*Disclaimer- I'm not at all affiliated with Sherlock, Doctor Who or Supernatural, I just like writing and experimenting with characters for fun*

A/N: Hi guys- there's a few things I'd like to mention before you read that might clear up some things you might wonder after reading-

1. Though it's just tagged as SPN/Sherlock this is a SUPERWHOLOCK fanfiction, meaning Supernatural, Sherlock and Doctor Who will all be included equally.
2. Mycroft is Sherlock's uncle, not brother, and is principal of the academy. He also raised Sherlock.
3. DW is set during the era of Eleven- hence Amy and Rory, and later some Oswin and River.
4. I'm going to include as many/few main characters from each fandom as I deem necessary- over-doing numbers it will make the story confusing and messy.
5. Some characters will be adults- such as Mycroft, Mrs Hudson, Bobby, Naomi, Brian etc (I'll be careful to clarify).

Arbinghill Academy lay hidden in the surroundings of lakes and mountains, shielding the old Baroque building from the outside world. Its decorative towers and spires rose as high as some of the lower hills, but it was the inside that made it wonderful. Almost every furnishing was made of mahogany, the floors and walls were stone, with high ceilings supported by magnificent pillars. Great arched windows looked out on to the four surrounding great lakes and miles of gardens and fields. Centuries old, with former pupils including some of the most well-known names in recent history, Arbinghill Academy was doubtlessly an honour and a pleasure for any student lucky enough to be accepted into it.

Dean Winchester hated it.

He hated the size of the building, the colours, and the smell. He hated the mountains that isolated him, he hated the stuck-up teachers and students and most of all, he hated the fact it would be his home for the next year.

John Winchester didn't get out of the car with his sons. Starting at a new school wasn't anything new, and Dean knew his father wouldn't treat this occasion any differently, despite the fact it wasn't quite the same as crossing a few states and sleeping in a motel a few nights. He and his younger brother Sam were being dumped in the middle of the English countryside, to an apparently highly-prestigious academy and wouldn't see their father for nine months.

As the sleek black 1967 Chevrolet Impala made a bold reverse before speeding out of the car park, Dean felt something in his stomach; a feeling he was used to- A sense of abandonment.

Suppressing it, he looked down at his thirteen year-old brother Sam, who was staring up at the massive mahogany double doors. School had started two days ago, but John had last-minute work to do which caused the delay.

The reason they were going to school in England instead of America was because an old friend of John's was the vice principal. John was always a little cagey when he spoke of Bobby Singer, but he assured the boys they could trust him.

"Will I, uh, knock?" Asked Sam tentatively, reaching up for the brass knocker.

"Well they're too stuck up for a damn doorbell, apparently." Dean muttered, banging the knocker three times on the heavy door.

Sam picked up his backpack and took a step back as the door began to open. A young woman with a kind smile and sandy ponytail stood before them.

"You must be the Winchesters." She smiled. "I'm Mar- no, no, I mean Mrs Hudson. I'm Mrs Hudson, yes…" She trailed off, realising they weren't coming in. "Oh, come in please, it's supposed to rain this evening." She held the door back, and the boys stepped through in silence, as she held it open. Her mouth opened, and then closed again. "Is your… um… Are your parents parking the car?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a blank look. "What do you mean?" Asked Sam, frowning.

Mrs Hudson looked embarrassed. "I… um… You're not alone, are you?"

Sam shook his head, and a wave of relief passed over Mrs Hudson's face. "No, of course not." He said. "We came together."

The relief vanished instantly.

"Excuse me a moment." She said, as she disappeared up a flight of stairs.

Sam scratched his head, suppressing a smile. Even the foyer was impressive. He'd read books about fortresses and castles- he'd never thought he'd see one, never mind live in one.

He glanced at Dean, who had said nothing since they had come in, only frowning into space. Sam found it was easier to say nothing when he frowned like that.

Mrs Hudson re-appeared, this time with a ruddy-faced man with red hair and a deep frown that seemed natural to his face round. "This is Principal Mycroft Holmes, as I'm sure you know," She explained, beaming slightly. "He'll sort you out, and I'll just…" She nodded at Mycroft before leaving them.

Principal Holmes was young for a principal; he couldn't be older than early forties. He had a round stomach which was held tightly by his tweed brown suit. His hair was reddish brown and slicked back as a poor attempt to hide how much it was thinning. He was holding two small folders with the initials S.W. on one and D.W. on the other.

He lead them to the steps him and Mrs Hudson had descended from, bringing them up to his office, a small grey room with a trophy case and a desk covered in paperwork and half-empty coffee cups.

