A/N: So this is actually a crossover between three different things: Sherlock, Doctor Who and Harry Potter. This is my second fiction that I've started although I'm new to fanfiction, so please bear with me. To be honest at first I wasn't sure that it was going to come together. I seem to have epiphanies for my fictions in the shower, of all places!, when I'm trying to figure something out. Anyway you don't need me to tell how absolutely brilliant each of these shows/books/movies are. I apologize in advance because updates will be slow. Please review and if you like it so far, hang in there for updates. Enjoy my fellow Wholockians!

Chapter 1 Bored

"Sherlock," John said, slowly trailing Sherlock as he walked around the museum.

"Yes?" Sherlock replied, without looking at John in a slightly irritated tone.

"What exactly are we doing here?"

"I was bored. I thought that perhaps a trip to the museum would be interesting," Sherlock said, stopping momentarily and eyeing a painting on the wall as if it held a secret he was trying to work out.

"Um alright. Well I'm going to go get some coffee. Would you like some?" He said before turning to go.

"That's new," Sherlock said, ignoring John.

"What?"

"That old, blue police box. It wasn't here the last time I was here."

"I didn't notice."

"Of course you didn't," Sherlock replied in a condescending tone. He walked towards the mysterious blue box that was tucked in a corner.

John sighed and looked down at his feet. "I'm going to get that coffee now," John said although not making an attempt to move from his spot.

"It's rather curious," said Sherlock, once again ignoring john. "I don't see why an old police box would be in an art museum. I suppose because they aren't used anymore."

"You're just bored Sherlock," John replied, looking up. "You haven't had a case in two weeks."

Sherlock was in front of the police box now. He reached out and lightly traced a finger along the door. Not showing a hint of surprise when the door creaked open slightly. He pushed the door the rest of the way open and was curious as to why it wasn't locked.

"Sherlock!" John yelled.

When Sherlock stepped into the police box, he stopped cold.

"Sherlock? What's wrong?" John asked, concerned. He stepped towards his friend after noticing his suddenly stiff form. "Sherlock? Speechless? If Lestrade could see this," He joked, smiling.

When Sherlock didn't reply John stepped up behind him and lightly pushed him further into the box so he could see what had caused him to stop in his tracks.

John froze. His jaw dropped. He couldn't believe his eyes. He turned to look at his friend to see what kind of reaction something like this could elicit from him.

Just then, the door to the police box closed by itself. The two men blinked and turned towards the door. They both tried to open it but it wouldn't budge.

A weird, whirring sound came from behind and they turned back around. It was coming from a strange looking control panel in the middle of the room.

The police box started to move causing the men to stumble. Sherlock steadied himself and moved towards the control panel. He didn't recognize any of the strange buttons and levers on the machine. He grabbed onto a bar that was connected to what looked like a screen to keep himself upright.

"Sherlock what's happening!?" Shouted John trying to keep steady while trying to have a look at the control panel for himself.

When the box stilled and the strange whirring noise stopped they both stood still, looking at each other as if waiting for the other to move first. They went to the door, unsure of whether or not it would open. Sherlock opened it apprehensively and wide enough to allow John to see as well. They heard the noise of creaking and groaning wood. They looked around the dark room, which was only lit by a square shaft of light a few feet away.

They both exited the police box. Sherlock circled the box twice, his brows knitted together in a rare case of perplexity. "Impossible." He said.

They headed towards the shaft of light. They heard someone shouting orders and the sound of water as they came to some wooden stairs. They walked up the stairs coming to a stop at the top and once again they stopped in their tracks.

Sherlock's mind whirred at the sight before him. They were on a ship. Not just any ship but a pirate ship sometime in the 1700s judging by the clothing of the crew and the style of the ship.

They stepped all the way onto the deck catching the attention of a few nearby crewmen. "Stowaways!" came a cry from one. The men drew their swords and rushed toward Sherlock and John crying out to their fellow crewmen.

Within a matter of seconds Sherlock and John were completely surrounded by them with more than a dozen sword tips in their faces. Some wore angry scowls on their faces; others wore sinister smiles, revealing their rotted, yellow and black teeth, some with hardly any teeth to show.