The Beatles at Scotland Yard

Chapter 1

I DON'T OWN THE BEATLES!

If I did, John and George would never have mucked up Let It Be with Phil Spector. Ah well, can always go back in the TARDIS and change that later.

But now, I'm sure you'd rather read this than listen to me babble incoherently. Oh wait, that's what this entire fanfic is.

Three Beatles walked into the Scotland Yard waiting room jauntily. Paul was trying to find a place to park, so he was planning on coming in later.

The other three went over to the receptionist's desk.

"Hello!" said John cockily.

"Do you have an appointment?" asked the secretary.

"We're the Beatles," said Ringo, as though that explained everything. The receptionist looked at them suspiciously.

"I thought there were four of you," he said hesitantly.

"Nah, it's just us," said George with a grin.

"Ah . . . so this is Mr. Harrison's appointment?" the secretary asked.

"No, my name's Lennon," said John, sounding peeved.

"I don't see a Lemon here," said the secretary, flipping back through his date book.

"I don't either," said Ringo. "I think I'd notice one of those great yellow things on your datebook, too."

"I'm Mr. Harrison," said George quickly, before the conversation got too derailed.

"Ah, of course," said the relieved receptionist. Then he gestured to John and Ringo, obviously forgetting that the Beatles were a band, and asked, "Are they family?"

"No," replied George.

"Oh, are they friends then?"

"No."

"Well, who are they then?" asked the receptionist, who was quite understandably becoming quickly annoyed.

"They're my trained monkeys, who else?" George deadpanned.

"O-o A-a," said Ringo helpfully.

"Oh, well then, erm . . . I'll call Mr. Campbell's office, let him know you're here, um . . . just have a seat until he calls you up . . . I guess your monkeys can sit too - I mean . . . ," replied the flustered receptionist

"Thank you," said George, who promptly sat down, with John and Ringo on either side. George paused, and then turned to John, and said, "Monkey, go fetch me a cup of tea."

Apparently George had overstepped his limits as a monkey trainer, because John put his hands on his hips and began to shriek loudly, waving his elbows back and forth like he was about to fly away. Jane Goodall would have died in shock at his monkey impression. Meanwhile Ringo tried to disassociate himself from the action somewhat, instead occupying himself by searching for bugs in George's hair while simultaneously scratching his armpit. It didn't appear to be an easy task. The receptionist's complexion changed colour several times before settling on a delicate shade of green.