Fandom: SuperWhoLock
Title: Thy Kingdom Come
Summary: Moriarty's death was all an elaborate demon deal which included siding the weeping angels to get Sherlock. Really, everything had been planned. Planned so perfectly. What he didn't account for, was that fact that this would unite five completely different people who are willing to save the world. Can they put aside their differences to do it though? SuperWhoLock.
Timeframe: Sherlock; AU after Season 3. Supernatural; AU of Season 10X3 Soul Survivor. Doctor Who; AU after The Angels Take Manhattan; sadly, I know guys. I wanted Amy and Rory in this as well, but this all just works out like how it is.
Rating: T for now. Possible M for violence and such
Pairings: None. Reference to some and jokes, but no pairings.
Spoilers: See above.
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel (Possibly), Eleventh Doctor, Moriarty (Possibly), Weeping Angels, Daleks (Possibly).
Authors Note: Hello, and welcome to my first multi-chapter fanfic. Of course, it's going to be a nice long journey, and I'm hoping to help keep you guys interested in. If there are any suggestions on what I could do to make this better, please do let me know!
Chapter One: Stone Statues Do Not Move
This was absurd. Completely and absolutely absurd. This was physically impossible. Sherlock knew it was impossible. It was physically impossible. Completely and utterly impossible.
Stone statues, did not move. They simply didn't move. They were stone for a reason.
So then why was he running? Why were his feet pounding against the pavement, his trench coat flapping behind him, flowing in the wind as he bolted through the night. He could hear the sound John's footsteps pounding behind him. He skirted sharply, his shoes scrapping against the sidewalk as he turned into an alley. If they could just get back to Baker Street, they'd be fine. They had to be. They were being chased by freaking stone statues. That was something that did not happen. This was supposed to be a simple case. A simple murder case. Not a 'let's-get-chased-by-stone-statues' thing. This wasn't even possible though.
So that begged the question again. Why was he running? He paused briefly, turning and grabbing John by the shoulders, his curly hair a complete mess as he breathed in and out. It was winter now, the cold air stinging his lungs as he studied John.
"Why are we running?" He puffed out, his breath visible between the two men as they stood, struggling to catch their breath. John looked confused, blinking his eyes. "Why are we running?" He demanded again, and John glanced back, struggling to come up with an answer. Sherlock could tell.
"Well, there were these-these statues…" John puffed out in reply as Sherlock followed the shorter man's gaze to the statues in question.
"Brilliant deduction, John, but why? Why are we running form the statues? They're statues." Sherlock demanded, stepping back as he stared at the statues, studying them intently with sharp pale eyes. "What can a hunk of stone do to us?" He pointed out, and John gave him a helpless shrug.
"I'm not the one with the brilliant IQ, Sherlock." John bit back, clearly annoyed as he glanced as his friend. Sherlock huffed, stepping back as the statues moved closer, pulling John with him. "So you tell me." The shorter man finished as he stepped back with Sherlock.
"Well, from what I've gathered, they only move when we look away or blink." Sherlock muttered lowly as he stared at the statues, eyes wide.
"So don't blink?" John questioned. "Sounds dandy, Sherlock. That plan is foolproof." He muttered sarcastically.
"John, take this seriously, your sarcasm is not being helpful." Sherlock said dryly as he continued to backtrack. He subconsciously blinked, cursing himself as a statue moved, the stone angels were getting far too close for comfort. He grabbed John roughly, shoving him behind him. "Go John, run." He ordered, still staring at the statues. "There's no way the both of us will get out of here alive."
"No, Sherlock. I am not doing that. I am not leaving you." John said stubbornly, and Sherlock sighed in frustration, shoving John a bit rougher, still watching the statues. He heard the man stumble, but he knew John had caught himself.
