You Promised us, both of us that you would look out for her and now you come to us saying that you lost our daughter?"

Sherlock heard the voices of John and the two people that didn't add up silence and felt something shift in the room next to the one he was in. He stilled with it, eyes staring unseesing through the microscope. When the voices refused to continue and the air stopped moving he decided to investigate.

After all, he was Sherlock Holmes, it was his job to know what other people didnt; having someone else know something that he didn't could not be tolerated.

When he walked into the room he apparently shattered something and John stood suddunly, probably not even aware that he was standing, (fight or flight reflexes - what happened to cause that?), and began yelling at the man.

Ford, Sherlock reminded himself, names, how dull.

"You did what? What the hell do you mean you lost her? How could you LOSE her? She's a seventeen year old girl, give or take a few, and you lost her? We trusted her with you because neither of us could take care of her and she wanted to travel! You Promised us, both of us that you would look out for her and now you come to us saying that you lost our daughter?"

Sherlock stared at his doctor, a few things in his mind clicking into place, before slapping his forehead, "Oh stupid, supid."

John turned and glared at Sherlock, "Oh what do you want now?"

Sherlock continued to speak, ignoring him, "You see I thought that it was just because you were a doctor, but no. Of course not. Nothing about John Watson is ever simple, obvious. Of course you're a father. Caring, loving, always trying to do whats best for a person and willing to kill those who threaten those you consider yourself attached to. Paternial qualities. You've proven that, several times." Sherlock got close to John, ignoring clenched fists and personal space, John didn't back down and met his eyes. "Now the mother, you're friend of course. That much is obvious, but whats odd is -"

"Sherlock." John warned.

Sherlock heard him, thought about the very obvious warning in his friends voice. He could ignore it as he normally does, address it, or just shut-up. He didn't particularly feel like shutting up at the moment but he knew that if he kept going on the sentances he had planned, judgeing by John's left hand, he would get punched.

And he didn't want that, either, (John had a mean left-hook). He went for the middle option, addressing it.

"Oh be quiet John, it's not me you're angry at so don't look at me like that."

So it wasn't the most tactful way of addressing John's anger.

It was painful too.

"Ouuuch, John!" Sherlock whined, rubbing his forehead.

"Well it's your own fault, you bloody git. Start talking like that and I won't be afraid to do it again."

"You flicked me. In the forehead!"

"You deserved it."

They looked at each other and Sherlock began to grin. John began to laugh and soon both were giggling like school-girls walking out of the restrooms together.

Ford and Trish stood stunned, staring at the two men, who had obviously forgotten about them for the moment. Finally Trish cleared her throat. "Erm...boys? John?"

John straighted and looked back at his old friends. "Right, yes. Sorry." He turned to Sherlock, who was still giggling, "Stop that. We can't giggle, I just found out my daughter's a missing person."

Ford cringed, looking guilty, as John directed a glare at him again. "Right. I'm mad at you, very mad. And every molecule in my body wants to punch you. But I won't. It's just so lucky that my best friend and flatmate is the amazing Sherlock Holmes."

At this Sherlock smiled at his John, who continued to speak. "And he's taking this case because if he doesn't I'll throw out that hand experiment he's working on that he thinks I don't know about."

Sherlock glowered at him. "I would have taken it anyway, John. Don't I aways take cases that obviously mean something to you?"

John's lips quirked at him, "Just making sure, 'Lock."

Sherlock grimiced at the nickname but didn't mention anything. "Right," he demanded of Ford, "facts."

Ford opened his mouth to begin to speak but John and Trish cut him off at the same time,

"First I should tell you -"

"Shouldn't you tell him -"

She looked at each other and nodded, John continued to speak, "First, Sherlock, before Ford tells you the facts, I should tell you about...well, I should tell you about my life up until now."

Sherlock nodded, sitting in his chair and steepling his fingers together under his chin. John sat across from him. A position the two had shared so many times in the past.

Ford and Trish stared at them, obviously feeling as if they were intruding on something. Sherlock and John were so...familer. So compfortable and aware of each other that they could help but feel like outsiders when their attention was being directed soly at the other.

Trish stood, trying to be as silent as possible and motioned for Ford to follow her. She went into the kitchen just as John opened his mouth to begin to speak.

"When I was 26, my life was going nowhere. I loved alone in the contry. I didn't like my job overmuch, didn't have a girlfriend or a future in any way. Ford there was my only friend after I stopped him from being hit by a car.

Any way, it was a day in Augest when trucks surrounded my house intending to tear it down to make room for a bypass.

I haven't changed so much, I was just as stubborn back then. I layed down in front of the tractor to prevent the demolistion to start."

"John," Sherlock cut in, impatiently, "How does this have to do with anything?

