Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Doctor Who.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

She leaned her back against the console and ran her fingers through her hair. A ghost of a smile was on her lips as she hung up her phone. "So," she began, turning her attention to him. "What have we got this time?"

The Doctor grinned. "Murder. In London."

Clara grinned back and met his eyes. Unmasked affection shone straight through. Just like she used to look at me, the Doctor thought to himself. Back when my face was young. She sees me. This is fantastic.

Not too long ago, the Doctor had regenerated, and he had come so close to losing his companion. He still remembered her eyes looking straight through him, as if she was searching for someone else. It had terrified the Doctor. But it didn't take long for her to come around.

"Aliens?" she asked, excitement creeping into her voice.

"Most definitely," the Doctor responded eagerly. "Tell me, Clara- how do you feel about undercover work?"

Her eyes lit up. He stood next to her, leaning against the console. "Oh! Like when you came to the school!"

"Exactly!" The Doctor smiled smugly. He knew his companion couldn't resist the allure of danger.

"So, what, are we going to be detectives now? Like Vastra?" Clara asked.

The Doctor turned around and flipped a switch up. "Exactly," he repeated while turning a knob. Truth be told, he was only adjusting the swimming pool temperature, but he wanted to look impressive for Clara.

"So, which aliens are we dealing with?"

"I have no idea," the Doctor replied, grinning even wider.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

He was so bored. They hadn't had an interesting case for days. Lazily, he picked up his gun and shot the wall.

An exasperated sigh came from the man in the armchair. "Sherlock-"

"I'm bored!" Sherlock interrupted. "John! I need a case!"

"Check the website," John grumbled, returning to his newspaper.

With a sigh, Sherlock picked up his flatmate's laptop. John had changed his password again, but it only took Sherlock about twelve seconds to figure it out. He was getting more creative these days, Sherlock had to admit. He navigated over to John's blog and began to read through the cases.

Just then, Sherlock's phone rang. "John, can you get that for me?" he asked, not looking up from the screen. He could almost hear the other man rolling his eyes as he retrieved the phone from the table and handed it to Sherlock.

9078 Harlington Road. There's been a murder. How soon can you get here? -GL

Sherlock grinned. "Forget the blog, John, there's been a murder," he said gleefully.

"Is that my- oh never mind," John sighed, taking his laptop and closing it. "I'll get my coat."

A few minutes later, Sherlock and John were sitting in a cab, on their way to the crime scene. Sherlock could feel the excitement rising inside of him. Finally, he thought, something to do! A murder, how delightful!

When they arrived, Sherlock rushed out of the cab. In the back of his mind, he was vaguely aware of John complaining about paying, but the house in front of him held his full attention. Donovan was already there, looking rather pale. "This one's particularly gruesome," she said as soon as she spotted Sherlock. "Right up your alley, freak. Are you still here?" she asked, looking at something behind him.

"Wouldn't miss this for the world," John replied grimly. Sherlock turned to glance at his companion. His jaw was set in frustration, but at what? Sherlock resolved to find out later. Right now, he had a murder mystery to solve.

Sherlock crossed the yard and entered the house. There was the body, laying in on it's side in the middle of the floor. And there was Lestrade, trying his best not to look at it. "Sherlock," he began, his voice hoarse. His eyes were red, his skin was pale and sweaty, and the room smelled vaguely of vomit. Sherlock's heart beat faster in anticipation. What was it that had everybody so disgusted? He turned his eyes to the body.

It was a women, probably in her mid-thirties. It was hard to tell. There was something off about her. Sherlock needed more information. She was unmarried. No kids. Business woman. She was killed by a blow to the head, yet there was an enormous pool of blood behind her. He walked around to her other side to get a better look and stopped dead in his tracks.

There was a large slice in her back where somebody had dissected her.

"Oh hell," John gasped. Sherlock looked up at him. He had turned very pale, but luckily showed no signs of being sick. His eyes held so much pain. John wasn't like him. He couldn't help but care for the victim, despite Sherlock's protests that it did nothing for them.

"So, a murderer with a fetish for internal organs," Sherlock said calmly. "That's a new one."

John seemed to relax. "Any ideas?" he asked.

"A few," Sherlock replied. "We're dealing with a true psychopath. Somebody who has no connection to the victim, but probably stalked them to find out the best time to attack."

"How can you tell?" Lestrade asked.

"The door was knocked off of its hinges. Somebody forced their way in. Also, the overturned desk shows that he wanted to intimidate her, he clearly overpowered her by a long shot. Sadism."

"But why remove her insides?" John asked.

"A sense of superiority. Or possibly he wants to experiment with them."

"Why her?" Anderson piped up.

Sherlock frowned. When had he arrived? Or had he been there the whole time? Sherlock usually just blocked him out. "She's alone. She has no family." Anderson opened his mouth, presumably to ask how he knew that, so Sherlock continued. "No wedding ring. No photographs of family anywhere. No signs of children."

"Sir, we've got company," Donovan announced as she strode into the room. "It's UNIT."

Lestrade's brow furrowed. "What's UNIT doing here?"

"Sherlock," John whispered. "What's UNIT."

"Some kind of government agency," Sherlock whispered back. "I'm not sure what they do yet."

A man in his fifties made his way into the house followed by a women in her twenties. Sherlock focused on the man first. His hands suggested that he did a lot of field work, and he had the build of someone who did a lot of running. His suit, however, suggested that he was in a high position. Interesting. Sherlock zoned in on his tan lines. A traveller, then.

Next, he focussed on the women. She was a school teacher, said the chalk under her nails and barely visible on her dress pants. But she was also a traveller who got her hands dirty frequently.

Sherlock smiled slightly to himself. He enjoyed a challenge. "We're with UNIT," he announced, holding up a blank sheet of paper.

"That paper's blank," Sherlock informed them, perplexed. This case was getting more bizarre by the second.

"What?" both strangers asked at the same time, shocked.

"No, it says UNIT right here Sherlock," Lestrade sighed.

Sherlock glanced at John, who was staring at him oddly. He cleared his throat. "Ah. So it does. Apologies." What was going on?

"Doctor John Smith," the man announced. "And this is my carer, Clara Oswald."

"Carer?" John echoed.

"Yes, I care so he doesn't have to," Clara explained.

John Smith kneeled beside the body. "Interesting. Her internal organs have been completely removed."

"Any ideas?" Clara asked.

"A few. Oh I do hope it's not another giant wasp. Did I ever tell you about that?"

What? Sherlock's mouth dropped open slightly. Nobody else seemed to have heard. Giant wasp?

"Is there anything we can help you with?" Lestrade asked.

"Some privacy would be fantastic," Smith said without looking up.

Lestrade, Anderson, and Donovan hesitated, but they left. John moved to follow them, but Sherlock grabbed his elbow.

"Ever seen anything like this before, Doctor?" Clara asked.

"No," Smith replied. "Look at the size of its claws. This thing is massive."

"Claws?" Sherlock asked, thoroughly confused. He didn't like being confused. It felt odd.

"Yes, what knife could have made this cut?" Smith asked.

Upon taking a closer look, Sherlock had to admit that it did look like a claw mark. But that just didn't make sense.

Smith pulled a silver stick out of his coat and pointed it at the body. It lit up and made a whirring noise. This time, Sherlock really did do a double take. What the hell?

"Interesting," Smith commented, looking down. "Come on, Clara, let's return to the TARDIS now, we can come back tomorrow once we know more."

As the two strangers left, Sherlock could only stare after them. "So, who do you suppose they are?" John asked.

"I have no idea."