Right. So this idea came to me while watching Hitchhickers Guild to the Galaxy. (I know that Martin isn't traditionally a heart breaker but I think he is sooo attractive.)

It starts out from Trish's POV but changes around to focus heavily on Sherlock and Johns.

Pairings: Implied Johnlock. If you squint. Probably more in later chapters. If you wish for other pairing just ask and I'll see what I can do. This isn't a love story but I'm always ready to throw at least a little romance in. (I couldn't Not if i tried. It just happens.)

Warnings: None. not for this chapter at least. Later for language and implied sex.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. I OWN NOTHING EXCEPT PLOT.

Enjoy!

Zooey, (Trish, Trillian a few others, she had had a plethora of names since she settled), sighed to herself. Different names, different planets. Different careers, identities, friends, lovers, and species. Things had certainly calmed down ever since she settled back on Earth 2.0. She had to admit that she loved her current identity. Zooey Deschanel: actress, fashion icon and superstar.

She was doing her best to have as good as a time as possible while waiting for a new ship to come within range of her thumb so she could go off again. She always made sure she had at least a wash-rag on her at all times, just in case.

But then she found out that a certain someone had went and gotten himself settled as well, on this planet, in London of all places.

She was properly pissed that he hadn't searched her out so they could go down and catch-up with some nice tea-like-substance and possibly some biscuits as well. Mind made up she called up her manager and told him she was taking a vacation to London and to postpone all prior engagements until she got back.

She now stood at the corner of a little shop proudly displaying the name Speedy's. The search for her former soul mate, (mix up with the probability, one day they woke up and found that the thought of being anything more than Very Good Friends made them both quite literally sick. The last time they saw each other their relationship could have rivaled the best of siblings. They were both quite happy with this arrangement), was hard going and tiring. The thing she needed was a good strong cup of tea.

As she was entering the little shop the building across the road exploded. She picked herself of off the floor and did the mental body check that was habit and almost a comfort after an explosion. She seemed to have hit her head and sat down again quite hard. Feeling inexplicably dizzy.

The barista shook her head, exasperated, and made a little chalk mark on board entitled: Explosions on Baker Street: Buildings and Sherlock.

The Sherlock side had too many tallies to count and it appeared that this latest one was the 6th mark on the Buildings side.

A kind looking, motherly, face of an older woman presented itself in Zooey's line of vision.

"You all right there, love?"

Zooey discovered that shaking her head wasn't the smartest thing to be doing at this point.

"I'm dizzy," she giggled.

The woman shook her head slightly, "Come with me, dear, we'll have you fixed up in no time. I'm Mrs. Hudson and I live 221b, right next door. One of my boys, dear old John is a doctor. He'll take care of you, no cost, I'm sure of it. He and Sherlock get most of their money from cases anyway. Not that I care – as long as they get it to me and their not stealing it…"

The woman rambled on, not noticing or not caring that Zooey was in no state to really pay attention to anything being said. She allowed herself to be lead out of the café and up the stairs into a cozy little hallway with hideous wall-paper, (Zooey thought), and sat at the bottom of the stairway as instructed by Mrs. Hudson who commented that John wasn't in right now but would be soon.

"I'll just go and fetch you a cuppa while we late. He shan't be long, I think. The last time the place along the road exploded it took him – "

"Exactly 22 minutes and 13 seconds to walk through the door." A deep voice that could make any person swoon cut in, rather rudely, "Now Mrs. Hudson, who is this" – a pause – "Traveler doing at the bottom of the stairs?"

"She looks to have hit her head rather hard when the explosion happened; I was thinking John would take a look at her."

There was some silence; the speaker with the to-orgasm-for voice appeared to be thinking it over, "Very well. I will bring her up and we will wait for John up at the flat. If you would be so kind as to bring up some tea."

"Now Sherlock…"

"Tea. Mrs. Hudson, I will take it from here."

"Oh very well, dear, but just this once. I'm not your house-keeper."

Zooey suddenly felt a cool, larger slender hand on clutching her elbow. "Come on. We will wait for John upstairs. I will let you have the couch because you look concussed and John always says that people with injuries – even trivial ones – take precedent over healthy people comfort. I don't agree with that, it is MY comfort after all, but john will get cross with me if I won't listen and he'll take away my thumbs."

The man sounded so put out about this very confusing declaration that Zooey couldn't help but sympathize with him. Up the stairs and into a much cluttered main room the man, Sherlock, plopped her down on an old couch and sat across from her in an armchair.

Drawing his knees up to his chest, interlocking his fingers and bringing them up to his chin he looked, no, studied was the more appropriate word, like she was the most interesting puzzle he'd ever come across.

Instead of watching him watch her she looked around the room, her head not pounding nearly as much.

"Ms. Deschanel."

His voice snapped her head back at him and his lips twitched into a suppressed smirk.

"Who are you looking for?"

She looked at him stunned, "How did you –"

"Know what you're doing in London? Obvious. I would show off but John isn't here and I really don't feel like it. The only reason I agreed to let you come up was because you could pose and interesting case. Also you puzzle me. And that is no easy feat. All in all, to put it out of terms that only myself, John and possibly Mycroft could understand and in terms idiots understand: You could relieve my boredom."

