Happy Halloween my lovely followers. Here's a treat from me to you, a Halloween WhoLock crossover. This is a three chapter story that will be concluded Halloween night. Thanks so much for your lovely views and reviews, and sorry I've been slacking so much on my other fics. Enjoy.

"Sherlock for god's sake, I don't care if it's almost Halloween, get that bloody arm out of the sink!" John shouted down the hall. No reply. He rolled his eyes, giving the quite literally bloody arm a death glare before grabbing his jacket and heading towards the door. "I'm going out. Staying at Sarah's until Halloween, and I expect that thing to be gone when I get back on Thursday." Still no reply. Boy, wasn't it great to have a flatmate that cared so much about everything you do? John sighed before stepping out the door, shouting over his shoulder as he closed it behind him "See you in three days."

Sherlock listened from his bedroom as his flatmate left, resting his head back against the wall as he closed his laptop in frustration. This was usually the time of year for all kinds of interesting crimes, and yet nothing had happened in the past three weeks. It's almost as though London was holding her breath for something big to happen, but that big thing couldn't come soon enough for the detective. With an impatient grunt, he shifted off the side of his bed, blue robe flaring out as he retrieved his mobile from his coat pocket. Nothing. What a disappointing morning. He pocketed the phone and made his way through to the living room, hoping he could find something distracting to do until something interesting happened.

"You're kidding right, that's the third missing person's this week!" Lestrade rubbed at his eyes, exhausted, having been up all night working on these mysterious missing person's cases. Three this week, which makes nine in total. "Not even a body left behind, why can't there at least be a body to examine? We might get somewhere if we actually had some solid evidence. But of course, that would only make it easy."

Donovan shifted in the doorway, dropping the files onto the DI's desk. "At least the freak hasn't caught on yet. I'm surprised, actually, that this has been kept so under the radar. The media hasn't even caught on."

Lestrade picked up the file, leafing through the contents. "That's because we can't make any progress on it. No bodies, no witnesses, not even an exact time of abduction. The only thing we do have is an approximate location to where each victim disappeared." He leaned back in his chair, running a nervous hand through his silver hair. "... I really don't think we have any other choice here."

Donovan sighed, leaning dramatically on the door frame. "Oh come on, we could at least work on it a little longer..."

"No, we need help, there's no way we'll be able to do this on our own." Lestrade replaced the file on his desk, picking up his mobile.

"He won't even take it. It's a missing persons case, he won't be interested."

Lestrade smiled, holding the phone up to his ear. "It's a weird one, he'll take it."

Sherlock nearly pounced on his phone when it started buzzing on the coffee table, sprawling across the couch as he answered it on the second ring. "Lestrade?"

"Yeah, Sherlock, I think I've got something for you."

The detective sighed in relief "You have no idea how pleased I am to hear you say that."

A light chuckle on the other end "Bored, are ya?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, composing himself a little "You have no idea. Something interesting I hope?"

"Yeah, there's been a few disappearances lately..."

Sherlock groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Oh please Lestrade! I believe I said something interesting!"

"Yeah, hold on, maybe if you weren't so keen to interrupt me, you'd find I have something worth your while"

A dramatic sigh "Go on"

"Right, now, as I've said there's been quite a number of these reports, and the disappearances have been going on for about a month now."

"A month, really?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

"Three this week alone, nine in all."

"Interesting. What have you uncovered so far."

A long pause on the line "... Nothing."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, smirking at the usual incompetence of Scotland Yard. "Nothing? Really?"

He could hear the irritation in the DI's voice. "No, nothing. No bodies, no witnesses, the only thing we do have are a couple of locations where the victims were last seen."

Sherlock sighed, glancing at his watch. Almost 10:00 am. Well, he had nothing better to do. "Where was the latest victim last seen?"

"Near Lauriston Gardens, believe it or not."

Sherlock smiled, the fond memory of his and John's first case together coming back to him briefly. Hopefully it wasn't another crazed cabbie going around killing people, dull. "Text me the address, I'll meet you there."

"Glad you could make it, where's John?"

Sherlock straightened his suit as he stepped out of the cab. "Hello Inspector, he's on holiday, per say. Who was the victim and where did the disappear?"

"Delilah Dedrickson, 23 years old, 5'2" caucasian woman." Lestrade handed Sherlock the woman's photo, pointing towards a park bench against an old brick building. "She was last seen over there by a couple of passersby."

