Hazel Sparrow sprinted down the alley thrusting to get away from the man. Her red shoes slapped on the ground and her breaths were heavy, she turned corners and stopped for one second to look back. The man was still following her and she could still see the glint of the knife he held, she sped up again trying to find where the buildings ended at civilization began. Her black hair was wet from the previous snowfall and so were her shoes.
The snow had hidden a small pothole that was just big enough to hook Hazel's shoes and make her tumble to the wet asphalt. The man soon looked over her and stared at her with inky black eyes. He raised his knife with a twisted grin and brought it down.
The strong metallic scent of blood covered the crime scene; bright yellow police tape contrasted against the dreary winter morning. Policemen directed people away from the scene while the detectives from Scotland Yard made a semi circle around the victim Sally Donovan sighed looking at the girl, she looked like she was in her teenage years.
There was so much ahead of her, Sally thought. She'll never get to it. Her partners Greg Lesterade and Phillip Anderson looked at the girl trying to avoid looking at her eyes still frozen in fear. They had looked for prints, none. They looked for a weapon, nowhere to be found. Whoever had done this had left no loose ends.
The girl, Hazel Sparrow as written on the tag of her shirt, was bloody which contrasted with her pale skin and her hazel eyes were dull like old sea glass. She looked terrified like she was being tortured, in everlasting torment.
"Hazel Sparrow," Lesterade sighed, "time of death: 6:57 a.m. November 29, 2013." He got down on one knee and shut her eyes. After a long silence he whispered, "We've got to get Sherlock on this case."
"Are you sure Greg? You know him, no respect. He'll treat this as a fun game like he does with ever murder." Donovan said in disgust.
"We have to no prints, no weapons, no lead." Anderson said in the same whispering tone. They all went back to the car to get Sherlock and his friend John, and with one last said glance at the crime scene they were gone.
Sam and Dean Winchester sat watching news to the television in their London motel room.
"Breaking news in the city of Westminster." The news woman said. "A brutal murder has caused the death of sixteen year old Hazel Sparrow. She was found this morning in an alley, police are yet to discover the person who committed it." Sam lowered to volume on the TV and stared at his brother expectantly.
"This might be a case Dean." Sam commented.
"Or it might just be an awful tragedy. Not everything bad is caused by demons Sammy." Dean said taking a sip from the beer bottle in his hand. Sam turned the news back to a audible range to hear,
"...In other news London is still in shock over Sherlock Holmes' miraculous return from the dead. Two years ago genius Sherlock Holmes jumped off a building and presumed dead but now he's back and solving crimes once again with John Watson at 221b Baker Street. Also the-" she was cut off once again by Dean saying,
"Now that may be a case." Dean tilted his bottle in a way to point at the file photo of a pale man with icy blue eyes and curly black hair.
"You think?" Sam ran to get his Federal Agent suit and fake badge as Dean reached for his.
The brothers ran out of the hotel room and off to find 221b Baker Street.
The Doctor sat lonely in children's park barely moving on a swing. He sometimes came here when he felt sad, it was the same park that little girl had told him to go find his friend. But after a month of searching for Clara Oswin Oswald he'd found nothing. He was going to continue the search soon enough but now all he wanted was to just be sad.
The Doctor hummed an old Gallifreyan song his own mum used to sing to him when he was younger. Then he started to sing an Earth one,
"Excuse me, Mister?" An American accented voice called out. The Doctor turned to see two men coming his way, one with long hair and a strong build, the other with spiky hair and an athletic build.
"Yes, hi!" The Doctor smiled. The one with the long hair asked him,
"Do you happen to know where Baker Street is?" The Doctor looked up to them with a thin mask of happiness over his teary eyes.
"Oh yes!" He said trying to keep his voice level. "Go up the street take a left then a right." The shorter one tapped his brother on the shoulder and said,
"Let's go Sam." But Sam continued to look at the Doctor.
"Are you alright?" He asked tilting his head.
"Just lost some friends is all. And can't find another." The Doctor answered simply. The short one waved Sam over again, this time Sam followed taking on last look at the man on the swing before getting back into the Impala.
"Dude what was that about?" Dean asked Sam as they parked the car.
"What?"
"Asking that guy what was wrong." The brothers opened the Impala's trunk and both picked up a shotgun.
"It's called manners Dean." Sam said putting the gun in his coat pocket. "Some people have them. He seemed really upset."
