Crossover Fic: Bigger on the Inside [Sherlock(BBC)/Doctor Who; Rated G)
Continuing on in my effort to force myself to finish things once I start them.
Title: Bigger on the Inside
Rating: G
Fandoms Crossed: Sherlock (BBC), Doctor Who
Characters: DI Lestrade, Sherlock, Eleventh Doctor
Disclaimer: The BBC owns all these characters.
Notes: Humor genre. Inexplicably inspired by the fanboy/fangirl prompt at tw_dw_slashfest. Not posting it there, though. It misses the point of that prompt by miles and on so many levels. The blame for this is, therefore, mine. Somewhere in the neighborhood of 700 words.
“What drivel are you watching now,” Sherlock asked as he walked into Lestrade's office. Strictly speaking, he didn't need to ask what Lestrade and the man sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with him behind the desk were watching on the computer screen. He could tell by the enraptured look in Lestrade's eyes what it was.
“Doctor Who,” Lestrade said without looking up. “Grab a chair and come 'round and watch if you like.” The visitor remained silent, eyes glued to the screen.
“Oh, God!” Even though he had been able to deduce exactly what Lestrade and his visitor were watching, right down to the episode and scene from the moment he'd set foot in the room, Sherlock's utterance displayed the full weight of his disgust and dismay. “Don't tell me you're watching that pap.” Sherlock flopped himself down in the guest chair across the desk from the two Whovians. “I have absolutely no interest in polluting my mind with nonsensical drivel.”
“Shh,” the visitor shushed. “This is where the Weeping Angels show up.”
“Yes, I know,” Sherlock said disdainfully.
“It's Doctor Who.” Lestrade looked up with an affronted expression. “Who the bloody hell doesn't like Doctor Who?”
Sherlock let his head drop back and spoke to the ceiling. “Don't tell me. You're a fanboy.” He dropped his head back to look at Lestrade again. “You must have been one of those kids who hid himself away from oversized pepper pots by ducking down behind the sofa. Or was it the irresistibly spiky pastiche of David Tennant's overly-gelled hair that drew you in like a moth to a flame?”
“I like a bit of children's show now and then,” Lestrade said matter-of-factly. “Rests my brain.”
“Anymore rest for your brain and it'll be in its eternal rest. I marvel at how you were able to rise to the dizzying heights of Detective Inspector with a mind that enjoys watching tin-plated men stomp around in silver-painted ski boots and Time Lords having phone sex.”
“I haven't had phone sex in ages,” the visitor exclaimed. “All that begging and pleading isn't in keeping with my new, more together persona. Besides, it was done to death last time.”
Sherlock stared at the visitor for a good ten seconds, studying him like he was a bug under glass. Then he looked to Lestrade. “Your friend is delusional.”
Lestrade paid Sherlock no heed. “I've been meaning to tell you that I quite like that you've dropped the sexual innuendo,” he said to his visitor. “Don't have to be answering all those awkward questions from my sister's kids now when I stop in on a Saturday evening.”
“No sexual innuendo,” Sherlock queried explosively. “Have you gone off to make yourself a snack every time River Song has been on screen?”
Both Lestrade and his visitor abruptly swung their heads around to look at Sherlock.
“You seem to know an awful lot about it,” Lestrade noticed. He gave Sherlock the look he always gave him whenever Sherlock was acting buzzier than usual, the look that asked “Are you clean?” That look always worked as a means of getting the straight truth out of Sherlock. Sherlock hated that look.
“Yes. All right. I've watched a few shows, but I assure you I haven't watched any of the last season and won't have time to watch any of the season that'll be starting soon. I'm far too busy doing your team's job for them.”
The visitor spoke up. “So, how is it that you know about River, then?”
“I'd have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to know about River,” Sherlock said as he stood up. “Or who she really is.”
“Who is she,” Lestrade asked as his visitor began to say “Wait, you know who...?”
“Spoilers, gentlemen,” Sherlock said as he turned to leave. “Text me when you have something interesting for me, Lestrade. Try to make it a challenge,” he called dismissively over his shoulder as he walked out the door.
Lestrade's visitor broke the brief silence that Sherlock left in his wake. “Who was that?”
“Sherlock Holmes.” Lestrade didn't elaborate further.
“Never heard of him,” the Doctor said. “Do you think he really knows who River is?”
Lestrade nodded. “Oh, yeah. Absolutely.”
“How can he know?”
“Because he's brilliant,” Lestrade admitted. “Scarily brilliant.”
“Brilliant. Really.” The Doctor looked less than convinced. “He just seemed to me to have a huge head. Arrogant sort.”
