Hello everyone! Well, I've been wanting to write a Doctor Who/Sherlock crossover for yonks. This, my friends, is it.
You may notice that this prologue bears striking resemblance the beginning of the latest chapter of my Doctor Who one-shot series 'Epic Rescues.' To the point where copy – and –paste was used. If you have read Epic Rescues, you will notice that there are further parallels between the two, but they are by no means the same story!
I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who or Sherlock
Rory had been in better situations. Of course, he'd been in worse ones too. Having his wife turned into a doll right in front of his eyes hadn't been as great as this. Neither had being sucked into the crack and being erased from space and time. However, as situations go, being backed against a tree in the middle of a forest with nothing but a stick to defend himself from an onslaught of countless monsters certainly didn't rank amongst Rory's favourite pastimes. He groaned. Couldn't the universe leave him alone for one week without sucking him into some kind of intergalactic catastrophe?
They were everywhere. Humanoid creatures that seemed to be made entirely out of shed-tools, which Rory had to admit was definitely new. In spite of everything, he laughed. The chain-saw arms weren't to be messed with, but the chisel-noses were comical, to say the least. He supposed the only way to stay sane in such situations was to not take them seriously.
He had no idea how many of the strange monsters there were. Nor did he have any idea where or when he was. He'd been walking home from work, when he'd slipped in a puddle and found himself alone in a dark forest. Normally, this would scare him to his core, but he was currently preoccupied with the more immediate threat of the army of tool-people bearing down on him.
He glanced round desperately, searching for something – anything – to defend himself with. His sword would be useful right now, his shield even more so. Why was he never wearing his centurion get-up when it was needed? There was no way he could defend himself from this many monsters. He looked up at the tree above him, grasped one of its lower branches, and began climbing. He hoped the tool-monsters couldn't climb.
Once Rory was reasonably high up, he stopped and surveyed the area around him. He cried out in despair. There were hundreds of them – thousands even! They were marching through the forest in in army formation, towards a distant foe. At least Rory wasn't the target. He'd just wait here until they passed, then try to work out when and where he was and send a message to the Doctor. Maybe he could take a leaf out of River's book, and carve 'Doctor, Help!' into some ancient stone or something.
Figuring he might be there for a while, Rory climbed up a few branches and sat down. He glanced downwards, and laughed. Most of the monsters that had been attacking him had moved on now, but one was trying to balance another other on its shoulders. Four more stood around them. They were certainly very persistent, but Rory was sure they'd give up eventually. He might as well make himself comfortable, as comfortable as one could be when stuck in a tree in the middle of a forest surrounded by an army of strange monsters.
Rory closed his eyes, and rested his head against the tree trunk. His legs were shaking like jelly, as he felt all the energy drain out of him. It had only just occurred to him how tired he was – it had been a long day at work, with several surgeries taking place that required his assistance. Running back and forth throughout a hospital with supplies vital for a patient's survival really took it out of someone. It was due to this sheer exhaustion that Rory had been clumsy enough to slip in a puddle in the first place. A surge of adrenalin had given him some energy when he arrived here, but now…
A chainsaw roared to life, and Rory's eyes jolted open. Four of the monsters had successfully stacked themselves on each other's shoulders. They were using the tree trunk to support themselves, and the top one was wielding a chainsaw inches away from his wrist. He pushed himself to his feet, and was about to continue climbing up, when he heard the sound of wood against metal and felt the branch give way beneath him.
The world was a blur as Rory tumbled down the tree, his head thudding painfully against the branches. He felt branches break beneath him as he landed on the rough ground. There was a clank of metal beside him. He turned his head to see that the four monsters themselves had fallen, and were now struggling to get up. Rory's vision began to become clouded with dots, but he willed his limbs to move. His body, however, refused to budge, and darkness was beginning to enclose him.
They were before him, their chain-saw arms glinting in the moonlight. Adrenalin surged into his muscles, and he grabbed a thick branch. Bearing it like a club, he knocked the monsters back. He took a moment to gather himself – a moment too long, apparently, for he felt the hot, sharp steel cut painfully into his skin. He thrust the end of the branch into his attacker's chest, dislodging its systems. Sparks began to bounce around it, and it fell twitching onto the floor.
Rory continued to defend himself in this manner, but he could never have won. Each time he knocked out one of the monsters, another took its place. By the time Rory had dispatched nineteen (yes, he had been counting) of the strange monsters, the dull throbbing of his head finally overcame him and his legs gave way. The world around him was fading rapidly, and chainsaws whirled around his head.
After a split second decision, Rory began to crash through their ranks, desperate to get out. He kept his back to the tree trunks, guarding his vital organs, not really caring if the rest of him got torn into shreds. After what seemed like an hour, he broke free of their ranks, and ran, forcing his exhausted legs to move just a little bit further. After about five hundred meters, his legs gave way beneath him, and he came crashing to the ground. Blackness overcame him, and he passed out.