Okay...
I appear to have 400+ words of BBC Sherlock and current Team TARDIS doing Hound of the Baskervilles. Will that do? Here, have some...
They’re on Dartmoor, chasing after some allegedly bloody massive dog, when they hear it:
wheeze grind wheeze grind wheeze grind.
They flick their torches towards the sound. And then, out of thin air, a blue box appears. A blue police phone box, which, by the look of it, is still a police phone box, and not abandoned, or a coffee stall.
“Space ship?” John asks. Given the circumstances, it really is the only possible answer.
“Obviously,” says Sherlock. It’s pretty dark, but he can still hear the eye-roll.
John supposes he really shouldn’t be surprised when three people walk out of the box. Nor should he be surprised when Sherlock looks at the red-headed young woman and the two men, and says, seconds later, "The person in charge alters on the basis of the severity of the trouble the three of you find yourselves in.”
The man in the tweed jacket and the bowtie grins at this.
“And you are not human."
"He looks human, Sherlock."
"He isn't, John. It’s his space ship.”
Of course.
“She,” the, well, alien says. “Not it, she.”
“The human obsession to render vehicles with a female identity extends elsewhere, then.”
“No, she actually is a girl, my TARDIS. I don’t suppose you’d like to see, would you?”
They’re on Dartmoor, chasing after some allegedly bloody massive dog, when they hear it:
wheeze grind wheeze grind wheeze grind.
They flick their torches towards the sound. And then, out of thin air, a blue box appears. A blue police phone box, which, by the look of it, is still a police phone box, and not abandoned, or a coffee stall.
“Space ship?” John asks. Given the circumstances, it really is the only possible answer.
“Obviously,” says Sherlock. It’s pretty dark, but he can still hear the eye-roll.
John supposes he really shouldn’t be surprised when three people walk out of the box. Nor should he be surprised when Sherlock looks at the red-headed young woman and the two men, and says, seconds later, "The person in charge alters on the basis of the severity of the trouble the three of you find yourselves in.”
The man in the tweed jacket and the bowtie grins at this.
“And you are not human."
"He looks human, Sherlock."
"He isn't, John. It’s his space ship.”
Of course.
“She,” the, well, alien says. “Not it, she.”
“The human obsession to render vehicles with a female identity extends elsewhere, then.”
“No, she actually is a girl, my TARDIS. I don’t suppose you’d like to see, would you?”