Where We Started

The Violinist

John roamed around a little bit, passing shops like barber shops, libraries, restaurants, but everything looked ancient and stupid, obviously it was a different world in this particular town, without electricity. He followed the sound of voices and laughter and decided that would be a good place to start his search for the town's location, so he walked into a dingy little pub lit by oil lamps. There were men and women everywhere, all following the extremely odd dress code but seeming to be having the time of their lives. They were all drinking large glasses of who knows what, but with every sip their eyes went cross and they smiled a little bit wider, laughing a bit louder and talking a bit more. There was a band playing all sorts of instruments, from guitar to accordion, stamping to the beat and also sipping from mugs when they got the chance. John looked around for anyone he could ask, wandering over to the bar to where a young looking guy with blondish grey was filling up yet another mug of beer or something for a swaying man at the bar, throwing money on the counter. There were some stools along the wooden bar, so John pulled one up, trying to block out some of the music and noise and get his bearings. His home couldn't be far, how he got here he had no idea, but it seemed only logical that the wind storm, whatever it was, was only short lived.

"You're a little bit too young to drink mate." The bartender decided, polishing a mug with a ratty looking towel.

"I'd say the same to you, but luckily I'm not here to drink." John decided, leaning on his elbows and frowning up at the man. "Where am I exactly?" he asked. The man looked confused, looking around as if trying to decide if he was joking or not.

"The Baker Street Pub, sitting at the bar and asking stupid questions." He decided.

"No, what town?" John asked again.

"Nottingham, London, Earth." The man said, his sarcasm definitely evident. Nottingham? That was miles away from John's hometown, a two hour drive at least, how in the world did he end up here?

"What's with everyone though, some type of costume party?" he asked, observing the people around them.

"Are you drunk mate?" the man asked, edging an abandoned half full glass away from John with caution.

"No, I'm not, but really, why is everyone dressed like this?" John asked. The man rolled his eyes.

"What are you on about, you're the odd looking one if I have to be honest, creeping me out." he decided, observing John's shirt and windbreaker as if they were some dark magic. John laughed, trying to decide if this guy was being serious or not, this was all a joke right? He couldn't be in Nottingham, he couldn't be the weird one here when there was a guy walking around with a cane and a handkerchief sticking out of his pocket. The bartender was still looking at him funny, as if expecting him to start laughing and admit that it was all a joke, but they both stayed serious and quite confused.

"Okay then, do you have money or are you just going to sit there?" the man asked. John dug around in his pocket, bringing out a five and holding it out.

"Whatever this can buy I guess, nonalcoholic please." He decided, sliding it towards the man. But he just looked at him funny, or funnier than before at least.

"What is that?" he asked, poking it with the cleaning cloth as if it were dangerous or something.

"Money, take it." John decided.

"That isn't money mate, you need at least a shilling for a mug around here." he decided. John felt like he was getting the biggest headache of his life, what was this guy talking about, shillings?

"Um, I don't... have one?" John decided.

"Well you can have some water on the house I suppose. I'm Greg by the way, Greg Lestrade." He decided, filling up a cup with foggy water from the sink and handing it to John, who excepted it with a bit of a frown.