This is a WHOLOCK story with a Sherlock/OC pairing. This is my second story on here! I have a lot of this already written out - I just wanted to start posting now to get some feedback. Please tell me what you think! I DID read a story with a similar plot on here (I can't remember the name - if it was you, let me know so I can credit you with the idea!) I decided to take my own spin on it, and add The Doctor.

CHAPTER 1: Hey, I Know You!

It was the first weekend in her new house. Tabitha had spent the week unpacking, along with the 50 hours of work she put in at her bookstore. She was grateful that her best friend and partner would take it over for the weekend. She didn't have much to start with, so the one bedroom, one bathroom house looked rather empty. She had a simple black couch, an end table, a lamp, and a TV on a small table in her living room. She slouched on the couch with a flute of red wine and her favorite TV show in her DVD player.

Tabitha decided that tonight was a Sherlock night, and had celebrated it by turning the lights down low to a cozy setting and putting on her most comfy pajamas – yellow flannel pants and a black tank top over a sports bra. Her late husband's silver wedding band, along with hers, was kept around her neck on a cheap silver chain. She sighed as she pressed play on the remote, and took a happy sip of her favorite wine. Thunder rolled outside her window, and a flash of lighting made her jump a bit. She heard the light patter of rain starting to fall on her ceiling. She smiled as the show started. The first episode was always one of her favorites!

"I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Iraq or Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you, but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him—possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think? The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon."

Tabitha decided it was the time to get something to chew on, so she paused the show right after that great little monologue from Sherlock Holmes. Her body jumped when a huge clap of thunder was heard right over her house, and lighting flashed in the darkened kitchen. She went straight to a cabinet and picked out some M&Ms, and took the package back to her seat on the couch. The lights, and the other electronics, suddenly went off. She made an irritated noise, and looked out the window when lighting flashed very close. She yelped when a thunder clap sounded, again.

"Candles," she murmured, heading into the kitchen by her hands touching the walls. She found the lighter next to her laptop on the counter, and felt around for the bag of candles she placed on the counter when she came home from work. "Ah ha!" she cried, finally finding what she wanted. She pulled out a citrus scented candle and lit it with the lighter. She pulled out a plate to put it on, and headed toward her bedroom. A knock sounded on her door.

"Good lord, it's 9pm and a major storm is raging outside!" Tabitha decided to ignore it, and walked down the short hallway. She was about to step into her bedroom when the knock sounded again, more insistent. "Damnit," she muttered, turning around and moving quickly to the open the door.

When she did, no one was there. Tabitha swallowed, and jumped with another round of lightning and thunder exploded. She slowly stepped onto the small porch, the rain heavy and splashing on the steps in front of her. She heard a rustle to the right, and turned. Pain bloomed at the left side of her head, and the last thing she saw was her candle going out.

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He had no idea what was going on! He grabbed ahold of the one of the handles on the console, and held tight as the room spun around and around. He let out a loud, long yell as he felt his box being pulled down by gravity to Earth. Sparks flew out of the console, and he ducked as a piece that had blown off flew straight at his head. He sagged in relief as it missed him by a few inches – he'd have to get that fixed as soon as he figured out why the TARDIS was acting this way. He grunted as he pulled himself, the room still spinning and sparks flying. He moved to get comfy in a little corner that would keep him alive when he crashed landed. Unfortunately, he still was knocked unconscious when his head banged against the metal box that was surrounding him.

The Doctor groaned a bit as his eyes opened slowly. He moaned in annoyance as he took in the damage of the TARDIS. There was debris everywhere, and sparks were shooting out every few moments from across the room. The door was wide open, and he could see a lawn of grass and the outline of a simple white house as he stood up. There was lightenging and thunder, and rain was pouring down. He quickly pushed a few buttons on the console, ducking a few times to miss being hit with sparks, and then headed toward the door. As soon as he was out and the door closed, the TARDIS would start to repair itself. He glanced back at the metallic interior, a bit saddened that it would change again, than shut the door with a sigh.

He adjusted his bowtie, and ran a hand through his hair. Clara would have made fun of him for all of this, especially with his hair being so out of place. He missed her, his Clara. After the crazy time at Trenzalore, she had said that she was going back to her life for a while. She wanted to write a book, she said. They would meet again in six weeks. She had made him promise to not go forward in time. There he was, trying to find something to entertain himself with, and the TARDIS had suddenly pulled him toward a certain spot on Earth. He didn't want to go there, so he had tried to change course.

His TARDIS was a very stubborn box! She had refused, and shut everything off, causing the box to fall into the Earth's gravity towards where she wanted to go. Now that they were here, the Doctor looked around, expecting a Cyberman to pop out, or one of the Silence to appear. Nothing! Just a lot of loud rumbling thunder and rain. Lots of rain.

