GUYS. THE SAME PERSON WHO MADE THE REALISTIC FAN-MADE 50TH TRAILER MADE A NEW VIDEO.
SERIOUSLY. JUST PRESS PLAY.
And this is just the teaser for a longer video. Some people’s editing skills astound me, this is incredible.
(WHOLOCK. You’re awesome. I haven’t written wholock in ages. I hope you like it!)
Doctor Watson sat in his office, stroking the cover of an old leather-bound book. Molly Hooper, the little housemaid, had told him that the battle was over - the family, whatever they were, had been destroyed, and the school was safe. That’s what mattered most, making sure that the boys were alright. But John’s aching heart told a different tale.
The door to his office opened. “Will that be all, sir?”
John looked up. Molly stood in the doorway, dressed in much different clothes than he had ever seen before. She wore bright colours that didn’t match the drab interior of the office, and certainly didn’t match his own tweed ensemble.
John nodded. “Yes, Molly. Thank you. I…” he paused, stroking the book again. “Take care.”
Molly smiled at him warmly, then left the room. As soon as she left, the door opened again, creaking on its old hinges. Footsteps. The whoosh of fabric.
John closed his eyes. “You did it.”
"Yes." Mr Holmes’ familiar deep voice resonated round the room. It soothed John, tempting him to believe that this was the same Mr Holmes that had enlisted in the school all those months ago. But this was not his Holmes - he would never be his Holmes.
John dared to open his eyes. Mr Holmes looked exactly the same, his eyes the same cold grey, his hair the same jet black, his face still pale and gaunt, and tantalisingly lovely. He had donned a black suit and long black coat that swirled around his ankles. He stood tall and proud, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared down at John with an expression close to guilt.
"Oh." John laughed at himself. “I thought you’d look different."
Mr Holmes smiled gently. “I am the same man.”
"No you’re not." John shook his head. “You’re… impossible." he laid the old book on his desk. “So, when are you leaving?"
Mr Holmes stepped forward, but he stopped himself from walking all the way over. His eyes were hungry - he was restraining himself from going over and telling John that it was alright, he wasn’t going anywhere, he would stay. But instead he said, “In a few minutes. I just came to say goodbye.”
John looked at Mr Holmes properly, their eyes meeting. “Who are you?”
"My name is the Detective."
"Not Sherlock Holmes?" John smiled.
"No." Mr Holmes smiled too. He looked out of the window. “I have a time machine, you know."
John nodded slowly. “Fascinating.”
"It’s a remarkable ship. Takes you round the universe, right through time, and brings you home in time for tea."
"I’m sure it’s splendid."
"It would be more… splendid, if you came with me."
John raised his eyebrows. “How so?”
"I wouldn’t be so lonely." Mr Holmes smiled wistfully. “Molly is a good woman, and a great companion, but… she’s not you, John."
John licked his lips. “What would I do?”
"You’d save planets. You’d save lives. You would be remarkable."
"But then you’d bring me home. Or something worse." John tapped the leather book. “There are many people in this book, Mr Holmes. And they all seem to fall into danger."
"Danger is fun."
"I’m not disputing that." John chuckled, but then his tone was serious. “I need to stay here."
"But I need you.” Mr Holmes whispered. He strode forward. “I can’t stay here. I’d go mad with boredom. And I know you can’t stay here either. Please, John.” he held out his hand. “Come with me. You’ll be fantastic.”
John stared at Mr Holmes’ pale hand. He smiled.
(omg I love this so much :D thank you - I hope you like it!)
"…so Mr Blue and Mr Orange will infiltrate Janus Cars. They’ll knock out the head of security and insert the virus into the mainframe, then get out, while Mr Pink hacks into the database from home." Sebastian Moran read out from his clipboard.
"I don’t understand why this attack is based on Reservoir Dogs." Jim Moriarty grumbled.
"You were the one who wanted to watch that stupid movie. Don’t blame me." Seb shrugged.
"It’s not stupid. Also, why am I Mr Pink?"
Seb and the rest of his crew grinned. “Two reasons, boss: you pulled the short straw, and you look a bit like Steve Buscemi.”
