Superwholock crossover
Warning: Slow but regular updates.
Thanks to Winnywriter and Zylstra for betaing. This story would not be nearly as awesome without them.
I do not own Sherlock, Doctor Who, nor Supernatural.
This story is set Post-Reichenbach, with the Ninth Doctor, and at the beginning of season seven of Supernatural. Enjoy.
It had been seven weeks, two days, and about ten minutes since Sherlock had fallen to his death. Seven weeks, three days, and one hour since John's world had been flipped upside-down and inside-out by Moriarty, Richard Brook, Kitty Reilly, and those who had chosen to listen to a world-class criminal instead of someone they knew and worked with. In other words, idiots.
The man sitting next to him looked as melancholy as John felt. He was a short, portly man who kept taking a sip of some alcoholic beverage and then glancing down to look at a picture of a very pretty woman. He reminded John of Stamford. John couldn't help but stare, remembering all the good times he and Stamford had shared at this very same bar, but soon the man noticed John watching and barked for John to 'back off' as he drunkenly got up from his seat and staggered out into the dark London streets.
John thought back to the day when Stamford had introduced him to Sherlock. If he hadn't of taken that walk in the park that one sunny morning, and if Stamford hadn't recognized him, would things be better? Would he be happier? Would it have been better to go through those months as a lonely, injured war veteran, or to have met that brilliant, intriguing, annoying man named Sherlock Holmes?
It surely would have been less painful to not have known him now, after Sherlock's suicide.
But no, he had decided. It was worth it, all of it. The pain, the suffering...He would endure a hundred more years of it to be able to see Sherlock popping up his collar, working on a case, or even putting random body parts everywhere in the flat.
John took another swig of beer and felt his mind go fuzzy, taking a small amount of the sense and pain away. He knew that Lestrade was going to be disappointed with him tomorrow, especially after he had explicitly warned him to stay far away from alcohol. But he didn't care about letting himself go anymore. He didn't care about anything anymore.
Except revenge.
Meanwhile, in Denver, Colorado
"Look at this, Dean," Sam said, throwing a newspaper down in front of his brother and pointing to a certain article. Dean finished his bite of an extra-large cheeseburger and chewed slowly, purposely trying to irritate Sam, before picking up the paper. Even though Dean didn't trust Sam whenever he said, "I'm fine," Dean still tried his best to bring a little light into the situation, which obviously meant annoying Sam. It was all in good fun anyway, Sam understood. In fact he preferred it this way, both of them ignoring his 'condition'.
Dean looked down at the article, and the first thing he noticed was the location. "That's in England, Sammy," he said. "What are we going to do? Drive across the ocean?" But that wouldn't work. The only way they could get overseas was by flying... Dean shivered inwardly.
"Never mind that, look at this Richard Brook guy," Sam said, pointing to a small headshot of a man with very sharp features, a stubbly chin, and a stupid grin on his face.
"What about him?" Dean asked, taking another bite of his cheeseburger.
Sam handed Dean another newspaper and pointed to a group photo taken at a Bee Gee's tribute band festival in Michigan.
"So, it's the same guy," Dean stated, wondering what was so important as he saw the same man in the background, smile replaced with a scowl. "He turned from Chuckles the Clown to Mr. Frowny. So what?"
"This was taken a day ago in Midland, Michigan," Sam said, pointing to the group photo. "He's supposed to have died seven weeks ago in London, England."
"So what do you think? Demon? Shapeshifter?" Dean listed the different possibilities on his fingers.
"Whatever it is, it likes to travel," Sam said, stuffing the newspapers into his bag.
"I'm just glad we don't have to fly to England," Dean grunted, mostly to himself, as he got up from the diner table. Sam couldn't help showing a smile, even though it was more of a half-hearted smirk, as he followed Dean to the Impala.
About Seven Weeks Earlier, in London, England
"Where do you want to go now?" the Doctor asked Rose as they stepped into the TARDIS.
"I don't care," she said, trying her best not to sound as horrible as she felt.
"Alright then," the Doctor said, flipping a switch and turning a few levers. "Something wrong?" he asked as he saw Rose plop down on the floor, face in her hands.
"No, not really," she said, voice muffled. She was silent, but after a few seconds she looked up and cried, "No, wait, I'm not. I just saw my Dad...die!" She sighed deeply as a tear threatened to fall.
The Doctor took the time to look up at her for a second, concerned, but quickly turned back to his work.
"I'm sorry," the Doctor said genuinely.
"For what? You didn't kill him," Rose said, swiping at a tear that had dared to spill over onto her cheek.
