The Missing Clue

Authors introduction:-
I really don't want to have to write this, but when it hit me I really couldn't do anything but produce it. Give thanks to the new BBC adaptation (co-produced and developed by the Grand Moff, steven Moffat, himself) This is also an experiment on my behalf so if it fails and falls flat on it's face I can accept that. However, in my defence, Over the last few years the Doctor's paid a visit to more than a few famous literary characters, this is just my contribution to the great game. To say anything more would just give too much away so here we go...

Disclaimer
Doctor Who is owned by the BBC and Sherlock Holmes is owned by the estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

The two of them burst into the dirty, squalled building. Watson gripped his pistol tightly as he looked around, he was nervous. This was one of the most bizarre cases he had worked on with Holmes and this close to the end he wasn't willing to take any chances.

Inspector Lestrade and his officers were right behind them. spreading out from the door with practiced ease. Inside the dank warehouse was almost as deprived as the quay outside. The air was heavy with the smell of a dark thunder storm and the strange brass and metal equipment that had led them there lined the large room. Sapphire tendrils of miniature lightning bolts still danced over bound wire coils and dull brass. Great black scorch marks littered the floor and walls. In the middle of this strange scene, on the biggest sooty black mark, was a slovenly, unshaven, dock worker. He knelt there, rocking as if caught in a unseen wind. Eyes looking vacantly into the empty rafters His rough leather smock was rubbed raw and splattered in tar. With almost physical revulsion Watson realised the man was insane. Mumbling words through lose lips the worker's eyes burnt with a fanatics zeal.

'Quickly Watson' Holmes shouted over his shoulder. He hadn't stopped moving science entering, taking only the briefest of pauses to throw the back door open with a bang. Watson, ever faithful, followed while their escort remained to apprehend the suspect.

Something had caught the attention of the famous detective, a trivial aspect to most that would, more than likely, prove to be the key to unlock the current mystery. Holmes was almost flying down the back streets of London, taking blind turn after turn.

High above them a heavy blue grey cloud promised yet another sudden downpour. Watson cast a glance skyward before skidding to a stop behind his friend.

Holmes was coiled like a serpent about to burst into action once again, 'Which way?' Watson panted looking down the forked junction ahead.

The detective opened his mouth to answer when a strange grinding noise came from the right. At first Watson mistook it for thunder, but it was far to low in pitch for that and there had been no flash of lightning.

After a heartbeat Holmes followed the sound. It had a rhythm of it's own, building and receding like waves on the beach. Just ahead a pale blue light pulsed with the sound. Far too controlled to be natural and given the case they had been working on controlled lightning wasn't too far fetched.

Holmes turned the last corner, just as the light faded and the sound echoed of into some unimaginable distance. Watson was one step behind, catching Holmes's dear stalker hat as it flew off.

'What happened?' Watson asked handing over the hat. Holmes ignored the offered item, and just looked into the middle distance.

'I'm not sure, but I intend to find out.'

Several days later Holmes paced across his reception room in 221b Baker Street, muttering loudly before he viciously bit down on his pipe for what felt like the hundredth time. Watson hadn't seen his old friend in such a state for quite some time. He hadn't taken a noter case since the sorry affair. Devoting all his time bouncing the problem around his complex brain. 'The case still doesn't make any sense.' He announced before remembering that his pipe wasn't lit. With a sigh the detective threw it onto the chair before snatching up his violin. 'Consider Watson, there are still factors we have yet to address.' he began rummaging through piles of case notes. 'Factors that don't seem to relate.'

'What sort of factors?' Watson asked, looking up from his latest notes.

Finding his bow Holmes ran it over violin. 'The suspect Watson. The suspect cannot be the architect of this crime.' Grimly he began to tune the instrument, each twist taking it further and further in the wrong direction. 'What was the goal of the crime? How was it committed? What happened before we arrived?' Taking a visible breath to calm himself Holmes ran the bow over the strings, unleashing an ear splitting noise that set Watson's teeth on edge.

'What are you doing?' he ground out. Despite his brilliance this wasn't the first time the great detective had gotten on Watson's nerves.

