Sorry, it has been so long. I am going to be more dedicated to this fic from now on I believe. I've just been soooooo busy.
Alrightie! Tell me what you think! And please please please please review!

It was in that very moment that Clara thought anything was possible.

Perhaps pigs would one day fly, perhaps our technology will someday take over the Earth in a freak electricity accident, or even perhaps humans will someday get the incredibly well-thought-of ideas in Back to the Future, in this case, 'one size fits all' jackets, or self-tied sneakers. Not to mention hover boards.

It was because in that moment, it was as if Clara Oswald was reliving her childhood. Everything she had read about as a child.
The magic of a madman's creation, most likely thought up in a dream or even a nightmare. Damn, she'd forgotten to ask him.

She blinked her eyes several times, before fully accepting the sight displayed in front of her.

Sure, it was London.
She had seen London before, granted she hadn't seen it in 2010, but she had seen it before.
And nothing was different; black cabs still sped around the roadways, honking and growling as they got stuck behind hundreds of others in bustling traffic.

No, no. It wasn't the fact that she was in London, 2010.

It was what she was facing.

The door.

The door before her, three numbers and one letter placed perfectly level in grand, golden metal.

It took her breath away, the very sight she laid her eyes on, and she could tell the Doctor felt the same, stiffening beside her in unlimited amounts of confusion, suspicion, and astonishment.

For the door before the both of them read, clearly, in its bright bold, iron letters: 221B.

"D-D-Doctor," Clara mumbled, feeling for her companion's hand as she gazed up at the addressed.
She grazed over his arm, fumbling as she tried to grab hold of his suit jacket.

"Y-yes, Clara." He finally moved from his frozen still stance, and grabbed hold of Clara's flapping hand, staring at her with wide eyes at her sudden disruption. "All right! All right!" He exclaimed when she basically clinged on to him.

She gasped, unable to remove her eyes from the shimmering navy – no, black? No, dark green? No. – door before her.
"Doctor, we're at-"

"Yes. It seems we are."

"But that means," She trailed off, lifting her hand forward as she approached the door before her.
The Doctor followed close behind.

Her palm landed on its shiny, gold knocker, tracing the uncanny engravings, and beautiful décor surrounding it.
She took it firmly into her grasp, drew it back, and slammed it onto the wooden surface.

"Clara!" The Doctor exclaimed, and grabbed her, pulling her away from the impossible door.

She shook her head, and was suddenly laughing, "What? What is it?"
The Doctor stiffened but didn't respond.

"Don't we need to investigate? What better way than to knock on the door?" She shrugged.

He groaned and sighed loudly, "No, no. This is bad, this is very bad!"

Clara narrowed her eyes, "Come on. How bad can it be?"

The Doctor lifted his arm, as if to show a representation of on-a-scale-from-one-to-ten, and his hand was stretched as far as he could stretch it.

Clara gulped and nodded, "That bad?"

The Doctor huffed and recoiled, attempting to explain, "Clara, if we are about to meet who I think we are going to meet, then, yes, that bad."

Before Clara could comment, the incredible door flew open, and the head of a small, rather petite, old lady popped out.

She had balled up blonde and brown hair, mixed in the most appealing way, and her lips were a faint pink, which wholly distracted you from the wrinkles that sat on her expression. She seemed to stare at the two strangers politely, yet still remaining highly cautious.

Clara's eyes lit up as she went out on a limb, clearing her throat and grinning at the old woman. "Ms. Hudson?"

The elderly lady jerked back in surprise, and a faint smile tugged at her creased lips. "Yes. I'm sorry dear, but do I know you?"

Clara sighed in relief and pure amazement as she approached the door further, the Doctor hanging back, simply observing the scene currently taking place.
"No, I'm afraid not-"

Before she could go on, the lady laughed, "Oh, good. I was beginning to think I was loosing my head! I wouldn't forget a pretty face like yours."

Clara smiled widely at Ms. Hudson's rather enticing compliment, and bowed her head gracefully, "I was wondering, is there by any chance a –"
She glanced at the Doctor with a carefully twisted expression, whom stared back while flashing a faint nod, and then back to the old lady, " – Sherlock Holmes, or Dr. John Watson around?"

The elderly woman's features brightened and she grinned excitedly, "Oh, you must be clients! How rude of me! They will be so pleased."
She ranted and ushered them inside the building.
Clara and the Doctor exchanged looks, before filing inside, each step more nervous than the previous.

"What do I call you two then?"

The Doctor perked up at this and smiled nervously, "This beautiful, young companion of mine is Clara; Clara Oswald. And I'm –"
He seemed to hesitate and Clara shrugged, puzzled as to why, "Just the Doctor."

The old lady raised an eyebrow playfully and scoffed, "The Doctor? That's a bit strange."

Ms. Hudson continued to ramble on, mostly ignored by the Doctor, who had already drawn his sonic screwdriver in an attempt to figure out their predicament, but wholly listened to by Clara.

"The two of them have been so bored up there in that flat. I can't even imagine what they've gotten up to."
A sly smirk filled the old lady's expression and Clara could have sworn she blushed.

As Ms. Hudson led them to a door, and tapped quietly before reaching for the handle, Clara's breathing quickened with excitement, and her heart began to beat at an insanely fast rate. The Doctor gently placed a hand on her shoulder, causing her to flinch, just as the old woman pushed open the door.

"Hoo-hoo?" Ms. Hudson cooed as she wobbled through the doorframe and into a cluttered flat.

Clara gasped in outright disbelief and accelerated astonishment.

