'Another case? Really?' John was sitting in his chair with an incredulous look on his face. They had just gotten back from catching a serial killer, the fourth that day. John suspected that all of the cases had something to do with the fact that Mary was out of town at a medical conference. She had taken baby Violet along with her because she 'didn't trust John when Sherlock was in a three mile radius'. He would've felt offended if it wasn't so reasonable. John just wanted to relax but he appreciated his best friend trying to cheer him up. 'Well this one is slightly different.' Sherlock replied examining a fez, of all things, turning it over in his hands. 'No this one doesn't show up anymore.' he muttered to himself distractedly. He was gazing at the fez with an intensity that made John want to burst out laughing or maybe back away from his friend, possibly both. 'So are you going to explain or should I leave you two alone together'. John smirked knowing Sherlock would probably take him literally. It's funny how such a genius mind can be so clueless sometimes. 'It has recently come to my attention,' began Sherlock scowling, pointedly ignoring the last comment 'That there is a blue box which shows up every so often around London. It is generally accompanied by one of twelve men although once or twice a thirteenth has appeared'. 'So what?' John asked curiously, 'Maybe they're in a cult or something'. 'The cult of blue boxes?' Sherlock scoffed skeptically. 'Stranger things have happened' John replied shrugging. 'And anyway why are you investigating a box?' 'A few weeks ago Mycroft came across a locked room. It was hidden behind a filing cabinet in an unused office. He was denied access to it on the basis that the information was confidential. He started looking on MI5's database but he gave up because most of the information is kept in that one locked room. He did however find out that the room held data on something called Project Blue.'

Sherlock paused his rant to take a breath and John took the opportunity to speak; 'What's the big deal about classified information?' 'What no one realises,' Sherlock said slowly as if speaking to a small child, 'is that Mycroft basically runs the country , which makes you wonder, if you had the ability to wonder, don't roll your eyes, is whats in those files. While most of the data on the subject is kept in that room we did find a file that held pictures of thirteen men. A common factor in each picture was a 1960's telephone box. Each picture has different dates underneath. Using these we were able to work out when these people have been in London. The pictures are numbered 1-13. The man in the most recent picture is still here as far as we know. We also found a seperate file marked companions I'll explain in a moment.' The room went silent as John processed the weighty information and wound up completely lost. 'So where do we come into this? Does Mycroft want us to break in or something?' 'No we both decided early on that it would be simpler to go straight to the source. You know how I mentioned the companion file,' Sherlock said. John nodded his head uncertainly, privately wondering just how stupid his friend thought he was if Sherlock assumed John had forgotten already. 'It holds details of associates the men have had at various times. The most recent man has an associate too, a young woman by the name of Clara Oswald. We're going to break into her flat and find out anything we can. Oh and one more thing, all of them are doctors.'

Across time and space, Clara and the Doctor were kicking back in a restaurant in Manhattan 1922 . For once they were actually having quite a relaxing trip. Well relaxing in the sense that only one attempt had been made on their lives. It had, however, been rather exhausting because they had been dealing with a weeping angel. The angel in question had been fairly weak, but that made it all the more ruthless. After they finished having their cocktails Clara demanded they head back to the 21st century because she wanted to grab her favourite winter coat for skating on a frozen planet. After a brisk walk back to the TARDIS arguing over the literary significance of the 'The Little Engine That Could' they set off for 2016.

The Doctor parked outside and went to look at a tree he claimed was looking at him funny, though really it was because of Clara's insistence that it was 'JUST A KIDS BOOK, DOCTOR'. Clara sighed inwardly and went into her block of flats and up the stairs to the fourth floor. She opened the door of her flat. She felt a shiver of apprehension and looked around warily, something felt... off , although she couldn't put her finger on it. But everything looked exactly like it usually did, slightly messy with coats and jackets heaped on a chair and her books on the floor because she'd long since run out of shelves. Then she realised two things. She hadn't actually unlocked her door, in fact it had been slightly ajar. And for another thing the background noise she had taken to be her radio was in fact two voices. There were people in her flat! She strained to hear what they were saying and when she did, she froze.

She thought about what to do given the details of the situation and made a quick desicion. She dialed the number knowing that the people she was ringing would be infinitely more useful than the police. It rang three times before the person at the other end picked up. 'What is it?' asked the calm and authorative voice coming from the other end of the phone. 'There are people in my flat.' Clara whispered, keeping her voice down least they hear her. 'Well, call the police then.' replied the other speaker, not unkindly. 'We gave you this number for emergencies only'. 'This is an emergency,' Clara hissed under her breath, slowly making her way towards the kitchen. 'I heard them talking about a man and his box and how they had to find him to question him. They must mean the Doctor'. And all the way over in the Tower of London Kate Lethbridge Stewart seemed to lose some of her professional cool ( by way of chocking on her tea) . Spluttering and coughing, she pressed her "Help the Doctor Button" that was literally built into her desk and told the response team to locate Clara. 'We're on our way Clara.' She reassured her before hanging up and going to join her soldiers for the storm on an innocent block of flats in London.