AN: Hello! This is a new fic that I'm dong, for those wondering, TKC is currently on a preeminent hiatus until further notice. I probably won't be continuing it, but I might go back to it eventually. With Breaking Point, I won't be adding on to it. It came out perfect, and I fear that if it continue it, it won't live up to the standards of the first chapter.

Anyways, about this story. It's fairly straightforward, this is a season 3-4 rewrite of Doctor Who, with Sherlock added into the mix. This will follow cannon as much as possible. There will be differences, obviously, that you will see, and as a note of warning, this is a DoctorLock(Pairing: DoctorxSherlock) fic. Please don't let that turn you away, as it will probably not be in the fic much until later, around season four, if everything works out.

Also, Shoutout to the wonderful Shadows Concealed in Darkness, who helped me plan out this for the most part. You're amazing. Go check her out!

As for my update schedule, I'm hoping once a week, maybe twice a week, but I'm not to sure. I'm currently in college, and it's kicking my butt at the moment. Lol.

This chapter is kind of a prologue, and takes place right after The Doctor says goodbye to Rose, but before Donna enters the TARDIS. This is also with a young Sherlock, so he might be a bit OOC for this chapter, but he is a child, and this is technically AU, so I say it's allowed somewhat.

Chapter 1- Blue Boxes and Toy Pirate Ships

Sherlock Holmes was a boy with an imagination. He loved to dream up complex worlds and stories. Complex characters and various scenarios. Mycroft would always pick on him because of it. He didn't exactly care. Mycroft could piss off.

Currently, the boy was sitting in the middle of his room, the merger age of nine, with a mass of curly black hair and a pale complexion. His small hands fiddled with a pirate ship, his eyes narrowed in annoyance as he struggled to get the small pirate people to stand up properly. He would never understand why the manufacturers would make them so difficult to stand up in the large ship. He huffed in frustration, fingers curling around one man, dressed in a thick black coat and pointy hat that Sherlock thought looked very cool. He pursed his lips, narrowing his cool grey eyes in concentration. He shifted, trying to stand the man up at the wooden wheel, humming softly to himself so Mycroft wouldn't hear him.

It was late, and he knew he should be in bed, curled up in his covers, asleep. The human mind especially that of a child's, needed at least eight to ten hours if not more. Sherlock didn't care. He didn't need sleep. He had told Mycroft that, but regardless, the older boy had sent him off to bed. He scowled at the thought of the older boy and sat back on his bottom, crossing his legs as he fiddled with another crew member. He didn't need sleep! He honestly didn't. The boy stood up, his bare feet slipping carefully along the carpet of his room as he tried to glance at the clock, watching the clock turn to eleven. He huffed, turning around to glance at his pirate ship, feeling bored. He was about to start putting the ship away, fingers reaching for the men that he had placed on the ship when he heard this groaning-or was it wheezing?-sound. He glanced up, dropping one of the plastic men. He must have imagined it. Nothing he knew would ever make such a noise. He frowned, his curiosity peaked as he glanced up. At the age of nine, Sherlock knew a lot of things. He was a very smart boy, smarter than anyone in the world. (Yes that included Mycroft.)

He reached for the flashlight, ready to investigate the wheezing as he shifted to the door of his bedroom. Carefully, he moved to open the door, pushing it open bit by bit, opening it wouldn't creak. He breathed out a sigh, squeezing through the door and moving to scurry down the hall, trying to be as quiet as possible. His heart pounded as he made his way to the back door, slipping his feet on the wooden flooring. He peered around, holding the flashlight to his chest, thumbing the switch and clicking it up, the light illuminating his face. He reached up, opening the sliding door to the backyard and stepping out. Sherlock shivered slightly at the cold grass brushing his bare feet as he stepped into the backyard. He shut the door behind him, slowly moving to shine the light around him. The yard was empty of trees save for a view bushes or trees. He shined the flashlight around, carefully making his way into the yard, his flashlight landing on the only anomaly in the yard. A sixty by sixty foot 1960s blue telephone box. He frowned, confused, because there was no possible way it could be there. No physical, logical possible way it could just appear in his backyard.

