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When Sherlock finds out Lestrade knows the Doctor, it comes as a surprise. It never does cross his mind that the other would interact with a time travelling alien, let alone believe it. Sherlock is in Lestrade's new office. He has been promoted to Detective Inspector very recently and is already very used to the position. He makes very good use of it as well, unlike past Detective Inspectors who had inhabited the office. Sherlock is proud of Lestrade, though he isn't keen on working with people such as Anderson and doesn't exactly show how proud he is of the older man. At this moment in time, Sherlock is bothering Lestrade about letting him

Sherlock strolled down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace, using the time to take in his surroundings—they were so familiar and even though he wasn't one for nostalgia and reminiscing, he found himself taking solace in the atmosphere of Baker Street. Well, it was more like taking a few seconds to glance over street before he turned his gaze straight and walked. He pulled his mobile out of his coat pocket, flipping it open to send a text to John. Then he remembered that he didn't have John's number on his phone anymore and didn't know if the man had gotten a new one or not. It didn't matter, though. He needed to text Mycroft right now and

Douglas and Carolyn stared at Sherlock. Arthur's expression fell miles. The silence was so thick one could cut it with a knife. The gentle tick of a clock's hands became louder. In the other room, Sally had stopped shuffling about, opting to listen in. Then Douglas scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous Martin. You're going around pretending to be a fake detective who committed suicide three years ago? And this man and woman; did you put them up to this? How low can you sink, Martin, going to such immense lengths to make us think you're not incompetent? To think you'd pretend to not exist and then say you're another person—a dead person, at that

"Carolyn, I don't care if it's your car. I know my way around London better than you do, so I'll be the one driving!" Sherlock argued while yanking his hands out of his coat pockets to emphasis his point. The lot of them had questioned him earlier on his change of clothing (including where he got it), but he had made a point to ignore the questions. The topic had changed to the situation regarding the car. "No! I'm certainly not letting you touch my car, even if it is only a rental one! And we're not taking a side trip to visit some 'old friend' of yours, Martin," Carolyn snapped, putting her hands on her hips. "And at what point in time, ma

Three long years he'd been doing this; three grueling years, he'd been a part of this airline—airdot, that is. It had taken him barely months to get himself into order, schooling himself to play the nervous wreck that he called Martin Crieff. It hadn't been too hard (he was a decent actor, after all, and people were so easily fooled) and it had been necessary as a disguise. Sherlock Holmes was a master of deception, and his earlier stunt three years ago, along with his current appearance, was a testament to that. And now, three bloody years after his "death", Sherlock Holmes was an unpaid captain in MJN Air, with people he had to preten

Sherlock isn't sure what he thinks when he sees a man in a brown coat and suit walking alone on an empty Baker street from his window. He wonders why the other is alone during the holiday season. He looks like he'd be the type to have a girlfriend or spend Christmas with his family. He tries to read the other; he tries to deduce at least something from the man's life, as he has piqued Sherlock's interest. Sherlock flees the party in order to get a better look at the stranger. He's an odd man. Sherlock can't read anything from him, and he feels disturbed. There have been very few people he cannot read, and he dislikes letting the number rise

To say Martin was a Sherlock Holmes fan would be an understatement. In fact, it would be a huge understatement. Martin wasn't just a fan, he was a fanboy. He was the type of person who had read all the books—even owned them all. He had watched a number of adaptions, ranging from movies to television shows. Though Martin claimed flying was his only love, he had a second one: Sherlock Holmes's adventures. Martin loved the story line. He loved to imagine Holmes and Watson running through the streets of Victorian London, chasing criminals and solving crime after crime, feeling the thrill of danger and the adrenaline pumping through veins. M