Jim scowled. “I do not look like Steve Buscemi!”
"Suit yourself." Seb smirked. He sat down, feeling rather pleased with himself.
Jim stood up, glowering at his company. “Whatever. Now-“
Jim frowned. “Who said my name?”
The company glanced around. “No-one.”
Jiiiim! It’s me! Wow… is this what it’s like inside your head? Dude, you’re weird.
Jim stared at his employees - no-one was talking, but he could clearly hear a voice speaking that wasn’t his own. He put a hand to his head and rubbed his temple. “Ugh…”
Okay, let’s try something else… ooh, I know!
Jim’s vision was overtaken by an image of a handsome man - his hair was blond, and he was clad in nothing but a black hoodie and a tight pair of pants. Jim gulped - his trousers suddenly felt tight. He blinked, and the image faded, leaving him staring at his confused employees.
"Boss?" Seb frowned. "Are you alright?"
"Fine." Jim snapped. He took a moment to recollect his thoughts before announcing: "As I was saying-"
Another image popped up, this time of the same man but wearing literally nothing. Jim turned his back on the table, glaring at the back wall of his office.
A high-pitched chuckle echoed inside his head. This is fun!
"Get out of my head!" Jim growled.
"Boss?" Seb called.
Jim clenched his fists. He fled from the room, running towards his main office. The Master was casually laid across his desk, wearing the black hoodie and tight pants. He chuckled when Jim entered the room, panting and hard inside his trousers.
"Hello, Mr Pink." the Master grinned. "I do believe this exercise gives a whole new meaning to… mind-fucking.”
(If they ever did meet, the world would probably explode from the amount of sexy. I hope you like this!)
"Owen, I need to see those lab reports again." Captain Jack strode into Torchwood 3, his long trench-coat swirling behind him like a cape. He paused - the base was empty. "Owen? You there?" Jack hopped down into the middle of the base, looking around with a frown. "Hello? Anyone?"
"Captain Jack Harkness." a sultry, seductive voice purred from behind Jack - he spun round to see a long-legged woman lain across one of the desks, her tight black dress showing off her curves. Her long black hair framed a pale face, and her plump red lips parted slightly in a smile. "It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I heard the rumours that you were handsome…" she swung her legs down onto the floor and placed her hands flat on the table, leaning forward to look into Jack’s eyes. "…very nice to see that they were true."
Jack laughed once. “Well, you’re very handsome yourself. Who, might I ask, are you?”
The woman smirked. “A woman never reveals her secrets, Captain.”
"I’m sure you’re a secretive girl, but this is my base." Jack pulled a gun from his pocket and pointed it as the woman’s head. "Who are you, and what do you want?"
The woman sighed. “Boys and their toys. Alright, I’ll indulge you. Irene Adler. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”
"The Woman." Jack didn’t lower his gun. "The Dominatrix, so they say."
"I require information about the Doctor." Irene said clearly. "Torchwood knows more about him than LINDA or UNIT ever will. So I’ve come to you."
"If you think I’m going to just give you information-"
"Drop the gun, pretty boy."
Jack turned his head, and Irene flicked her eyes over to the door. A beautiful blonde woman with sharp eyes and an even sharper catsuit walked slowly towards them, pointing an alien-like laser gun at Jack.
"Drop it." she repeated. "I have no intention of killing you, Captain."
"Why? Because you need me?" Jack scoffed. "Who are you?"
"Professor River Song. Archaeologist." she smiled like the Cheshire Cat, pronouncing her title with pride. She glanced at Irene. "It’s been a long time, Miss Adler. You never called me back."
"I’ve been busy." Irene bit her lip seductively. "Your Doctor is a tricky man - slipped through my fingers twice. I’d hate him if I didn’t think he was a bit pretty."
"You should see him in handcuffs." River grinned.
"Enough, alright?" Jack frowned (though secretly he was now thinking of the Doctor chained up and gagged and - ahem!). "I’m not giving you your information, so you might as well leave."
