Author's Note: So, I was wondering how I could do a crossover between Doctor Who and Sherlock, and the idea of this story emerged. By the way, the characters noted are John and Amy, but the Doctor and Sherlock are definitely involved. For the Doctor and Amy, this takes place slightly before the Pandorica Opens, and for John and Sherlock, it takes place sometime in the Series 2 time frame, but before the finale. I hope you enjoy it! Reviews are greatly appreciated:)

*Note*- this fic has been revised since its original publishing, for your convenience.

The former soldier watched intently as the self- proclaimed sociopath rested himself nonchalantly upon the sofa.

That man's soulless eyes remained fixated upon the beige wall, and his hands were folded carefully over his chest. Despite the fact that this man had been fixed in that position for quite a while, his body remained still, the only exception being the occasional dilation of his pupils and the fluttering of his eyelids.

There was something terribly unsettling about how those icy blue irises were only a mere echo of the internal workings of the detective.

Whoever had decided that the eyes were the gateway to the soul had obviously been gravely mistaken because all John Watson seemed capable of concluding about Sherlock's cold stare was that any attempt to decipher it would be futile.

For this reason, the man with the sandy hair finally felt compelled to ask the question that had been plaguing his mind for hours on end.

Raising his scruffy eyebrows, the veteran mustered the courage to part his lips at last.

"Ah, Sherlock…what exactly are you doing?" John muttered quickly, his voice tinged with confusion.

"Thinking," came the low, monotone response from the man who was often mistakenly called a psychopath.

The slightly agitated soldier nearly opened his mouth in further question, when, suddenly, both men jerked at the sound of the door flinging wide open.

"Oh, I thought you two might be out and about by now. It's a shame, really, I was rather hoping to tidy up a bit…" The kindhearted, elderly woman mumbled, her wobbling arms clasping two unwieldy bags of groceries.

"Here, Mrs. Hudson, let me help you with that," the only gentleman in the room suggested, before taking her tiresome burdens upon himself.

After the landlady whispered a word of thanks, her eyes moved toward the man who continued to lie on the couch, looking so still, almost as if he had been paralyzed.

"My, my, Sherlock…what are you still doing in your night clothes? It's nearly half past noon…Oh, and you do look awfully pale deary…I think I might just go and fix you a cup of tea if you don't mind…" Mrs. Hudson finally decided, before inching her way toward the kitchen, leaving no time for either man to protest.

Rummaging through the refrigerator, the older lady suddenly jumped in fright, her boisterous yelp filling the room.

"Oh, dear, Sherlock! Why on earth have you got a bloody head in the fridge?" The woman's quivering voice caused John to stiffen, though the anti-social detective remained completely unfazed.

"Sherlock, we solved that case about three weeks ago, don't you think you should have disposed of that blasted thing by now?" The doctor belted out, in a wary attempt to elicit a response from his best friend.

"Two weeks, six days, seven hours, twenty three minutes, four seconds and counting to be precise, and the explanation is simple, really, John, I've been quite busy, lately, as I'm sure you're well aware…But, anyway, onto more important matters…Mrs. Hudson, has anything interesting happened today…a psychotic murder spree, perhaps?" Sherlock finally spoke, a hopeful smirk crinkling across his face.

"Well, dear, I haven't really heard anything…except for a little something in the papers…some sort of mysterious disappearance, but not to worry, the police say it's nothing…" Mrs. Hudson spoke truthfully.

Sherlock snickered.

Focusing his eyes upon John, Sherlock began to grin mischievously, the sort of thing he only did when he was conniving some sort of scheme.

"Now, John, you must be incredibly bored, going by the subtle lines of irritation across your face, the soft, irregular tapping of your foot, and of course, the slightly bluish tint to your skin that gives it all away. But, not to worry, my friend, because I'm sending you out to do some investigating…find out everything you can on these disappearances…see if they're even worth my time…Meanwhile, I'll remain here, busying myself with matters of far greater importance…Now, off you go, John, and I expect to see you in precisely two hours time…have you got that?"

The ravings of the wavy haired man were received with a nod of defeat.

As the older man cautiously ventured towards the door, he couldn't help but smile, despite his efforts to remain stoic.

Though Sherlock's rude antics and obsessive behavior should have infuriated him, John Watson found it difficult to deny that he was once again dumbfounded and awed at Sherlock's cleverness.

"So, Doctor, where are we going today? Somewhere excitin', I hope…" A Scottish cadence echoed through the walls of the elaborate control room, as the red head made her way towards the man in the bow tie.

Fumbling his fingers overtop various levers of the TARDIS console, the raggedy man appeared reluctant to answer.

Within seconds, a familiar whooshing sound reverberated through the corridors of the vast time machine.

Scuttling towards the front door, the Doctor hastily opened it, a childish grin gracing his cheeks.

"Amelia Pond, I give you London, the 25th of October, 2011."

At this exclamation, the red head began to furrow her brow.

"Seriously? That's only like less than a year in my future. I thought for sure we would have been going to a planet or somethin'…" Amy Pond spoke her mind, perhaps a bit too harshly.

"Oh, come on, Pond, you're the one who said you wanted to go to the shops," the man rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but I wasn't bein' serious! Really, Doctor why are we here? I'm your best friend, you can tell me, just this once…and while we're still on the subject, why have you been so nice to me, lately? I mean, ya took me to see Vincent Van Gogh last week, Space Florida yesterday—what's this all about?" The ginger inquired, as she slowly followed the Doctor out of the inconspicuous blue box.

"Oh, will you look at that, Pond! What a nice little shop…I bet they've got Jammie Dodgers!" His ecstatic tone may have been convincing to anyone else, but the red head could tell from the flicker of sadness in his eyes that he was secretly hurt.

