John Watson was almost finished. He sighed and looked at his list. Only one more client to go until he could return to his flat. Back where Sherlock surely had another case for him to help with. Much better than this tedious work. He rubbed his sleepy eyes and aggravatingly got up from his chair to go into the waiting room.
"Mr. John Smith?" he called. A man jumped up from his chair like it was set on fire.
"Finally!" he groaned. "Well, come on then. Much to do. Sicky sicky stuff and things." He practically ran into John's office and John followed him, a little put off. He put his thoughts aside, however, as the clinic got many strange blokes. He motioned for the man to sit, which John Smith wholeheartedly ignored.
"What seems to be the problem, Mr. Smith?" John asked, sitting in his chair.
"Six," Mr. Smith answered, distracted by a picture of Sherlock and John. Mrs. Hudson had taken it and, unsurprisingly, John was the only one smiling. Mr. Smith picked the photo up, looking at it closely.
"Sorry?" John asked, remembering Mr. Smith's odd answer.
"What?" Mr. Smith, looking up, confused before realization dawned on him. "Oh! Yes, problems. That. Yes. But first, introductions." Mr. Smith bounced up to John, shaking his hand like an overly enthusiastic puppy. "Hello, there, I'm John Smith. I am very good at football and, um, oh! I am a very mature adult."
"Very," John remarked in his head. "Doctor John Watson," he said instead. "It says you had checked in with a headache?" John gestured to his list.
"Does it?" Mr. Smith asked, grabbing John's list and looking over it. "Hmm. So it does. You are an excellent observer, John."
"So, do you have a headache or not?" John asked, a little irradiated.
"Oh, yes, that," Mr. Smith said, finally sitting down. "So, where do you live, John?"
"Excuse me?" John snapped. Was this another one of Sherlock's enemies? If so, they must have thought John was a lot stupider than he actually was.
"Where do you live?" Mr. Smith repeated. He had gotten up again and was pacing around. "I think... it's in London."
"Do you?" John asked, glaring suspiciously at him.
"Oh yes," Mr. Smith told him, still pacing.
"And how did you get to that amazing deduction?"
"Well, we're in London." John rolled his eyes.
"Why do you want to know?" John asked, trying a direct approach instead of just humoring the man. Mr. Smith looked surprised at the question.
" Oh, um, good... question," Mr. Smith answered, he appeared to be thinking. Then he pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and showed John. "I am supposed to ask, see?"
"Health inspection?" John asked. "But why would they come without telling the clinic? And what does that have to do with where I live?"
"Well, you see, um, it's important in case of... aliens."
"...aliens?"
"Yes."
"You're not getting my address," John sighed. He ignored Mr. Smiths stuttering and walked out of his office, eager to get back to his flat.
The Doctor groaned as he watched John Watson leave. In hindsight, not the best plan. Oh well. Plan B. Before he left, the doctor looked at the photograph again. Behind John Watson and the other man were six birds with only one eye. Yep. Defiantly plan B. Probably should get the Ponds. Hmm. Nah. After plan B goes wrong.
Happy with his observations, the Doctor walked merrily out of the room. He smiled at the secretary and left the clinic. He saw John Watson hailing a taxi.
"Hello!" the Doctor called to him, waving his arms. "Hello, Dr. Hedgehog man! Hello!"
John Watson squinted at him, obviously confused as to why a man with a bow tie was standing next to a blue police box and waving to him like a maniac. Eventually, he just shook his head and got in his cabby.
"No hello back," the Doctor muttered to himself, grinning from ear to ear. "Well okay then."
The Doctor took out his key and let himself into his TARDIS, which stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space. A clever name, so long as you didn't think to much about it.
"Alright, Mr. Hedgehog Man," He said to himself where are you going?"
Quietly, which was an awfully big change for the Doctor ('You'll get to be loud later!' he had to keep telling himself), he followed John's cab from the clinic to his home ('So it IS in London!') and parked his TARDIS outside of 221B Baker Street ('Baker... that sounds so familiar. Why does that sound so familiar?') and gave himself a pep talk.
"Alright, Doctor, just be normal. A normal human. 'Hey, look at me, John Smith. Normal John Smith. Normal. Not a thousand year old time lord. Just normal human. Football.' Yes, that'll work brilliantly. Good job, Doctor. Thank you, Doctor."
The Doctor left his box and stepped onto the streets. Then, he went back into the box.
"Aaaaand I'll get the Ponds," he muttered, setting the controls. They won't mind. I wonder what they're doing at the moment?"
John Watson watched as the blue box seemingly disappeared before his eyes. He could have sworn he saw the man from his clinic emerge from it. Maybe he needed sleep more than he thought.
Sherlock and Doctor Who belong to BBC.