Sherlock in the Tardis
John almost walked straight into it. A blue box. Right there in the middle of the street. No one seemed to find it odd and John didn't even seem to have been aware of it, before he crashed his nose into it. Even now, when he finally saw it, he didn't seem all that interested. He scowled at the box for having stood in his way and then walked over to the edge of the street, planning to get a cab.
Sherlock however had lost all interest in the case Lestrade had brought to their attention. Certainly, a severed foot sounded intriguing enough, but there was something about this blue box that was even more interesting than detached limbs.
Sherlock circled it. A police box, as he'd expected. He recognised the old design, though he wasn't sure where his mind had collected that particular piece of useless data. He blamed John, since meeting him, Sherlock's mind was being force fed useless information every day. He had no desire to know who the contestants of
You quietly leaned on the doorway to watch the events happening within. You were a permanent companion to the Doctor, at least that was how he put it as his didn’t like labels, and it meant you pretty much expected whatever antics he was bound to get himself into. Right now that would be cooking something of some sort.
He was waving his hands around above his head, a whisk in one, and was covered in what looked to be a combination of flour and cocoa powder. You couldn’t help but grin as he twirled and almost toppled over, recovering only to spill the contents of the bowl he was working on all over the counter. He was an awkward, over enthusiastic goof but he was your goof and you loved him with all your heart.