Glancing down at the misconstrued sidewalk, Amy felt her heart fill with remorse.

"Actually, Doctor, forget what I said…I was just a wee bit surprised, that's all…I really do appreciate your kindness…" The girl with the red hair came very close to muttering a genuine apology.

It was not until then that she realized that the quirky man dressed in a bow tie and tweed jacket was nowhere in sight.

Her hazel eyes veered frantically towards the tiny store across the bustling street.

Nothing. Where could he have gone? There must be something he hasn't told me, but what? The shivering Scottish girl wondered, a sea of ominous doubts enveloping her mind.

Against her better judgment, Amy Pond allowed the sound of her trembling voice to permeate the thickening chaos.

"Doctor! Doctor, where are ya? Doctor?"

Standing inconspicuously amidst a crowd of rowdy Londoners, John Watson scanned the front page of the newspaper that he had recently purchased.

The headline read:

"38-Year Old Man Mysteriously Vanishes; Police Suspect Suicide"

The former soldier sighed; concluding that in the thirty-plus minutes since he had left the flat, he honestly had not obtained any significant information regarding the supposed disappearances.

Truth be told, John was beginning to wonder whether Sherlock actually had so much as a slight interest in such matters. When one considered the detective's typically erratic behavior, it seemed far more likely that he had ulterior motives for enlisting the old army doctor to complete such an unfruitful task.

The unspoken doubts of the man were suddenly drowned out by a loud buzzing sound.

Fingering through his jacket pocket, John relinquished his vibrating phone.

After quickly pressing a few buttons, the sandy haired man unveiled a slightly alarming text.

"John, come quickly

if convenient.


Within moments of processing the message, John became distracted by a fearful voice that was resounding from across the road.

"Doctor?" the young ginger haired girl cried, her voice quivering with uncertainty.

Because her pale body was shaking and her hazel eyes were glistening with tears, John found himself trotting over to her.

Whatever trouble Sherlock had wandered his way into would have to wait.

"Excuse me, miss, but, did you call for a doctor?" The former physician spoke delicately to the vulnerable red head.

"Um…kind of…I'm lookin' for a man who calls himself, "the Doctor," she whispered shakily.

"What sort of man…boyfriend…husband?"

His question caused the girl's cheeks to flush a deep pink.

"No, nothin' like that…he's just a friend…my best friend…but he seems to have wandered off…possibly disappeared…"

The final word of that sentence swam in John's mind, until he suddenly made the connection.

"In that case, I think I may yet be of use to you. See, I have this mate, who's a detective…of sorts…he's extremely clever…and in desperate need of something to occupy himself with…what'd ya say I take you to him? Our flat's just a few blocks down, and I'm heading back anyway."

Though the red head would ordinarily have avoided a stranger, something about the man's disposition made him appear trustworthy.

His hazel eyes were kind and gentle, and she couldn't help but feel like he reminded her of someone. Unfortunately, a void in her mind prevented her from pinpointing the exact person she was thinking of.

Besides, she was desperate to find the Doctor, and thus was willing to take a few potential risks, in order to do so.

Anyway, he hadn't seemed to take any notice of the blue box nestled in the alleyway, so there was no danger in going with him.

"Okay, let's go find this detective…"

"I'm John Watson, by the way. What's your name?" The veteran stated confidently.

"I'm Amy. Amy Pond." The ginger responded, a tiny smile reanimating her face.

"So, you're Scottish, then? What brings you to London? Are you on holiday?" He asked as they veered nearer to their destination.

"Yep. Definitely Scottish. And I suppose you could kind of say I'm on holiday…the Doctor took me here to go shopping," the girl managed to say, though it seemed from her tone of voice that she was concealing some important details.

"This bloke, the Doctor, describe him for me. That way, we've got a better chance of finding him."

Or finding his corpse, John couldn't seem to escape the negative possibilities.

"Well, I suppose he'd be rather easy to spot, because he's not exactly what you'd call…um…normal…he's a bit old fashioned…looks young…late twenties…wears a dorky tweed jacket and bow tie…don't ask…Let's just say he's somewhat socially inept, but extremely clever, all the same…he has an odd capacity to find his way into dangerous situations…though he always seems to have a plan, like he's one step ahead of everyone…I can barely keep up with him…"

As Amy Pond vividly described her best friend, John supposed the man sounded strangely familiar.

He's quirky, clever, brilliant, and obviously a bit mad…I mean, what sort of bloke calls himself, "The Doctor"…Well, if he is anything like Sherlock, then I feel very sorry for her…not that Sherlock's that bad anyway…

The sandy haired man was greatly relieved to see the "221B Baker Street" address emerge into view.

"Okay, Amy, this is it. Now follow me very quiet-like, because there's no telling how he might react. He doesn't always take very kindly to newcomers."

This soft-spoken remark invoked a small fear in the young woman, though she was still eager to heed John's instructions.

As the former army doctor carefully wandered up the dark steps and shifted the door open, he began calling for his flat-mate.

"Sherlock! I'm back, and we have a visitor who may interest you. Sherlock, can you hear me? Sher—" John stopped suddenly, his voice wavering.

"What, what is it?" the red head began to sound extremely nervous.

But the sandy haired man remained unresponsive, his body paralyzed by the tantalizing sight before him.

The flat was a complete wreck—books were strewn across the floor, some utterly ruined, their disheveled pages resting in random spots.

However, what ultimately triggered the rapid dilation of John's black pupils was the uncanny array of crimson fluid smeared upon the beige wall, to form two simple, yet terrifying words.

"You're Next."

Note: Don't worry more is coming soon, if I get enough positive feedback. I hope you enjoyed it. In the meantime, you might be interested in checking out my other stories, which are posted on my profile page. Thanks for reading. Reviews would be lovely:)

Have a wonderful day!