'My thoughts, dear Watson, and this instrument are now alike.' Holmes announced with an almost reverent flair. 'One must be tuned along with the other, if both are to function correctly again.' He plucked at one string. 'Consider; what was the purpose of the crime? Insanity? While I'll be the first to agree the poor wretch we found at the site was hopelessly mad I believe it to be a symptom, not the cause.' Watson frowned as the detective gazed into the middle distance and continued. 'Let us assume he, who ever he was, was stopped before his diabolical scheme was fully realised. What would have been his ultimate goal?'

'To destroy the equipment?' Watson supplied.

Holmes looked at him with a start. 'No, if that was his aim he would have done so as soon as finding it. No, he needed that equipment. He needed it for some vast diabolical plan. Same reason he needed the scientists.'

It was the missing scientists that involved Holmes in the first place. One damp morning A young woman sought out the famous detective. She was one of the scientists daughters and she came to them with her hat in her hand, pleading with them to take the case. It hadn't taken long to find him, but what they found had horrified Watson. Seven valued and experienced experts in electricity from across the country had been found dotted around London, their minds emptied.

They had been reduced to children, drooling infants in the bodies of grown men. 'What do you mean, needed?' Watson asked

Holmes frowned, as if wrestling with an idea. 'It wasn't just the equipment that was stolen. Whoever our opponent was took their minds as well. Stealing their very thoughts.'

Watson was aghast, 'What, that's not possible!'

Holmes plucked a few notes out of the violin before putting it down. 'There is said to be mystics in the mountains of Tibet. Ancient men that are keepers of even older secrets.' Holmes said, as what felt like another dark cloud passed over London. 'They are believed to have ability to reach into one's mind. However I doubt that such learned men would aid such a villain. If it is indeed possible perhaps he stumbled upon the art himself.' Troubled again he started pacing.

'One thing I don't understand.' Watson started, there was actually quite a few things but he didn't want his friend thinking he wasn't keeping up with him. 'If this was all in effort to perpetrate some vast experiment what was the goal?'

'Power.' Holmes said sagely before shaking his head. 'No, not power. Our opponent had power, electrical and mental, already. With the skills and resources he had at his disposal simple power would be as easy to him as the medical arts are to you. Still he wanted, needed, something. Something he couldn't acquire, thus it was something that didn't exist. He went to great lengths to acquire it.' Holmes plucked aimlessly at his Violin before pausing again. 'No great lengths to you or me, not to him.'

'Whatever do you mean?'

'The casual contempt he had for the scientists. He just threw them away.' Holmes's face became grim again. 'He wasn't challenging me or the police, nor was he announcing his actions. He simply didn't care. He had no compassion for his victims, or gratitude. There was not a shred of humanity in his actions. He simply used men as he saw fit to further his aim. What could do such a thing?'

Watson frowned at that but was shocked out of his revere when Holmes banged on the table loudly. 'Every question we answer takes us further down a dark path. Bereft of reason, but not of logic.

'There is something I am missing. Some detail or factor I can't see. A keystone to this maze of mystery that has been spun, but what?' Holmes picked up his violin again, playing notes that were so out of tune it was almost painful. 'For days now I have struggled with this Watson, I examine the problem from every possible direction and still I miss something!'

'The only thing you ever miss Holmes is the weather.' Watson joked and Holmes's head snapped around, incredulous. For a moment the detective was speechless, staring at Watson as if he was a live snake. 'Well, you never seem to know what it's like out and only take the briefest of moments to see if it is raining or not.' he explained as the great detective stared.

'The weather?' Holmes repeated in awe, eyes darting from side to side as if reading some imaginary book. 'It is summer is it not? Yet the rain has been falling like the darkest April showers.'

Watson looked carefully at his friend. He could be oblivious to the climate on occasion, but this was almost taking it too far. The weather had become so atrocious that it had rivalled their case in the newspapers. 'Well, yes. The storm drains and the fleet have been bursting their banks. One minute its a glorious day the next…'

'It is as dark as evening. Clouds forming as if from nowhere.' Holmes looked stunned. 'The idea, the scale of it. My god Watson, the scale.'

'Whatever is the matter?'