"On the contrary." Irene held up a flash-drive. "Thank you so much, Captain, dear. It really has been a pleasure." she nodded at River, who fired her gun upwards - it hit the light, plunging the base into darkness.
By the time Jack got the lights back on, Irene and River were gone. A note was sat in Irene’s place. It read:
(ASDFGHJKL BABY YOU’RE ADORABLE AND A FIREWORK AND I LOVE YOU SO MUUUUCH! Thank you :D brilliant prompt! I hope you like this!)
Mrs Hudson’s flat was warm and filled with the scent of freshly baked bread. That was strange, as Mrs Hudson hadn’t baked anything today, but the three grey-haired adults who were sat around the small kitchen table didn’t seem to notice the odd smell.
"Another biscuit, Wilf? There’s plenty here to go around." Mrs Hudson held up a dainty plate with a circle of bourbons on it.
Wilf set down his mug of tea. “No, I’m fine thanks love. Just had me breakfast, I’m alright.”
"You’re not going back up that hill without having another biscuit." Mrs Hudson said sternly.
Wilf smiled weakly and took another bourbon. “Just one then. Thanks.”
"Brian?" Mrs Hudson pushed the plate to the youngest of the three. "Biscuit?"
"No, no." Brian shook his head. "Can’t - dieting."
"At your age?" Mrs Hudson tutted. There was a long pause and a lot of crunching biscuits before Mrs Hudson clasped her hands and smiled secretively at her little gang. "Now then! Who wants to go first?"
Brian’s eyes sparkled. “Well, I heard news that the Doctor was in East London last week - I rushed over, naturally, but he wasn’t there.”
"I heard he’s got a new companion, too." Wilf said. "Clancy or Cara or something like that."
"Clara, maybe?" Brian asked.
"That’s it, Clara!" Wilf nodded.
Mrs Hudson clapped her hands. “Ah! Companion Clara! One moment.” she reached over to a desk drawer and pulled out a piece of paper. “Torchwood caught this on CCTV last week - look familiar?”
Wilf and Brian peered at the photo. It showed a blurry brunette rushing towards a blue police box. They grinned and nodded.
"That’s her!" Brian beamed. His smile faltered. "I’m glad he’s got someone."
"Bit of a twig, if you ask me." Wilf shrugged. "She needs one of Mrs Hudson’s famous cottage pies!"
Mrs Hudson blushed. “Oh, stop it, you old fool!”
Wilf chuckled. He regained his composure. “Any news on Mr Holmes?”
"None whatsoever." Mrs Hudson sighed. "The Homeless Network are working hard, but we’re not getting any further. I tell you, when that man wants to disappear, he isn’t half stubborn!"
"He must be taking tips from our favourite Time Lord." Brian smirked.
"One day Sherlock will come back." Mrs Hudson announced defiantly. "Poor Dr Watson is depending on that. But while Sherlock works for his own cause, we must turn our attention to our own."
"Hear hear!" Brian raised his mug of tea. "To Torchwood!"
"To the Homeless Network!" added Wilf.
"To those we’ve lost." Mrs Hudson smiled warmly.
"Hello?" the Doctor called, opening the door to 221B. "Anyone home?"
"Oh, Doctor." John smiled from his armchair. He wore his usual ugly festive jumper, which made the Doctor want to smile. "Merry Christmas!"
"And to you, good doctor." Eleventh nodded. "Is Sherlie in?"
"He’s sulking in his room. Do you need something?"
"A hat. Specifically, a deerstalker, and if you have a pipe, a cane and a cloak, that’d be good too." the Doctor wandered around the room, sonicking the tinsel on the walls and staring at his reflection in the baubles on the tree.
John stood up. “Well, the deerstalker’s in the drawer. I’ll see if we’ve got a cane…” he glanced over the alien. “What are you up to now, Doc? You’re covered in snow!”
The Doctor smiled for the first time in what seemed like forever. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
(Awesome prompt! I have done another Molly/Doctor prompt, which is here. Thank you so much - I hope you like it!)
The Doctor flung the morgue door open, striding inside and looking around. “Sherlock? I need you! The Zoogonians are attacking - you’re the only one smart enough to help.” he paused. “Sherlock? Are you in here?”
