So I really didn't know where this was going when I started it, which you'll probably be able to tell while reading it because it's a bit all over the shop. But I really wanted to do a bit of Wholock, because it really is just the greatest thing in the universe, isn't it? Although I'm not sure whether this particular fic is any good. Only you can be the judge of that, Humble Readers.

Also this counts as a Reichenbach fic, a kid!lock fic, a Johnlock fic and a parent!lock fic as well as a Doctor Who crossover. I've got a lot of fingers in a lot of pies.

Anyway, chuck some reviews at me. Pretty please.

And it should be blindingly obvious that I don't own anything.

The Detective and the Time Lord

Sherlock sat with his head in his hands, wishing his emotions had an off switch. Everything had gone as planned, John was safe, Moriarty was gone... but at what cost? Seeing John in the graveyard earlier had made Sherlock just want to forget about the plan and reveal himself to the heartbroken solider, reveal that he really was alive and John wouldn't have to be alone. But Sherlock didn't move from where he stood, watching John break down at his graveside. He just watched John walk away, that old military form back in his posture, before turning on his heel and stepping back inside the TARDIS.

"Sherlock, this may be a silly question, but are you okay?"

Sherlock quickly wiped away the tears that were forming in his eyes just before the Doctor sat down beside him on the step of the TARDIS console.

"You're right, Doctor. That is a silly question."

The Doctor smiled rather sadly, patting Sherlock on the shoulder as he knew hugging the consulting detective would almost certainly be out of the question.

"You already miss him, don't you?" he asked gently.

"Much more than I thought I would," said Sherlock, looking up at the Doctor's kind face. "I'm glad we went to the graveyard though. I'm glad I got to see him one last time. You will look after him for me, won't you? Just until I can come home?"

"I give you my word, old friend," said the Doctor. "I'll make sure he's happy, make sure he doesn't forget you. He's a top bloke, that John Watson. Loves you a lot more than you realise."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "I have a feeling you don't mean platonically."

"Woah there, smarty-pants, I didn't say anything," said the Doctor, feigning innocence. "I just meant that he loves you exactly the way that you love him, that's all."

Sherlock arched an eyebrow, smiling a little bit. "Yeah, I think you might be right."

"I usually am. Except for those times when I'm not."

The detective and the Time Lord chuckled, Sherlock feeling a little bit less unhappy.

"Do you remember when we first met?" the Doctor asked, keen to cheer Sherlock up with bit of nostalgia.

"Of course," said Sherlock. "How could I possibly forget the night I met my imaginary friend?"

Mummy and Mycroft were sound asleep, but not Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock was wide awake, as usual. He only slept when he really needed to, and tonight he didn't need to. Unfortunately there was nothing to occupy his busy little mind. He had read all his books and finished all his experiments – Mummy had scolded him earlier that day for the small fire he'd accidently started in the kitchen – and now Sherlock was bored. And there was nothing he hated more than being bored.

Suddenly he heard a noise right outside his bedroom window, a weird, wheezy noise like nothing he had ever heard before. He looked outside and gasped at the strange sight he was met with. Right at the end of his garden was an old police phone box, the bluest blue he'd ever seen, stood there like it had always been right under the apple tree. Sherlock put on his slippers and his dressing gown, grabbed his torch and, with a kind of cat-like stealth that he'd been gifted with since he was a toddler, he slipped downstairs and out into the garden without waking anyone up.

Sherlock walked slowly towards the mysterious blue box at the end of the garden. He couldn't figure out how it had possibly gotten there, and not being able to figure things out was one of his biggest pet hates. He took a step back in surprise when the door suddenly opened, and out stepped a man. The man was tall and skinny, with floppy brown hair and a rather amusing nose and chin. The way he was dressed made Sherlock think of a particularly gawky geography teacher, especially with that ridiculous bowtie. As completely perplexing as the man's appearance was, there was nothing about him that was really frightening or threatening, so Sherlock wasn't afraid at all.

"Who are you?"

"Oh, hello there!" said the strange man with a friendly smile. "I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor who?" Sherlock asked.

The Doctor giggled. "Exactly."

Sherlock didn't get it, but he didn't want to say. "Are you a proper medical doctor-doctor, or like how someone with a PhD in Physics is a doctor?"