'The scientists, the experiment and the weather. It was all connected, that's what he saw. He wasn't looking at the buildings, he was looking at the sky! Quickly Watson find me every newspaper cutting and report of the weather for the last three weeks. Move man!'

It took a few hours for Watson to collect the clippings, in which time Holmes had utterly destroyed months of assorted clutter in the reception room. Throwing any number of papers, keepsakes, furniture and random clues into the far corners of his room he cleared a space for a very roughly sketched out map of London made from whatever came to hand.

A curtain tie had become the Thames, the Tea chest the houses of Parliament, a miniature painting of Queen Victoria stood in place of Buckingham Palace and so on. Amongst the landmarks and iconography Holmes stood right where they had found the laboratory.

Watson, his arms full of newspapers, had difficulty finding somewhere to stand. When he had finally juggled paper and clutter Holmes gave him a withering look before saying. 'I want to know where the recent rains were most prevalent.'

Watson looked at his friend and had a sudden premonition. 'You already know, don't you?'

'I suspect.'

'Then what's this all about?'

'Scale my dear Watson, scale. If I am correct the crime committed was beyond the scope of mortal man.'

It took a very short time to discover what he meant. As Watson read the papers Holmes traced the sewers and drains with his bow. Every flooded street and downpour sketched a spiders web across London. With Holmes standing in the middle of it all

'This… this is incredible!' Watson gasped as he came to term with what they had learnt. The exact centre of all the bad weather had been in the where the experiments had taken place.

'Incredible but undeniable. Our opponent discovered a way to bend the very laws of nature to his will with the use of electricity. Imagine, if you will, the ability to summon a storm upon your enemies. To reduce them to homeless vagabonds with the power of a god at your hands. Typhoons, hurricanes, thunder and lightning, all at your disposal. Summoned at the merest whim.'

Watson sat down with shock. 'He could have ruled the world!'

'At least.' Holmes announced, striding over his mess he stood in the window. 'To control the forces of nature, one would have to be a god…

'No.' he shook his head vehemently. 'Why kidnap the scientists, what use were they to him?'

'To build the machine.' Watson pointed out simply. 'However brilliant he'd still need experts, well their knowledge at least.'

'To imagine such a device you'd already require advanced knowledge. Perhaps you are familiar with the Darwinian opposition argument regarding the chicken and the egg. To say that one came first is a failing, both must develop concurrently. To dream this crime into existence one must already have a grasp beyond anything we know.' Holmes began to pace with long strides.

'We are still missing something. Something so simple.' Holmes took a deep breath. 'Fact; eight scientists were kidnapped, their equipment stolen, from all over the country. Fact: the scientists were found in London, their minds emptied of all information and left with the psyche of new born children. Fact; their equipment was found in a warehouse by the Thames, fused and destroyed. Fact; the only suspect found was insane, physically and mentally incapable of performing the crimes. Fact; the diabolical plot was foiled before our investigation reached fruition.'

Watson nodded with each point.

'Conclusion; someone else investigated this crime, solved it and left before taking credit.' Holmes stood up straight, his face intent. 'At last Watson, the pieces are slotting into place and taking all of these facts into consideration we are faced with a terrifying prospect.'

'Which is?'

'That whatever manner of creature that attempted to rule this world came from a place entirely alien to us. Where science and culture has expanded beyond our comprehension. They would need the scientists to know just how far we had come.'

Watson blinked uncomprehendingly. 'I don't understand?'

'It is possible, if one was to accept Darwinian theories it would be inevitable. Life beyond our own, beyond the boundaries of land and sea.' Holmes sounded almost in awe turning from the window he gingerly found a seat and sat down. He was so deep in thought Watson wasn't sure if he was alive.

'Holmes?'

After along pause the great detective sighed. 'There is nothing for it Watson. There is what we know and what we can prove. I think I need to be alone, thank you my friend.' Not once did he even glance in Watson's direction.

He simply sat there.

Knowing a dismissal when he heard it Watson nodded and left the man to think.

'So that was really Sherlock Holmes?' Amy asked for the hundredth time.

The Doctor just smiled as he sent the TARDIS through the Time Vortex to the farthest edges of the universe.

End The Missing Clue