"He’s gone. Can I help you?"
The Doctor turned around. A small blonde woman in a hideous Christmas jumper and long white lab coat stood before him, wringing her hands nervously. The Doctor beamed at her, adjusting his tie.
"Hello! Can you tell me where to find Sherlock?"
"Um, he might be at the Yard, but then again he might be on a case. You don’t want to disturb him when he’s on a case."
The Doctor chuckled. “Yes, I know that all too well!” he glanced around again. “I need him… dash it, I need a companion… this is so inconvenient…”
"A companion?" the blonde asked.
"Yes! My right hand, my left hand, my eyes and ears. Someone to run with, someone to stop me, someone to help me stop this invasion." he froze, then slapped his face with his hand. "THE INVASION! I have an idea!"
The Doctor ran around the lab, looking into beakers and picking up vials of chemicals. He worked swiftly, pouring chemicals and solutions into one big pot. The blonde walked closer, watching him in awe.
"What’s your name?" the Doctor murmured over a pink beaker.
"Um, Molly. Molly Hooper."
The Doctor glanced over her, then went back to his beaker. “Are you smart?”
"I suppose, yes." Molly smiled. "I don’t like to boast, really, but I am smarter than a lot of people." she puffed out her chest, feeling important.
"Brilliant!" the Doctor grinned at her. "Being smart is great, isn’t it?"
"Well, yes, I suppose." Molly beamed.
The Doctor turned back to his work. The pot was now overflowing, glowing green and starting to smoke. He grinned at it.
"Perfectomundo! And I am never saying that again." he looked at Molly. "Do you want to be my companion?"
"What do I have to do?"
"Whatever I tell you."
"So you don’t actually have a plan?" Molly smirked.
"Not as such." the Doctor shrugged. "But would you like to come with me?"
"Um…" Molly glanced around the lab, then took a deep breath. "Yes."
"It’ll be dangerous."
"We might die."
Molly raised an eyebrow. “We might not.”
The Doctor grinned. “Well then! Allons-y, Molly!” he grabbed the pot and ran outside, Molly following close behind him.
(I’m going for the last 2, because I like them best :D another anon asked for a Sherlock/10 prompt, so I’ll answer you both in this one :) hope you both like this!)
“So. You’re an alien.”
The Doctor beamed at Sherlock. “That’s right!” he leaned forward with a wink. “I bet you haven’t met many aliens.”
Sherlock smirked. “No, I must admit I haven’t. Although I always assumed that Anderson was a Martian…”
“People always assume I’m from Mars.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Then what was the point-”
“I’m from Gallifrey.” the Doctor interrupted. He grabbed a handful of chips and stuffed them into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Brilliant place. Beautiful. Gone now.”
The Doctor stayed silent. Sherlock decided not to push it. The two strange men were sat in a small café near Brixton, London, England, Earth. The Doctor, for some reason, had ordered three portions of chips – “extra salt, extra vinegar, and don’t skimp on the tomato sauce!” - and had already devoured two of them. Sherlock watched him with a kind of disgust – the man had grease all over his fingers and face. The Doctor grinned at his new companion.
“You should try these chips!”
“Thank you, but I’ve already eaten this week.” Sherlock murmured. He stared into the Doctor’s eyes. This man was stranger than anyone he’d met - his face was young, but his clothes and his eyes were old. He looked… out of place. UNIT must have been having him on - this man didn’t look at all intelligent. Sherlock cleared his throat. “They told me you were smart.”
"UNIT. Torchwood. Everyone."
“Of course! I’m a genius.”
Sherlock doubted it. “Really?”
“That’s right. I’m one of a kind, me, total genius. Last of my kind, actually.” the Doctor’s eyes glazed over. “You’re one of a kind too, aren’t you?” he paused. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Being the only one.”
"Of course." Sherlock nodded slowly. "You feel…"
There was a pause, before the Doctor whispered: “You’re the closest thing to a Time Lord I’m ever likely to get…”
Sherlock was beginning to get creeped out. “What are you insinuating, Doctor?”
