Sherlock Holmes was bored. Bored out of his mind. He was going insane with boredom. Some of you may be familar with what Mr. Holmes did when he was bored.

BANG. Sherlock fired another shot at the wall, grinning with satisfaction as it hit the mark. BANGBANGBANG. Three more, all hitting. No doubt someone would call the police soon. Well, good. Let them. Lestrade would kick up a fuss, some drivel about safety regulations, but at least it would give Sherlock something to do.

Ever since John had left, gotten married and stopped going on cases with him, Sherlock hadn't known what to do with himself. He used to be able toinvestigate alone, but not anymore. He'd gotten so used to having someone around, that being alone had felt- alien. Sherlock missed his best friend.

They hadn't parted on good terms. Sherlock had gotten very defensive when John had gotten married to that Sarah girl; he even turned down the offer of being the best man. Because Sherlock had known even then that this would take John away from him.

But that was fine. Sherlock was fine on his own. Mrs. Hudson made sure he ate at least every few days, he had nicotine patches, Mycroft checked on him from time to time. If only he could stop being so bored! Sherlock flung his now empty gun down on the ground and stopped onto the couch in a temper, figuring he should use this ample free time to sleep. There was nothing better to do, anyway.

But now there was racket going on downstairs outside 221B. It sounded almost like a car clenching its brakes. Sherlock jumped off the couch, grumbling to himself. He was going to give this person a piece of his mind. Who did they think they were, doing that in two in the morning?

"Some people don't know when to shut up and go to sleep." he muttered as he walked down the stairs of the flat. He gave a fine smile to himself. John used to beg him to just sleep. But then his face hardened. Those days were gone.

He slung a jacket over his shoulders and walked out of the apartment, looking around. At first, nothing appeared different to Sherlock's highly perceptive eye. But thWarsaw a bright blue box materializing in front of his very eyes. He stumbled backward, raising a had to his face to protect from the light, eyes shut tight. When he opened them again, he saw a tall man standing there between him and what appeared to be an old-fashioned blue police box.

"Hello." the man said genially, looking at Sherlock with a kind smile.

"I seem to have crash landed here. Could you maybe tell me what year we're in right now?"

"2013." Sherlock replied, taking everything about the man in.

He wore suspenders, a red bow tie, a bright fezz on the top of his head, and a jacket that seemed designed for grandfathers. The clothes looked worn, but well-cared for, as if the wearer wasn't sure when he'd get another pair. He had a slight bulge in his left breast pocket, possibly a weapon of some sort, most likely a screw driver. He had floppy dark hair that seemed like almost too young of a hairstyle for him. But something that got Sherlock was the eyes. They looked like he'd seen a thousand things, many of them bad. Sherlock couldn't read them.

"What's your name then?" his companion asked, leaning back against the blue police box.

"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective."

"Ah, nice to meet you, Slot lock Holmes Consulting Detective." he said with a merry smile.

"I'm the Doctor."

I can't figure out if this is insane or if I love it..any Sherlockains? Whovians? You want to reveiw? :) it's the 11 Doctor obviously, because I just love him WAY too much.