I stood, surveying the crime scene. I couldn't even tell what had killed the young girl. And she was young. Fifteen, or so the DNA test said Suana Laite was. Her face, however, told a different story. The wrinkles, crow's feet, and age spots made her seem to be in her late eighties. "John, what do you make of this?" I asked, slightly confused. "I can't make heads nor tails of it."
"Really, Sherlock? Not even you can figure out what killed young Suana?" I could hear the playful mockery in my long-time friend's voice. I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak, until we were home. "Well," John said, "it appears she died from... old age. But that isn't possible. Not even in the slightest."
"I agree," said a new voice from behind me. "Or at least not natural. Whatever this is, it must've had some sort of temporal flux ray or beam or remote or something." I turned, and there stood a man I had never seen before. He had on a blue suit, with a red tie and a tannish-beige trenchcoat. I could tell by his accent that he was not from England, though he sounded, to the untrained ear, like a born and bred Londoner. His coat was well worn, and that showed that he was very attached to it. His odd ramblings marked him as some sort of genius, crazy, or high-functioning sociopath, or maybe all three, like myself. Okay, I will admit, I am a bit crazy, I talk to a skull, for heaven's sake! Blimey, even his eyes were odd. They were older than he, and darker than the cheerful bloke he portrayed himself as. They were full of loss. Too much loss. Like everyone he had ever cared for had been taken from him. His hair, the unruly mop that it was, was short and appeared to have some sort of gel in it. That showed he cared about his appearance a lot.
"No civilians allowed," said Lestrade, shoving his way in front of me and pushing the newcomer back through the door.
"No, you don't understand. My name's the Doctor, and UNIT sent me," he stated. That stopped Lestrade in his tracks. Everyone stared at what happened next.
"Unit? The Doctor? Who do you think you are, impersonating the one person that holds authority over the governments of the world?" Lestrade practically shouted. My ears perked up at that. Who was this man, this mystery?
"I TOLD you, I AM the Doctor. Here's my proof." The odd man in a trenchcoat(No, I am NOT talking about myself) whipped out a wallet with a blank sheet of paper in it.
Lestrade inspected the paper, and said, defeated, "Fine, you can stay. Just don't touch anything.
The moment Lestrade was gone, John and I walked up to the stranger and said simultaneously, "That paper was blank. What did you do?"
"I didn't do a thing. It was the psychic paper. By the way, you two must both be brilliant if you could see through its illusion."
"Who exactly are you?" John asked, the question echoing in my own head.
"Like I said, I'm the Doctor. I have to examine the body, now. By Rassilion, humans can be so dense," he said, that last bit being muttered towards me. What did he mean by that? For some reason, I reached for the locket that was always around my neck, hidden by my clothes. Open it, a voice in the back of my head said. But not here. The humans, there are too many.