"I'm getting there. Just wait. Where was I, oh yes. I was laying down in front of the bulldozer when Ford comes running up with a shopping cart loaded with beer, and tries to get me to come down to the pub with him for a pint in the middle of the afternoon because my home is going to be demolished so we had to stack up on salty things."

John laughed at the look on Sherlock's face. "I know. I didn't understand a word of what he was saying either. It turns out that the 'home' Ford was talking about was not the house that I lived in, but the entire earth. Ford made me grab a towel, put a fish in my ear, and beamed him and me up to this spaceship that was orbiting right above us using a ring on his thumb."

Sherlock gave him a look that clearly said he didn't believe a word of what he was saying, but all the he questioned was, "Fish?"

John nodded, "Yes. Babel Fish. Universal translater. I suppose we're going to have to get you one."

"So it's not really a fish."

"No it is, I've never really understood it myself but..oh I know! Here, you can let the Guide explain."

John turned towards the kitchen, "Hey Ford, can you bring me your copy of the Guide?"

Ford and Trish were conversing about how to figure out if John and Sherlock were shagging or not when John called him over. Ford drew a small black book with DON'T PANIC written in bright red words on the back, "Here ya go, John." He said, handing it to him.

John thanked him and opened it up, searching for Bable Fish.

Bable Fish: The Bable fish is small, yellow, leechlike, and porobably the oddest thing in the universe. It feeds on breainwave energy,absoribing unconciouse frequensies and extreting a matrix of consiousness to the speech receptors in the brain. The praticle upshot of this is if you stick one in your ear you instantly understand anything said to you in any language.

Sherlock was staring at the little black book with a slight frown on his face. John looked at his expression and determined that he had better just conintue with his story,

"So..." he said, trying to get Sherlock to turn his attention back to him, "it turns out that the ship we beamed up to was in fact the very same ship that was trying to destroy the Earth to make way for a interspacial bypass." He grinned, "Yes, I rather enjoyed the irony if the sitchuation and felt rather smug about it."

Sherlock just blinked at him, so he continued, "So. There I was, in an alien spaceship with an alien as a friend and companian, a fish in my ear, and a towel around my shoulders. And I was about to be subjected to some of the worst poetry ever, anywhere..."

John continued, and Trish walked up quietly to his and tapped him on the shoulder, "Erm..John?"

He turned around in his seat like he had forgotten there were other's in the flat, "Oh, Yeah, Trish, what's up?"

"Perhaps you'd like to skip a bit? I mean, why don't you just tell him the basic facts, our daughter is missing, if you'd care to remember."

John looked properly admonished, "Right, sorry Trish." He turned back to Sherlock, "Okay, erm...what you need to know. Right. Aliens are real. They usually don't waste their time with us. Trish, Ford, and I are what's known as hitchhickers. As long as we have our Guild, a Towel and a Ring, we have full range of where ever the nexct ship takes us." He smiled, 'It's a good life, can get a bit dangorous at times, exciting. But you know how I feel about that. Remeber the first day we met?"

At this Sherlock looked like he was on firmer ground, "And I said dangorous, and here you are."

John chuckled along with him, "Exactly. Well when you went from a poor, hard boyhood to a dull, calm and all around boring young adulthood, well, I was in need of that old boost of adrenaline."

Sherlock's lips quirked up, "You're more of an addict then I am."

John laughed, "It's only your damn fault."

Sherlock put on a look of offence that fooled Trish and Ford but which John knew was in jest, and didn't address it, just chuckled quietly.

"Right," he said, "Well, that's about the whole of it. Oh. And Martin is our depressed robot and the most intellegent thing in the universe, not including the Earth, of course."

At Sherlock's eyebrow raise John sighed, "The earth is actually a giant computer disinged by mice to give us the answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything."

Sherlock scoffed, "They needed to create a giant, planet sized computer for that?"

John stared at him, "Well, it's not like it's something you can just think up...can you?"

"I figured it out when I was 9 on a rainy weekend." Sherlock said.

"You did not."

"I did."

"What is it, then, Mr. I'm-smarter-then-the entire-planet?"

"42."

"How did you-"

"Oh it was simple really, but I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Ford came up behind a stunned John, "If he weren't such a prat I would keep him around, John. How do you always find these people?"

John ignored him, after a bit, and addressed Sherlock, "So. Do you think that you can work with the facts now and help find my daughter? Or do you need time to process that aliens do actually exsist and that you're flatmate used to tavel the universe using a device on his thumb?"

Sherlock waved a hand, "I can handle the fact that aliens exsist, John, honestly. The probability is much to great that it would be a mirical were they not exsisting. You, on the other hand, well, I think I'll need to add another room to your wing of my palace."

"I...a whole wing?"

Sherlock suddunly became standoffish, he turned to Ford and addressed him, "Right. Facts."