"Something about him I don't like. Maybe it's the tweed and the bowtie or that fact that he's a grown man on a swing. But...if we see him again we should talk to him." They both agreed and went to the green door where 221b was nailed on with golden numbering. Dean knocked hard on the door hoping for Sherlock Holmes to open it but was surprised when an old woman open the door.
"Hello we're agents Kevin Harvick and David Anthony can we speak to Sherlock Holmes please?" Sam asked flashing his fake badge and Dean following.
"Oh the boys are out on a case but you can stay and wait for them." She waved them in and up a set of wooden stairs. "I'm their land lady Miss. Hudson. They should be back soon." Miss. Hudson open a door to a sitting room that was stocked with experiments and had papers everywhere. Sam looked at the sadistic smiley face that was spray painted on and was sprinkled with bullet holes and Dean looked at the skull on the mantle.
"Nice place." They commented. Both of them sat on the leather couch and waited for Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock walked towards the crime scene with John in tow.
"Got any ideas?" John asked,
"Six so far."
"Good. I want to put this bastard behind bars, that girl was sixteen years old." John looked down the alley where it happened to see a figure standing there.
"Excuse me!" John yelled, the figure looked up. "What are you doing?" The figure stepped into the light. He wore a tweed jacket and a blue bowtie, an odd combination but it worked.
"Sorry, I'm-" he brought out a leather bound wallet and flashed it to them, "Detective John Smith of Scotland Yard." Sherlock looked at the wallet then at John Smith.
"That's a blank wallet." John stared at Sherlock in confusion,
"No Sherlock. It says right there, John Smith."
"See Mr. Sherlock it says my name. John Smith Detective appointed by the Queen."
"You said you were a Scotland Yard detective. Just a minute ago," John said "and your card changed...okay who are you?"
"Never mind that how about he comes with us back to Baker Street?" Sherlock suggested in a not-so-suggestive tone. He grabbed "John" by the arm and dragged him from the crime scene and into the car that sat idly.
After a twelve minute drive to Baker Street Sherlock pushed through the green door and walked up the wood stairs to find two men sitting on his couch in cheap suits.
"Are you Sherlock Holmes?" Said the shorter looked at them and from that one glance he knew enough about them to figure out that they weren't real agents.
In answer to the shorter ones question he shook his head yes. They both showed him fake badges with their pictures on it and fake names.
"We're here to investigate your fake death." The taller one lied.
"What? That is hardly something the FBI should be concerned about." Sherlock said pushing past them to sit in his armchair. The brothers looked behind them to see John and "John",
"Wait I saw you just an hour ago. On the swing set." The taller one noticed. "John" smiled straightening his bowtie,
"Yeah Sam and...you never told me your name." Sherlock smirked as the man spoke,
"On your badge it says that you're Kevin Harvick and David Anthony. And whoever he is just said that one of your names are Sam." Sherlock said using his hands. "That would make sense if you were undercover but why would you then come to me with in your cheap fake uniforms and give me your real names?" The boys looked flustered, "Just give us your real names and I won't call Lesterade to take you to jail."
The brothers stared at the man and sighed, "Fine, I'm Sam Winchester and that's my brother Dean." Sherlock looked satisfied with the fact that- yet again- he was right.
"Then why are you really here for?"
"How did you die and come back?" Dean said flopping down on the sofa and loosening his tie.
"That's simple- I didn't ever die."
"What?"
"I knew how mine and Moriarty's chat would end so I made numerous plans to get out alive. Only had to notify my brother and my network which one I needed." Sherlock smirked.
"His network didn't include me." John frowned, "John Watson by the way." The Winchester's looked look at John then at Sherlock.
"So you fake your death and you let a whole lot of people know but you don't let your friend know?" Sam recalled.
"That's a dick move." Dean commented. Sherlock just waved them off and looked at "John" with a calculating look.
"Now you. You're who I'm most interested with," he put his hands up in a praying position. "John" rocked back and forth on his feet. "From what I can notice, which is quite a lot, you look like your twenty-nine at most but you're eyes are much much older. You have that leather wallet that can change to what you want them to see which isn't invented, you just lost someone and cannot find someone else. And, my personal favorite, you have two hearts." The room was silent waiting for "John" to explain when he didn't all they heard was the sound of Sam and Dean pulling out they're guns and aiming them straight at him.
"I can explain-" "John" started, Dean fired his gun the bullet narrowly missing him. He ran down the stairs with the Winchesters following him. Sherlock stood up and John readied himself for a run, Sherlock had a faint smile on his face.
"The game is on."