I love "Sherlock", "Doctor Who", and "Supernatural"...so why not make a Superwholock!? I can only put two categories, so it will be Sherlock and Supernatural. This is Post-Reichenbach, season eight, before Castiel came back SPN, series two of Doctor Who because I love Rose and Ten.

Oh, and it won't be a SuperWHOlock until later chapters.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything. If I did, Misha Collins would be mine.

"Why is life boring, John? Why can't there be excitement? Nothing over a three has come in all week! I feel like I need a five at least!" Sherlock complained to a grumbly blogger who was furiously typing away at his computer.

"Sherlock, you cannot expect that Lestrade would come to you with the important ones for awhile. He still is weary of you after, well, you know. You died." John responded, sighing. He got up and closed his laptop, trying to leave a pacing Sherlock Holmes in the living room. He was about to walk away when he looked down onto the street, mostly by accident.

There were two men on the sidewalk, both tall, but one unbelievable tall. Especially for the short Doctor Watson. They seemed to be arguing about something, and he noticed the bulge of a gun in their leather jackets. Something he has come to know well after Afghanistan and working with Sherlock.

"Sherlock! There are two men outside, and I think they have guns!" John called out to the detective, who came to the window with a hopeful smile.

"Oh, thank you!" He shouted to no one. "Finally! Something interesting! Do you know who those men are? They are serial killers! They should be dead! I was looking at the FBI's most wanted list and they were numbers two and three!" Sherlock exclaimed like and excited school girl. "We need to go down there!" He grabbed his scarf as he marched down the stairs, flinging the door open, and walking across the street. John grunted as he struggled to keep up with the long legged man.

"-because planes crash! I can't believe you got me to come here for a stupid- Can I help you?" The shorter of the two asked as Sherlock barreled into them. He looked annoyed and slightly green. The taller one furrowed his brow at Sherlock and John and before he could speak, Sherlock opened his mouth.

"You two are the FBI's most wanted list." He said, almost nonchalantly. "Which means you are serial killers and I love a good serial killer, and there are two of you as well! How on Earth did you fake your deaths?" John knew that Sherlock already knew everything about these boys, so he just decided to watch what unfolded. But he had brought his gun because he did not trust the men.

"Hey, we get that a lot, but we aren't them. They died. I am...George and this is my brother Phillip. We are on vacation and we really hoped no one would be on us like in America." The shaggy haired one said. John looked at Sherlock, scoffed, and let Sherlock speak.

"Stop lying, will you? You obviously are not here for fun, rather business, and you are brothers, judging by your exchanges and similar looks, however you seem to lie often, almost as much as me. The one you called Phillip just lost someone, a good friend, maybe lover. Male. You grieve with alcohol and you are hiding something that you do not want to tell your brother. You, however, feel like he is hiding something, but he won't open up to you due to your evasive glances and shifting hands. Your clothes suggest that you have a very small wardrobe due to lack of funds, obviously because the wear of your clothes, you engage in some sort of extremely physical activity. Your guns and comfort with them suggests perhaps law enforcement or military background. Whatever caused you to kill still drives you now, am I right? In fact, I am almost certain you are here to kill again." Sherlock finished with a smug look and eliciting a gasp from John, as usual.

The look lasted for only a millisecond, because the shorter blonde one-who was still as tall as Sherlock and easily a foot taller than John-connected his fist to the detective's sharp cheekbones in a flurry of punches. The shaggy moose-John had decided on the nickname-took out a flask and drenched the pair with the contents. John sputtered water from his mouth, but not flinching. These men sure are crazy!

"How the hell do you know about us you BASTARD?" The blonde one yelled after pulling a bloodied Sherlock into a nearby alley. He took a knife from his belt, one that John had not noticed. John took his gun from his holster and pointed it at the man's skull.

"Let him go. He is just being an arse. No reason to try to kill him like you do to so many. Don't make me call the police. I have the Detective Inspector on speed dial. He wouldn't appreciate him dying again." John reasoned. "And besides, I have my gun, I can shoot you both before any harm can come to my friend." John shrugged.

"Listen, I think we need to calm down and listen to each other before shooting, don't you, DEAN?" The moose asked. Dean grimaced and let Sherlock go. He fell to the ground and John put his gun away as he ran to help the detective from the ground. Sherlock stood before John could help him, straightening his scarf and black coat.

"So, Dean? I believe we got off on the wrong foot. Because your brother did something that peaked my interest-a very hard thing to do-. That flask, was not normal water I assume?" Sherlock asked, somewhat disgruntled that he did not recognize it.

"Well, before I tell you, who are you freaks?" Dean growled. His brother sighed and stuck his hand out.

"I am Sam Winchester, this is my brother Dean. And don't be offended by my brother, he is a jerk." Sam said, getting a murmmered "Bitch" from Dean. "Are you guys some sort of detectives?"

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock!" Dean said to his brother, to the surprise of John and even Sherlock.

"How did you know my name?" Sherlock asked, narrowing his stormy eyes at the brothers. They stared at the genius with blank looks. "I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my blogger, Doctor John Watson."