Hello! I don't want to be that person, but this is my first fanfic so please be nice

Also, I'm only gonna do a disclaimer on chapter 1, so sue me

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, Sherlock or Supernatural, or any of the characters featured in those stories

CHAPTER I

I slammed the front door behind me and locked it with shaking hands. I hurried to the phone, where it took me three goes to punch in the right number—the number my godmother gave me five years ago. My blood thudded through my veins, threatening a migraine and my breathing was erratic as I began to pace on aching feet. By the third ring, I realised I hadn't put my handbag down yet and promptly dropped it on the sofa. By the fifth, I began to panic and was about to redial, when—

"—answer your own bloody phone one of these days…Hello? Sherlock Holmes' phone."

My heart sank in disappointment and rising terror. "And you are not Mister Holmes."

"Thank God! If I were—" The man on the other end stopped when he heard me sob into the receiver. "Hey, what's the matter? Are you okay?"

"Um," I rubbed my eyes with my fist. "No. I'm not. My godmother gave me this number. She told me to phone it if I was ever in trouble or—or scared."

A pause. "Are you scared?"

"Yes."

"What's your name?" he asked kindly.

I told him that, "I'm Isadora Greenhall."

"Hello, Isadora, I'm John Watson. I want you to take some deep, calm breaths. Can you do that?" I did as he said, with increasing ease. "Better?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"No problem. Now, could you tell me—" John was interrupted by some murmurings at his end, distorted to the point of incomprehensibility to my ears. I strained to hear, but it seemed John had placed his hand over the mouthpiece. I focused on keeping my breathing slow. "What, why?" I heard John. The background voice rose in irritation. "Fine! Fine! Isadora, sorry, but could you tell me again who it was who gave you this number? Your grandmother?"

"My godmother. Her name's Donna. Donna Temple-Noble. She gave it to me about five years ago."

John relayed this information to whoever was with him. Then I heard him shout angrily and a cool voice, almost mechanical in its diction, sounded in my ear. "Isadora. Where are you?"

"My apartment. Where—?"

"I'm going to need an address."

After taking a moment to collect myself, I gave the stranger my location.

"I will be there shortly. Until then, you must bar every entrance or exit in your home. Understood?"

I told him I did and he hung up.