Story: The Orchid Thief
Rating: All Ages
Word Count: 14320
Author's Summary: Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin have solved a lot of tough cases in their careers as detectives. But never one like the one that begins with the new arrival in the Plant Rooms. Before it ends, they'll deal with a tattooed lady, miniaturized corpses, and Things from Another World!
Characters/Pairings: Jo Grant, Martha Jones, The Doctor (10th), The Doctor (3rd), The Master (Delgado)
Recced because: I'm a sucker for crossovers, and this is not only a crossover, it's a crossover with one of my favourite detective series, and it's a multi-era multi-doctor story that manages to be faithful to all of the Doctor Who and crossover characters, and pitch perfect for the historical periods in which it's set. A fun romp and one I've enjoyed immensely.
Excerpt: [Spoiler (click to open)] I was halfway through dialing the Gazette, to ask Lon Cohen if there was a new craze in collecting disused British police phones, when the doorbell rang. I cradled the phone and stepped to the hallway, looking out through the one-way glass panel.
It was a morning for things that appeared not to belong. The two people on the stoop seemed as out of place in New York as the blue box in the alley and the strange thing growing up in Wolfe's plant rooms. It was a man and woman, but they didn't seem to be a couple. The woman was black — apparently “colored” is no longer the acceptable term — and quite lovely, wearing form-fitting denim jeans and a red leather jacket. I don't read fashion magazines, and who knows what's going to come out of Carnaby Street these days, and it certainly didn't look bad, but I'd never seen an outfit that looked quite like it: it had the look of a costume. The man was taller than me, but also a lot thinner, his hands stuffed into the pockets of a brown suit with fine blue pinstripes, a long brown trenchcoat pushed open and back behind him. He had enough brown hair for a Beatle, but it was messier and less defined, more like a Rolling Stone, and large, intelligent eyes that seemed to stare right through the one-way glass into mine. As I looked at him, he raised his fingers and waggled them as if in a childish wave, grinning broadly.
I went and opened the door some ten inches, backstopping it with my foot. “Good morning.”
“Ah, yeah!” the tall man's accent was English, his voice enthusiastic, “lovely morning, really, just lovely! You're Archie Goodwin!”
“Thanks,” I told him. “I wasn't sure.”
He grinned even more broadly, looking over between me and the black girl. “See, Martha, what did I tell you? The wit, the wit, the looks-- Not so much the charm, yet, but you have to like the wit!” He turned back to me. “And young! Not that you look much older, but still, there you are, yeah?”
“Here I am,” I agreed.
“Oh, yes, you are!” he said. “Yes, you really are!”
“Well,” I said, starting to close the door, “thanks for stopping by to straighten that out for me--”
He put an easy hand on the door, his smile somehow chiding me gently, affectionately. “Oh, come on, now, be a sport! Is that any way to treat an, well, someone who will have been an old friend the first time you meet him?”
I frowned, running through the sentence in my head, and the black girl rolled her eyes and stepped forward, offering a hand. “Hello,” she said. Her accent was also English, which always sounds a little strange to me coming from a negro. “I'm Martha Jones.”