A Study in Scarlet
London, 1888, Baker Street. The air was thick with the stink of industry and Victorian fashion. Right outside of where a one Mr. Sherlock Holmes would have lived a particular blue box materialized out of the air, announcing herself as usual and drawing attention only from a couple of little street-rats who stared at this new and unexplainable phenomenon.
And from a party waiting in a restaurant across the street.
"That's it then?" An older gentleman asked. He was silver-haired, features chiselled and had defined rather than sagged with age, or so one would assume. He wore grays that complimented his hair, his interest piquing at the blue box. He could tell something about her, more like his kind than the Time Lords they'd taken.
"That's the TARDIS." Across from him at the table sat a bobby, sipping his tea. A familiar copper, accent strangely American and with a mannerly, raven-haired sumptuous woman sitting politely by his side. "We don't know how long they'll be here."
"We should go now then," a fourth said. His tailored suit with tails was a shade lighter than the Doctors, as was his hair, but aside from the tophat and the presence of a vest it wasn't entirely unlike it. The tophat was a necessity, as it covered the edges of his ears that he wasn't quite so skilled at.
"Isis, wait for the check," the bobby said, placing some money on the table and rising from his seat. He had to go say hello to an old acquaintance.
~*~*~
Before the time that the letters needed to be sent to Jack London, but Data's plan was to aim ahead and then work back forward. Better to start early and do a linear progression.
...He might have also greedily not wanted to pass up on the chance to look out upon a burgeoning Sherlock Holmes phenomenon.
"Perhaps it would not be harmful for us to have a look around now that-" The suggestion was cut off by a knock at the door, purposeful. Not one of those indicating that the person on the other side was worried about interrupting someone, but rather that the person knew very well that someone was in there and expected them to respond.
"It seems that our arrival was anticipated," Data said, some of that eagerness ebbing from his tone as there might be more pressing matters than being a fan.
~*~*~
Mr. Seven stepped back from the TARDIS doors, folding his hands in front of him. Of course he had to conduct the initial negotiations, the two behind him preferred their maneuvering through time over maneuvering through human affairs. Isis would probably be out shortly, when she escaped the attention of the serving boy. In the meantime he had no idea what was truly on the minds of the two creatures with him.
But he could feel them thinking.
And from a party waiting in a restaurant across the street.
"That's it then?" An older gentleman asked. He was silver-haired, features chiselled and had defined rather than sagged with age, or so one would assume. He wore grays that complimented his hair, his interest piquing at the blue box. He could tell something about her, more like his kind than the Time Lords they'd taken.
"That's the TARDIS." Across from him at the table sat a bobby, sipping his tea. A familiar copper, accent strangely American and with a mannerly, raven-haired sumptuous woman sitting politely by his side. "We don't know how long they'll be here."
"We should go now then," a fourth said. His tailored suit with tails was a shade lighter than the Doctors, as was his hair, but aside from the tophat and the presence of a vest it wasn't entirely unlike it. The tophat was a necessity, as it covered the edges of his ears that he wasn't quite so skilled at.
"Isis, wait for the check," the bobby said, placing some money on the table and rising from his seat. He had to go say hello to an old acquaintance.
~*~*~
Before the time that the letters needed to be sent to Jack London, but Data's plan was to aim ahead and then work back forward. Better to start early and do a linear progression.
...He might have also greedily not wanted to pass up on the chance to look out upon a burgeoning Sherlock Holmes phenomenon.
"Perhaps it would not be harmful for us to have a look around now that-" The suggestion was cut off by a knock at the door, purposeful. Not one of those indicating that the person on the other side was worried about interrupting someone, but rather that the person knew very well that someone was in there and expected them to respond.
"It seems that our arrival was anticipated," Data said, some of that eagerness ebbing from his tone as there might be more pressing matters than being a fan.
~*~*~
Mr. Seven stepped back from the TARDIS doors, folding his hands in front of him. Of course he had to conduct the initial negotiations, the two behind him preferred their maneuvering through time over maneuvering through human affairs. Isis would probably be out shortly, when she escaped the attention of the serving boy. In the meantime he had no idea what was truly on the minds of the two creatures with him.
But he could feel them thinking.