoulder. "It's all right, Mrs. Hudson."
'"Sherlock! Sherlock, I'm so glad you're here! That man, that terrible man..."
The Doctor pushed his way into the kitchen, but Sherlock would not be budged from his position next to Mrs. Hudson and the bomb.
"Step away from there, both of you," Lestrade said reasonably. "Sherlock, let me call the bomb squad."
"There is no time," Sherlock hissed. "It could blow up any second."
"Don't need 'em." The Doctor sounded calm and confident. "Just step back and let me work." Jack fervently hoped Sherlock would listen. A primitive timer like that was no match for the sonic screwdriver.
Sherlock glared.
"Sherlock," John said calmly. "You've seen what he can do with technology."
Sherlock stiffly took a step back. The Doctor took his place and quickly played the sonic screwdriver across the bomb. He frowned. "Cleverer than it looks."
"Can you disable it?" Lestrade asked.
A beep. "Just did."
Lestrade frowned. "Just like that?" He straightened his shoulders. "Art historian, you said?"
The Doctor looked caught out. "Yeah, well..."
Sherlock had started tearing the cables off Mrs. Hudson. "John," he snapped, but his companion was already by her side, taking her pulse and muttering reassuringly. Jack remembered Rose saying he was a doctor. The medical kind.
"You're just shaken up. You'll be okay," he announced after a few minutes.
"I'll put the kettle on," Rose said, slipping around to a back corner of the kitchen.
Everyone was focusing on Mrs. Hudson. Jack almost missed the Doctor removing a small part of the bomb and slipping it into his pocket.
"Thank you, dearie." Mrs. Hudson too a deep breath to steady herself. "I was up here cleaning a little – you really should keep the place tidier, Sherlock, I'm not your housekeeper, you know? – and suddenly someone grabbed me, and–"
"Who was it? Did you see him?" Sherlock interrupted.
"Yes, when he was tying me up. He was a skinny bloke, maybe a little taller than John... he had an Irish accent."
Lestrade was scribbling in his notebook. "Irish?"
"Yes. Dublin, it sounded like. I once had a lodger who..." She shook her head. "He said... he said if you didn't work out his clue... if you didn't get here in time..."
Sherlock looked away and started studying wall. John rubbed her arm reassuringly. "We did get here in time. No harm done."
Mrs. Hudson smiled at him, her eyes suspiciously wet.
Rose put a cup of steaming tea down in front of her. "There you go."
"Oh, thanks, dear." She picked up the cup and blew on the surface.
"An' I found your lunch." Rose held up a plate of what looked like some sort of pasta dish. "Do you want me to heat it up for you? It's no trouble."
Mrs. Hudson looked puzzled. "That's not mine, dear. I have my own kitchen downstairs, you know?"
John frowned and looked at Sherlock. "Experiment?"
Sherlock shook his head. "Clue!" He took the plate from Rose. "Where did you find it?"
"Right back there, on the counter."
Sherlock sniffed the plate as the Doctor scanned it. "Spaghetti Carbonara. Perfectly ordinary."
"'S not poisoned," the Doctor added.
John stepped closer. He dipped a finger into the sauce and licked it. "That's not just any Spaghetti Carbonara. That's Angelo's."
Sherlock's eyes focused on John with complete intensity. "Are you certain?"
"I've had them often enough, haven't I? There's some herbs he adds... secret family recipe, he says." He looked at Sherlock seriously. "To the restaurant?"
Sherlock nodded. "Lestrade, stay here and take care of Mrs. Hudson."
"My men–"
"Stay!" Sherlock shouted, already half-way down the steps, the Doctor right behind him.
Jack, Rose and John ran after them. Jack had to leap to open the door of the police car Sherlock was commandeering – silly of the driver to leave the keys in – to prevent their two geniuses from driving off and leaving the mere mortals behind. He glared at the Doctor, who at least had the decency to look abashed, as he ushered Rose into the backseat.
Sherlock merely drummed his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently.
John walked around to the driver's door. "I'm driving, Sherlock." Jack couldn't believe he was wasting time quibbling about that.
