*This is my first WhoLock fanfiction so if the characters are a bit OC I'm incredibly sorry. (Note this will become SuperWhoLock) Read Author's Note at the end!*

Sherlock strode down the street briskly. Wind nipped at his nose and he tightened his scarf unconsciously. People walked by him in pairs, huddled closely together as they braved the chilly November air. Sherlock picked up little snippets of people's' lives as he glided by.

*The girl in the green coat was cheating on her husband with her boss's wife.

*The man with the tuft of red hair was about to propose to his girlfriend today.

*The girl sitting on the park bench was waiting for her boyfriend to meet her, but was nervous because she was going to break up with him.

It was all so obvious. Sherlock was bored. There was no other way around it. No cases, no murders, no kidnapping, nothing. He had been shooting the wall with John's gun earlier, aiming at the sadistic smiley face he sprayed on it. But then John had came in and yelled at him. So he was out on the streets, waiting for the glorious call that would save him from his impending boredom.

It didn't necessarily have to be a call, if anything he'd prefer Lestrade to text him, but he was awfully formal and usually called which was undoubtedly annoying.

Sherlock supposed he could go into his mind palace and explore, he was always finding new things in his mind that he previously deleted. He just might have to make do with the trivial knowledge that he deleted. He shuddered at the thought.

He turned the corner fast and burrowed his hands in his pockets. His brow furrowed as he considered his options. He could go back to John and maybe he would entertain him. John always fascinated him. But then again he'd probably get yelled at for the bullet holes in his wall. No doubt that will be appalled. No, it was decided he was not going back to 221B; not yet at least. He sighed. "Kicked out of my own apartment," he thought with a wry grin.

He turned another corner and stopped short. Now here was a puzzle! "Finally!" he said aloud as he strode up to a blue box. He knew every street in all of London, his London. All of it was memorized in his mind palace. But this odd blue box, a 1950's Police Box to be exact, was not on this street. Not usually. Now here was a riddle. He studied the box intently looking for clues to its sudden appearance.

*The wall was not darken around it so the box had arrived recently; if it was there for a while the wall behind (which was showing slightly) would be lighter than the rest of the wall. *Looking at the state of the box it has seen a lot. Grime covered the bottom of the box, as if it had landed it a swamp of sorts.

* But how could it of landed somewhere? He could assume that it had been moved with a crane from its previous home, but no, that wasn't right. A wooden box that important? No this box was more than that.

*It's handles were clean, showing it has been polished from it's many uses.

*It had a light on inside, judging by the faint glow emanating from the windows of the box, the cracks in between the door and the side of the box.

But before he could discover further, the doors of the box opened; something he was not expecting.

Now it was a rare to catch Sherlock Holmes off guard. He was after all, the master of surprise. He often knew what was going to happen before it actually did. However, he didn't know that the doors of the telephone box would open. It wasn't probable.

He took a step back as two people came out of the box laughing. He glanced at them.

*Two people, a man and a woman .

*Late twenties.

*May of been kissing-small quarters for just friends. Something more?

*Not with the way he looks at her; but they way she looks at him? Definitely unrequited love.

*Strange apparel- out of town visitors?- No, not with the sense of ease they had when the exited the box; they've been here many times before.

*She's a teacher- he can tell by the way she holds herself and talks to him.

*He acted young-immature for his age but if he looked just a bit closer Sherlock saw the worry lines etched faintly in his face.

The man, suddenly aware of Sherlock, shifted his gaze over to the detective. Sherlock tilted his head as he took in the man. His eyes! So old for someone so young. But was he really as young as Sherlock presumed? He originally thought the man was around 26, but now he'd say probably 40, just judging by his eyes alone. They had seen too much for someone so young.

The man straightened his bow tie and said with a large smile, unaware of Sherlock's analyzing, "Hello! I'm the Doctor and this is Clara. What's the date?" Sherlock shifted his gaze between the two. Clara smirked at Sherlock and said, bumping the Doctor lightly with her elbow, "Don't mind Chin Boy over here-"

"Hey!"

"He's had a little too much to drink last night. My birthday party-"

"What subject?" Sherlock asked abruptly, cutting Clara off. She trailed off and asked confused, "What?"

"What subject do you teach? I've narrowed it down to English or Art but I'm not entirely sure which one."

She stared at him baffled. "Um, English."

Sherlock nodded satisfied with the answer-he thought so- while Clara turned to the Doctor.

"How does he-"

"Posture," Sherlock cut in, clasping his hands together. "Your stance suggest you are a caregiver, but a mother? Much to young. Due to they way you handle your partner's immaturity-"

"Hey!"

"One would assume you've dealt with this nature on a regular basis. So naturally a teacher would the obvious answer. Now for the subjects- your clothing suggest a free-spirit- so English and Art come to mind."

The pair looked at Sherlock in utter shock. Sherlock continued to talk, rather pleased with his audience, for they were quite interesting.

"Now for you 'Doctor.' Giving out a title instead of a name- one would say you have something to hide. Possibly your age?" He turned to Clara. "He's much older than he presumes, I'd be careful with him."

He smirked and 'the Doctor' said confused, "Who are you?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you? Doctor who?"

Clara smiled and said, "You're clever, I like him!" She turned to the Doctor for the last part.

"Not many say that," Sherlock said.

"What do they say?" Said the Doctor curious.

"Piss off."

They laughed and Sherlock allowed a small smile to grace his lips. He put his hands in his pockets.

"You're like Sherlock Holmes or something," Clara told him. He smiled at them (it seemed as he knew something they didn't) and said, "Really-that's quite interesting. What have you heard about Mr. Holmes?"

"Brilliant man!" The Doctor raved, "He's extremely clever and absolutely astounding!"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and thought ( with much amusement) of what John's face would look like when he told him of these people's praise. John. He would still be mad with him though. His phone dinged as he glanced down. Lestrade texted him. Finally a case!

He cut off the Doctor, who was still unknowingly praising him and said, "Thank you for the kind words I suppose, but I've got to go. Cases to solve, murderers to catch."

"What?" Clara said baffled with the sudden change in conversation. "Wait- what's your name?" The Doctor called out to him. He said with a quick raise of his brows, "Sherlock Holmes." And with a flip of his long jacket he was off, running back to John and Lestrade.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hey everyone (: I know, I know, I should be writing my two other fan fictions but this one just came to me! This is going to be a bunch of mini (related) one-shots on Sherlock, Doctor Who, and Supernatural! Review and Favorite(:

~TheChemicalAuthor