The Doctor snapped out of his reverie, the big smile leaping back onto his face. “Nothing at all! I’m just happy to have met you, Sherlock Holmes. Honestly, it’s a treat – an honour!”
“Yes, I imagine it is.” Sherlock held his head high.
“I’ve always loved your books. I even tried to emulate your methods, but it didn’t work.” the Doctor chuckled.
Sherlock smiled proudly. “Maybe it’s because you’re not me.”
The Doctor grinned. “That’s true.” he took a bite of his current chip. “Do you like me?”
“I mean, I like you – you’re amazing! But I’m just a bit worried that I’m not living up to your standards.” the Doctor looked like a kicked puppy, his eyes wider than saucers.
Sherlock chuckled. “I do like you, Doctor. Finally, someone I can talk to without wanting to hang myself.”
The Doctor frowned. “Don’t joke about death. It’s not funny.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Sorry.”
There was another pause. Sherlock stared at the man before him, unable to deduce anything. The Doctor smiled, as if he could read Sherlock’s mind. He offered his plate to his companion. “Chip?”
(Shipping everything is amazing! It means you’re not restricted or discriminated or anything, plus, as you said, the fanfiction is awesome ;) thank you so so much - I hope you like this!)
Jim Moriarty ran, full pelt, towards the warehouse. His face was covered in someone else’s blood, his clothes were torn and ragged, and his breath ripped out of his lungs, each breath burning as if Jim was breathing fire. The moaning, shambling zombies behind him kept shuffling on - Birdy Edwards, Jefferson Hope and even Sebastian Moran had been turned by those things. Jim ripped off the padlock to the warehouse, walking backwards into the building. Jefferson lunged for Jim in a final bid - but Jim shot him in the face, making him fall backwards. Jim closed the door, bolting it behind him.
The warehouse was silent and cold. Faint moonlight filtered through the gaps in the roof; hay and horse feed littered the sides of the building. Jim’s lips curled. Of course he couldn’t get stuck in an artillery warehouse. Nope! This was a fucking farm. Jim sighed. He walked over to the back of the warehouse and started working on a hay bed for the night.
A gun clicked behind his head. “Drop your weapon.”
Jim rolled his eyes. He put his gun on the floor, slowly standing up. “You’re making a mistake.”
"Are you one of them?" the invisible man asked.
"If I was, I’d have killed you by now." Jim smirked.
"True. Turn around."
Jim slowly pivoted on his heels - and his mouth stretched into a wide grin. “Hello, Harry.”
Harold Saxon stood before him, a long silver gun in his hands (and in Jim’s face). He smiled and put the gun back into his belt. “Well, well. Look what the zombie dragged in.”
"Harold Saxon, you old pest." Jim joked.
"Call me Master."
Jim pouted. “Such a prude. Alright, Master.” he paused. “Funny seeing you here. I imagined you’d be up on the Valiant, getting away from all this.” he gestured to the warehouse doors, where the zombies were still convened. Their groans resonated around the place, making the hair on the Master’s neck stand up.
"Yeah, well, minor technical delays." the Master shrugged.
"All your staff got zombified." Jim raised an eyebrow.
"Exactly. And I suppose your sniper too?"
Jim nodded. “Everyone.”
"Everyone except you and me." the Master sat down on a bit of hay, leaning on his elbows. Jim joined him, and they listened to the zombies outside for a moment. "This world is going to pieces."
"Yeah, well. It’s been written in history for a long time - 2012 will be the end of days."
"Does history say anything about two rogue criminals making it out to the end?" the Master joked.
"Dunno. I never liked history." Jim grinned.
The Master chuckled. “If every human on the planet is dead, we’ll have to re-populate the Earth.”
Jim shuddered. “Let’s just make it through the night, shall we?”
"You got it, babe." the Master grinned.
(I LOVE YOU TOO BBY! :D Thank you so much for the prompt, and I hope you like it!)
Sherlock sat in the TARDIS lab, staring intently into a microscope. The alien bacteria on the slide wriggled around like worms, their little feet flailing in the air as they tried to stand up. Sherlock smiled, poking one of them with tiny tweezers.
