Disclaimer: I own nothing of BBC's brilliant creations…

Author's Note: Before I start this, I just want everyone know how Sherlock fits into the Doctor Who universe in this fanfic. Since the only mention (that I can remember) of Sherlock Holmes in Doctor Who is in the "Hungry Earth" and that takes place in 2020, then I figure that it is the modern Sherlock Holmes that they are talking about, because it is far enough in the future for Sherlock to become worldwide famous. Makes sense? If not please review or PM with your questions.

And another thing I shall warn you about. I'm not a medical student, so whatever is said about the cause of death is completely compiled from the internet. Do not quote on that stuff because it might not be totally correct.

)))))

The Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson:

The Unearthly Quandary

Another gloomy, cloudy, and cold day in London. It doesn't mean that London is always like that, but the weather always seems to act up when there is another murder for Sherlock Holmes to solve.

The wind was picking up when Sherlock and I came up to the police barricade in the empty car lot. In the middle of it all there was a dead woman lying on the pavement with coppers crowding around her like flies. Sergeant Donovan had let us into the mix, and Sherlock was now, after scaring away the forensics and other officers, crouching over the body and examining her with his hawk-like eyes.

I watched as he did that, observing the woman in the meantime. She was middle-aged, with wrinkles just starting to appear around here face. Her sandy blonde hair was pinned up in an intricate bun, while the rest of her body was covered in black pants and a white button-down blouse. She was sprawled out on the concrete, her eyes still gazing emptily out into the world.

Pretty soon, as time carried on and I continued to gaze at the body, I notice something. I wasn't sure if it was the lighting, but it seemed like her skin was stained slightly yellow, which considering the situation and my medically trained eye could only mean one thing: poison.

What an awful way to go.

"Her name was Eartha Rood," Lestrade informed us as he came up to watch over Sherlock's inspection. "Found her ID in her pocket. She's-"

But the DI was cut off by a commotion coming from behind at the entrance to the barricade. I looked back as Lestrade went to see what the hubbub was about. I couldn't distinguish much through the bodies of gathering coppers. All I could spot was a tuff of spiky brown hair and a long flapping trench coat.

A few moments later Lestrade had sorted everything out by commanding with a loud, serious voice. There was a flashing of an ID and before I knew it the owner of the hair and coat was strolling over towards us with the detective by his side. I could now see the man fully and was able to gaze at his odd outfit that included a brown pinstripe suit and converse along with his said coat. He had a smile on his face a jump in his step as they slowly made their way towards Sherlock and I.

"This is DI John Smith from Essex. He's here on a lead from another case he's handling. Says this one is connected somehow," spoke Lestrade as he and the man finally reached us.

"What's the other case?" I asked, curious.

"Uh…I'll have someone send over the files…," replied Smith, dodging my question with his quirky smile still planted on his face.

Even though he didn't give me a straight answer, I didn't chase the subject further. It really wasn't my business, and now that I think about it I don't think I cared that much. I was used to people (mainly Sherlock) not giving me straight answers, so I didn't really see it as odd at the time.

"Well…this is Dr. John Watson and that man there in Sherlock Holmes," began Lestrade pointing each of us as he introduced us. "They…um…consult with us."

"Oh, consulting detectives. Haven't seen one of those in a while," cheerily commented Smith.

"What do you mean? Sherlock is the only one in the world," I replied, my eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion.

"Uh…don't we have a dead person to look at?" responded Smith, dodging my question once again and then going over to Eartha Rood's body.

The moment the DI got close, Sherlock spoke up. "Mr. Smith, if that is your name, please wait 'till I'm done. I don't like people working over my shoulder." He didn't have the decency to face Smith while talking; instead he continued to stare at the body.

Normally people do as they were told when it came to Sherlock (he just has that air about him), but Smith didn't. In fact he acted like he didn't even hear him at all. The man continued to move towards the corpse and ended up crouching next to it and Sherlock. I gazed in some kind of slight amazement as Smith took out a pair of square glasses and began inspecting Eartha Rood as well.

"Was I talking to thin air or are you just deaf?" questioned Sherlock, finally looking up at the DI.

I noticed his eyes sweeping Smith, scrutinizing the man like he did with every other person he met. I sometimes wonder about everything he sees with his quick eyes. I guess that he only tells me about a few things, things that he deems important. But there must be so much that he sees on an everyday basis. Must be maddening.

Anyway, I'm getting off topic. Back to Smith's response…

"Oh, I heard you. But as far as I can tell, you're not in charge here," stated Smith. Just like Sherlock first did to him, he wouldn't face him when he spoke, instead gazing at the corpse.

"Neither are you," replied Sherlock simply and coldly.

"True…but…" It was then Smith trailed off. And taking his pinky, he brushed it along the woman's pants cuff. "Oh, 'ello," he commented with a smile as a green-ish goo (for lack of a better term) came off on his finger.

The substance looked similar to the ectoplasmic slime in Ghostbusters, which meant to say that it resembled that of fresh mucus only a tad greener. Odd, I thought. What could that be? And why was it on the body? I leaned in for a closer look.

"What? What is it? What have you found?" questioned Lestrade, obviously as curious as I was.

"I don't know," began Smith, sniffing the substance. "Smells like radial excrement from a…" He sniffed again. "Bipedal amphibious creature…but doesn't look like it…usually its clear yet this sample has some sort of green discoloring…" He then took out a small vial from his pocket and scraped the goo off his figure inside. Afterwards he capped the vial and placed it back into his pocket. Without a second thought he continued to examine the body.

