— 221B Baker Street. Universe in Peril. Come for tea.
“So,” The Doctor began, hands clasped behind his back, as he paced in front of Sherlock’s small fireplace mantle. He had an audience—hopefully an attentive one. “Now that we—well, I—have gathered you all here, how about some tea? John’s great at making tea.”
He looked over Sam and Dean Winchester—hard to miss. The only ones who could challenge their height were Sherlock Holmes and The Doctor himself.
Then he glanced over Sherlock and John, hoping John wasn’t too upset about making tea for everyone, but hot tea was really what he needed to get his synapses firing for a problem like this.
And finally, Amy and Rory. He didn’t want to drag them into this, but he knew it would take all their efforts to figure out what exactly was going on and how to stop it. Demons, angels, all of time falling apart, dragons maybe? Who really knew what would happen next and they needed to be prepared, because it wasn’t just Earth that was in danger. It was everything.
And of course River was there. She would always be there when he needed her. Well, except for that one time with the baby but he couldn’t really blame her. She was there after all, just… well, she was a baby. He would ask her for anything, but he couldn’t ask her to cross her own time stream for him. And he wouldn’t ask her to break a fixed point and ruin the universe. But he would ask her to shoot him, of everyone in this room, because he knew she wouldn’t miss.
He’d probably also ask John though, having been in the army and all.
And those Winchester boys looked pretty knowledgeable about their guns when they were pointed on him in that motel room.
But judging by the poorly aimed bullet holes in Sherlock’s wall, he would never ask Sherlock to shoot him. Might miss and hit Rory. Well, that would be alright, The Doctor supposed. Rory managed to come back every time. He was almost as good at evading death as a timelord. Almost. Or maybe better, since they were all gone.
But not the point. Not now. Too much to do.
All of those thoughts crossed The Doctor’s mind in a matter of seconds as he quickly surveyed his audience and waited patiently—well, he thought he was being patient but the way he continued pacing suggested anything but patience—for a cup of tea.
John was already on the matter of making tea. With both Winchesters, Sherlock, the Ponds, and the Doctor, 221B was incredibly crowded. When the Doctor called out for him, he came out with a tray full of cups. Black tea, since it was simplest and quickest, but he had sugar and milk to go with it. He handed Sherlock’s to him (two sugars) so he wouldn’t get it mixed up with other cups and handed one to the Doctor next.
“Right… Why have you gathered everyone here, in this flat?”
Sherlock sat in his chair, hands together resting under his chin. There was just barely enough room for everyone in the flat among the various papers strategically laid around the place. However, he also wasn’t inclined to move to let anyone else have his seat. Sherlock took his tea from John and set it on the arm of the chair to cool. The doctor seemed to have gathered a very eclectic group in the flat and Sherlock took particular note of men, brothers, in the room.
“As good as your tea may be John, I don’t think the Doctor has hauled Americans all the way to England just to taste it. No, he needs our help.”
River had moved from her place at the window to perch on an arm of the sofa, next to Amy and Rory. Now that everyone was here, she figured it was inappropriate to keep ignoring the conversation. As she accepted a fresh cup of tea from John, River studied the newcomers - Sam and Dean Winchester. American, young, attractive… But they looked battle-hardened, closed off, and she could tell there was no small amount of pain hidden there.
She sipped at her scalding hot tea carefully and wondered if the Doctor had a plan yet.
The letter had come as a surprise. But then again, it had actually been a pretty good method for gathering people together before. Though, there were a lot of people gathered for this one. And Amy was fairly certain that there was a lot more to this problem than she had noticed. Problems around The Doctor tended to work that way; always so much bigger than you see at first.
Amy took her tea carefully and sat back against the sofa just as River sat down on the arm. Then she remembered that she needed to put sugar in the tea so Amy leaned back up so she could get at the sugar. After that, she leaned back again and absently stirred as she looked around the room.
Sitting there was Sherlock Holmes. Of course Amy was a bit excited to be meeting the famous detective, but she was hiding it well. Or, well enough for Amy at least. Well, it’s not everyday you meet a famous detective is it? Then of course John Watson was there. And then two Americans. What part they had to play was yet to be revealed, but Amy was sure they were here for a reason. Otherwise the Doctor would not have trusted them enough to invite them. And River was here. So that was good. River being around was generally a good thing.