Curiosity got the best of him though, and he approached the blue box, hesitating and reaching out to touch the blue wood. It was cold, but defiantly solid and there, so there was no possible way for this to be a part of his imagination. He frowned, wondering if it was a dream, and pinched his arm through the cotton fabric of his white and grey silk pajamas. He winched at the pain, and nodded to himself. Not a dream then. He moved to look around, hoping to spot something-or possibly someone-that could have put the blue box there. Finding nothing as he peered around the blue police box, he scratched his head, scowling. 'It's in very good condition. It looks brand new.' He deducted, bending down to look at the grass around it, hoping to find some footprints of people who could have possibly carried it there, or drag marks in the dirt. Finding none, he scowled, kicking the blue box in frustration, causing the box to vibrate and release a low humming sound almost like a whine of annoyance. Sherlock scowled, glaring up at the box, lips pursed. He was about to say something to the box when the door shot open, causing Sherlock to stumble back. The young boy blinked, landing in the grass below him, catching himself with his hands as a man stepped out. He was tall, maybe around 6 feet, if a bit taller. Sherlock shifted, studying the man, trying to deduce him. He was dressed formally, brown and blue pinstriped suit with a collared shirt underneath and a tie-save for the converses-with a trench coat over top. He had wild brown hair, with brown eyes that looked much too old for his face, much too sad also. He stood slightly hunched over, as if he had too much on his shoulders. Sherlock frowned, shifting back slightly as the man looked down. The thin man smiled widely, the wide grin reaching his eyes. His too old, too wise, too sad, brown eyes.

"Well hello there!" He said cheerily, clearly British, which admittedly surprised Sherlock. A man who popped out of a 1960s police box was British. He shifted, staring distrustfully at the man's hand, which he had offered to help him up. After a brief moment, Sherlock decided he couldn't be too bad, and took the man's hand. The taller man pulled him up. "Sorry for startling you. Truly didn't mean it." He said, looking around with a frown of what Sherlock assumed was confusion. "What year is it? And where am I?" He asked, and Sherlock scowled, furrowing is brows. Well that was an odd question. Surely he would know.

"It's 1987." He answered, pulling his hand away quickly, shifting, as the man hummed with a nod. He glanced around, and Sherlock answered his second question. "And you're in my backyard. I heard a noise and came to investigate." He said, and this got the man's attention, a grin curling at his lips.

"Good, that's splendid! I love a child's curiosity." He said joyfully, his voice a bit loud, and Sherlock quickly shushed him, waving frantically with one hand. The man looked apologetic, seeming to realize it was late at night. "Right, sorry, I'm the Doctor. And you are?" He grinned, bending down to get at eye level with Sherlock. The boy scowled.

"Doctor who?" He asked, but he continued on before the 'Doctor' could explained. "A self-proclaimed title." He muttered in realization. A flicker of surprise in the older man's eyes, his lips parted in a small 'o' shape. Sherlock ignored it, continuing on and ignoring the question the Doctor had asked. "You don't make any sense, Doctor. You're probably around mid-twenties, maybe thirties, but your eyes, they're older." Sherlock scowled, reaching out to poke at the man's cheek to make sure he was real. "Too old, and sad... And it's Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes." He continued, answering the man's question with a slight sniff of pride. The Doctor lightly brushed Sherlock's hand away, clearing his throat and straightening.

"Right then, where are your parents, Sherlock Holmes? Shouldn't you be in bed?" The Doctor asked, and Sherlock scowled, crossing his arms.

"They're asleep, and yes, probably." He muttered, and this caused the man to laugh, reaching out a hand to ruffle his hair. Sherlock ducked away, moving away from the man with a scowl. "Why do you have a blue box? Where did you get it? It's from the 1960s, and you most certainly were not making a call." He rattled off, speaking before the Doctor could answer. "Plus how did you get it there? There's no footprints around the area, so you couldn't have carried it, plus it's much too big for you to carry alone." He asked, trying to see around the Doctor and at the blue box. "There also aren't any telephone wires around here, so you couldn't possibly be making a call." He continued rapidly, and this drew a chuckle from the Doctor.