"But I brought you there. I let you...watch him. New rule: no visiting anyone who is about to die-" The Doctor stopped, eyes suddenly wide, an idea forming inside his head. "Except for Sherlock Holmes!"
"Who?" Rose asked, her voice now nasally, but she didn't care.
"Only the world's greatest detective!" the Doctor shouted gleefully, turning one of the many levers that were part of the TARDIS. "Could you spin that?" he asked, gesturing to something on the console.
"Um, okay," Rose said, getting up, still not really sure who this 'Shurloch Homes' was. "Where is he about to die?"
"On the roof of St. Bart's hospital, in London, England. Except, the thing is, he isn't." He punched in a few buttons.
"He isn't what?"
"He isn't going to die," the Doctor stated matter-of-factly.
"But you just said-"
"Never mind what I said! Now let's get this show on the road," he said with a giant smile.
The TARDIS landed, and Rose peered out of it into the streets.
"What's the year?"
"2012," the Doctor said, exiting the TARDIS looking proud of himself for thinking of coming here.
"It doesn't look that much... different," Rose said, a small frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know, I guess I had imagined that things would be different, like... flying cars..." she said, looking up at the sky as if to prove her point.
"In seven years? You dream big," the Doctor said, looking up at the sky too.
Rose shot him an indignant look before he could add, 'That's what I like about you'.
"Do you think Mickey is still living here?" Rose asked, wanting to change the subject. She always felt uncomfortable when the Doctor made fun of her, even in the slightest way.
"Yep, definitely," the Doctor said.
"Could we visit him?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"There isn't time," the Doctor said, taking Rose's arm in his own and guiding her to the hospital.
"That's a cruddy excuse, you have all the time in the world."
"The universe, actually, but who cares about that anyway?"
Rose sniffed, annoyed, and abandoned her attempt to argue with him. He was simply impossible.
"So what's up with this 'Shurloch Homes?' Who is he?"
"I already told you," the Doctor said, raising up an eyebrow, just like he always did when he was in a playful mood.
"So how does he 'not die?'"
"Shh!" The Doctor hissed, gesturing for her to keep her voice low as a small man in an oatmeal jumper ran past them.
"Don't want to ruin the surprise," the Doctor said. "Especially with him around." He jerked his thumb over to the man who had just passed, who currently was hailing a cab.
"Why? Who's he?"
"John Watson. Sherlock Holmes' best friend. Well, when I say friend..."
"What could he be besides a friend?"
"You see, Sherlock Holmes doesn't have friends. Very difficult man to deal with-"
"-So like you," Rose said with a smile, receiving an incredulous look from the Doctor.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Oh, nothing. Please continue."
The Doctor straightened up and made it a point to try to look anywhere but at Rose, his pride hurt.
"Anyway, John Watson is the closest thing Sherlock has to a friend: a colleague."
"A colleague? That man needs to get out more."
"He already does. It's just that he usually picks up arch enemies instead."
For some reason, that didn't really surprise her. She had met enough strange things to accept that some people pick up more arch enemies than friends.
They were now standing by St. Bart's hospital. A coat flapped in the wind up above on the roof, and Rose wondered if this was the detective.
"He's already up there?" she asked.
"Yes. Having a bit of tiff with someone."
"Who?"
"An arch enemy, of course."
Rose and the Doctor stood watching for some movement for about five minutes before someone was swung over the edge, only being saved from a perilous fall by two strong arms.
"Oh my-"
"Don't worry, he's the bad guy. Besides, he doesn't die like that. He shoots himself in the mouth."
"What?" Rose stared wide-eyed at the Doctor, trying to see if he was bluffing. He wasn't.
"You heard me, I'm not saying it again."
Five more minutes later, a gunshot came from the roof, making Rose jump and cover her mouth with her hand. As always, the Doctor had been right.
About a minute after that, a man stepped out onto the edge of the roof, coat billowing in the wind, a shiny object that looked like a mobile phone held up to his ear. Rose couldn't see much about the man other than that, except that he had handsome curly black hair and he seemed to be crying.
A car door slammed behind them and Rose turned to see John Watson running up to the hospital doors, mobile held up to his ear also, but something stopped him and made him turn around. Rose realized that it was probably Sherlock. He was talking to his colle- No, John Watson was his friend; she was sure of it, even if the Doctor had said otherwise. What else would you call the man you said your last words to?
Rose was so busy looking over at John that she didn't notice Sherlock had already jumped. The only thing that made her turn was John's desperate scream: "Sherlock!"
As she turned around, Sherlock landed on the ground like a rag doll only a few metres away from her, causing her heart to jump up into her throat, her stomach wringing itself into tight knots.
Please review, it would mean the world. Next chapter will be up January 26. Thank you for reading!