A sudden loud bang from upstairs made the detective jump – he glanced up, knowing he wouldn’t see anything. He glanced back at the bacteria, which were frozen stiff. Sherlock frowned.
Another loud bang. It was like someone throwing books at a wall – which, Sherlock thought, was the most probable case. The Doctor’s voice filtered down the hall: “DAMN IT!”
Sherlock frowned. He put the tweezers down and stood up, turning off the microscope light. Wandering into the corridor, the banging became more frequent, and a rustle of papers indicated that someone was indeed throwing books at a wall. Sherlock jogged down the hallway, eventually coming to the library. He stood in the doorway, staring inside. The Eleventh Doctor was standing among a pile of torn and misused books. The walls of the library had dents in them from where the books had hit; the huge, looming bookshelves were more bare than before, from the amount of volumes the Doctor had taken down. Eleventh grabbed another book and hurled it at the wall – it rebounded, falling onto the floor with the covers open.
“Doctor?” Sherlock called.
Eleventh spun around to face the detective. “Sherlock!”
“Are you alright?” Sherlock frowned.
The Doctor scoffed. “Do I look alright?”
Sherlock glanced over the alien. Tear-streaks stained his cheeks, his eyes red and wide. His bow-tie was loose, swinging around his neck like a hangman’s noose, and his usually floppy hair was stuck up like he’d had a rough night. Eleventh sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Sherlock’s lip curled in disgust.
“No, you don’t.” Sherlock murmured. “What’s happened?”
The Doctor flung himself down on the pile of books dramatically, splaying his arms out to the side. He sighed: “O, this is the poison of deep grief, it springs all from her father’s death.”
“Shakespeare.” Sherlock mumbled. He walked forward slowly.
“I met him,” Eleventh smiled softly. “a long time ago.”
Sherlock sat next to the alien, bringing his knees up to his chin. They looked like two children, sitting amongst a mountain of different worlds. The Doctor pulled himself upright, staring down at the floor.
Sherlock cleared his throat. “When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.”
“Your son gone… he most violent author of his own just remove.” the Doctor whispered.
“Hamlet is so depressing.” Sherlock smirked.
“Oh, but how apt.” the Doctor chuckled sadly. He glanced at Sherlock, then back to the floor. “Do you miss him?”
“Of course.” Sherlock nodded. “But I get to see him again. You miss your companions.”
“Yes.” Eleventh murmured.
Sherlock sighed. “I don’t understand your emotions. You know the heartache, the pain you feel when they leave. So why put yourself through this time and again?”
The Doctor looked up into Sherlock’s eyes. “Because maybe one day, maybe in a thousand years, I’ll find someone who won’t leave.” he gazed down at the floor again. “Maybe.”
(Don’t worry, it’s perfect :) thank you so much, and I hope you like it!)
Barcelona, Spain, Earth, 2013. Professor River Song sat in a sweltering restaurant on the outskirts of the city, her face buried in a small blue diary. A long shadow fell over the book - River kept reading.
"Professor Song, I believe?"
"Who wants to know?"
"An interested party."
River glanced up. A woman - a pretty damn hot one too - was standing before her in a skimpy outfit that showed off her curves, wearing a large sunhat that covered her face in shadow. Her luxurious lips were twisted into a wide smile, and her dark eyes were sparkling. River put down her book, reclining in her seat and grinning seductively.
"And who is this party?"
The woman sat in the seat opposite River, cocking her head slightly to the side. “My name is Irene Norton, but that’s not important right now.”
"So what is important?" River smirked.
"You know the Doctor." Irene became solemn.
"Do you know how to reach him?"
"Sometimes." River made a non-committal gesture with her hand.
Irene sighed, staring out of the window at the shimmering heatwaves of the Spanish sun. “I need him. No, in fact, I should say… Mr Holmes needs him.”
"And Mr Holmes would be…?"
"Sherlock Holmes. Consulting prick." Irene giggled.
River shrugged. “Never heard of him.”