I blinked. I didn't understand a word of what the man just said. I stood in a perplexed cloud of thoughts for a few moments as Lestrade next to me seemed to do the same. But soon I shook my head to blow away the confusion. There was really no need for me to worry myself over what Smith said. It mostly didn't matter. Plus, Sherlock would probably explain it later. I wasn't the genius in this group.

"Okay…I'm not going to even ask what he talking about…," I commented, then turning to Lestrade who was blowing away his own cloud of bewilderment. "Um, I'm guessing she was poisoned…do you know what kind yet?"

But before the detective could answer, Sherlock stood up and, acting like his normal inconsiderate and brilliant self, spoke for him.

"They won't know for sure until the lab report comes back, but I do know that this wasn't an accident. She doesn't seem to have any illnesses that require her to take jaundice-inducing medications, nor does she seem to be a drinker. Therefore, she was poisoned with mercury or some type of medication, which caused her skin and eyes to turn yellow.

"She's recently single, judging the tan line on her ring finger. And she's now living with her sister. No one can do that hair style on their own and she doesn't look like the type that can afford a hair dresser to do it. So her sister's probably a hair dresser as well. She was also on her way to a date, judging by the make-up, but an unofficial and sudden date based on the fact that she's still wearing her work clothes. They are cheap and have tiny spots of grease and food on them, making her a waiter, probably at a higher end chain, most likely an Italian one."

Then Sherlock turned towards the foreign DI. "'Mr. Smith' what was that case you were talking about that you think is connected to this one? And how did you it was so quickly? They police only found the body not but an hour ago."

"Oh you are brilliant," replied the man, standing up to face Sherlock.

He was again dodging questions, but that wasn't what puzzled me. It was his tone of voice. It was almost like he was talking to a puppy that had just rolled over on command. Or a small child or had just taken its first steps. It was quite odd for him to speak that way about Sherlock who had deduced stuff of that nature, no doubt thousands of times before.

"But you're wrong about one thing," Smith continued with a sly smile, dropping the puppy dog voice.

"And what might that be, 'Mr. Smith'?" questioned Sherlock, facing the man with one eyebrow raised in almost an amused manner.

Smith quirkily smiled again, putting his hands in his pockets. "She was poisoned alright, but it didn't cause that yellowing of the skin. That color is natural for her," replied the man cryptically.

"What do you mean?" asked Sherlock.

There was a tone to his voice almost like a challenge, like he was testing Smith's deduction capabilities. There was also the normal tone of contempt that he seemed to display to everyone, saddled with the impression that Sherlock didn't really believe the man's proclamation.

"Well…you're brilliant…you'll find out eventually…" responded Smith.

With a wink and a smile, the man was off before anyone could stop him. Without a second more, he disappeared into the grey London day, leaving behind him plenty of perplexed people.

))))

"He's different…," muttered Sherlock.

We had just left the crime scene after a few more minutes of normal chit-chat between Lestrade and my flatmate. Well when I say normal, I really mean exchanges of suggestions (really orders) from one side, and some questions asked vainly by the other. Nothing is never truly normal with Sherlock Holmes.

"…his shoes for one," continued the psychotic genius. "Besides the clear contempt he displays for fashion, they are obviously very worn, telling us that he is on his feet a lot, probably running…There's also his fingernails, which have dirt underneath them, a purple-y flaky kind of dirt, a type of dirt I've never seen before on this continent. Then there was his tone of voice. He displayed a false cheery almost childlike tone that accompanied his obvious yet clever and well done lies. He was clearly hiding something. He's not a DI as much as I'm a bus driver. His unusual apparel is evidence of that. Yet he was able to get across the police line like he was one…"

"He had an ID, Sherlock. He showed it to us," I interjected, confused as to why he had missed such obvious fact.

"Oh, you mean that silly little slip of blank paper?" replied Sherlock offhandedly.

My bewilderment deepened. What was he getting at? Had Sherlock finally snapped? "It wasn't blank. It said that he was a DI from Essex."

"I didn't see that."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know…but that ID was blank," responded Sherlock, increasing his speed and walking on ahead of me.

My confusion deepened. I had seen the ID. It was clearly official, and while I probably wouldn't notice much difference between a real ID and a fake one, the police and detectives who had also seen it probably could. They would've said something if it was fake…or blank as Sherlock was putting it.

"It wasn't blank," I said increasing my pace in order to keep up.

"Yes it was," replied Sherlock not bothering to slow down for my benefit.

That again didn't make any sense. What was going on here?

It occurred to me right then and there that this might be one of Sherlock's sick and twisted mind tricks. But what exactly was he trying to accomplish here?

I shook my head and sighed. There really wasn't any point in trying to figure that out right now. As Sherlock would put it, my inferior mind couldn't have possibly handled the truth at the moment. So I changed the subject to something even I could understand.

"Did you get what he was talking about during that bit about what was it…'radial excrement' or something like that? I didn't follow a word of it."

"I was too busy getting a sample of that myself to pay attention to his babblings," stated Sherlock.

"What? That green stuff?" I questioned.

"Yes, of course. What you didn't think I noticed that? How could anyone not notice that? It's so obvious."

"No it wasn't."

"Yes it was."

"Whatever…so are you going to try to find out what that is?"

"What kind of genius would I be if I didn't?" replied Sherlock with his trademark shrewd smirk as he hailed a taxi.