A/N: This is a 'Wholock'; if the title hasn't made it obvious. ;) Enjoy and review. This is with the 11th doctor (Matt Smith). For Sherlock, it's before Sherlock fakes his death.. This will be a one-shot, by the way.
An Angel, a Blue Box, and one John Watson
"So, remind me again why we're wandering a graveyard at four o'clock in the morning?" John's weary eyes blinked rapidly in the darkness, attempting to see what he could with what little light their flashlights provided. He stumbled on the uneven ground, and sent a withering glower at a certain curly haired detective. The detective mentioned, didn't bother looking at the doctor-instead favoring his current inspection of the headstones at his feet. "Seriously, Sherlock, what are we doing here?" John raised his eyebrows, his lips pressed thin as Sherlock paused to read another headstone. A twig snapped nearby, and John looked round.
There was nothing there. Other than the tombstones of the dead, and a few sparsely placed statues, they were alone. Movement drew the army doctor's attention to a few of the lower branches of a large oak tree, maybe fifty feet from them, that were swaying slightly. Maybe it'd been an animal climbing on it. His eyes traveled down to where a stone angel stood, marking a grave. The angel's face was covered by its grey hands, and green leaves were falling down atop its stone head.
"It's here somewhere, John." Sherlock called, now several feet ahead of the doctor. The tired man turned to face his friend when he spoke, "What is?" called John. An impatient sigh escaped the detective's lips, and he crouched down before a large headstone. Tapping the stone all over with his knuckles, he listened for any subtle differences, possibly hollowed out areas. It seemed solid enough. The tall man frowned and pulled out his phone. The light from it lit up his face and he squinted briefly, searching the device until he found what he was looking for. He lifted the phone and glanced frequently between the screen and the stone.
"What are you looking for?" John asked, taking a few steps closer. A sound like stone sliding against stone made him stop and look behind them. They were still alone, but he noticed something different about the angel by the tree. Its hands were out to either side of it in an imploring gesture. It was turned a little in their direction, and when John glanced over the rest of the area, then returned his gaze to the angel, his body went cold when he realized the statue had moved. It had turned further and was staring him dead in the eye, a mona lisa of a smile tugging at its lifeless lips.
"Sherlock-" John choked on his own words.
Sherlock muttered. "Busy, John."
"The statue-"
"Yes, they're all granite like the tombstone we're looking for." He replied, growing impatient. Was John going to help him in this case, or not? At this rate, maybe he should've left his friend home. Sherlock frowned at the tombstone. Instead of a name, it simply said, "Don't Blink." with a little police box centered at the top. Was it some kind of joke? Except it looked quite old.
"But-" John said, turning to look at Sherlock, then at the figure again.
It was gone.
"-the angel..." He trailed off. "Where?..." John fully faced the way they'd come in confusion, his flashlight briefly illuminating stones and trees and grass-but no angel. Unsettled, he took a few paces backward toward his friend and flatmate, while his flashlight searched the area frantically for the angel. "Sher-!" John began, spinning around on his heel to run. The angel was there before him, its face distorted grotesquely into an inhuman snarl. John was going too fast to stop himself in time, and bumped into the angel's claw-like hand; a scream was halfway up his throat when he blinked, and promptly vanished.
Sherlock hummed, oblivious to everything but what he was working on. "I think we may have found it!" He grinned, pleased. When there was no response from John, Sherlock sighed, thinking perhaps his best friend was just put out with him. "What was it you were saying, John?" Sherlock breathed as he stood up, casting the beam of his flashlight and his blue eyes over in John's direction. There was a degree of impatient apology in his eyes. He was met only with silence, and an early morning breeze. "John?"
The light from his flashlight fell on an odd sight. It was a statue of a weeping angel, standing in the middle of the path-about where John had been. Sherlock's eyes widened and then narrowed slightly and his head tilted to one side a fraction as he faced the statue. He blinked, and the angel changed so that it was peeking through its fingers. Sherlock felt his face drain of color and he staggered back half a step, blinking again. Now the angel's hands had pulled away from its face with a small, peaceful smile stretching across its stony surface.
Sherlock remembered the tombstone's saying 'Don't Blink', and he steeled himself. Blinking seemed to be what allowed this being to move. To test that theory, Sherlock blinked again-very quickly-taking a step back.
