Hey Guys!
Wholock Crossovers! There are so many, aren't there? The two shows seem to be made for each other (which may actually be true, considering Moffat). Anyway, I am writing one! YAY! Keep in mind I have never written Doctor Who, Sherlock or Wholock FanFiction before, so go easy on me. I'll just be clarifying a few things, like always.
1. This will have multiple chapters (that much is obvious).
2. Like always, no uploading schedule. WOOHOO!
3. It is only Wholock. Not Superwholock. Just Wholock.
4. This will be set in the current Clara and 12 era, and pre-Reichenbach. Sorry if mentioning that word made you burst into tears.
5. This will contain spoilers, mostly for Doctor Who, since the major spoilers for Sherlock come after the R-, oops, the second season. Also some foreshadowing for -ahem- the second season.
6. Constructive criticism is appreciated, but pure hate will be ignored.
7. I'm not going to ship anyone in this FanFiction to keep it neutral and make sure I don't divert anyone from enjoying it. It will be as ship-neutral as the shows.
Enjoy!
Prologue
Doctor's P.O.V
The Doctor was alone. At least, for the time being. Clara was currently at a family get-together, and therefore he sat by himself listening to the sounds of the TARDIS. Of course, he could just travel forward in time to when it was over, but something had been bothering him for a long time. Something he wasn't prone to mention to his companion until he had more details about the subject. The time lord had noticed that all of the recent attempted invasions of Earth or attacks have been very rare, and even when they did happen, they seemed half-hearted. It was annoying him that he wasn't even close to the answer. Nothing had changed since the recent attacks and the old ones, at least, nothing significant. He supposed it was a good thing that the Earth was no longer under any immediate threat, so that he could shift his focus to other planets, but it annoyed him horribly that the mystery was unsolved.
Even worse, they seemed to become less and less common as the time went on. There had been no attack on Earth for months. It was possible that he was scaring them away, but he felt that it was bigger. Another overbearing race or entity could be stopping others from attempted invasion, to try taking Earth themselves. And anything that could stop so many races was very overbearing indeed. He pushed aside the matter for later. It would have to wait. Well, it didn't necessarily have to, as he had a time machine, but he was bored, and some action could possibly help him think.
He ran up to the console and input the time and place Clara had told him to pick her up. The TARDIS materialized, and he ran up to the door. Clara was waiting outside, in an alleyway. They had both agreed appearing in front of her house might frighten an observer, and they would have to deal with an amount of ruckus that could easily be avoided. She was wearing a short-sleeved light green dress that went down to her thighs, a black unbuttoned cardigan, black high heels and a silver necklace with a small emerald inside. Overall, she looked quite stunning.
"So, how was it?" the Doctor asked.
"Same old boring human chit-chat. What where you doing before this?" she replied.
"Saying goodbye to you."
She grinned, "I wish we could've switched places."
"Did you really want a stranger turning up at a family reunion claiming they were filling in for Clara?"
"Valid argument."
He held out his hand, and she took it, entering the TARDIS. She sat down immediately, exhausted.
"So, I assume you've already noticed the alien attacks on Earth getting progressively rarer," she said causally.
He paused, then replied cautiously, "Of course."
"Any theories?"
"Many."
"Care sharing them?"
"Nope."
She huffed, "Why not?"
"You probably already know them," he replied quickly, then jumped up to the TARDIS console and starting flying it, "Anyway, care for an adventure? I know a great alien hotspot. You should probably change into some more suitable clothes, too."
"I've a feeling you're avoiding that question," she answered incredulously, "but I'll get changed just so I'm in more comfortable clothes while interrogating you."
The brunette walked briskly out of the room. The Doctor sighed. He hated lying to Clara, but he needed more time to brood, and besides, his theory would probably scare her.
His thoughts were interrupted by Clara screaming, "Doctor!"
He ran to the room he had seen Clara enter and ripped open the door, but there was no sign of Clara. Only a note slowly floating down to the floor.
Sherlock's P.O.V
Sherlock Holmes was bored. That much was obvious. They hadn't had a good case in days, and it was having it's affect on him.
Since Mrs Hudson had taken his gun away to stop him shooting at the wall, he was lying upside-down from his armchair, watching John writing on his blog.
"Are you still writing about that last case? It was three days ago," Sherlock asked rudely.
"Yes, in fact, I am. Anyway, it was longer than usual," John replied, irritated by his flatmate's incompetence.
Sherlock sighed, "Yes, but I'm bored. Look for a good case."
"You've been saying you're bored for the past three days. I'll look for a case when I've finished writing about this one."
"What are you calling it, anyway?"
"The Christmas Murders."
"But it's completely out of season!"
"That's what the murders were about!"
He got out of the armchair, then put on his coat and opened the door.
"Where are you going?" John asked, curious.
"If there's no good cases, might as well get the groceries."
"You're sulking."
Sherlock didn't reply and closed the door behind him. He walked down the stairs and out the door. It was a particularly warm evening, as it was currently Summer. As he had said earlier, completely out of season for Christmas-themed murders. At least it had been a good case. But, good cases had recently been on the decline, and Sherlock had made a great ruckus about it. He was getting bored more frequently, and that was never a good thing.
He furrowed his brow. Something was wrong. He was not sure what, but something was drawing him back to 221B. Suddenly, an inescapable feeling of dread filled him, and he rushed back inside the apartment. And he saw something. Something even the world's only consulting detective couldn't solve on his own.
John was gone, and the only trace of his disappearance was a note drifting down to the ground.
So, how was it?
Pretty bad, probably :/
I have a feeling that the pacing is a bit fast...
It took me a long time to write this, and I had a less potent equivalent of writer's block while doing it, so hopefully I'll get the next one out soon.
