New story! How exciting! I have no idea how long this'll be-it might be a oneshot, but then again, it might be a multi-chapter. I'm a creature of whim.

I don't own the characters. I just like to watch them dance :D

Stars always confused him. He frowns up at the blue-black sky, hundreds, no, millions of diamonds encrusted onto its surface like something from a fairy-tale. A million specks of light. A million things that he cannot understand. He stares back at them, half of his torso out of the window. His mother tells him to get back in before he falls, sending him and his older brother off to bed. They both do as they're told, slipping into their beds. Only one of them falls asleep. The youngest brother waits until he hears his sibling's heavy breathing, before clamouring out of bed to the window.

'I don't understand you.' He whispers. Upon receiving no reply from the wash of deep blue above him, he sighs quietly and settles down on the window-sill, tucking his knees under his chin.

And then he saw the box.

He blinked, raising his head. He quickly runs towards his brother's bedside, shaking him. He is promptly told to go back to sleep. This little boy won't stop until a case like this is solved. He creeps downstairs with his slippers on and a torch in his hand, an old blue scarf which is clearly too big for him wrapped around his neck. He eases the front door open, careful not to wake his parents. Once he reaches the garden, he sees the blue box which fell from the sky a few yards away. He runs towards it to see it half-wedged in the ground. The little boy circles it, reading the lettering across the perimeter of it. Although the box is half-hidden in earth, a hand is still able to push the door open with ease, dragging the soil away from it. The hand places itself on the mound, slowly hoisting itself on the surface of the ground, slowly hoisting itself out, followed by an arm. The little boy steps away, a mixture of horror and excitement on his face, as the owner of the hands head appears. Before too long, the mysterious figure completely emerged, collapsing in front of the boy's feet. The boy shines the torch light over the figures face to see that he's male, in around his twenties. His floppy dark hair covering part of his eyes; he looks as if he was sleeping.

The boy looks down at him, hesitantly. 'Are you okay, sir?' He asks. The man instantly opens his eyes, making the boy jump away. The mystery man stands up quickly.

'Hello.'

The boy looks confused. 'Who are you?'

The man doesn't answer him, turning his attention to the box. 'That's the last time I set the controls to auto-pilot.' He runs his hand over it. 'Poor girl.'

'Where are you from?'

The man spins back round to look at the boy. 'Where are you from?'

'London.'

'Is that where we are now?'

'Yes sir.'

'What's the date?'

'September the 28th.'

'No, I mean the year.'

'1985.'

The man nods and then sniffs. 'Sorry, what was your name?'

'Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.'

The man grins. 'Good name.'

Sherlock shines the torch over the box, and then back at the older man. 'What's that?'

'My house-machine thing.'

'I saw it fall through the sky.'

'Yeah, it does that.'

Sherlock shakes his head. 'This isn't possible.'

The man's brow furrows. 'How old are you, Sherlock?'

'Nine.'

'That's a bit young to not believe in the impossible.'

Sherlock looks at the ground. 'I don't like things I can't understand.'

'Why?'

'I just don't.'

'Well,' the mystery man kneels in front of him. 'Tell you what I think-impossible makes room for the wonderful.'

'I don't understand.'

'Sometimes you don't need to. Sometimes things are all the more brilliant when you can't explain it.' With that, he stands up and turns back to the box. He produces some sort of thin, golden device from his jacket pocket. He aims it at the box and presses a button on it. Immediately, the box seems to tunnel itself out of the ground at its own accord. Sherlock stares at it in amazement as it stands upright completely. The man smiles back at him. 'Impossible?' He says simply, opening the door of the blue box.

'Wait,' Sherlock says, 'where are you going?'

'Oh, anywhere.'

'…Will I see you again?'

The man pauses. 'I don't know.'

'Please?'

The dark-haired mans smile returns. 'Nice meeting you, Sherlock Holmes.' He says, closing the door. What happens then, Sherlock cannot possibly explain. The blue box slowly begins to fade from existence, a huge roar of engines whirring from it. And then it's gone, with nothing left behind. The boy smiles at the empty space.

'Impossible.' He whispers, staring up at the sky.