Awkward Dreams

Sherlock froze, every limb pinned to the hard wooden floor, his mouth astonishingly trapped beneath someone else’s matching lips. He attempted to assess his situation. The individual was exceedingly lanky, and very strong, despite his weight. Sherlock felt the pressure of unusual shoes against his ankles. He tried to deduce whether the person was male or female, but his vision was blocked by skin. He could feel longish hair brushing his forehead, but that didn’t tell him very much. Sherlock closed his eyes resignedly and hoped that the person, whoever they were, would get off soon.

After about a minute and a half of excruciatingly awkward silence and immobility, the figure rolled off of Sherlock. Sherlock immediately propped himself on his elbow to see the mysterious figure that had so incapacitated him. He was confronted with a long, angular man with a peculiar sense of style: a tweed jacket, pinstriped shirt, bowtie, red suspenders just visible under the tweed, pants that ended just above the ankle, and shoes that hadn’t been sold for a good 50 years, at least. Sherlock was so astonished by the fact that a man had so accosted him that he found himself temporarily incapable of speech. His scrambling thoughts were soon interrupted by the figure, who still lay spread-eagled with eyes closed on the floor next to him.

“Well, this is odd,” he said. The figure sat up abruptly and looked at Sherlock with piercing eyes that seemed older than the rest of his figure would belie. “I suppose that was real!” he said cheerily. “I could have sworn that was a dream…” He stuck out his hand to Sherlock, who was still too stunned to speak, and introduced himself in a manner so cheerful that Sherlock felt it was rather terrifying.
“I’m the Doctor, by the way.”