Okay. So this is my first Superwholock. I hope you enjoy it. I'm horrible at summaries, so I'm sorry if you're unsure about this. I do believe it will be good. Sorry that this chapter is so short. Most others will be longer. The Doctor and Clara are up to date, Sherlock and John are just pre-Fall, and Sam and Dean are JUST after Bobby's death. Enjoy and please review. :)

John was just getting out of the shower when he heard it. It was the oddest noise, a whirring, whooshing sound followed by a solid thud. John donned a pair of trunks, wrapped his robe securely around himself, and walked down the hall while using his towel to dry his short hair.

"Sherlock? What was that noise? Is the telly on too loud or was it just one of your bloody experi-" John trailed off. In the center of the living room, just past his and Sherlock's chairs, stood an imposing blue box. Anger quickly curled in John's stomach. He turned towards his flatmate who was simply staring out the window and inhaled deeply. But before he could get a word out, Sherlock turned to him, eyes blazing.

"A client has just arrived, John. Isn't it customary for you to make tea? He should like his with milk and two sugars, though of course his preferences could have changed. But I very much doubt that." Sherlock gave a sharp chuckle. "And none for me." As he talked, Sherlock made his way around the blue Police Box and sat in his chair, fingers steepled just below his nose. "Close your mouth, John. It makes you look like an idiot." John silently complied and made his way to the kitchen to put the kettle on. When he came back with the tea, a man was sitting on the couch. The client, John assumed.

The client was tall and lanky with long brown hair that was parted on the side and created a wave of thick locks over his high forehead. He had a handsome face, even with a large chin and nonexistent eyebrows, and an expressive mouth that was, at the moment, pressed into a thin line. He wore the oddest clothes, though. Along with simple leather boots and brown pants, the man wore a tweed jacket with elbow patches. He was leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees, so his crisp white shirt and vest were visible, as well as the fob that probably connected to a pocket watch. The whole outfit was completed with a blue bowtie.

John nodded a hello and gave a small smile as he handed the man his tea. He then situated himself across from Sherlock in his normal armchair. When the silence continued, broken only by small sips of tea, John cleared his throat to pull Sherlock out of his reverie.

His friend blinked and looked up, excitement burning in his blue-green eyes. "Doctor," Sherlock said, turning to the man. "To what do I owe the pleasure? It's been awhile since we've last talked. Or," he added, "it has been for me. Glad to see you haven't changed." Sherlock gave the man a small smile that, while almost nonexistent, was sincere.

John looked between the two of them, surprise written openly on his face. "Oh, so you know this man?" John asked. He gestured to the stranger on the couch, who sat, grim-faced, drinking his tea like he was sucking on a lemon.

"Yes, John. Obviously I know the man," Sherlock said. "I greeted him with familiarity and his name and told you how he liked his tea." He turned back to the stranger, prepared to fire off another question.

"Hold on," John interrupted. "I didn't hear a name."

"I said his name, John. You just weren't paying enough attention," Sherlock insisted. John raised his eyebrows, frowning. "Doctor, John, his name is the Doctor."

"'The Doctor'? That's not familiar. It's a title. But not a name." He looked at Sherlock expectantly. "Doctor who?"

"Nothing." John jumped when the man on the couch spoke up. "It's just 'The Doctor'. Forever and always." He gave John another tight-lipped smile. "I'd say 'Nice to see you again, John' but it appears you haven't met me yet, so I'll stick with 'Nice to meet you again, John'." The Doctor took a long drink of tea before setting the empty cup on the table in front of him. He then turned to Sherlock, his grey eyes wide. Sherlock returned the gaze, the energy humming beneath his skin escaping through his own eyes.

"I need your help finding my friend. You know me, Sherlock. I usually don't ask for help, but I…" The Doctor choked, his eyes falling to his lap. He took a deep breath. "I usually travel with a companion and, even though I love them all dearly, they end up leaving me. One way or another… Anyway, my most recent companion's name is Clara Oswald." The Doctor gave a soft smile. "She's clever and kind and actually LISTENS when I say 'stay put'!" The smile sagged, broken like a crooked picture frame. "And usually staying put's a good thing but…" The Doctor seemed at a loss for words as the silence dragged on. Sherlock leaned forward in his seat and motioned for him to continue.

"If you need my help, you need to tell me what happened. To the best of your memory, and I know your memory is the best," Sherlock said gently. John looked over at him with surprise. He seemed sincere and John had never heard Sherlock genuinely talk to someone with that much care. Ever. Most of the time it was a sham to get into a building or a bit of information.

The Doctor nodded and took a deep breath before finally saying, "It's Clara. She's been taken. I don't know why. I don't know by whom or to where. All I know is she's gone and I don't know how to get her back."

(A/N: I am SO sorry that I didn't realize that part of my story had been cut. I don't know what happened and I'm sorry it took so long to fix it. I hope the transition makes more sense now. *sheepish grin*)