Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Doctor Who, or Sherlock.
Author's Note: Once again, here is another experimental fanfiction. This is going to be for the widely popular crossover SuperWhoLock (Supernatural, Doctor Who, and Sherlock). Mild Johnlock and Destiel. This is not an organized plot/story, just a couple of one-shots. Although we'll see where it goes.
Space... Time... Bigger on the inside...
Impossible.
Sherlock Holmes stood in the doorway of the Police Box, frozen and speechless. There was nothing - no fit explanation for what was happening now. His sight must have betrayed him - his most meaningful sense, and now he was left with his mind alone. The only other time such a thing happened was in Baskerville with the hounds and the chemicals...
There. Chemicals. Poisons. Tricks.
Mind games. Had he been slipped some sort of drug? Couldn't be - he didn't recall eating for about two days now. Drinks? Yes, but only water that he had retrieved himself. He tried to think of something else... anything else. He hated not understanding things. He hated the unknown.
He tried to open his eyes and look around without his mind over-thinking. He caught sight of John, and called to him. John, occupied, was staring around the inside of the Police Box, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open in wonder.
The man - the Doctor - who had picked he and John up was now leaning against a railing in the center of the place. He watched John with a knowing smile, and then looked at Sherlock for a few seconds. Sherlock looked back at him, narrowing his eyes to concentrate.
He looked at the man's clothing.
Bow tie. Suspenders. Unusually dressed. Doesn't change much. A sort of uniform.
He then eyed the man's posture.
Relaxed position. Knowledgeable and experienced, old and wise. Very old.
Finally, Sherlock looked at the man's eyes and facial expressions.
Friendly, but dark. Two personalities? Perhaps. Gone through much. Some sort of... war? Huge war, extremely significant. Survivor? Escapee? Coward?
Sherlock groaned and brought a hand to his forehead. He was feeling nauseous and his vision was beginning to blur.
No no no no no no no no no no...
Can't black out now. Not safe.
Sherlock focused on his breathing and took longer-than-necessary breathes.
Inhale - one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten - exhale.
Sherlock opened his eyes once more but was terrified to see black spots. He tried to take control of his mind - to will himself back. He put his hand behind himself, reaching for something, anything, but found nothing.
"Sherlock?"
John.
He blinked to try and keep himself together, but the darkness crept over him... and he was falling, falling, falling...
…
John ran to the entrance of the police box, horrified to see Sherlock collapse onto the floor. He gently brought laid him in a more comfortable position, immediately feeling his pulse and listening for his breath. He sighed in relief when he found Sherlock healthy. He removed the tight scarf around Sherlock's neck and unbuttoned the first buttons on the tight shirt he was wearing. He loosened Sherlock's belt and made sure Sherlock was breathing.
"Oh, that is unfortunate," The Doctor sighed.
"Can you elevate his legs, please?" John called.
The Doctor walked over and did so. John sighed, feeling behind Sherlock's head and checking his eyes.
"He's not too badly injured," John concluded. "Most likely just a concussion and bump to the head."
"You had me worried there," The Doctor sighed. "Sherlock Holmes dying in my T.A.R.D.I.S..."
"Sorry, your what?"
"Oh. Time and Relative Dimension in Space. This..." He gestured around the room.
"Oh, okay. What do you mean... how do you know us?"
The Doctor smiled gleefully now.
"Oh, Doctor Watson. You're absolutely fantastic! And Sherlock Holmes is the most brilliant consulting detective in all of history!"
"Well, he is the only one."
"Yes, the one and only. The world... the universe knows who you are."
"The universe?"
"It's... complicated."
"Are you... an alien?" John asked hesitatingly, not quite sure what he was expecting.
"Yes."
"Oh."
John was silent for a moment and wondered if the man was joking or insane. Then again, they were in a bigger-on-the-inside London police box. And he had rarely ever seen a police box for as long as he could remember. He decided to change the subject back to Sherlock.
"He hasn't eaten for days. Doesn't. Probably why he passed out so easily. And the shock, I suppose. Plus... I've seen this sort of thing happen to him before."
"Really?"
"He hates not understanding things. One time in Baskerville..."
"Oh!" The Doctor exclaimed. "With the hound?"
"Er... yes. How did you know?"
"I've read - heard - about that story a lot," The Doctor smiled. "One of my favorites. Amazing, really, what it ended up being."
John swallowed uncomfortably.
"Okay.."
"I'm sorry. It's great to see you. You probably don't know me yet... but I do know you. Oh, yes, Doctor Watson, I know you very well."
"Yes, it seems."
"It's unusual. But a pleasure I have been looking forward to in a while."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
John was still a bit nervous about the whole thing. He did not know who this man was and whether he was dangerous or not. He instinctively reached for his gun but found it not there, sighing when he remembered it sitting on the counter in the kitchen. He wanted to get out of there and bring Sherlock home. But since Sherlock was unconscious, and John was very sure he wouldn't be able to carry him all the way back, he couldn't.
He sighed and stood up, although he did not feel like leaving Sherlock's side just yet. What he really wanted to know more about was the man and his box.
"Sorry... what did you say your name was again?"
"I'm the Doctor."
John hesitated for a moment.
"Doctor who?"
Please review! If you have any suggestions or ideas, just ask. I am always open to ideas. Thank you!