Holmes sat down, leaving Sam and Dean to stand. "I'm Mycroft Holmes, principal of Arbinghill Academy." He said, scanning through their folders. "I realise you faced delays on your journey and are two days late for term. Classes began today, but I'm sure you didn't miss anything too relevant. I hope you feel very welcome here at Arbinghill, you'll find leaflets with a more thorough explanation on your bedside tables. Now, about sleeping arrangements…"

"We're sharing a room, right?" Dean asked, his voice sharp.

Mycroft looked up, unamused. "Why, of course not." He answered shortly. "You're Dean, I presume…" He opened the first page of the D.W. folder, scanning it. "Ah, you are heading for seventeen I see, and your brother is now thirteen. It wouldn't be practical for you to share a room at this age, really. Besides, you will be sleeping in dormitories, and you will be allocated based on age and ability-"

"Ability?" Sam piped up curiously.

"We assessed your progress in your former schools, I dare say it took some time to assess them all. Samuel, you will be in Third Year, and Dean you will be Sixth Year. Third Year dormitories are in the Trenzalore Tower and Sixth dormitories are in the Baskerville Tower. Samuel you will be on the first floor of yours, Dean you will be on the third."

"This is bullshit." Dean growled.

Mycroft sat up, not looking particularly shocked, just unimpressed. "All students have a file which records their behaviour-good and bad. Every time a teacher or prefect reports an offense, a stroke will be added to your file. After three strokes, you will receive detention, and that applies for every three strokes that follow. If you receive twelve, you will report to your national representative and accept the punishment they deem fit."

Dean snorted, stepping towards the principal's desk. "National representative, what do we have an embassy or something?"

Mycroft sighed, shoving aside some folders and a plate of cake crumbs aside so he could rest his elbows on the desk. "Because of the prestige of Arbinghill Academy, we accept students from all over the world, stretching from Dublin to New Delhi, from Sydney to Berlin, from Hong Kong to…" His face formed an almost comical grimace. "Kansas, apparently."

Dean glared across the desk in silence.

"Each country has a representative, to make the students feel more at home. Your representative is Naomi; you'll find her at breakfast lunch or dinner in the Dining Hall at the representative's table." He paused, eyeing Sam for a moment. "I hope you do Lawrence proud." He said flatly, waving a hand to dismiss them.

"Son of a bitch," muttered Dean as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "I swear if everyone's this much of an asshole, I'll be out of here like a bat out of hell."

As they reached the foyer, there was a buzz of talking and laughter from the other side of the wall. Moving towards the door in unison, the brothers each pressed their ears against it.

"Should we go in?" Sam wondered aloud.

Dean hesitated, and then shrugged, shoving the door open, with Sam right behind him. They found themselves at the very top of the hall, with some eight hundred faces staring at them.

Across the hall, John Smith was smiling to himself as he picked at his chicken breast with his fork. He was two days into his third year at Arbinghill and he was so glad to be back with his best friends, Amy Pond and Rory Williams.

He had known nobody when he first started two years before, and he hadn't had much luck with making friends in primary school back in London, and when he started at Arbinghill he assumed that wouldn't change.

At the community school he went to before his gran aunt left his parents a load of money in her will was tedious. For as long as he could remember, there was some kind of joke going around about John where people used to shout 'Doctor, Doctor," whenever they passed him. It started when he was only a small boy who used to spend all of his school breaks picking up injured birds or squirrels or hedgehogs, and spend weeks nursing them back to health. He never understood how the name 'Doctor' tied in with this, but eventually the name stuck and the name John Smith disappeared forever.

Doctor's brown fringe fell into his eyes and he flicked it back, grinning. Across from him sat Amy and Rory, who were deep in discussion about who would win in a fight, Amy or Mike Tyson.

"I'd kick his ass!" Amy was arguing indignantly, "And you know it!" She gave Rory a cheeky grin. "I'll kick yours sooner than you'd see it coming."

"Alright, alright- easy there, cowgirl." Doctor laughed, as Rory's face turned from white to pink to whiter again.

At almost fourteen years old, the Doctor had had to beg the school the keep him in Third Year with Amy and Rory. What made it twice as difficult was that his grades were equal to some Seventh Years, and the school strongly discouraged dumbing yourself down for the sake of your friends.

His ears perked up suddenly as the hall became quiet, and he looked around to see two students he'd never encountered before, shuffling awkwardly across the back wall. The smaller one was his age or younger, he was short with floppy brown hair and was wearing a dishevelled hoodie and frayed jeans. His face reminded Doctor of a lost fawn, with wide eyes and bandy legs. The older one was wearing a heavy brown jacket that was far too big for him, had lighter hair and an intense scowl on his face.

He met eyes with the smaller boy, and sensing his embarrassment, he realised he wasn't the only one staring, and quickly tried to draw attention away from them. He picked up one of the glass jugs of water and smashed it on the floor.