"John, this is hardly the moment for–"
"–for you to learn how to drive? Agreed." He looked at him calmly, standing too close for Sherlock to just pull away and leave him behind.
"You can't drive?" the Doctor asked, aghast.
"I don't know. I've never tried," Sherlock answered petulantly. Jack shook his head. Piloting a vehicle, especially a primitive one like this, definitely took practice.
"And you're not going to now." John held his place.
"Fine!" Sherlock snapped. He got out of the driver's seat and sat in the back next to Rose. "Just drive, will you? You have to take the next left and–"
"Yes, thank you, I know the way." John pulled out into traffic.
The Doctor pointed the screwdriver at the dashboard, and the sirens and lights came to life. "Get us there a little faster," he explained.
"Ta." John stepped on the accelerator. "Everyone buckle in." Jack tried, but was flummoxed by the primitive snap mechanism until Rose helped him with it.
"Doctor," Jack asked as they were moving along. "When you disabled the bomb, I thought you..." He left it hanging there in case the Doctor didn't want to explain.
"Noticed that, eh?" The Doctor pulled a small dodecahedron that seemed to be made from translucent metal out if his pocket. Jack recognized it as the part he'd taken from the bomb earlier. "Figured I'd better make this disappear before the police techs got their hands on it. The rest of the bomb was all current technology, but this its a bit more advanced."
"What is it?" Rose asked.
"Spy cam. Was transmitting pictures from the kitchen right to whoever has the second half of the pair."
"Can you trace it?" Sherlock asked eagerly.
The Doctor shook his head. "Went dead the second I spotted it."
"So whoever planted the bomb recognized you?" Jack asked. Why else would they have turned it off? Sherlock certainly wouldn't have been able to trace the signal, and neither would Scotland Yard.
"Looks like it," the Doctor nodded. "And they also know where we're going next."
Great. An enemy who knew the Doctor and could predict their next move. No way for that to go wrong.
Chapter 6
Title: Sherlock Holmes and the Adventure of the Blue Box
Author:
yamxBeta:
canaana & dameruthRating: All Ages
Spoilers: DW: The Doctor Dances; Sherlock: The Great Game
Characters: Ninth Doctor, Sherlock Holmes, Rose Tyler, Jack Harkness, John Watson, other characters from both shows, peripheral OCs.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction; the characters are the property of the BBC and used here without permission. No money was made.
Summary: John and Sherlock stumble across a strange blue box in Trafalgar Square. And that's the least weird thing to happen that day.
A/N: For
wendymr, who never reads crossovers but requested one anyway. :)I had to fiddle with some canon details (of both shows) to make this crossover fit. It's set between The Boom Town and Bad Wolf for Doctor Who, and after The Blind Banker for Sherlock.
on DW: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
on LJ: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4
(Fic is finished and will be archived on AO3 when all parts are up.)
As they pulled up outside New Scotland Yard, Jack looked up at the glass-and-cement building and wondered how this clunky architecture could ever have been considered "sleek and modern."
They were barely out of the taxi when a constable ushered them inside. "Mr. Holmes, quick, Inspector Lestrade needs to see you right away."
Lestrade met them in the lobby. "This was on my desk when I got back. No one knows how it got there." He handed Sherlock a note. It looked like it had been written on one of those typewriters Jack was familiar with from 1941. Completely outdated even by the standards of Rose's time.
Dear Sherlock,
wish you were here.
There was no signature.
Sherlock looked at it carefully, sniffed it, inspected it from both sides. Then the handed it to the Doctor, who scanned it with the screwdriver, seeming equally flummoxed. Jack was about to suggest trying his wristcomp when John spoke.
"Why a typewriter?"
Sherlock's eyes lit up. "Of course!" He snatched the note back from the Doctor.
"What did I say?" John wondered. Rose shrugged. Jack sent him a sympathetic smile. The joys of living with someone whose thought process you can't begin to predict...
Sherlock strode over to the reception desk. "It's a clue!"
"Course it is," the Doctor said. "But to what?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's a clue to the real clue, obviously." He started rummaging through the desk drawers. The sergeant on duty began to protest, but Lestrade silenced him with a gesture.
