The Sherlocked Doctor (superwholock)

Doctor, please

The doctor took a step towards John, grinning broadly and proudly, a satisfied look in his eyes as he saw the effect the Tardis had on John and Sherlock.

"Well boys, I must say, it's a real pleasure to have you here! Can I offer you anything? Tea? Water? Glass of milk?" The doctor rattled off a few more choice liquids before John managed to cut him off.

"No, thanks. Now, can I ask who you are?"

The doctor grinned at John.

"I'm a friend, if that's what you mean. I've been watching you two for a while now, trying to see if you have what it takes..." The Doctor trailed off and his grin started to slip.

"What it 'takes?'" John asked incredulously. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock had come out of his shell and was back to his usual self. He was using the 'fuck it all, I'll work through it later' method of dealing with trauma - terrible in the long run, certainly, but better in the short term when danger was imminent.

"What's obvious?" John asked, clearly used to having to prod Sherlock into explaining.

"He wants us to come away with him, somewhere. It's evident by-"

John cut him off. "It's alright Sherlock, I'll take your word for it." John turned to the doctor.

"Is it true?"

The doctor nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, yes, quite good skills you have there Mister Sherlock. Now, you'll be wanting to know where we're going?"

John stared at him and eventually the doctor fidgeted in discomfort.

"What?" The doctor asked. He was impatient to go.

"Why the hell would we go with you? I mean, no offence, you seem like a nice person and all but why should we trust you? Where are we going? Why us? What do you-"

John was cut short by the doctor stepping closer.

"You are coming with me because I need your help. A- a friend of mine was- well-" the doctor cleared his throat and blinked away tears. "She was taken by something, and I don't know what or where she is, but she's in trouble and I need your help."

The doctor took a deep breath and turned away from John and Sherlock, leaning on the console on the tardis and gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Please," he said, and his voice was broken, raw emotion punching through like shards of glass. "Help me find her."

John looked at Sherlock and they silently agreed: there was no way they could turn down someone so obviously desperate, and besides, Sherlock had wanted a case.

John stepped up to the doctors back and carefully placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, doctor. We'll find her."

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Dean sat slumped forward on his chair, elbows digging into the table and hands massaging his aching head.

Stupid hangovers.

Who the hell thought of them?

Pointless sons of a bitch-

Dean's mental raging at headaches was cut short by Sam pulling up a chair across from him, scraping it along the floor with a sound so piercing it made Dean wince and glare at Sam.

"So get this," Sam said, oblivious to his brothers bitchface.

"Five people filed complaints about strange noises coming from one house, and even called the police when they said that they heard 'a girl's scream, a mans yell, a gunshot and a strange wheezing sound.' All five of them described the same sounds."

"So?" Dean asked groggily.

"So, when the police went over there- nothing. Like, we're talking no furniture, no blood or dust- nothing. Except..."

Dean raised his eyebrows moodily. "Except what?"

Sam opened his laptop and spun it around to face dean, showing him a picture of an empty room.

"There was a clear, thick line of dust along the floor, unbroken and covering the entire house. Except for in one place-" Sam fiddled with a few buttons and the picture zoomed in to the corner of the room.

"Holy crap."

"Yeah."

"What does it mean?"

"Honestly?" Sam exhaled loudly. "I have no clue, dean. It could be anything."

Written in the dust, by obviously hurried and shaking hands, were the words;

Doctor, please.