She stared at him, letting the idiot comment slide, (she spent a few days on Eureka), and answered the only thing her mind could make proper sense of in its state, "I'm looking for my best friend, fellow hitchhiker, and brother, Arthur Dent. Will you help me find him?"

He looked at her before demanding, "Facts."

"Last I saw him was a while ago, I'm not sure how long, times got mixed up. At least three years. I missed him but I had no clue where to begin looking so I made myself a life while waiting for something new to come along. Then I heard that he was in London. Hoping to find him and catch up, maybe go on one more trip when the opportunity presents itself. Life has been good, but I miss my Arthur."

He looked at her. "You have no information except that last you heard he was in London? Lost contact for at least three year. Well it's better than anything I heard all week but first we must wait for John to show. He has two minutes judging by the last time this happened."

"You'll help me?"

"As dull as it sounds, yes. I have a hunch it's more then it seems."

The door was slammed open and a man's voice called out, "Sherlock? Mrs. Hudson?"

Sherlock rose, jumped over the back of the chair that he was seated on and flew out the door and down the stairs. "John. Case. Concussed celebrity. Yes, I'm fine. Hurry. Missing person."

John sighed. "Celebrity, Sherlock? How do you know a celebrity? Last I checked you didn't even know who the Prime Minister was."

"She didn't question how I knew her name. Obvious."

"Very well. Concussed you say? I better take a look. Name?"

"I am unaware of the first name, her last is Deschanel."

Then men were walking together up the stairs and Zooey sat on the edge of her seat. She thought how amazingly lucky it was for her to come across a pair of men who could be of such use to her. One to help her find Arthur and the other to make sure she was healthy. It really was too good to be true. When she found Marvin she would have to ask him what the probability was.

The door opened just as Sherlock answered John's question about the name of the missing person.

"Arthur Dent."

The man's eyes widen, a look of honest surprise and a little bit of alarm (never panic), flitted across his face and all Zooey could do was stare. The man standing before her, short, cropped dirty blond hair and a well-worn leather jacket. Face aged with laughter and adrenaline and danger and tears and worry, was,

"Arthur!" Zooey all but screamed and threw herself at the man.

"Trish!" Arthur laughed, caught her and spun her around in a tight hug.

Neither of them noticed that Sherlock was looking back and forth between them with authentic confusion. "John?" He questioned.

"Not now, Sherlock." He was brushed off. John never brushed him off. Not without a promise of explanation later.

Arms not leaving the girl, John lead her back to the couch and sat her back down. He began and examination of her head. "What's this I hear of you being a celebrity, Trish? What kind of last name is Deschanel? And since when have you had a last name?"

"I needed a last name. I'm an actress now. Zooey Deschanel. And what about you? John? Doctor? You were never smart enough to go to med school."

Sherlock, unnoticed by the two, back in the arm chair, scowled. Only he was allowed to insult John's intelligence.

"Please," John waved his hand, "After learning the probability of physics in space a doctorate was nothing. Took me two years. What about you? Have you settled permanently?"

"No. I don't think I could ever settle permanently. I'm just waiting for something new to show up within range. It's been a while, after a month or two I decided I needed an identity while I wait. What about you? Permanently settled?"

"For the moment. I'm pretty tied down, at the moment. Have to keep this idiot," he jerked his thumb towards Sherlock, "alive, now don't I? There was a time, about a year back, when I spent a few years hitchhiking again, three years to be exact." His eyes darkened, remembering past horrors.

"He faked his death. The bugger." This comment suddenly reminded John that Sherlock was, in fact, still in the room and listening avidly with vivid confusion. "C'mon, Trish, let's go for lunch. We can catch up properly and you can tell me what Ford and Zephod have been up to. I can never get the right frequency to hear about news that far out. Damn the Earth 2.0's placement, right?"

"Wait, John?" Sherlock stood when John did. "John, what's going on? Who is this woman? Who's Arthur Dent and where do you know her from? 2.0? Settling? Why couldn't I figure this out? What's happening?"

Trish watched Sherlock questioned Arthur, John, she reminded herself, thoroughly, verging on panic. And saw as John's eyes soften like they used to when they looked at her.

"Sherlock, Don't Panic, alright? I'll explain everything when we get back. I promise you, I am coming back."

Sherlock's face, to me at least, was impassive, but evidently John saw something in it, "Look, I'll bring my gun, alright? And I'll next you if anyone starts to trail us."

"Mycroft." Sherlock responded quietly.

"Yes. I'll even text Mycroft. Happy? I might be late. Sherlock."

His name was soft coming from John's voice and Sherlock looked at him, "Yes?"

"I know what you're thinking. We're not dating. We were. But now she is as my sister. Okay? I won't leave you" And on that note he gestured for Trish to follow him and walked past the taller man.

The door suddenly burst open and John's incredulous voice said, "Ford?"

So? Do you like it? Should I continue? Any thoughts on what should happen? Want and explanation about something? I make a point to try and answer to Reviews so please shoot me one!

This was written in 4 hours with minimal editing. So tell me if i need to change anything.

Thanks for reading. I'll get the next chapter up when i write it. Finials are coming up so think of this as a teaser. I'm probably going to go on hiatus for a month or so after this. but it depends on if I get really inspired by my muse or not.

We'll see

Love you for reading and reviewing

-JC