"Want to elaborate on that, Sherlock?" John suggested. Jack was grateful. Who knew life with two geniuses would be more than twice as frustrating as with one?
Sherlock sighed. "Type levers impact on paper. Ink leaves an imprint – unless you remove the ribbon." He started going through the drawers on the other side. "Aha!"
He held up a pencil sharpener triumphantly. He opened it. The shavings spilled out over the note and the blotter. The sergeant grumbled, but didn't comment.
Sherlock rubbed the pencil shavings over the note with the tip of his index finger. Stepping closer, Jack saw that while most of the paper turned a dark, silvery gray, some symbols near the word "here" stood out in white. He whistled appreciatively. "Clever."
The corner of Sherlock's mouth quirked up in an arrogant smile. "Child's play." Huh. Even the Doctor was less dismissive than that. Usually.
"What's it say?" the Doctor asked, an edge of annoyance in his voice.
Sherlock's self-satisfied expression changed to one of irritation. "It's a number." He held it up for all to see. "40.756 – 74.013." With his other hand, he pulled out his phone. "These must be–"
"Coordinates," the Doctor interrupted. Jack exchanged a pleased grin with Rose.
"Yes," Sherlock said, irritably fumbling with his phone. "But this is nowhere near London. I have to check–"
"Course it's not." The Doctor grinned smugly. "That's New York City." Seeing Sherlock's utterly annoyed expression at being preempted, Jack had to bite back a chuckle.
"New York?" John frowned. "There's no way he could have got there this quickly by ship, and smuggling the altarpiece on an aeroplane would be tricky." Jack wanted to suggest that someone capable of crossing the lines of reality and fiction might also have a functioning teleport, but that was hardly an appropriate thing to say in front of Lestrade and his men.
The Doctor shrugged. "That's where those coordinates are, though. Right smack in the middle of the river."
"The river?" Sherlock asked.
John rolled his eyes. "Please don't tell me you've 'deleted' that, too. New York's on the–" He stopped and his eyes widened. "The Hudson River." His shocked expression seemed disproportional to the news.
Sherlock almost leaped over the duty desk and ran towards the door. "Lestrade, we need a car. One of the big ones." Jack turned to follow, utterly confused.
They ran after Sherlock. Jack took Rose's hand. "I don't understand. What's going on?"
Rose shot him a worried glance as she opened back door of the car Sherlock had clambered into, the Doctor hot on his heels. "Mrs. Hudson is their housekeeper."
"Landlady," John corrected, squeezing into the backseat with them.
"Oh, who cares if we call her a housekeeper or a landlady!" Sherlock exclaimed. "She's Mrs. Hudson! And she's in trouble!" He gestured to the officer at the wheel. "221B Baker Street. Drive!"
As they pulled out into traffic, sirens blaring, Jack saw Lestrade and some officers get into another car and follow them.
Even with the sirens, the drive through crowded London streets took over twenty minutes. The car hadn't fully stopped yet when Sherlock jumped out, closely followed by John. Jack, Rose, the Doctor, and the police officer followed them through a dark wooden door.
"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock bellowed, his voice resonating in the narrow hallway.
"Sherlock!" came a voice from upstairs. She sounded choked with tears. "Sherlock, I'm in your kitchen!" Jack had to squeeze himself flat against the wall as Sherlock barreled past him in his haste to get to the steps.
They ran upstairs, just as the door slammed open to admit Lestrade and some of his officers.
Upstairs Sherlock led the way through a messy living room into an absolutely chaotic kitchen. A woman who looked to be in her late sixties was tied to a rickety wooden chair with several bundles of colorful cables which led to a ominous device on the table in front of her – Jack recognized it as a primitive bomb.
"Rose, get back downstairs," he whispered urgently. She glared at him wordlessly. Damn stubborn– well, if he was honest, he wouldn't go either if the Doctor asked him to. Which was probably why the Time Lord didn't bother asking.
Sherlock leaned over the bomb, resting one hand on the old woman's shoulder. "It's all right, Mrs. Hudson."