Before she knew what had happened, Amy’s hand slipped and her tea went pouring right into Rory’s lap. “Oh I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed. Well that was a perfect way to impress people wasn’t it?
Rory accepted the offered tea with a small smile and took a sip, studying everyone. He had suspected nothing good would come from the Doctor’s letter, and if the number of people currently present was any indication, he had been right. There was that detective whose name he’d heard so frequently the past few days - Sherlock - and Dr. Watson (which was only to be expected, what with it being their flat and everything), as well as the American he’d met the day before, Sam, and another man that was probably the brother he’d mentioned. And then, of course, the Doctor and Amy and River, who was never far behind the Doctor.
His musings were interrupted by a lapful of rather hot tea. Rory jumped, startled, and winced. Amy was clearly distracted. Probably the Doctor. Or the detective. He hoped so, anyway. He had enough to deal with, he thought, without his wife gaining a new interest in young American lawyers, or whatever it was they were. “Um” he stood up, careful not to drip tea on the furniture or floor, “I’m just going to -” He gestured to the kitchen he’d just seen Dr. Watson emerge from and hurried to it. He wanted to clean up and get back quickly so that he didn’t miss anything important.
Although, maybe not too quickly. Rory couldn’t deny he was uncomfortable. Sherlock said that the Doctor needed help, and while the Doctor had not yet confirmed this, Rory had to assume that Sherlock was right based solely on his reputation. Well, that and the fact that the last time he’d seen a blue envelope, he’d also seen the Doctor die.
Rory reminded himself it was best to deal with one thing at a time, and focused on wringing the tea out of his shirt.
Well this was something.
The faces in the room, all of them strangers minus one John Watson and one blue box wielding alien, made Dean so fucking tense he didn’t know what the hell he was doing here. From the looks of everyone, the only one that could be counted as tourists were him and Sam, standing out like a sore thumb in a sea if brits. Sam appeared to know the young guy who had gotten tea spilled over him by the ginger chick, giving her a good look over. Apparently Britain had babes and this was one of them, followed by the curly haired woman who was just as silent as the rest of them.
It definitely wasn’t a freak show. These people didn’t look like hunters but they definitely didn’t give off the air of normal people. The lanky man seated in the chair set Dean’s memory off as he recalled a brief meeting with him outside of a bakery when he had first arrived. Seeing John again and the Doctor was definitely not a coincidence and he glanced at Sam as if he has some sort of answer, crossing his arms.
Well this was cozy…
“So roll call. Who the hell are you people?” Dean asks, motioning to the room with a raised eyebrow. “And why would the Doc need our help?”
Sam shifted on his feet, trying not to knock anything over in the process. This flat wasn’t exactly big, and under normal circumstances, he woulds till probably feel like a bull in a china shop. But these weren’t exactly normal circumstances, were they? He was crowded next to Dean, trying to slouch a little, to make his height less noticeable. He couldn’t say it was working. Dean and he were a bit hard to miss and people tended to glance their way more often.
He took a look around the room himself. Eight people were gathered in the flat, including himself and Dean. Sam didn’t know why Rory was here, though. Wasn’t he just a nurse? But, then again, he’d told Rory that he and Dean were lawyers, so maybe the guy had done some fibbing of his own. The red-headed girl sitting next to him suddenly spilled tea into his lap, and Sam winced in sympathy.
Sam directed his focus to the Doctor, the man - or whatever he was, they hadn’t yet figured it out - who had called them together. Was this meeting about the weeping angels he’d spoken of back at the hotel? Or something completely different? Apparently Dean wasn’t going to wait around to find out. Sam could understand his impatience; he shared it, and if he wasn’t mistaken, so did the curly-haired lanky guy. He thought it might be John’s flatmate, Sherlock Holmes, judging by the way he was seated familiarly in his chair, but he could be wrong.
Sam shifted another time, less carefully, and his elbow caught something on the mantel. Luckily, he grabbed it before it fell, but it was fair to say that he was a little surprised to see what it was. He didn’t usually deal with skeletons unless they were still in their graves. Sam smiled sheepishly, muttered “Sorry,” and replaced the skull, wondering who it belonged to. It seemed John’s flatmate was a little crazier than he’d originally thought.