WhoLock Crossover

The Man and His Box

221B Baker Street, home to one of the greatest minds in London, England, Earth, the Solar System. Great Britain had been through several alien attacks over the past few years. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, his assistant; were looking for clues behind the savior from the extraterrestrial beings.

Of course, Sherlock deducted that the person behind it wasn't human either. No, they were being saved from aliens by an alien. It explained how he was incredibly smart and had a spaceship, in the form of a wooden box.

"Sherlock, another sighting of the blue police box." Watson informed me, as I typed away on the computer.

"Where?" I looked up, while still typing.

"It was caught on a street corner camera. Only a few blocks from here." He explained.

"How long ago?" I asked quickly.

"Uhh ten minutes ago."

"C'mon Watson the game is on." I told him, pulling on my navy blue trench coat and scarf.

We ran out the door and into the streets of London. Block after block until we made it to- "The box! It's there!" John shouted pointing to it. We both stopped at the door and knocked. No answer. I jiggled the door and it didn't budge.

"Should we wait here for him to show up again?" Asked Watson.

"No, we don't know how long it'll take we use the cameras." I told him turning to go back to our flat.

We went back inside then I looked into the camera's data storage. I re-winded the footage to right before the box appeared. John and I looked at the screen as I pushed play. The box fazed into view and an old man and young woman walked out.

I stopped it right as their faces were visible, so I could take a picture to add on my wall. So far I only had a few pictures. One of the man, another of the woman, and the box. But as I researched about this, nothing came up. It was as if he didn't exist, so I was left to find the identity of the female.

I called Lestrade and asked him to find the identity of the girl and track her down. He asked why, so I told him it was something to do about the recent invasions. This seemed to work, as I sent him the photo and he got on task.

The rest of the evening I spent making connections between the information that I had. My mind contemplated the many different combinations that could fall into place; like tumblers in a lock. However, I couldn't quite crack it. I was still missing the majority of the puzzle pieces, and I didn't know where to start.

I only had one solid piece that I could go by, and that was the; most likely human, girl. My thoughts were interrupted by Watson.

"H-hey Sherlock? I was-" He started, before I finished.

"Wondering if I wanted to go to the Bad Wolf Pub, with you tonight." He simply had an astonished expression, and his face went slightly red as he nodded. "I heard you talking to Mrs. Hudson about it."

"Ahh.." He shuffled on the spot.

"Why?" I asked. "I don't drink."

"You don't have to drink. I just thought that you might want to take a break from working so hard." He struggled to stay confident. "Just you and me hanging out at a pub, watching football."

"I don't enjoy watching sweaty idiots kick a ball around into a net," John's shoulders dropped. "But if you want, I suppose I'll go." Perhaps Lestrade has gotten information on the woman. I thought to myself.

"Alrighty then." He perked up and went down the stairs. I followed after as I met him outside. He held his arm out as for me to link my own with his. I gave him a look that made him put his hands in his pockets as we walked down the sidewalk. I had to admit he was charming even for a highly functioning sociopath like myself.

Arriving at the pub, he opened the door for me to walk in. It was well kept and there was a rose on every table. John walked to the nearest table within proximity to a television and sat down. I rolled my eyes and sat across from him. He ordered a beer, and watched the TV. My mind was still constantly thinking about the case and how I still had practically no evidence.

An enigma, that's what this whole thing seemed to be like. Words couldn't describe how it made me feel. My highly intelligent brain couldn't figure it out and that was something else. Of course he was something else other than human.

"Sherlock, are you still thinking about the case!?" Watson interrogated suddenly.

"No, of course not." I lied.

"Yeah you are, I can see it. Your concentration face was on, and you shushed me two times before actually answering! Are you kidding me? I brought you here to relax and not worry about the stupid case for a while, and here you are completely ignoring me!"

As he yelled at me I saw something that caught my eye. "Shhh, hold on." I said, standing up and walking over to inspect.

"Oh see?! You can't even pay attention when I'm yelling at you! I-"

"Look, Watson! It's the blue box." I said pointing to the painting behind the counter.

It was there in the corner of the picture. It wasn't meant to be the main focus but it was there sitting in the background. "How? Why?" Watson questioned, and forgot about went he was yelling for a moment.

"I don't know. Hey you-who painted that?" I asked the bartender.

"Vincent Van Gogh, according to the guy that brought it in." He responded.

I looked closely at the painting and read, "Vincent Van Gogh." on the bottom. "Well, why would this be in here and not a museum?"

"It's a fake apparently, it was old enough to be from his time but...it wasn't actually painted by him. The name and date was written a month after his death."

"Do you know who brought it in?" I asked.

"Umm, no no. I wasn't there for when it was brought in. I was only told about it."

I snapped a picture of the painting, with John's phone and said, "Alright then. Let's go back home."

John wasn't very happy when I said that, and stayed silent as we left. I looked at him and he just kept walking.

"Okay, Watson...I'm sorry that you didn't achieve your goal of helping me get my mind off the case. But you just gave me some more evidence! I thank you for that John." He seemed slightly less mad but still stayed quiet until, I linked my arm with his the rest of the way home.

That did the trick, as he was in a much better mood the rest of the night. I added the picture of the painting to my wall and connected it to the picture of the real thing. I really hoped that Lestrade had gotten the information and would give it to me soon. John looked at me in a strange way, but one that I could read easily. He wanted to sleep next to me. Since, I felt bad for ignoring him, I laid on the couch and left him some room.

He smiled before crawling next to me and pressing up against my chest. I put my arm over him and tucked him in between my arms. John said goodnight and I did the same, as we both went to sleep.