Sherlock nodded, accepting the picture and examining it as he made his way over to the bench. Curly red shoulder length hair, London local, recently married, faithful to her husband. He looked up at the bench, noting the thin layer of dust that had settled over the wood. A lot of dust, in fact. No, not dust... He knelt closer to the ground, examining a small pile of the stuff on the ground. Very light greyish brown and extremely fine. Not dust, ash. He stood up swiftly, looking over the brick wall. Faint scorch marks, caused by electrical currents. My my, the Yard's detective skills really were lacking. But there was still something wrong. Nothing really connected. Unless he wanted to take strategic lightning strikes into account. Well, this was turning out to be an interesting case. Something caught the corner of his eye, and he turned to stare down an alley off the opposite side of the street.

"Got anything?" Lestrade came up behind him, peering over his shoulder.

Sherlock turned back to him, furrowing his brow "... No.. not much." Something... Something wasn't connecting in his brain, something important. He shook his head lightly, turning away with a whisk of his coat and hailing a cab before the DI could get a word in edgewise.

Lestrade watched him go, calling after him "Sherlock? Sherlock!" but by then he was already in the cab and driving away.

The other scenes all held the same confusing evidence. A thin pile of fine ash, electrical scorch marks, and even tiny burnt scraps of fabric lying here and there. The only possible explanation was that the victims weren't actually missing, but were, in fact, burnt to ash by an electrical force. But by who? Why? And the most vexing, how?

He needed someone to bounce ideas off of. Of course John had to leave right when an interesting case appeared. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text, just to clear his mind.

What do you know of spontaneous human combustion? SH

He didn't have to wait long for a reply You'd better not be experimenting in our kitchen. Is that arm out of the sink? JW

Sherlock rolled his eyes. It's not an experiment, it's a case He thought for a moment before adding I disposed of it this morning. What do you know of spontaneous human combustion?

It's a myth, really. I've heard of some bizarre cases of heavy smokers with an extremely high BAC would set themselves alight with a stray match, and burn more completely due to the alcohol, but not completely spontaneous combustion.

Sherlock smirked to himself, imagining the stupidity of some people. Well, that cut out that possibility. Only two or three of the victims were smokers and non of them very heavy drinkers. Come to think of it, they were all fairly normal, average, everyday citizens.

Sherlock sighed "Dull..."

But something was wrong. Something wasn't connecting somewhere in his mind. It was like he had no outlet to plug in a wire, or rather... he'd forgotten there was an outlet there. But that's impossible. He doesn't forget anything.

"Victim?"

"Anthony Baker, 47, 6'5" African male, last seen here two hours ago by his neighbor. She's over there if you want to speak with her."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow "Two hours and already reported missing?"

Lestrade nodded. "He was mentally challenged, had a nurse checking in on him every five hours. She comes by and finds him missing at around 8:30, called us half an hour later."

Sherlock glanced at his watch. 10:25. He looked up at the obnoxiously yellow house before him. "Well, lets take a look inside then, shall we?"

The inside was just as poorly decorated, though obviously with some sort of strategic placement. Furniture was placed in such a way that there was no place to hide. Every inch of each room was visible from every angle, as though the victim wanted to be sure that nothing was hiding from him. There were even plenty of impromptu weapons lying around, scissors, bottles, even small branches propped up against the walls. This man was afraid of something, in his own home.

"Anything so far?" Lestrade walked up behind him, maneuvering around an oddly placed coffee table.

Sherlock nodded, glancing around the room again. "Anthony Baker, neurotic, possibly psychotic, built his life around constant paranoia, even arranging his home in a way that it would be impossible for anyone to hide anywhere and..." He paused, spying a plaid jacket strewn across the arm of a nearby chair. He strolled over to it, lifting the sleeve and examining the cotton fabric. Black marks littered the cuffs, tally's it would seem, drawn in sharpie marker. He glanced around, finding said marker on the table. He furrowed his brow. And another on the television, and three more on the coffee table. "... Where is his closet?"

Lestrade frowned, opening his mouth to question the detective, then thought better of it and led him to the victim';s bedroom. He stood in the doorway as Sherlock moved to the closet, leafing through the multitude of jackets. He glanced at his watch "Look, Sherlock, you've got ten more minutes, I'll be in the other room."

Sherlock nodded, turning back to the victim's wardrobe. Similar marks on all the jacket cuffs, some even on the sleeves. He glanced around the room, spying a golf club leaning against the bed. The victim didn't play golf, it was obvious from his left hand, so this must be another makeshift weapon with which to protect himself. He picked it up, examining it carefully. It was well used, very dented and twisted to the point of being unusable as an actual golf club. So he used it often to fend off an attacker, but who? He looked around the room again, silvery eyes shifting to the far corner...