“That's true. Can't fault him, though,” Lestrade said as he returned his attention to the computer screen. “As it turns out, his head is bigger on the inside.”
Title: Bigger on the Inside
Rating: G
Fandoms Crossed: Sherlock (BBC), Doctor Who
Characters: DI Lestrade, Sherlock, Eleventh Doctor
Disclaimer: The BBC owns all these characters.
Notes: Humor genre. Inexplicably inspired by the fanboy/fangirl prompt at tw_dw_slashfest. Not posting it there, though. It misses the point of that prompt by miles and on so many levels. The blame for this is, therefore, mine. Somewhere in the neighborhood of 700 words.
“What drivel are you watching now,” Sherlock asked as he walked into Lestrade's office. Strictly speaking, he didn't need to ask what Lestrade and the man sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with him behind the desk were watching on the computer screen. He could tell by the enraptured look in Lestrade's eyes what it was.
“Doctor Who,” Lestrade said without looking up. “Grab a chair and come 'round and watch if you like.” The visitor remained silent, eyes glued to the screen.
“Oh, God!” Even though he had been able to deduce exactly what Lestrade and his visitor were watching, right down to the episode and scene from the moment he'd set foot in the room, Sherlock's utterance displayed the full weight of his disgust and dismay. “Don't tell me you're watching that pap.” Sherlock flopped himself down in the guest chair across the desk from the two Whovians. “I have absolutely no interest in polluting my mind with nonsensical drivel.”
“Shh,” the visitor shushed. “This is where the Weeping Angels show up.”
“Yes, I know,” Sherlock said disdainfully.
“It's Doctor Who.” Lestrade looked up with an affronted expression. “Who the bloody hell doesn't like Doctor Who?”
Sherlock let his head drop back and spoke to the ceiling. “Don't tell me. You're a fanboy.” He dropped his head back to look at Lestrade again. “You must have been one of those kids who hid himself away from oversized pepper pots by ducking down behind the sofa. Or was it the irresistibly spiky pastiche of David Tennant's overly-gelled hair that drew you in like a moth to a flame?”
“I like a bit of children's show now and then,” Lestrade said matter-of-factly. “Rests my brain.”
“Anymore rest for your brain and it'll be in its eternal rest. I marvel at how you were able to rise to the dizzying heights of Detective Inspector with a mind that enjoys watching tin-plated men stomp around in silver-painted ski boots and Time Lords having phone sex.”
“I haven't had phone sex in ages,” the visitor exclaimed. “All that begging and pleading isn't in keeping with my new, more together persona. Besides, it was done to death last time.”
Sherlock stared at the visitor for a good ten seconds, studying him like he was a bug under glass. Then he looked to Lestrade. “Your friend is delusional.”
Lestrade paid Sherlock no heed. “I've been meaning to tell you that I quite like that you've dropped the sexual innuendo,” he said to his visitor. “Don't have to be answering all those awkward questions from my sister's kids now when I stop in on a Saturday evening.”
“No sexual innuendo,” Sherlock queried explosively. “Have you gone off to make yourself a snack every time River Song has been on screen?”
Both Lestrade and his visitor abruptly swung their heads around to look at Sherlock.
“You seem to know an awful lot about it,” Lestrade noticed. He gave Sherlock the look he always gave him whenever Sherlock was acting buzzier than usual, the look that asked “Are you clean?” That look always worked as a means of getting the straight truth out of Sherlock. Sherlock hated that look.
“Yes. All right. I've watched a few shows, but I assure you I haven't watched any of the last season and won't have time to watch any of the season that'll be starting soon. I'm far too busy doing your team's job for them.”
The visitor spoke up. “So, how is it that you know about River, then?”
“I'd have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to know about River,” Sherlock said as he stood up. “Or who she really is.”
“Who is she,” Lestrade asked as his visitor began to say “Wait, you know who...?”
“Spoilers, gentlemen,” Sherlock said as he turned to leave. “Text me when you have something interesting for me, Lestrade. Try to make it a challenge,” he called dismissively over his shoulder as he walked out the door.
Lestrade's visitor broke the brief silence that Sherlock left in his wake. “Who was that?”
“Sherlock Holmes.” Lestrade didn't elaborate further.
“Never heard of him,” the Doctor said. “Do you think he really knows who River is?”
Lestrade nodded. “Oh, yeah. Absolutely.”
“How can he know?”
“Because he's brilliant,” Lestrade admitted. “Scarily brilliant.”
“Brilliant. Really.” The Doctor looked less than convinced. “He just seemed to me to have a huge head. Arrogant sort.”
“That's true. Can't fault him, though,” Lestrade said as he returned his attention to the computer screen. “As it turns out, his head is bigger on the inside.”