The Doctor frowns. Oh yes, torture-by-Daligig trumps having a friend around to hold wires and look appropriate starstruck at how insanely brilliant you’re being. (He notes that Sherlock doesn’t seem to be too concerned about the same thing happening to him. It’s so very him.)
“So far you’re doing a terrible job of insulting my intelligence,” the Doctor says, still frowning at Sherlock with the suspicious look of a man who thinks he’d have to go to inhuman levels to accomplish that. Any other human and it might be possible. Sherlock Holmes, though. “He has to be used to you having a good snoop, I’d think. Along with all the risks.”
The sonic buzzes away at the ring of muscle as the membrane suddenly retracts with a squelch and a sigh. The Doctor gives a low ah-ha, looking pleased with himself – and also for Sherlock, because, well, he’s Sherlock Holmes - and sticks his head into the new opening. He takes in a great big sniff and then pulls his head out, swiveling toward Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes, sans his Watson and his hat. The Doctor can say that he’s looking forward to jumping around ship guts with Sherlock. He’s got that long lanky look that leads him to suspect that he could really leg it if he put his mind to it and he’s so thin that getting shot might actually be difficult with how skinny a target he presents. In other words, a companion that he won’t need to keep checking up on.
The Doctor exchanges looks with Sherlock, seems to come to some sort of decision, gives him a smile and a nod and takes point, slipping into the opened tunnel. It pulses with the same ooze-covered walls, the Doctor leading the way with his sonic out.
no subject
“So far you’re doing a terrible job of insulting my intelligence,” the Doctor says, still frowning at Sherlock with the suspicious look of a man who thinks he’d have to go to inhuman levels to accomplish that. Any other human and it might be possible. Sherlock Holmes, though. “He has to be used to you having a good snoop, I’d think. Along with all the risks.”
The sonic buzzes away at the ring of muscle as the membrane suddenly retracts with a squelch and a sigh. The Doctor gives a low ah-ha, looking pleased with himself – and also for Sherlock, because, well, he’s Sherlock Holmes - and sticks his head into the new opening. He takes in a great big sniff and then pulls his head out, swiveling toward Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes, sans his Watson and his hat. The Doctor can say that he’s looking forward to jumping around ship guts with Sherlock. He’s got that long lanky look that leads him to suspect that he could really leg it if he put his mind to it and he’s so thin that getting shot might actually be difficult with how skinny a target he presents. In other words, a companion that he won’t need to keep checking up on.
The Doctor exchanges looks with Sherlock, seems to come to some sort of decision, gives him a smile and a nod and takes point, slipping into the opened tunnel. It pulses with the same ooze-covered walls, the Doctor leading the way with his sonic out.