"You're a very bright boy, you know that?" He grinned cheerfully, straightening up. Sherlock shrugged, still studying the blue box.

"People normally tell me to piss off." He said with a slight smirk curling at his lips. The Doctor laughed, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Well that's not nice of them!" He chuckled, glancing around him. "Do you, uhm, mind if I come in for a bit? I'm sort of… I need a distraction." The Doctor asked after a brief pause, fiddling with his earlobe, tugging on it slightly. 'A nervous, uneasy habit.' Sherlock thought dimly, before he gave a slight nod.

"Sure, but we have to be quiet, my brother's asleep and he would be mad if I disturbed his beauty sleep." He said with a chuckle of his own, reaching for the Doctor's hand, tugging him towards the door. He flicked the flashlight off, moving to such the door quietly behind them. He motioned for the Doctor to follow, holding a finger to his lips. The man grinned, a wide goofy grin as he nodded and followed the young boy down the hall to a door. Quietly, Sherlock stepped into the room, slipping through the crack of the door. The Doctor followed him in, moving to shut the door silently behind him so they couldn't be heard as easily. The Doctor glanced around him, studying the room. It was fairly large, a bit cluttered, but he'd defiantly been in worst. He was worst then this boy. He snapped out of his thoughts when he saw a pirate ship that Sherlock was fiddling with.

"Do you like pirates?" He asked, moving to sit down next to the boy, his voice a hushed whisper. Sherlock glanced up, intellectual grey eyes meeting his own brown ones.

"Yes, I thought that'd be obvious." He mumbled, reaching for a plastic figure of one of the pirates, fiddling with it.

"Oh it is," the Doctor grinned, leaning back, stretching out his legs and crossing them at his ankles. "You know, I was on John Smith's ship that headed to America. Brilliant man, that John." He laughed softly, his face wistful. Sherlock scowled, making a face of confusion.

"That's impossible." He said bluntly, dropping the figure, now disinterested in the ship.

"Oh don't say impossible! Nothing's impossible! Well…" He said, scratching his ear with a grimace as he thought of it. "I suppose there are impossible things." He shrugged, and Sherlock shifted staring at the man in interest.

"You're strange, who are you?" Sherlock cut in. The Doctor shifted, propping himself up on his elbows.

"I told you, I'm the Doctor." He answered, seeming a bit uncomfortable with the question. "Just the Doctor." He scratched his sideburn, pursing his lips slightly. Sherlock frowned, but nodded, not pushing the subject any further. He turned to look back at the ship, fiddling with it.

"Okay, Doctor, what's with the blue box? You never answered me that." Sherlock shot back, and the man grinned proudly, straightening up slightly.

"She's my ship. Brilliant ship." He said, leaning close as if to share a secret, his brown eyes wide with excitement. Sherlock looked at him, leaning in to humor the man. "She's called the TARDIS, Time and Relative Dimension in Space." He rambled, and Sherlock tipped his head, piecing together some of the information.

"You have a spaceship?" He asked in mild wonder. Before the Doctor could answer, he continued. "You're an alien." He said bluntly, his voice suddenly a bit wary. The young boy shifted slightly, inching back from the man.

"Yes, I am, alright with that?" He answered, grinning in what he hoped to be nonthreatening way. Sherlock glanced him over, thinking, before nodding just slightly.

"You look human." He mumbled, looking down at the figure he had dropped, picking it up quietly. The Doctor scoffed, looking mildly offended.

"No, you look Time Lord." He shot back with ease. Sherlock looked up, brows furrowing slightly in thought. "We came first." He added with a look of faint superiority, but his grin was somewhat teasing.

"Time Lord, that's what you are." Sherlock said. He was slowly piecing together information, trying to learn as much as possible. "So, you can control time?" He asked, tipping his head. The Doctor coughed awkwardly, clearing his throat slightly as he looked away. He scratched the back of his head.