"Why are we here?" He mumbled to himself. He looked back at the closed door of the TARDIS, and was a bit relieved that he could hear her humming, starting to repair herself. He turned back to the house, dusted off his clothing that was actually in rather good shape considering what had just happened. He slowly approached the house, seeing the lights all off. He was getting wet, but he'd just knock on the door to make sure

He saw movement, and took a chance to knock on the door. No one answered. He knocked on the door again, shivering in the cold. Suddenly, a burst of energy pushed him into the bushes. The door swung open and a woman looked out, confused. He moved to let her know that he was here, but then another burst of energy zapped around them and suddenly she disappeared. The Doctor's eyes widened, and he jumped out.

"Energy! What was that energy?"

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"Miss, are you alright? She's waking up!" a woman with a British accent said. Tabitha groaned, and raised a hand to her head. It was pounding, and she felt like she was going to be sick. Her vision was blurring, but she saw a few faces close to hers. She blinked a few times, and noticed that they were paramedics. She grunted and sat up. The paramedics softly pushed her back, saying they needed to check her first. While they searched her body for any issues, she looked around. She was at the end of an alley way in the pajamas she had on last night. The sun was up, but the clouds were heavy. At least it wasn't raining, she thought bitterly.

"Looks like you were walloped on the side of the head, love," the older gentleman murmured, using his gloved hands to turn her head gently to get a good look at the side. She felt blood running down her cheek. They cleaned it up, and Tabitha winced every minute they touched it. She had a bruise on her face, she just knew it.

"I answered my door, and no one was there. I felt pain, and then I woke up here," she softly said, not wanting to make her head pound any worse. The paramedics frowned.

"We may need to get the police for this one, sounds like she was assaulted and taken from her flat," the one that had looked at her head a few moments ago. "What's your name?"

"Tabitha. Tabitha Hunter." Tabitha licked her dried lips, and looked around at the people at the entrance of the alleyway. She heard them jumbling with an English accent, and was very confused. There wasn't anyone in her town that was British, she was sure of it! This just means they were right – she was kidnapped and left for dead here. But why? She tried to put herself up, but she didn't have the strength in her arms.

"Hm, an American," he answered with a reassuring smile. "We are going to take you to hospital, Tabitha. You are dehydrated, most likely have a concussion, and we're going to check out other things, just to make sure, alright?"

"Sounds great to me," she answered, her throat dry. She could use some water. They loaded her up into the ambulance, and Tabitha realized it wasn't the usual American ambulance. Where the hell was she? She gaped out the back window when she realized they were going down the wrong side of the street. They'd dragged her off to what seemed like England!

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After a while of being poked and prodded, they begun to ask her questions about where she was from. She answered the best she could – Kearney, Nebraska in America, a book store owner who had a degree in Library Science, no, she wasn't visiting here, full name of Tabitha Renee Hunter, late husband was T.J. Hunter who died two years ago serving in Iraq, twenty-seven years old. Tabitha wondered when the police would get here. The nurses that were chatting and taking her vitals seemed happy enough with her answers. It was unlikely she had amnesia.

She sighed and laid back on the rather soft hospital bed. It was white everywhere. The TV on the wall in the corner was silent. The sun was trying to creep from behind the clouds, and Tabitha was grateful the window curtains were open. She'd never been out of the country, and wanted to see the view from 6 stories up.

"Miss Hunter, hello," she heard, and turned her eyes to the door. Her mouth gaped open, and her eyes widened. She must have stared for a moment, because the man looked at her concerned. "Are you alright?"

"You're… um, you're…" Tabitha didn't know what to say. Martin Freeman? It couldn't be – he was in a doctor's outfit. No way.

"Ah. Recognize me? My exploits with Sherlock seems to be on everyone's mind these day," he murmured. He flipped through her chart as she tried to find her voice. Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes? "Yes, I am in fact Sherlock Holmes colleague, Dr. John Waston. When I'm not here, of course," he answered, sending her a smile than going back to the clipboard in his hand.

"What?" she asked. "I didn't say…"

"Yes, out loud, you did," he answered with a chuckle. Tabitha sighed, and looked sheepish.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"Right," he answered, smiling. "Let's take a look at your bruises…"

Tabitha let Dr. Watson look her over, and he hummed a bit before taking his gentle hands away from his face. He wrote a few notes as he begun to speak.

"The police will be here in a moment," he commented, than looked at her. His face changed from professional to personal concern. "Are you alright? I heard your story. Assaulted in your home. No idea who it was?" He held the clipboard to his side.

"None. I didn't see anything. It was dark, stormy, and there was a knock, but my porch light didn't pick up even an odd shadow," Tabitha answered with a sigh. "How did I end up here? I'm in another country, right?"

"This is London. What day was it when you were… when it happened?"

"June 1st," she answered. He hummed and looked at her oddly. "What?" she asked.

"It's September 4th," he said softly. His eyes took on that concerned look again. He took out a tiny penlight and started to shine it in her eyes. She'd had it done already today, and she didn't like it. She sighed, a bit irritated, but let him do it. "What year is it?"

"Two thousand and thirteen," she answered matter-of-factly. He immediately stepped back from her and looked down. His eyes were even more concerned now. Tabitha groaned. "What year is it here?"

"Twenty Fourteen," he answered, again softly.

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