The Reichenbach (Fell)

//Very long time master writer ( 2009 ) seeking Doctors (10,11,12,13) for literate, intense and possibly extreme rp. 

Subby Master. 

But you have to get him there  :) 

The shy small man stepped out into the light of the only home he was likely to know now. The little Runemaster was not accustomed to this sense of dread and fear. He was too young - now - to be cowed, though. That fighting spirit was there, and he’d make this work. “Home…?” It was a park, or seemed to be one. It was after all, really quite spacious and beautiful. He glanced back, and the tremendous spacecraft form of the vehicle they had all just been on, seemed to flicker if only for a moment, and change into a humble blue phonebox. Reichenbach frowned. What was this, then? The Doctor had saved these tattered and torn refugees from across the Universes - plural - and brought them here, to this place that he recognized as either another Earth or one very like it. There were, after all, so many Universes. Most of these people certainly did not speak the same language, and some did not even have one at all. But through his talented use of signing and rune symbols, he had cobbled out a rough way for them to all communicate. He was after all, yet another Jim Moriarty. Genius.

Well, this was pretty. And so what? It wasn’t going to work. “We’ve got attention.” News crews that looked human- and very much like Gaia back home, in fact - were already racing to get to them all first. 

“That must be the guy in charge.” 

He had not been able to understand the young man who had spoken just then, but he could certainly read the annoyance in the redhead’s *tone* and the last thing he wanted was to deal with a fight when the group had just now landed on British soil. It didn’t take much guessing to know it was about the microphone being shoved under his nose when he didn’t know what the clueless woman who had done so was saying. 

At the mention of Mycroft he exchanged a glance with Reich. His brother existed here too, it seemed, and had managed to rise quite high in the positions of power here in Britain. Not that Sherlock was particularly surprised, Mycroft was a very good leader,  even if he had all of the social skills of a beached *trout*. “I should like to speak with my brother myself.” Sherlock said idly. 

Everyone was going to want him to help with this and by all rights he needed to do just that. “I’m called Reichenbach or Reich but my real name is James Moriarty.”  He wondered what reaction that was going to get from them all. 

Sherlock seemed to believe there was a Mycroft here, apparently. Reich wondered what he was like, if he was, was he strong and with all the resolve of an ancient glacier? Yet why would Sherlock presume this, back home in their London there were at least a couple hundred Holmes merely in London Proper. “You want to speak to Mycroft? You’re reaching that this is, in fact, a Mycroft Holmes who is Prime Minister? Sherlock, I really think that’s a bit of a presumption. I highly doubt you happen to be related to this PM Holmes. Why, this could even be *you*!” Reich turned back around to look for Remial, worried for him. Oh, he looked so very out of place, he stood out so drastically, so dangerously! Would they treat the ones who stood out differently? Or even harm them?

 It was a bare bones statement. Simple, too simple, but he knew what he meant. “You don’t remember me, except in little snippets of urban legend and story. Your large adventure at my feet, you do not recall. But I do. I remember every iota of it. I am the Master, and it’s so good to be back with my subjects again. How I have missed the stench of this zoo, with the apes throwing their own feces in random bursts of - crapulence - oh you get the joke, right? Crapulence? Get it? Well you will.”  His eyes scanned them all, some were recoiling. “Oh.”  Master smiled a little. Just a very little bit. “You do know me.”

The shy small man stepped out into the light of the only home he was likely to know now. The little Runemaster was not accustomed to this sense of dread and fear. He was too young - now - to be cowed, though. That fighting spirit was there, and he’d make this work. “Home…?” It was a park, or seemed to be one. It was after all, really quite spacious and beautiful. He glanced back, and the tremendous spacecraft form of the vehicle they had all just been on, seemed to flicker if only for a moment, and change into a humble blue phonebox. Reichenbach frowned. What was this, then? The Doctor had saved these tattered and torn refugees from across the Universes - plural - and brought them here, to this place that he recognized as either another Earth or one very like it. There were, after all, so many Universes. Most of these people certainly did not speak the same language, and some did not even have one at all. But through his talented use of signing and rune symbols, he had cobbled out a rough way for them to all communicate. He was after all, yet another Jim Moriarty. Genius.

Well, this was pretty. And so what? It wasn’t going to work. “We’ve got attention.” News crews that looked human- and very much like Gaia back home, in fact - were already racing to get to them all first. 

“That must be the guy in charge.” 

He had not been able to understand the young man who had spoken just then, but he could certainly read the annoyance in the redhead’s *tone* and the last thing he wanted was to deal with a fight when the group had just now landed on British soil. It didn’t take much guessing to know it was about the microphone being shoved under his nose when he didn’t know what the clueless woman who had done so was saying. 

At the mention of Mycroft he exchanged a glance with Reich. His brother existed here too, it seemed, and had managed to rise quite high in the positions of power here in Britain. Not that Sherlock was particularly surprised, Mycroft was a very good leader,  even if he had all of the social skills of a beached *trout*. “I should like to speak with my brother myself.” Sherlock said idly. 

Everyone was going to want him to help with this and by all rights he needed to do just that. “I’m called Reichenbach or Reich but my real name is James Moriarty.”  He wondered what reaction that was going to get from them all. 

Sherlock seemed to believe there was a Mycroft here, apparently. Reich wondered what he was like, if he was, was he strong and with all the resolve of an ancient glacier? Yet why would Sherlock presume this, back home in their London there were at least a couple hundred Holmes merely in London Proper. “You want to speak to Mycroft? You’re reaching that this is, in fact, a Mycroft Holmes who is Prime Minister? Sherlock, I really think that’s a bit of a presumption. I highly doubt you happen to be related to this PM Holmes. Why, this could even be *you*!” Reich turned back around to look for Remial, worried for him. Oh, he looked so very out of place, he stood out so drastically, so dangerously! Would they treat the ones who stood out differently? Or even harm them?

The shy small man stepped out into the light of the only home he was likely to know now. The little Runemaster was not accustomed to this sense of dread and fear. He was too young - now - to be cowed, though. That fighting spirit was there, and he'd make this work. "Home...?" It was a park, or seemed to be one. It was after all, really quite spacious and beautiful. He glanced back, and the tremendous spacecraft form of the vehicle they had all just been on, seemed to flicker if only for a moment, and change into a humble blue phonebox. Reichenbach frowned. What was this, then? The Doctor had saved these tattered and torn refugees from across the Universes - plural - and brought them here, to this place that he recognized as either another Earth or one very like it. There were, after all, so many Universes. Most of these people certainly did not speak the same language, and some did not even have one at all. But through his talented use of signing and rune symbols, he had cobbled out a rough way for them to all communicate. He was after all, yet another Jim Moriarty. Genius.