I'm home for Shristmas now, so expect some cool stuff.
The One With Sherlock Holmes and The Doctor
The afternoon
sky thickened an angry grey-yellow above me and the air felt thick with the
danger of rain, but for now dust still rose as I walked along the train platform.
The platform was two kilometres long and built when armoured trains a mile long
took soldiers and guards all over the continent to police thousands of scuffles
and disputes.
But that
was years ago, the rails were rusting slightly now and, when we did get a
train, it was rarely more than a few hundred metres long. The far ends of the
platform were growing sparse weeds from cracks in the concrete and gathering
that fine yellow dust that permeated everything round here.
At one of
these far ends was a group of tumble-down warehouses and hangers. It was to here
that my investigation of multiple “Missing Person” cases had led me. I knew
they were legally desserted, having been abandoned in the recession, but, you
know that feeling you get when something just isn’t right? When there are
footprints that seem to deliberate, when the street seems to hold its breath,
that moment after a firework sounded like a pistol shot. This was one of those
moments.
I crept
closer until I had my ear to the building. Silence. I pulled open the door and
realised my mistake at once: It was pitch dark inside the warehouse and still
light outside. I was silhouetted beyond repair and my position was obvious. By
the light now entering I saw tools, benches, dropped chunks of metal. And all
at once I saw something else: Two glowing, malevolent eyes. These red triangles
rose higher and higher until something monstrous took a step towards me. The
floor shook and I sprinted from the doorway just as it was torn apart by the
beast within.
A colossal
robot, belching steam and smoke from the chimneys on its back lumbered toward
me. The huge spiked jaw opened and closed with a deep clang, while a Gatling
gun large enough to shoot tank shells started to revolve. I moved just as the
floor underneath me exploded with chips of concrete and wooden splinters.
Rolling and ducking I avoided a swipe from the grasping and cutting left arm
and ran back along the platform, thoughts fighting to be heard in my
adrenalinised head: Whom had it been built by and for what purpose was the
foremost amongst them.
By luck a
train was waiting to depart as I came sprinting back down the platform. It was
commonplace in these austere times to utilise a train doubly and this one was
passenger cars and supply cars coupled together. As I ran past I saw huge
pieces of machinery covered in white ceramic-looking plates. Suddenly it hit
me: the monster that had attacked me had been the bare skeleton of a terrible
weapon. With this projectile-proof armour fitted, each car was carrying the
limbs or body of a war-machine that would be nigh-on unstoppable. This went a
lot further than some madman in an abandoned shed, railway permissions came
from the top...
I pulled my
collar up to hide my face as I picked my way through the passenger carriages to
find a seat. First class had been mostly empty, but I had alarmed a young woman
with my somewhat feral countenance (made no smarter after a roll in the dust to
avoid the beast’s barrage) and so beat a hasty retreat to the next carriage.
This was even less opportune since it appeared to be the ladies bathing
carriage, and in a white porcelain bathtub lay a lady with her modesty
maintained by copious bath foam. Unfortunately, as the train rattled round
faster and faster corners, water was splashing from the bath and the contours
that the foam had been able to conceal were fast becoming apparent. And, since
my brain decided that Kat Ahern was the right person to fit to this role, there
was no shortage of contour.
Averting my
eyes and jumping over the spilt bathwater and foam I found myself in the main
seating carriage. I stalked down the walkway looking for a seat, but instead
saw a face I knew! Sherlock! My old friend was a little impolite at times and
his methods unorthodox, but with his help I could crack this case wide open! I
sat next to him and greeted him warmly.
But as the
man turned to me, I realised it wasn’t Sherlock at all. This man was Major
Jamie Stewart from Warhorse, one of Sherlock’s triplets. I leaned past him to
see the other of Sherlock’s triplets: a dark and troubled man, continually
muttering to himself and biting the skin over his knuckles. He wore a black Starfleet
uniform and I didn’t know his name. I looked back to Mjr. Stewart, who inclined
his head, silently indicating his second brother, who was sat a few rows
further down the train.
I crouched
in front of him and looked him in the eye. Without any pre-amble he looked me
up and down and asked what I needed.
“Investigation” say I. “I’m here
simply to investigate”
“So are we” comes a voice from
my past and from 12 inches behind me.
Sherlock looks over my shoulder and
smiles. I spin and put myself face to face with The Doctor (Played in this
dream, by David Tennant). He holds a stony expression before breaking into a
sparkling grin.
The man with
whom I’d spent a year exploring the galaxy and all of time and space, the man
whom I’d never seen look too smart or too scruffy in a pinstripe suit and
converse boots, the man who’d disappeared without a trace after he’d saved me
and I’d saved him so many times – Was eight inches in front of my face. I could
have kissed him I was so relieved.
But my
relief didn’t last long, that feeling came back. Something was very, very
wrong. I looked outside the train and even though darkness had fallen, I could
easily make out that we weren’t nearly at the next town like we should have
been. We’d been looped and brought back into the same station. They knew I was
onboard and they knew what I’d seen. I glanced from The Doctor to Sherlock and
his triplets. If I were going to be taken, I couldn’t ask for finer men to
fight alongside me.
The clouds
that had threatened to break earlier were now unleashing a downpour. This, in
the end, was a saving grace, since everyone rushed off the train to get under
the cover of the platform roof. They all had their jackets pulled up over their
heads to protect against the rain and with a trainful of people to check for
just one man, they never stood a chance.
The five of
us and Lady Kathleen (now wearing a very impressive dress and steampunk lace-up
boots as befits a woman of her figure standing) regrouped in front of
the warehouse. The rain sluiced off us but we stood firm. The Doctor took the
lead naturally and subconsciously, he took a step forward and with a “Come on
then” led us into the blackness to find out what was really going on.