"Now, John. Run, I'll be fine." He snapped over his shoulder, wanting to glare at the other man. He couldn't though. The statues, as he had found out, would move if he so much as glanced away. He didn't to look though. John wasn't moving, no footsteps sounded behind him, so that was clear. "Now, John! Or so help me…" He snapped, turning, forgetting in his rage, that he had to be looking at the statues. His body whirled, coat flapping and hitting his legs as he twisted on his heels to glare at his best friend. His breath hitched in throat as he realize his mistake, snapping his head back and moving gracefully back, the statue's claws mere inches away from his face. "John…" He breathed. "Do as I say, please." He was pleading now. Sherlock never pleaded, unless the situation was that dire. He knew John would have to run. Not five seconds later, he heard a defeated sigh.
"Alright, but, Sherlock… You better meet me at Baker Street." John ordered in a rough tone. Sherlock merely gave a grunt of acknowledgement. "I mean it Sherlock. I can't…" He continued, and Sherlock was getting somewhat impatient.
"John, I'll see you at Baker Street." He said finally. "Now go." He ordered, relaxing when he heard John's footsteps fading behind him. "Alright, the game is on now." He grinned a bit, his eyes flicking over the statues with a sort of glee, slowly backing away. This was something new, something very new. He didn't believe in things that couldn't be proven. No, of course not. The thought of God, and angels and such was absurd. But then, how did he explain the statues? He didn't know. What he did know though, was that he was caught, he would have to blink at some time. He was at a lost, unable to determine anything about the statues. He had found it at the crime scene, the owner of the house claiming to have never seen it before. Naturally, they called Sherlock in-as the police were incompetent as ever. He didn't know what to think. Reports were that they had seen their victim, Adam Miles, looking that the statues, and the next, he was gone.
Sherlock continued to step back, his fingers moving slightly, lips pulling into a grin. "Well, what are you?" He asked, mostly to himself. "Because this is physically impossible. Moving stone statues." His eyes were burning, slowly drying up due to not blinking. He had to blink at some point. He had to. His feet scraped against the pavement, a cold wind stinging his pale eyes, making him subconsciously blink. He snapped his eyes open, realizing his mistake, staggering back, staring wide eyed at the groping hands mere inches from his face. He exhaled, still staring at the statue. Slowly, he continued to back away, never letting his eyes stray from the statue. He would turn this next corner, and then would lose sight of the angel. He scuffed his shoes along the pavement, turning the corner and blinking briefly before snapping his eyes open when there was a tug on his collar of his coat, dragging him back just before the angel appeared where he had once stood. He jerked back, whirling around to see who had just saved him from his-what he assumed-was his impending doom, his mouth open slightly as he came face to face with a man wearing a bowtie of all things.
"Well that was close." The man grinned, turning and heading to the large thing in the center of the round room. Sherlock hesitantly followed, glancing around suspiciously.
"Where am I?" He demanded, flicking his eyes to the man as he followed cautiously. "Where's John?" He added, realizing that his friend would have come this way to get to Baker Street. The man glanced up at the question, his body bent over the large console-so Sherlock assumed that's what it was. It sure looked like it.
"Right here, Sherlock." The man in question spoke up from where he was pacing the area just out of Sherlock's view, coming into his view. Sherlock exhaled softly in relief, making his way over, adjusting his coat as he walked up the steps calmly. "Are you alright?" John asked, looking him once over briefly, looking concerned.
"Quite fine, John." He answered calmly, looking at him before turning back to the other man who was fiddling with the console, hands in his pockets as he relaxed his posture, but remained a bit wary.
"We're in the TARDIS. A spaceship and time travel…" The other man started to say, but Sherlock scoffed, looking unamused and perhaps a bit impatient and irritated.
"What a load of rubbish. The thought of time travel is for idiots who can't let go of the past." Sherlock cut into the man's speech, walking over to him, his movement's smooth and calm, mouth open to continue. John knew Sherlock was going to go on a tangent over the man, so quickly cut in.
"Sherlock, let's just hear him out, alright? He did just save your life." He pointed out, walking over to the two men. John caught the man's thankful glance, ignoring Sherlock's look of mild offense.