"Neither," said the Doctor. "But also... both. Kind of. But yeah, just call me the Doctor. That's my name."

"It's not really a name though, is it?" said Sherlock. "More of a vague job description."

"Alright, smarty-pants!" the Doctor scoffed. "No need to get shirty. What's your name, then?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

The Doctor stared for a second, before giggling again. "No, really, what's your name?"

"I just told you. It's Sherlock Holmes."

"That can't be right," said the Doctor, still giggling incredulously.

"I think I know my own name," said Sherlock, getting annoyed.

"But you're..." the Doctor looked back and forth between Sherlock as his blue box. "You're not... you're meant to be fictional..."

"Clearly I'm not."

"And it's far too late anyway... what year this? And how old are you?"

"It's1986, obviously. And I'm ten."

"Wow," the Doctor laughed. "Oh, this is... this is weird... and brilliant! So you're Sherlock Holmes? The Sherlock Holmes? The actual, proper..." the Doctor gestured vaguely. "You're Sherlock Holmes?!"

"Yes!" Sherlock said, irritated by the repetition. "There's only one of me, as far as I'm aware. I don't see what the big deal is here. You're the one that's turned up in my back garden in the middle the night, so I don't see why you're the one who's so confused."

"Right, yes, of course," said the Doctor, regaining his composure and straightening his bowtie. "This is just very different. Never happened before. At least I don't think it has... no, no, it hasn't. This is weird, even by my standards."

"Right," Sherlock said slowly, before turning his torchlight to the blue box behind the Doctor. "So why were you in a phone box? And how did it get in my garden?"

"Oh, this isn't a phone box," the Doctor said with a grin. "This is my TARDIS, she's a time machine."

"Time machine?" Sherlock snorted. "Impossible, people can't travel back and forth through time. It's barely even plausible in films."

"Ah," the Doctor said profoundly, his grin getting even wider. "Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

Sherlock thought about it for a second. "I suppose you have a point. Although it did sound like you were just quoting someone."

"Oh, I was."

"Who?"

"Someone very, very clever."

"Okay," said Sherlock. "So this phone box of yours can travel through time?"

"And space, yes," said the Doctor happily.

"It's a bit small, isn't it?"

The Doctor smirked. "Oh, really? Why don't you step into my office and see for yourself, smarty-pants."

He snapped his fingers and the door creaked open, letting out a stream of light. The Doctor stepped inside and opened both doors wide, standing aside to let Sherlock in. Sherlock's torch fell to the ground with a thud as he slowly walked into the impossibly huge room. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. He rushed back outside, walking around the entire phone box, examining everything, feeling every wall before he got back to the front doors. No, the huge room was still in there. Somehow.

"Oh my God," Sherlock said, awestruck. "It's... it's..."

"I know," said the Doctor, leaning against the doorframe.

"Bigger on the inside," the both said in unison, before the Doctor started to laugh. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

"Okay," said Sherlock, his eyes wide and his mind blown. "Maybe time machines really do exist."

"So," said the Doctor. "Anywhere you'd like to go?"

"What do you mean?"

"All of time and space is at your clever little fingertips, Mr. Holmes," said the Doctor. "Not just the past and the future, but whole different planets, whole different galaxies, the universe in all its mind-bending entirety. Anywhere you want. And I promise we'll be back before anyone even realises you've gone."

Sherlock suddenly looked sad. "No one would notice I was gone anyway. I only have Mummy and stupid Mycroft, and I don't have any friends."

"Really?" the Doctor asked. "Not even just one?"
Sherlock shook his head. "People don't like me because I'm smarter than them, but they're all idiots so I don't care... not really."

The Doctor gave Sherlock a very knowing smile. "One day, when you're all grown up, you're going to meet someone, someone who will be your best friend. This man will protect you, and care about you, and support you no matter what anyone else says about you. He'll always be by your side, and you'll never feel lonely when you're with him. And the very second that you meet him you'll know that you've met the very best friend you'll ever have. And I promise you he won't be an idiot."

"How do you know?"

"Trust me, Mr. Holmes. You might say I've been... reading ahead. But in the meantime, I'll be your friend. So where do you want to go?"

Sherlock smiled. None of this made any sense but, for once, he really didn't mind.

"Can we go somewhere with pirates?"

"Of course we can."