In the silence, the noise was deafening.

No-one noticed how purposefully he had smashed it, but they were all looking around the room for the source of the sound. Doctor noticed the two boys move quickly along the wall, towards the Rep's Table, and caught a grateful smile from the younger boy. He returned an encouraging thumbs-up, before turning back to Rory and Amy.

"What did you do that for?" Rory asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Do what?" Doctor asked innocently.

"Smash the bloody jug?" Amy offered.

Doctor shrugged. "I don't know, I felt bad for those people everybody was staring at."

Rory frowned. "If people are staring, it's not your responsibility to distract them. We all have to deal with those things." Something crossed Rory's face that surprised the Doctor, and he stared at him for a moment too long.

"Oi, when you're finished daydreaming." Amy grinned, poking Doctor across the table with her spoon.

Rory opened his mouth to reply but Amy waved him off, and nodded at the Rep's table. The two lost students were making their way along the table, before stopping in front of a woman with light ginger hair eating a salad.

"Americans." Rory said quietly, squinting from behind his glasses. He pointed at the small American flag card in front of her plate.

"Euch, Naomi." Grimaced Amy, making vomiting gestures. "That cow gave me a stroke last year leaving my hair down, I mean that's not even a rule!"

"Do you think the smaller one could be in our year?" Rory asked.

"There's an extra bed in our dorm, so I'd say so." Doctor replied.

"Jeez, he's tiny." Amy grinned. "Poor bloke might be my height by the time he's thirty."

Dean glanced at Sam before clearing his throat loudly in front of Naomi. "Excuse me, ma'am." He said, but Naomi did not look up. He tried again. "Er, ma'am. My brother and I were told to come to you-"

"I'm not finished." There was a severity to her voice that surprised Sam and Dean equally. They exchanged a confused shrug, and waited for her to finish her last piece of tomato. When she looked up, she had a wide smile that looked as if it had been painted on to her face.

"Winchester brothers, I assume? Sam and Dean, hi. I'm Naomi; I'm your American representative. I'll be staying in the school for the year, monitoring your progress."

"Hey."

"Hello."

"If you have any problems during the year, or any questions, come to me and I will do my upmost to assist you." Her creepy smile returned.

"I've got one now." Dean interjected. "How about any Americans in Third or Sixth Year?"

Naomi raised her eyebrows as she turned a few pages over in her clipboard. "We don't get many Americans, we've about six this year including you two. Let's see, two in First Year, one in Fourth Year and..." Sam noticed something not unlike pride cross her face. "There's one in Sixth Year. Castiel Novak."

Dean snorted, turning to Sam. "I'm sorry… but what kind of cruel jackass names their kid Castiel?"

Every ounce of warmth left Naomi's face. "Cruel "jackasses" like me apparently." She said coldly, enjoying his temporary confused expression. "Castiel Novak is my son."

Sam wanted to rewind the past five minutes and start again. And he wanted to punch Dean for messing things up with the only connection to home he would have all year by being a dick- again.

To his surprise (and annoyance), Dean was stifling a laugh. "That explains it." He said. "Come on, Sammy."

Sam could feel Naomi's glare on his back as Dean lead him down to the back of the hall. It wasn't until he saw the tables plated with food that he realised how hungry he was.

Dean was rubbing his hands in anticipation, and finally stopped at the end of a table where a group of four pretty girls were talking animatedly.

"'Scuse me, ladies." He said charmingly. "Uh, any room at the inn?"

They looked to each other for approval before the one closest to him, a dark eyed blonde gave him a wide smile. "Sure is." She replied in a swanky south-English accent.

Dean grinned and sat down at the edge of the bench before beginning to shove himself against her.

"What are you doing?!" She demanded indignantly.

Dean stared at her blankly. "Making room," He jerked his thumb at Sam.

The other three girls turned to Sam, their faces clear: No kids at the table.

"It's alright, I'll move." Sam muttered, shuffling away.

"Like hell you will!" Dean stood up, following him.

Sam's face was weary. "Honestly Dean, give me a chance to do something for myself - You've already screwed up our chances with Naomi, I don't want you screwing up my chances with the people I'm going to have to spend the next year with too, okay?"

Dean looked at his brother for a moment, then shrugged. "Alright, it's your call."

Sam turned on his heel and moved back up the table refusing to meet the many eyes that were on him again. He began to move towards the door when he felt a hand on his arm. Instinctively, he ducked it and grabbed it by the forearm. He looked up to see the surprised face of the boy who he had met eyes with earlier.

Sam slowly took his hand away, expecting a sneer or a comment in return but to his surprise, the boy smiled and said, "You look like you could use a seat."

I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter; there will be more to follow. Comments would be appreciated. Thanks.