"Time's up, I'll need everything you've got." Sherlock glanced towards the door, where Lestrade was staring at him with that 'I-don't-really-want-to-know-but-I'm-going-to-ask-anyway'' look on his face "What are you doing?"

Sherlock lowered his arms, which had somehow come to hold the golf club in a defensive position, as though he were fending off an attacker. He glanced down at his watch, surely that was only a minute or two, tops, there was no way... huh, it had definitely been ten minutes. Funny, not like him to lose track of time like that. He looked back up at the DI, who was expecting an answer. Deciding quickly to ignore the second question, he launched into his usual speech of police incompetence and how most of the clues were so blatantly obvious even Anderson could've spotted them. "I thought at first that the victim most likely suffered from some sort of paranoid personality disorder, but upon further speculation of the weapons he kept around the house, I'd say he was regularly under attack."

Lestrade crossed his arms, looking skeptical. "Anthony Baker was a mental patient, he wasn't allowed any weapons."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, gesturing to the club that he'd thrown aside "Makeshift weapons. Oh, come on, even you should have noticed the unusually large number of tree branches lying around."

Lestrade glanced around the room, counting each object that could be used as a weapon of sorts. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I'm right, I'm always right, now if you don't mind." and with that he was gone, nearly racing out of the house and making his way to the main road. He needed to get back to Baker street, quick, before anyone realized the missing piece of evidence. He pulled the pair metal scissors from his pocket, examining the apparently rusted point. Blood, most likely. And the thin veil of ash meant they were probably in the victim's hand when he 'disappeared'. He should definitely run some tests on these. He held a hand to his forehead, running his slender fingers through his dark curls. There was that feeling again, that grinding sensation in his brain as though it was trying to fit something in where it didn't belong. Like he'd forgotten something that he didn't even know was there in the first place.

Unfortunately, the tests had proved inconclusive. The rust coloured substance didn't register as human blood, not even any type of animal blood. In fact, it was a completely unknown substance altogether, completely unrecognizable and with no proof of any previous recordings. It shouldn't exist. Which only proved to be even more of a problem. Sherlock brought his hands down from their usual position against his lips, scratching absently at the five nicotine patches distributed between both arms. He glanced at his mobile, wondering briefly what John's opinion would be. He sat up on the couch, glaring down at the 10 photo's spread across the coffee table of the missing victims. He picked up his phone, sending his flatmate another text.

Missing person's case. 10 victims in total, spread out in the time span of a month, not a trace left behind aside from a thin layer of ash and faint electrical scorch marks. Just received evidence of an unknown substance from one crime scene. Thought at first to be blood, but tests show up negative. Thoughts? SH

He hit send and set the phone down beside him, shifting the photo's around on his desk to deduce each victim in turn. Anthony Baker first. No clear signs of a mental disability, perhaps he'd been driven mad by constant paranoia. He glanced at his hands. The cuffs of his shirt were littered with tallies, and his hands were nearly black with similar marks, as well as a few words, RUN seeming to be the most preferred.

He moved on to the ninth victim, Delilah Dedrickson. Nothing particularly special, though she had that haunted look in her eyes. Almost impossible to tell from a photograph, but now that he thought of it, it looked like she was constantly frightened of something. He glanced at her hands, which were clutching a bit too tightly to her purse. His eyes widened a fraction. The marks! The same black tallies covered her hands, not as fully as Baker's, but enough to spark some concern.

His phone went off as he quickly looked over the remaining eight victims. Each and every one of them had the same odd habit of marking up their hands, counting out tallies and scrawling down warnings. Run. Get out. Danger. He was shocked that the Yard had missed this. He picked up his phone.

Have you considered aliens? Extraterrestrial involvement? JW

Sherlock snorted to himself, clearly amused by the very idea. I didn't know you believed in that sort of nonsense.

Another long wait, which Sherlock filled with shuffles of paper as he looked through the pictures again. Actually, with the evidence presented, something not of this world started to seem like a logical explanation. His phone beeped again.

Well, what other conclusions have you come to?

Leave it to John to put it so bluntly. Sherlock sighed, leafing through the written descriptions of each victim. He'd been through each file before, and noticed a few repeated words in each description. Crazy. Schizophrenic. Paranoid. Believed she was being chased by aliens. Funny, now that he looked over it again, aliens seemed to be popping up a lot. This one was an astrologer, that one attended group therapy meetings for alien sightings. Maybe he should do a bit more research on the topic...