Sherlock had an incredibly large room in his mind palace for all the memories of his time with the Doctor. Their meetings were few and far between, the Doctor showing up unexpectedly throughout Sherlock's life to whisk him away on adventures. Thanks to the Doctor, Sherlock had sailed with pirates, fought off aliens and even helped save the world. His times with the Doctor were the few happy memories that Sherlock had, and every memory was far too wonderful to be deleted from the hard drive that was his brilliant mind. In the Doctor, Sherlock had found someone he could trust completely. In fact, the only other person in the world that he trusted more than the Doctor was his doctor; Dr. John Watson.

The Doctor had only visited Sherlock once during the time of his friendship with John, before the Fall, but it had made a lasting impression.

"Erm... Sherlock?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock said distractedly, staring at the wall plastered with photographs and evidence of his trickiest case yet.

"Am I imagining things," said John, looking out of the window. "Or has that blue phone box always been outside our front door?"

Sherlock suddenly looked away from his work and smirked at his flatmate. "You're not imagining things, John. But no, that phone box has not always been there."

Before John had a chance to voice his confusion, the doorbell rang. Sherlock's smirk got wider as two sets of footsteps came up the stairs.

"Boys, you have a visitor," Mrs. Hudson cooed.

"Hello there, smarty-pants."

The Doctor stood in the living room of 221B Baker Street looking the same as he had done every time Sherlock had seen him – tall and skinny, his youthful face at odds with the age and wisdom in his eyes, and that same ridiculous bowtie around his neck. He looked around the cluttered flat with a smile on his face, taking it all in with an air of childlike curiosity.

Mrs. Hudson patted the Doctor's arm fondly. "I'll bring you and the boys up a nice cup of tea and some biscuits, shall I?"

"Jammy Dodgers, if you have any. Thanks, Mrs. H," said the Doctor with a wink that made the landlady giggle as she left. "So, Sherlock, how long's it been? You're looking as serious as ever."

"It's been seven years, almost to the day," said Sherlock, going to shake the Doctor's hand. "You're looking as preposterous as ever."

The Doctor laughed, before turning his attention to the very baffled looking John.

"Ah, hello! I'm the Doctor."

"The Doctor?" John said, eyebrows furrowed. "Doctor who?"

"I'll never get tired of hearing that," the Doctor giggled. "It's just the Doctor. That's what everyone calls me, feel free to join in. I'm an old friend of Sherlock's."

"An old friend of Sherlock's?" John said incredulously. "Wow, okay. That doesn't sound implausible at all..."

"Doctor," said Sherlock. "This is John..."

"John Watson!" the Doctor suddenly cried, making John jump. "Oh wow, this is amazing! Dr. John Watson! Ohh, this is outstanding!"

"Erm... I'm sorry?" said John, taken aback.

"I told you so, Sherlock!" said the Doctor, still laughing. "Didn't I tell you?"

"Tell you what?" said John, more confused than ever.

Sherlock signed, rolling his eyes at the Doctor's fit of giggles. "Basically, John, the Doctor is a Time Lord, that blue box outside is his TARDIS which he uses to travel through time and space. We first met when I was ten years old, where he told me that one day when I was older I'd meet my best friend, and the reason he knew is because in the version of reality that he usually travels around, you and I are fictional characters in a series of very popular stories written in the 1800s. Our reality is exactly the same except that we're not fictional, obviously, and the original Sherlock Holmes stories don't exist. That's why the Doctor knows who you are and is currently sniggering away like an idiot."

John stared for a second, taking in the absurd explanation that Sherlock had just said very, very quickly, before he eventually said "...okay."

"I'm well aware that it doesn't make any sense, John," said Sherlock. "Now Doctor, is there a reason for this impromptu visit or are you just stopping by?"

The Doctor finally stopped giggling and suddenly looked quite serious, which was always alarming.

"I have a very good reason for being here actually, Mr. Holmes," he said, walking over to Sherlock's wall of evidence. "You've been having a little trouble with this case, haven't you?"

"You'll never get him to say it out loud, but yes, he is," said John, ignoring the look Sherlock gave him.

"Most mysterious," said the Doctor. "Three people, not linked in any way, all disappear without a trace only a few days apart. No signs of a struggle, didn't pack their bags, they just... vanished. Definitely a tricky one."