Irene took a deep breath. “Professor, I need your help. Please.” Irene leaned forward, taking River’s hands and staring into her eyes. “I need the Doctor to help me save Sherlock.”
"I can’t help you." River shook her head. "I can’t reach the Doctor right now - it’s not in here." she glanced at the diary. "Not for a long time yet."
Irene took away her hands, nodding slowly. “Alright.”
"Tell me one thing?"
"Your real name."
Irene smirked. “Before my marriage, I was Irene Adler.”
Irene stood up and left with a curt nod to the blonde. River sighed, leaning back in her chair again. She glanced at her diary - and froze.
It was gone.
(omg I love this prompt :D I actually wrote this at school today because I just love it :D thank you so much! I hope you like it!)
“Fascinating race, the humans. Did you know, they have invented a way to transport their voices over a cable, yet they haven’t found out how to teleport themselves? Fascinating!” the Master spoke fast, stumbling over his words. “Rather impractical, though. Like the way they stick bits of metal into their bodies – for decoration! Absolutely terrific!”
Jim Moriarty didn’t see how a telephone could be “fantastic” or body piercings could be “terrific”, but he smiled sweetly and nodded along, humouring the crazy alien sat at the Prime Minister’s desk.
PM Harold Saxon, more commonly known among the cosmos as the Master, was on his sixteenth cup of coffee – his eyes were rolling, and he was shaking violently, but he kept pouring himself more drinks, downing the dosage in one or two gulps. Jim stood up and prised the cup from the Master’s hand, setting it down on the desk – only to have it snatched up again by the obnoxious blond.
Jim sighed. “Master, I think you’ve had enough. Go to bed.”
“AND ANOTHER THING!” the Master called. “The humans have boxes, in their homes, that show them what’s happening on the other side of the world!” he stared at Jim incredulously. “They could use that technology to discover new worlds, but no! They use it to see what Kim Kardashian is wearing now!” the Master froze. “Not that I watch… whatever she’s from.”
“Of course.” Jim smirked. He was beyond annoyed now. “Go to bed, Saxon.”
“Can’t. Shan’t. That’s a funny word. Shan’t.” the Master giggled.
Jim strode around the desk, grabbing the Master’s collar. “I’ve had enough of this.”
The Master swayed slightly on his heels. “What are you doing, Jim?”
Moriarty glared at the Time Lord. “You need to sleep, Saxon. Right now. The plan goes critical in two days’ time – I will not have any foul-ups. Do you understand me?”
“Whuh?” the Master blinked.
“DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND. ME?!”
“Yes!” Saxon squeaked, paling under Moriarty’s penetrative glare.
Jim slowly let go of the alien, stepped backwards to straighten his suit jacket. “Good boy. Off to bed now.”
The Master fled from the room, wobbling on his shaky feet. Jim rolled his eyes when Saxon popped his head round the door again.
“The drums have stopped.”
Jim smiled. “Well, you know what they say. Don’t drink and drum.”
The Master blinked, the joke whizzing past his head, and retreated to his room, giddy with happiness – and caffeine.
(DUDE! CALM YOURSELF! I LOVE YOU TOO!! :D I hope you like this!)
"I had a great time tonight." Amy Pond grinned, fumbling in her purse for her keys.
Sherlock Holmes stood before her on the doorstep, watching her face intently as she unlocked the door. “So did I, surprisingly.”
"You thought you wouldn’t?" Amy raised an eyebrow.
Sherlock smiled. “No, but I don’t often have a ‘great time’ when I go on dates. I don’t go on dates, which is probably why.”
Amy chuckled. Her long red hair cascaded over her shoulders, contrasting with her short green dress, making her look… stunning. Sherlock tried to ignore that. She started to open the door, but paused for a second, slipping her keys back into her bag and staring up at Sherlock.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Would you like to see me again?"
Sherlock frowned. “Are you going somewhere?”
Amy laughed. “No! I just- would you like to have a second date?”