"Right, as I was saying." The bowtie wearing man started, clapping is hands together as he straightened form where he stood, turning to throw a few levers and push a few buttons. Sherlock watched the man move intently, waiting for him to continue. "This is the TRADIS, bigger on the inside and such, I've heard it all." He flourished, waving his hands. "It's a time-machine, and travels through space." He said, sounding as if he had explained it millions of times before. Sherlock pursed his lips, fighting back the notion to speak up against how all of this was physically impossible.
"And what about the things chasing us? They were statues." John spoke, cutting into Sherlock's thoughts. He had almost forgotten about the angel statues in the craziness that was now happening.
"I am so glad you asked!" He spoke, seeming all to glad to explain the odd statues. "Those were Weeping Angels, cursed angels that have fallen from heaven and were turned to stone. They can't move when you're looking at them."
"Yes, I did notice that." Sherlock noted, watching the man as he pushed a few more levers. "Forgive me for asking, but who are you?" He asked, causing the man to look up with a faint grin pulling at his features.
"Ah, you can call me The Doctor, Sherlock Holmes." He said cheerfully, fingers dancing along the console. He had to stile a laugh at the man's slightly surprised face, before he masked it quickly. It only made sense that he would know who he was. Sherlock was fairly famous, and he was clearly British, so he had to have heard of him.
"Doctor who?" John spoke up, pulling Sherlock from his thoughts. The detective glanced at the man, watching his lips pull into an even wider grin. This man was insane, Sherlock concluded. Insane and in need of help.
"Oh I love it when they ask that." The Doctor answered, shooting them a wide grin as he flicked the last lever up, glancing at a wallet, one that would hold some sort of badge, Sherlock noted. "Geronimo." He whispered with a laugh as the-supposed-spaceship lurched around them. Sherlock wasn't sure what to think of all of this.
Then again, maybe he didn't want to.
"Stone statues? You're joking." A young man grumbled, his hands placed on the steering wheel. To his right, another man glanced up, glancing at a newspaper article.
"I'm afraid not Dean." The other man replied, looking to his older brother. He studied him carefully. It had taken a lot of gentle pushing to get Dean out of the bunker. He could understand why. Dean had been a demon not but a week ago. "Apparently, these statues have been everywhere where people have disappeared." He explained, brushing his hair from his eyes.
"So, what? These statues just appear and whisk people away?" Dean asked rhetorically, looking at his brother briefly. "Sounds kinda witchy to me. Any connections with the victims?" He questioned, turning his beloved 67 Chevy Impala onto another dirt road.
"Nothing that I can see." Sam said, brushing his hair from his eyes. "The last disappearance was in an old warehouse just down this road. Maybe we should head there?" He suggested, looking up at Dean. The older brother grunted in agreement, turning down another road, heading up to the warehouse.
"Might as well." He answered. "I mean, what could go wrong?" Dean grinned, his green eyes flashing as he looked at Sam, moving to get out of the Impala after shutting the engine off, slamming the door shut. Sam followed him out, rolling his shoulders to get out any stiffness in his long limbs.
"Dean, let's not jinx it, we have horrible luck." Sam chuckled, checking to see if he had his pistol with iron bullets, removing the clip to check the clip. "You ready?" He asked, looking to Dean. The older Winchester nodded, moving to head up to the door. The warehouse was certainly old. The wood was rotting and very soft, a bit of mold growing on it.
"Not exactly an ideal place for a witch to be killing people." He mused, pulling out a flashlight and tossing it to Sam before pulling his own out, flicking it on. "Alright, let's see these statues." He said, wrapping his calloused fingers around the iron handle and shoving the door open, raising his gun and flashlight up quickly. The soft light illuminating about five stone statues, all looking like angels. Slowly, Dean stepped inside, motioning for Sam to follow. Slowly, he made his way up to the statue, studying it as he moved up. "They don't look very threatening." Dean muttered. "At least, compared to actual angels." He laughed a bit, turning to Sam, ignoring Sam's dry look.
