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Convergences

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It had all started as a normal day.

When it was all over, that was the thing Sherlock would remember most about the day the Great Convergence happened. The day had started off just like a normal day. He had woken up before the crack of dawn, the way he always did. That was his normal tradition, had been ever since he was young. He was careful to get out of bed without waking his wife; Amelia wasn’t a light sleeper but she was rather easily woken. He liked to give her until at least until there was light on the horizon before he tried to ply her out of bed with coffee to feed the two of them. He very quietly made his way to their bedroom door and got his dressing gown off the hook, the navy woven “J” class one from Nautica which was an anniversary gift from his wife after he spilled acid on his other one, and then just as quietly left their bedroom.

As was his routine, he made his way to their daughter’s room. Melody had been quite the surprise; they had been trying to conceive a child for a little while, ever since their marriage in 2010, but they’d almost given up hope after doctor after doctor said they weren’t sure why but it looked like children just weren’t going to be in their future. And then…Amelia was pregnant. He’d fretted nearly the entire pregnancy, but it progressed smoothly and Melody Angelique Holmes was born healthy. But he still made it a point to check on her every morning, spend at least a half hour or so in her bedroom, just gazing at her. When she got older, he was sure he would stop but for now she was young and she didn’t seem to mind.

He had gone into her bedroom and he had gone to the rocker by her bed, sitting down and making himself comfortable. She had just moved to a toddler bed only a few weeks prior, and she seemed to be so big, growing so much so fast. He was in awe of her, the same way he was in awe of his wife’s many talents or amazing scientific discoveries or brilliant musical compositions. Possibly more in awe of her.

He had sat there for nearly the full half hour when it had happened, when his whole world had shifted on its axis. He had stood up to go to the sitting room, to start going through the files for his next travel blog assignment and see if there was any new ideas that he could get from witness statements, when he heard a loud vworp-vworp-vworp coming from the sitting room. He slowly got up out of the rocker, carefully making his way out of Melody’s room, and edging his way towards the sitting room.

What he saw there made his eyes widen.

Where the table in front of the sofa had been was now a large blue police box, and emerging from that police box was a man with a tweed jacket and a bow tie, followed by a woman in a dark green khaki dress with frizzy blonde hair. “Who are you?” he asked, reaching for the cricket bat that Amelia kept in the holder by the sofa just in case there was an unexpected visitor. They’d had scares before; they knew it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Are we the first ones here?” the man asked, looking at him. Then he raised something up, scanning the air and then moving around the room. Whatever was in his hand made a humming sound.

“Sherlock hefted the cricket bat slightly, trying to appear more menacing. “Answer my question before I bash your head in and then call the cops. I have friends in Scotland Yard.”

“We know you do, Sherlock,” the woman said.

There was the sound of footsteps shuffling from the hallway. “What’s going on?” Amelia asked, yawning as she made her way over to the living room. Then she blinked. “Who are you?”

The man looked at Amelia with wide eyes and then frowned. “This is a mistake,” he said, moving closer to Amelia, looking closely at her. He walked around her. “You should know me. You should have travelled with me. I mean, you didn’t, but you’d know who I was.” He turned and pointed at Sherlock. “And you don’t know who I am?”

“You’re a trespasser in my home,” Sherlock said in a cold, even tone.”

The man whipped his device towards him and looked at it. “And this is the epicenter of the Great Convergence,” he said with a frown. “But this isn’t right.”

“I’m too caffeine deprived for all this,” Amy said as Melody began to cry. “Sherlock, you start making coffee and I’ll get Melody and then all of us will sit and sort this out.”

Sherlock eyed his wife. He always trusted her gut when it came to things; her gut instinct was better than his own. If she was saying to sit and have coffee with these people and listen to what they had to say then that’s what they would do. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. “Fine,” he said with a sigh. “But you can be the one to explain to Mr. Mott why his coffee table is smashed to smithereens.”

The man with the strange device. “Mr. Mott?” he asked.

Sherlock nodded. “Wilfred Mott, our landlord. Rather nice man, I suppose, if a bit daft in some ways. Amelia did him a favor so we get reduced rent. She solved a case and made sure his wife was given the death sentence for a crime she committed.”

The man blinked. “This is a very interesting universe indeed,” he murmured. Then he turned to the woman. “We’re absolutely sure this is the epicenter?”

“Yes, dear. Absolutely sure. Others will be arriving soon. Maybe even my own mum and dad.”

The ghost of a smile crossed the man’s face. “I can only hope.” Then he turned to Sherlock. “I suppose you should start making the coffee then, Sherlock. And be prepared to make a lot of it. I think you’ll need it.”

Sherlock gave the man a quizzical look but then trudged into the kitchen. He had the feeling that cryptic warning did not bode well.

Little did he know at the time that he would be proven right.