"No, I-I can't control time. I'm a time traveler." He mumbled awkwardly, the mood quickly tensing. Silence fell over the two, and Sherlock awkwardly moved to put the people on the ship, shifting to pick up the large ship, grunting slightly under the weight. The doctor quickly stood, moving to help the young boy.

"Careful." He said gently, the somber mood dispersing as he moved to help him put the ship up on the small shelf. "Wouldn't want to drop it." He said with a grin and a slight wink. Sherlock nodded, managing to smile back. "So, Sherlock, what about you?" He asked after a beat. Sherlock looked up, confused as he plopped down the bed, the Time Lord sitting beside him.

"What about me?" He asked, tipping his head. "I'm just an ordinary boy." He said, and the Doctor frowned.

"Oh I don't believe that. No one's ordinary." He said with a huff and a wave of a hand as he thought of a brilliant pink and yellow human who had stolen his heart. His face fell slightly, before he shook his head sharply. "You humans are extraordinary beings. So resilient." He said, watching him quietly. Sherlock hummed slightly, nodding his head. There was a brief pause, before The Doctor straightened up. "You look tired." He said, noting the boy's slowly dropping shoulders. Sherlock scowled, fighting a yawn. The Doctor grinned widely, standing and moving to push the boy down onto the bed. "I'll tell you a story. A bed time story. I love bed time stories." He grinned, pulling the covers over the boy.

Sherlock reluctantly allowed this, shifting to get comfortable. The boy looked hesitant.

"But if I fall asleep, you'll leave." He mumbled quietly in a tired voice. The Doctor frowned, opening his mouth to speak, but Sherlock continued before he could. "Everybody leaves eventually." He whispered, shifting a bit. The Doctor nodded in understanding. He knew that feeling all too well. He watched as the Doctor sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Yes, that is correct." He said quietly, looking at the boy forlornly. "But, I'll come back, I promise. When you're older, I'll come back and I'll show you the stars, how's that sound?" He grinned, and Sherlock hesitated slightly, before nodding slowly.

"Alright." He mumbled quietly, burrowing under the covers.

"So! How 'bout that story?" The Doctor grinned, slapping his knees slightly. Sherlock nodded eagerly, and The Doctor hummed in thought, thinking on some stories he had heard as a child. He grinned, looking at Sherlock. "I have just the story." He whispered, as if sharing a secret, leaning just slightly.

The Doctor watched quietly, studying the boy now tucked away under the covers, sleeping peacefully. He had to admit, this boy was defiantly different to the normal human. He knew the universe had great plans for him. What, he didn't know exactly, he couldn't see. He scratched his head, standing carefully so not to wake the boy. He glanced around the room, studying the pirate ship, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Sherlock was a brilliant young boy, very perceptive. He could tell the he was sad, which was something many people couldn't tell. He kept his walls up very tightly, hiding so many things. He rubbed his face, looking at the boy again. He let his gaze linger for a moment before he turned away. He had to go, before anyone woke up. He cringed at the thought of running into the boy's parents, and even more so his brother. From the sounds of it, Sherlock's brother was rather protective. Or stern. Not much different. He quickly, yet quietly made his way to the back door, sliding it open and slipping through.

The Time Lord sighed, smiling at the sight of his beautiful blue box. He lightly patted the wood, feeling her hum softly under his hand. He quietly unlocked the door, stepping inside and shutting it. The Doctor hummed, rubbing his face quietly, walking up to the console. "Well old girl," he said with a smile. "Where to now?" He asked quietly, stepping up to the console. He felt a soft hum vibrate through the room, humming in his head. He pushed a few buttons, his fingers curling around the lever for it dematerialize. He wasn't sure where they would go, maybe just wander through the Time Vortex until he figured it out. He pulled it quickly, causing the ship to lurch. The Doctor stumbled, catching himself on the console. He sighed, leaning against the console as the ship stopped it's raddling. He straightened, rubbing his face when he caught sight of a woman standing in a white gown, her hair was a ginger red color (one that he felt rather envious of). Confusion danced on his face as the woman turned.

"What?" He said, confused, face twisting in confusion. So much for a relaxing trip to sort out his thoughts.