"Admittedly, yes," said Sherlock. "But I have some ideas, I have... six ideas. Maybe five. I assume you're here to help."

"Actually I need your help," said the Doctor. "And yours, Dr. Watson. You see, I've been trying to solve this case too. And I'm going to need the help of the world's only consulting detective. So how about it, boys, you up for an adventure? It could be dangerous."

Sherlock and John looked at each other and smirked.

"I suppose two insane geniuses are better than one," said Sherlock.

"Are they really?" John said with arched eyebrow.

"Excellent!" said the Doctor, rubbing his hands together excitedly. "Holmes, Watson and the Doctor, together at last! Geronimo! I just have one piece of advice for you, gentlemen, that'll probably make a lot more sense later on. Don't blink."

The Doctor parked the TARDIS outside 221B Baker Street exactly a week after the funeral, Sherlock already off on his mission to stop the remainder of Moriarty's men. Now it was time for the Doctor's mission; to look after John. Mrs. Hudson let him into the house with a sweet smile, leading him upstairs.

"John, dear, you've got a visitor."

The flat looked a lot different from the last time the Doctor had been there. For one thing, it was much tidier. John was in the middle of packing things into boxes, endless textbooks and notebooks and folders, and for the first time in a long time the kitchen actually looked like a kitchen rather than a laboratory.

"Hello, Dr. Watson," said the Doctor.

"Oh, hello, Doctor," said John, reaching for his cane so his could get up and shake the Time Lord's hand. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard what happened," said the Doctor carefully. "To Sherlock."

John already looked unhappy, but at the mention of Sherlock's name his face seemed to fall even further. The Doctor noticed that John looked exhausted, and was certainly thinner.

"I just thought you'd like someone to keep you company," said the Doctor with a consoling smile. "Don't worry, I'm not going to move in or anything. I've been told I make a terrible lodger. I just know more than anyone that at a time like this, the last thing you should be is by yourself."

The look on John's face said he knew Sherlock was behind this somehow, but instead all he said was "Thank you, Doctor."

Three years later, and John was doing okay. He was still living in Baker Street as he didn't have the heart to leave the only place that had ever felt like home to him, he was working hard at the surgery and visiting Sherlock's grave once a week. And every few days, the TARDIS would show up outside his door and the Doctor would bounce into the flat to keep him company. The Doctor's presence was John's biggest comfort – it was like having a more cheerful version of Sherlock sitting around the flat, eating fish fingers dipped in custard and telling stories of his adventures.

And then the Doctor received a message on his psychic paper; tell John I'm coming home –SH

"He's... wait, what?"

"He's coming home, John," said the Doctor.

John looked less than happy. In fact, he looked downright horrified. "But Sherlock is... he's... he can't come home, he died!"

"Not exactly," said the Doctor. "He just had to make you think he had to protect you. Moriarty was going to have you and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade shot if his gunmen didn't see him fall."

"But he..." John said slowly, clutching tightly onto his cane and looking as if he was about to cry. "He died... I saw him... I took his pulse... he can't be back, he just can't."

"Well, I am."

John and the Doctor both looked up to find Sherlock standing at the door. He was looking rather worse for wear, even thinner and paler than before and his hair grown out. John stared like he couldn't believe his eyes, like this had to be some kind of cruel and extremely vivid dream. He continued to stare as Sherlock stepped into the room, the Doctor moving aside so he wouldn't be in the way of what was sure to be a very emotional reunion.

And that's when John punched Sherlock in the face.

"You bastard! How could you do this to me?!"

Sherlock picked himself up off the floor, already feeling a bruise blooming around his eye.

"I'm sorry, John. I understand why you're angry, really I do."

"Three years, Sherlock! Three years you let me think you were dead! Three years I've been mourning you and laying flowers on your bloody grave! And then you just turn up and expect everything to be okay again?"

"Trust me, John, I didn't want to do this to you but I had to. I had to protect you, that's why I asked the Doctor to keep an eye on you while I was gone..."

John finally gave into his tears, angry and heartbroken, but most of all relieved that Sherlock wasn't really dead.

"I didn't mean to be away for so long," said Sherlock. "I wanted to stop the rest of Moriarty's men as quickly as possible, but it took a lot longer than I thought. And I swear to you, John Watson, in the past three year I have not stopped missing you. There hasn't been a single second where I haven't wished I wasn't back here with you, where I belong."