This of course, turned out be a bad idea. As Dean turned to face his brother, the statue moved. Its head turned, raising its head from its hands, turning to the two brothers. "Dean!" Sam's frantic voice made the eldest Winchester twist around, facing the statues that was now mere centimeters away from him. The blonde swallowed thickly, slowly backing away.
"Okay, so, they move when we stop looking at them?" Dean asked, looking unsure, and not exactly wanting to test the theory again. He caught Sam's nod out of the corner of his eye. "Alright, so, what's our game plan? If we can't stop looking at them, then…" Dean started, but trailed off, not exactly what to say. Sam shrugged, slowly backing away.
"Could we make a break for it?" He wondered, glancing behind them briefly to see if the entrance was open.
"Are you sure we're faster than them?" Dean muttered, raising an eyebrow at his brother. Sam had admit, Dean was right. They didn't know if they were faster than the statues. "Exactly, so what do we do?" He demanded, looking at Sam briefly, knowing that Sam was staring at the statues.
"I don't know Dean." Sam sighed, scratching the back of his head as he glanced at the statues. His eyes burned painfully, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. They needed help, serious help with this case. He considered praying, but decided against it. No angel would come, besides maybe Cas, but Cas was busy fixing heaven, plus he was low on grace, so he couldn't zap them out of here. "Dean, do you hear that?" Sam said suddenly, causing Dean to look at him, forgetting about the statues as he focused on whatever sound Sam was talking about. It was soft, whirring sort of noise.
"Yea, what is…?" Dean started to say, cutting off abruptly as the sound grew closer quickly. Far too quickly for either brother to react. The warehouse roof creaked as something-Dean didn't know what. He didn't think he wanted to know-slammed into it. The old, rotting wood cracked and crumbled under the heavy weight. "Get down!" Dean shouted to his brother, his voice loud and rough as he hit the floor, scraping his chin as he covered his head just before seeing Sam do the same, hitting the dirty floor as the wooden roof finally gave away. Dean obviously couldn't see what was going on, but there was sound of stone crumbling and a loud thud. Dean was hesitant to raise his head, but slowly did, coming face to face with a large blue, police box. He grunted, sitting up carefully, noticing Sam slowly doing the same. "What the hell…?" Dean mumbled, looking at Sam just as the box opened, revealing a wide, grinning man with a bow tie.
"Somebody call a Doctor?" He asked cheerfully, stepping out, two other figures following him. One was a about Dean's height, with curly black hair and pale skin, dressed in a dark grey trench coat and blue scarf. The other was a shorter, blonde man who stood close to the other man's side, dressed in a jumper and slacks. Dean's natural first instinct was to pull his gun on them.
"Who are you?" He demanded roughly, standing all the way, keeping the gun trained on them. He heard a low scoff sound from the curly haired man, muttering something to his companion at his side, who in turn shrugged, but gave the taller man an expressed look.
"I'm The Doctor, this is Sherlock Holmes, and his friend John Watson, I do believe you called for help?" The bow-tied man said, his lips pulled into a smile as his motion to each person respectively. Dean scowled, shaking his head.
"No, we never did. And, uh, Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean." Sam answered calmly before Dean could make a sarcastic remark, as well as introducing themselves. This brought a frown of The Doctor, turning to look at Sherlock and John, who looked just as lost as Sam and Dean at this. Dean grumbled, still pointing his gun at the man.
"Yea, we never called for help." He repeated, but The Doctor wasn't listening, looking around the-now very destroyed-warehouse. He clearly didn't recognize the threat of the gun, or simply didn't care. There was a few moments of long silence, before The Doctor turned with a small 'Aha!' and faced the Winchesters.
"You did, the TARDIS must have picked up on the Weeping Angels here and taken me here." He said, as if it made sense, ignoring the four looks of confusion on the subject. "Now, everybody get in the TARDIS, we got things to do!" He said joyfully, not giving anyone time to protest as The Doctor moved to shove Sherlock and John into the box, grabbing Sam and Dean's arms and pulling them inside as well.