'"Sherlock! Sherlock, I'm so glad you're here! That man, that terrible man..."
The Doctor pushed his way into the kitchen, but Sherlock would not be budged from his position next to Mrs. Hudson and the bomb.
"Step away from there, both of you," Lestrade said reasonably. "Sherlock, let me call the bomb squad."
"There is no time," Sherlock hissed. "It could blow up any second."
"Don't need 'em." The Doctor sounded calm and confident. "Just step back and let me work." Jack fervently hoped Sherlock would listen. A primitive timer like that was no match for the sonic screwdriver.
Sherlock glared.
"Sherlock," John said calmly. "You've seen what he can do with technology."
Sherlock stiffly took a step back. The Doctor took his place and quickly played the sonic screwdriver across the bomb. He frowned. "Cleverer than it looks."
"Can you disable it?" Lestrade asked.
A beep. "Just did."
Lestrade frowned. "Just like that?" He straightened his shoulders. "Art historian, you said?"
The Doctor looked caught out. "Yeah, well..."
Sherlock had started tearing the cables off Mrs. Hudson. "John," he snapped, but his companion was already by her side, taking her pulse and muttering reassuringly. Jack remembered Rose saying he was a doctor. The medical kind.
"You're just shaken up. You'll be okay," he announced after a few minutes.
"I'll put the kettle on," Rose said, slipping around to a back corner of the kitchen.
Everyone was focusing on Mrs. Hudson. Jack almost missed the Doctor removing a small part of the bomb and slipping it into his pocket.
"Thank you, dearie." Mrs. Hudson too a deep breath to steady herself. "I was up here cleaning a little – you really should keep the place tidier, Sherlock, I'm not your housekeeper, you know? – and suddenly someone grabbed me, and–"
"Who was it? Did you see him?" Sherlock interrupted.
"Yes, when he was tying me up. He was a skinny bloke, maybe a little taller than John... he had an Irish accent."
Lestrade was scribbling in his notebook. "Irish?"
"Yes. Dublin, it sounded like. I once had a lodger who..." She shook her head. "He said... he said if you didn't work out his clue... if you didn't get here in time..."
Sherlock looked away and started studying wall. John rubbed her arm reassuringly. "We did get here in time. No harm done."
Mrs. Hudson smiled at him, her eyes suspiciously wet.
Rose put a cup of steaming tea down in front of her. "There you go."
"Oh, thanks, dear." She picked up the cup and blew on the surface.
"An' I found your lunch." Rose held up a plate of what looked like some sort of pasta dish. "Do you want me to heat it up for you? It's no trouble."
Mrs. Hudson looked puzzled. "That's not mine, dear. I have my own kitchen downstairs, you know?"
John frowned and looked at Sherlock. "Experiment?"
Sherlock shook his head. "Clue!" He took the plate from Rose. "Where did you find it?"
"Right back there, on the counter."
Sherlock sniffed the plate as the Doctor scanned it. "Spaghetti Carbonara. Perfectly ordinary."
"'S not poisoned," the Doctor added.
John stepped closer. He dipped a finger into the sauce and licked it. "That's not just any Spaghetti Carbonara. That's Angelo's."
Sherlock's eyes focused on John with complete intensity. "Are you certain?"
"I've had them often enough, haven't I? There's some herbs he adds... secret family recipe, he says." He looked at Sherlock seriously. "To the restaurant?"
Sherlock nodded. "Lestrade, stay here and take care of Mrs. Hudson."
"My men–"
"Stay!" Sherlock shouted, already half-way down the steps, the Doctor right behind him.
Jack, Rose and John ran after them. Jack had to leap to open the door of the police car Sherlock was commandeering – silly of the driver to leave the keys in – to prevent their two geniuses from driving off and leaving the mere mortals behind. He glared at the Doctor, who at least had the decency to look abashed, as he ushered Rose into the backseat.
Sherlock merely drummed his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently.
John walked around to the driver's door. "I'm driving, Sherlock." Jack couldn't believe he was wasting time quibbling about that.