The creature had moved a full foot toward him in that tiny stretch of time; at the mere blink of an eye. 'Don't Blink', Sherlock thought to himself. What now? What could he do? And where on earth had John got to? "What are you?" Sherlock questioned dangerously. Did it have something to do with his friend's sudden disappearance? If so, what could it have done with him?
A wheezing, groaning sound, like someone swiping a metal file against piano strings, echoed in the space around Sherlock. A pale blue light flashed from above, and a tall, blue police box came swooping down in front of Sherlock. It landed in front of him-not two inches from the end of his nose. The doors swung inward, and a man's voice called loudly, "If you want to save John Watson, get in!"
It took Sherlock a full second to register the oddity before him-the tall blue box with a much larger space within it. The hand of the angel was suddenly there gripping the corner of the box, and Sherlock threw himself inside. Someone snapped their fingers and the doors behind the detective slammed shut. There standing at a large sort of console, was a young man in a suit and suspenders, sporting a rather lopsided bowtie. Sherlock looked back to the doors.
The stranger saw this and hurriedly spoke. "No, he's not out there. The angel got him, and I am sorry about that. But we're going to find him right..." He trailed off as he spun a rattling wheel while he peered at an adjustable screen on the console. The machine quieted. "... Now!" He slammed his hand down on a large button, then gripped two levers, and what apparently was an engine, thundered back to life. The whole room shook, and Sherlock stumbled up the steps to the console, where he gripped a bar along the outside of it.
"Where are we?" Sherlock cried.
The stranger grinned at the detective, turning round on his heel and flipping two more switches. The room ceased to shake, and the once flickering lights settled to a warm glow as he approached Sherlock. "Its called the TARDIS. Which means: Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. It can travel anywhere in time and space, and /you/," He stopped before Sherlock and pointed at him. "Mr. Holmes, are really going to enjoy this." He swept past the detective, snatching up a brown tweed suit coat resting on a seat that looked to once have belonged to a car. "Right, then. Off we pop, no time to lose!" He descended the steps leading towards the doors, and Sherlock snapped. "Stop!" The man slowed, then turned to face the detective. "Problem?"
Sherlock sneered. "Yes. You appear to know me, yet I have never met you. My friend is missing, and now you show up. I don't know anything about you-I don't even know your name."
The man frowned. "Didn't I say? That's odd. I'm usually good with the introductions." He slipped on his coat, and began adjusting his collar. "I'm the Doctor. I'm a Timelord from a planet called Gallifrey, and I, Mr. Holmes; am your only hope for saving your friend John Watson." He raised his eyebrows. "Did I leave out anything?"
Sherlock retorted. "You failed to mention /how/ we would be saving my friend-or even where he is. And what was that angel statue?" Sherlock frowned as the man calling himself the Doctor hummed and looked around. He mumbled something like, "Now where did I put that?" and rooted around amongst various random objects hanging on a tree like support structure next to him. He started looking through things at its base while he replied. "It's called a weeping angel, it's one of many, and not our problem right now." Sherlock was silent only a moment, then he went on. "So where exactly is he, Doctor?"
The doctor straightened away from the clutter, twirling a tan pith helmet meant for safari expeditions between his hands. "Not far from here." He bent down again, this time emerging with a long coil of rope. Putting his arm through it, he slung it up high onto his shoulder. Lifting up the helmet, he placed it on his head and grinned like a giddy child. "Pith helmets are cool."
Sherlock hummed negatively at the claim but the doctor wasn't listening. "Right! On to save Watson!" The doctor marched to the doors, opened one, and stepped out into a mess of massive leaves and grass. A cacophony of animal calls resounded past him to the detective. Before Sherlock could take more than a couple steps down the stairs, the doctor vanished out of sight.
"Bugger." Sherlock scowled and started after him.
He came up short of the doors when the doctor poked his head back inside with a furrowed brow. "Oh, one more thing." Sherlock raised his eyebrows in question, when a distant roar on the breeze pulled the doctor's gaze slowly sideways toward the jungle behind him, and Sherlock felt suddenly quite cold. The doctor grinned crookedly back at the detective. "You don't by chance have any experience wrangling and riding a robot tyrannosaurus rex, do you?"
A/N: Thoughts? Review with what you think could happen next. Who knows? Maybe I'll write more...