(A/N) So. This is actually the first fic I ever finished, so I thought I might as well put it out to the public. It's not wonderfully well written, it's short, and the format didn't really fit the format this website supports, but oh well. This fic has five parts, with three chapters to each part. Because the individual chapters are really short, I'm posting the parts together. This is a SuperWhoLock fanfic. It takes place in the middle of the second season of Supernatural, the first season of Sherlock, and the second season of Doctor Who. It's mostly fluff, so enjoy.

Chapter 1

Virginia

Dean walked out of the club smiling and counting a large stack of twenties. Sam was sitting on the hood of the Impala browsing the obituaries. Tucking the newly-earned cash into his wallet, Dean approached him.

"Anything?"

"Not yet, no," Sam replied, his eyes still on the page. Dean nodded and grabbed a separate part of the paper. They sat in silence for a minute.

"Sam, look at this." Sam put down his paper and looked at the article Dean was pointing to. "Six people disappear over a space of ten days in the same place. Sounds like we should check it out."

"Where is it?" Sam inquired, hopping off the Impala's hood.

Dean looked back down, and groaned, "London."

"Well, looks like we're going to do some flying," Sam commented, trying to hide a smile.

"Not a word," Dean threatened as he and Sam both climbed into the car.

...

"And you're sure we can't drive?"

"Dean, for the last time, no. We can't drive there, no we can't take the Impala, no, you can't stay home!"

"We can't at least take Baby? She'll get lonely!"

"Dean. We're leaving the car."

Dan paused, glaring. "Fine," he muttered.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, "Okay no get on the plane."

Grudgingly, Dean climbed aboard.

As they sat down, Sam handed a small mp3 player to Dean.

"What's this?"

"Metalica. Mostly so you don't drive me insane."

"It's not funny, Sam," Dean said, grabbing the mp3 player from his brother. Sam laughed as the plane took off.

Chapter 2

*BANG*

Oh not again, John thought as he approached his flat on Baker Street. Groceries still in hand, he ran up the stairs and into the flat.

"Sherlock! What the-"

"Quiet John. I'm conducting an interrogation." Cautiously, John stepped into the flat to see Sherlock standing in the middle of the living room, gun in hand, and aiming it at the head of a young, attractive female. Quietly, John slipped into the kitchen and began putting the food away, cringing at the severed ears in the fridge.

"I know you were the only one in the house at the time of your husband's death, but Lestrade won't accept it unless you say it, so spit it out!" Sherlock yelled from the lounge.

"It wasn't me! I didn't kill him, I promise!" the woman pleaded.

"Sure it wasn't you. The knife that stabbed your husband only had your fingerprints on the handle!"

"I use that knife for cooking!"

"Yes, obviously. And most of the fingerprints support that claim. HOWEVER, if you look closely, which not everyone did, some of those fingerprints were made with a thin layer of none other than your husband's blood. Not to mention your hands are fidgety and your eyes keep flitting to the left. Signs of a liar. I've closed this case, now confess out loud." There was a pause.

"It was an accident, I swear!"

"No it wasn't"

"I was angry, I'm so, so sorry!"

"You can tell that to someone else. I've done my job." He shooed her out of the flat and called Lestrade, "I've got your confession recorded. It was Megan Staples just like I told you it would be." He hung up and collapsed onto the couch. "JOHN. This case was BORING."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. Maybe that park-based serial killer will be more interesting."

"Serial killer?"

John closed the cupboard. "Yes, Serial Killer. Six people have disappeared in the same park within then days, and the bodies were never found." He walked over to the table and opened his laptop, "Lestrade wanted you to check it out."

"Fine. Maybe this will be interesting. John, get your coat, we're going out." Sherlock exclaimed, jumping up. John stopped typing, sighed, and followed Sherlock out the door.

Chapter 3

The doors to the TARDIS flung open as Rose ran in, closely followed by the Doctor. "I am SO glad to be back here!" Rose exclaimed, running up to the console, before collapsing against the rail in a fit of giggles. "I can't believe you actually agreed to dance with that Santauran!"

The Doctor laughed, "All in a good day's work," he said, pushing buttons. "Next stop, Barcelona. The PLANET. Push that lever, would you?" Rose came up and pushed the lever he was indicating.

Finally, accompanied by the whirring of the brakes, the TARDIS landed. Rose ran outside and immediately ran back in.

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"What?"

"Doctor, we're in London. Modern day London."

Confusion clouded the Doctor's face, "Oh. How did that happen?" He walked out, closely followed by Rose. "We have landed in London," he stuck his tongue out, "two-thousand…six from the looks of it."

"What are we doing here in 2006?" Rose asked, looking up at him.

"I don't really know, let's explore, shall we?"

Rose grinned, "Let's." She took his hand and they began walking. They had landed in a beautifully landscaped park in the heart of London.

The Doctor stopped walking, "Something's wrong. I can taste it."

"Or maybe no one's here." Rose turned to look at him, "Where is everyone?"

"I don't really know. Maybe that's why we're here. Let's find out!" He began running, Rose close behind him.

"Doctor!" Rose gasped. He looked behind him, and consequently crashed into someone's tall, muscular frame. "It's the Winchesters!" Rose continued.