"John, this is hardly the moment for–"
"–for you to learn how to drive? Agreed." He looked at him calmly, standing too close for Sherlock to just pull away and leave him behind.
"You can't drive?" the Doctor asked, aghast.
"I don't know. I've never tried," Sherlock answered petulantly. Jack shook his head. Piloting a vehicle, especially a primitive one like this, definitely took practice.
"And you're not going to now." John held his place.
"Fine!" Sherlock snapped. He got out of the driver's seat and sat in the back next to Rose. "Just drive, will you? You have to take the next left and–"
"Yes, thank you, I know the way." John pulled out into traffic.
The Doctor pointed the screwdriver at the dashboard, and the sirens and lights came to life. "Get us there a little faster," he explained.
"Ta." John stepped on the accelerator. "Everyone buckle in." Jack tried, but was flummoxed by the primitive snap mechanism until Rose helped him with it.
"Doctor," Jack asked as they were moving along. "When you disabled the bomb, I thought you..." He left it hanging there in case the Doctor didn't want to explain.
"Noticed that, eh?" The Doctor pulled a small dodecahedron that seemed to be made from translucent metal out if his pocket. Jack recognized it as the part he'd taken from the bomb earlier. "Figured I'd better make this disappear before the police techs got their hands on it. The rest of the bomb was all current technology, but this its a bit more advanced."
"What is it?" Rose asked.
"Spy cam. Was transmitting pictures from the kitchen right to whoever has the second half of the pair."
"Can you trace it?" Sherlock asked eagerly.
The Doctor shook his head. "Went dead the second I spotted it."
"So whoever planted the bomb recognized you?" Jack asked. Why else would they have turned it off? Sherlock certainly wouldn't have been able to trace the signal, and neither would Scotland Yard.
"Looks like it," the Doctor nodded. "And they also know where we're going next."
Great. An enemy who knew the Doctor and could predict their next move. No way for that to go wrong.
Chapter 6
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-08-20 17:46 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-20 17:51 (UTC)Thanks for commenting!
no subject
Date: 2011-08-18 14:46 (UTC)This is AWESOME!
no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 19:46 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-18 20:06 (UTC)Irish accent, bombs, and playing games with Sherlock suggest Moriarty, but what's he doing with advanced technology? I look forward to finding out.
no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 19:50 (UTC)Sherlock does occasionally have a slightly inflated opinion of himself. ;)
And you'll have to wait to find out. *g*
Thank you for your detailed comment. :)
no subject
Date: 2011-08-18 20:29 (UTC)And tardis_stowaway is right, Sherlock thinking he can just drive the police car, without knowing how, is way funny.
no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 19:53 (UTC)I'm glad you're enjoying the fic! Thanks for commenting!
no subject
Date: 2011-08-18 20:38 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 19:53 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-18 21:19 (UTC)*hits refresh button repeatedly*
So, who would be able to cross the lines between reality and fiction and recognise the Doctor?
*is having thinky thoughts*
no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 19:54 (UTC)Thank you so much!
no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 20:17 (UTC)Pretty please!?!
no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 20:21 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 20:24 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 20:27 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 20:43 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 20:54 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 01:52 (UTC)Who knew life with two geniuses would be more than twice as frustrating as with one?
They're still leapfrogging answers and ideas, but it's lovely to see that all of the others - Jack, John, Rose - are making useful suggestions and actually getting things right. And I loved John pointing out that Sherlock can't drive! I'd also love to know what Lestrade's thinking of the Doctor right now, after seeing him disable the bomb with one click - and did he also see the Doctor nick the spy cam?
Counting the days until Monday!
no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 19:58 (UTC)And of course they're all making contributions - the Doctor would be as lost without his apes as Sherlock would be without his blogger. ;)
Yeah, while John is not the slightest bit surprised that Sherlock assumes he could drive if he tried, he's not going to let him experiment in central London traffic during a hostage situation. And he knows just how to make Sherlock give in. :)
I'm glad you're still enjoying your fic! :)
no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 11:23 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-19 19:59 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-21 15:58 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-21 16:02 (UTC)Sure, friend away. :)