Papers scattered every inch of the floor, whilst miscellaneous items littered the shelves of dusty bookcases, or cupboards.
The kitchen was visible, the island in the middle completely swamped by experimental tools, like beakers, and testing tubes, and a rather large expensive-looking microscope. The flat's free space consisted of two chairs and a sofa; one armchair red with a floral design, that looked old but insanely comfortable, and the other black leather, wrinkled as though someone had recently sat on it. Both faced a small fireplace, which also bore strange thingamabobs, such as a display of a bat and a few beetles, all dead of course, and a human skull sitting wide-eyed, rather comfortably. Strange patterns filled the wallpaper along with eerie décor, like the sculpted artwork of a buffalo head who jokingly wore headphones, most likely added by the owner.

Clara marveled at the place, feeling oddly cozy, and took a peek at the Doctor, whose eyebrows were raised in intrigue and, frankly, surprise.

"Sherlock?" Ms. Hudson called out, questionably.

Clara couldn't help the grin that sprawled across her features, and quickly hid it when she noticed the Doctor glancing over at her.
This was happening. This was really happening. She was about to meet one of her favorite storybook characters.
It was like meeting a famous person, however far more rare and absolutely, utterly unique.

From the depths of a corridor, a small being emerged, trotting slowly up to where the two strangers stood, staring wide-eyed at their surroundings.
Clara watched as his expression softened upon seeing them, as if he was somewhat relieved, or entirely thankful.

When he came farther into view, Clara was surprised.
He was fairly short, though incredibly handsome in that polite, gentle kind of way.
He appeared to be the kind of person anyone would love to have in his or her life, the kind of person who would always be there to comfort you and acknowledge whatever appeared to be eating at your mind.
He had dusty blonde hair, and utterly wise, dark blue eyes that seemed incredibly friendly, yet could possibly, very well, be harshly stern, and criticizing if twisted in the wrong way, for example out of anger or disappointment.
He wore a beige, more crème colored, jumper with frankly appealing dark blue jeans.

He peered over at Ms. Hudson grinning widely, and then turned to face the two strangers.
"Hi," He smiled, mostly directing the kindness towards Clara, his eyes sparkling as they fell upon her.
His hand extended, and she quickly shook it, beaming so very charmingly.
He then fixed his eyes on the Doctor, who gladly accepted the hand he extended as well, shaking it up and down rather enthusiastically.

The man then drew back, smiling at the two of them before nodding and stating his name, "I'm John. John Watson."

Clara caught her breath and grinned so very widely. "Clara!"
She replied, all too quickly, as John's face widened in curiosity. "Clara Oswald."
She added, far quieter now.

John bobbed his head and then glanced at the Doctor, who of course answered with, "The Doctor."

John narrowed his eyes and scoffed slightly, "The Doctor?"

The tall man beside Clara, his brown hair loopy in front of his face, nodded. "Indeed."

John raised both eyebrows, "Interesting. I'm a doctor as well."

Clara was sure the small man just wanted to make conversation to buy himself time, for some odd reason.

"Yes, Dr. John Watson. Army doctor, war veteran; am I right? Served in Afghanistan?"
The Doctor grinned proudly at the man's look of disbelief.

He paused, cleared his throat, looked around, and then faced the Time Lord again. "Are you and Sherlock related?"

Clara twitched at the mention of his name, desperately eager to meet the man.

The Doctor laughed and shook his head, "Unfortunately not. Wouldn't that be something?"

Clara held back the giggles and instead smirked, as she looked up at the alien she was so fond of.
Even John Watson chuckled, and it instantly warmed her heart.
She had always admired John in the books.
They were his stories of course; told from his point of view; shared to the world through his words.
She wondered, how did he do it now?

"John!" The deep, baritone shout shook Clara from her relaxed position next to the Time Lord, who was instantly on edge, prepared to face whatever was hurled at him next, as usual. John Watson stiffened and turned to glare at the corridor he had emerged from.

"Cigarettes. Where are they?" The voice called, well, frankly, demanded.

It was soothing, deep and enigmatic, immediately drawing Clara in.
She raised her eyebrows at the words flying through the air.
When the mysterious speaker got no response, he tried again.

"For god's sake, John! Just tell me where they are!"

Footsteps were heard pounding against the floor of the flat, and echoing throughout.

And then the figure was revealed.

Tall, unbelievably tall. Thin, too thin.
His face was perfectly sculpted; his cheekbones popping out like the blade of a dagger, sharp and deeply set.
His lips were full, and the perfect color, a light barely noticeable pink.
His hair sprawled out elegantly on his head, curls lying every which way as though it had been ruffled in frustration.

And then his eyes. For Clara, she had never seen any so beautiful.
Gray, maybe blue, yet perhaps greens, and twined with gold – shimmering elegantly in the artificial light.

This man was far too attractive for his own well-being, at least in Clara's bemused and highly attracted thoughts.
He wore a slick white dress shirt, tucked into his black slacks, topped off with the most eye-catching, charcoal colored, lace-up dress shoes.

He looked expensive in Clara's mind, but it was a price she would be willing to pay any day.
She internally slapped herself for that one.

When his attention fell upon the two newcomers at the doorframe, finally wavering off of John, Clara froze.
His eyes seemed to look through her, chewing at the insides of her soul, and stealing away all her secrets.
The stranger simply blinked, glanced at Clara, glanced at the Doctor, glanced at Ms. Hudson and then returned to John, who had already begun to speak.

With a sigh, the good doctor turned to the two "presumed clients" and smiled.
"I suppose this is who you're looking for."

John shrugged and chuckled softly.

Clara felt her heart begin to beat abnormally, the scene becoming clear as her companion swallowed and partially stiffened beside her.

"Doctor, Ms. Oswald." John stated, "Meet Sherlock Holmes."