The Doctor had a feeling he knew where this was going and, sure enough, after a second of staring at each other, John and Sherlock were suddenly kissing like their lives depended on it, clutching at each other tightly.

"So, erm... I'll just go then, shall I?" the Doctor said awkwardly as the two men completely ignored him and continued to kiss. "I'll just leave you guys to... catch up. Welcome back, Sherlock."

It was years before the Doctor saw Sherlock again, although it didn't feel like such a long time to him.

"Sherlock, John!"

The Doctor looked the same as he always did, bowtie and all, standing happily in the middle of 221B as he greeted his old friends.

"Doctor, what are you doing here?" said John, shaking his hand with a smile. "It's not more Weeping Angels, is it?"

"Oh no," said the Doctor. "I just thought I'd pop round and say hello to my old mates. And if we happen to stumble across any interesting timey-wimey crimes to solves, well that'll just be a little added bonus, won't it?"

"Bonus... yeah, if that's what you want to call it," said John sarcastically.

Suddenly the Doctor became serious – always alarming – and began scanning the room with his sonic screwdriver.

"Someone, or something, is in here besides us," he said, looking curiously around the room.

"Yes," John began to say.

"We're definitely not alone," said the Doctor, pointing his sonic around the kitchen. "There's definitely something here..."

"Yes, well," said John. "Let me explain..."

"Don't bother, John," said Sherlock, not even looking up from his microscope. "It'll come to him eventually."

"Thank you very much for the contempt, smarty-pants," said the Doctor. "But nothing gets passed me. No, you've got another life-form somewhere in this flat, I just know it – ah-ha!"

The Doctor burst into what had once been Sherlock's bedroom, but instead he was met with a crying baby boy in a cot.

"I did try to say," said John. "And I'd just got him to sleep..."

"I've got it," said Sherlock, finally leaving his experiment and going to tend to the baby.

"A baby?" said the Doctor in awe. "You guys have a baby?"

"Yes, obviously," said Sherlock, leading them all into the living room with his baby boy whimpering in his arms. "In summary, after you left John and I got married and had a child via a surrogate."

"Wow!" said the Doctor happily. "Congratulations! That certainly wasn't in the original stories, but I am loving this! So what did you call him? Will I blush?"

"We didn't name him 'the Doctor', if that's what you mean," said John, as Sherlock put the now much calmer baby in his high chair.

"Yeah, no one ever does," said the Doctor with a sigh.

"He's called Hamish," said John. "Hamish Holmes-Watson."

"Oh yes, he likes that," said the Doctor. "Although he prefers Stormagedon, Dark Lord of All."

"What?"

"That's what he calls himself."

"And how do you know?"

"I speak Baby."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course you do."

The Doctor suddenly laughed, shaking his head at baby Hamish. "Oh, that's adorable. He calls you Comfy Dad and Grumpy Dad, Mrs. Hudson is Not Dad, I'm Also Not Dad, and everyone else is... oh, peasants. That's rather unfortunate."

John scoffed. "Peasants... hmm, looks like he's going to be taking after Grumpy Dad."

Sherlock just rolled his eyes again. The Doctor stayed for a while, catching up on everything he'd missed and having a few conversations with baby Hamish. When the end of his visit came, Sherlock walked him back to the TARDIS, which was parked right outside the front door of 221B, just like always.

"It was nice to see you again, Doctor," said Sherlock.

"You too, smarty-pants," said the Doctor with a grin. "Always a pleasure."

"So I'll be seeing you again in another couple of years, will I?"

"Maybe. Not sure whether you really need me anymore, to be honest. You have a family now. There's no bigger adventure than that, believe me. But hey, maybe this version of London will be attacked by Daleks or something, and you and I will have an excuse to be extremely clever and amazing together again."

Sherlock chuckled. "I'll cross my fingers."

The detective and the Time Lord shook hands, before the Doctor stepped into the TARDIS and shut the door behind him. Sherlock smiled as he watched the blue phone box disappear with a wheezy noise, before going back inside for Hamish's bath time. The Doctor was right; Sherlock didn't really need him anymore, not like he used to. But still, he'd miss his strange old friend.

Hope you enjoyed, Humble Readers.

Reviews are the only way I'll learn, so feel free to chuck some at me.

xxx