"Well." Sherlock coughed. "That really depends on my work, and John, I suppose… and you have the Doctor…"
"Hm, true." Amy sighed, twisting her mouth into a sideways smile. "I don’t ever know when he’ll show up…"
Sherlock glanced at his phone - 11pm. He should have been at the Yard an hour ago. “I have to go.” for a moment, he looked torn. “I’m sorry. Thank-“
"Sherlock, I really like you." Amy gazed up at him, unabashed and confident. Her eyes sparkled as she continued: "You’re the most amazing man - human - I’ve ever met. I’d love to go out with you again, but I don’t know if you’re as committed to this as I am."
Sherlock stared at the floor. “My work-“
Amy pushed forward, pecking her lips softly and quickly onto Sherlock’s cheek. “I understand.” she started to go inside.
Amy turned round. Sherlock gently took her arm, pulling her forwards again, and kissed her properly on the lips, closing his eyes. Amy sighed happily into the kiss, breaking away at just the right moment (too soon, in both of their opinions).
"I’ll see you again, Miss Pond." Sherlock smiled.
"I can’t wait, Mr Holmes." Amy giggled.
(Adorable prompt! I love John and Rory – they’re like the sidekicks, but they’re both absolute BAMFs :D thank you for the prompt – sorry it’s so late, but I hope you like it!)
Rory Pond turned away from the bar, holding a large pint of beer in his hand. He took a sip, looking around the pub to watch the small crowd of football supporters that were cheering and booing at the game on the tiny TV. With them inside, the pub was noisy and boiling hot, forcing Rory to take off his jacket.
“Rory!” a voice called out for him. Rory looked over to the booth seats, where John Watson was sat, waving happily. Rory grinned and made his way over to his friend.
“Long time, no see, John.” Rory smiled, sliding into the opposite booth. The football fans became background noise.
“Yeah, ages.” John agreed. He glanced over the fellow blond. “You’re looking well.”
“Thanks.” Rory chuckled. “So are you.”
John stretched his arms over his shoulders. “I feel about eighty.”
“Well, you don’t look it.” Rory smiled supportively. He took another sip of his drink. “How’s Sherlock?”
“Good, yeah, thanks. He’s sulking at home right now – no cases on at the minute, so he’s bored.” John rolled his eyes. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t burn the place down before I get home. He didn’t want me to come tonight.”
“He didn’t want to be alone.”
Rory nodded in agreement. “Amy’s home alone too, unfortunately. She and the Doc had a row earlier. I can’t remember what it was about, probably watering the plants or something, but the Doctor went off to some planet and Amy locked herself in her room and now I’m here.” Rory sighed. “I shouldn’t have left her alone.”
“She might just need time to cool off.” John suggested. “Giver her an hour or so – people usually calm down if they have an hour after an argument. I find that yoga helps, too.”
“You do yoga?” Rory laughed.
“I was joking.” John grinned. “But when Sherlock calls me stupid or just gets on my nerves, I find that if I have a warm bath and a cuppa, it’s alright after an hour or so.”
“He calls you stupid?”
“All the time! Well. Most of the time. It’s annoying, but you get used to it.”
“The Doctor does that,” Rory rolled his eyes. “but it’s more discreet. Usually he’ll insult your general species, not you specifically.”
“I think I’d prefer that.” John took a gulp from his beer. Rory did the same, and they sat in silence for a moment. John continued: “What else does he do then, the Doctor?”
“Besides insulting species and barging into my room in the middle of the night?” Rory shrugged. “Not much. But when he does take us on adventures, it’s like he’s the Dad and we’re the kids, following him most of the time and running off when he’s not looking.”
“Ah. That’s different to me and Sherlock – he’s the leader, but I’m the soldier, just following him about. I don’t run off.” John eyed Rory playfully. “Maybe if you didn’t run off, you wouldn’t die as much.”
Rory laughed loudly. “You know me too well, John!”
John grinned. They waited for a moment before John said softly: “I like Sherlock. A lot. I mean, he’s an idiot, he’s a robot, he causes me so much trouble and pain, but you know what?”
“I wouldn’t give him, or this, up for the world.”
“Hear hear.” Rory nodded.
They clinked glasses, gulping the last of their drinks.