Title: When you have eliminated the impossible?

Fandom: Doctor Who/Sherlock Holmes crossover

Summary: When Sherlock is called out to investigate a strange murder, the suspect is nothing like what he expected. Who is this strange man with no name, why would he kill an innocent young woman, and just who is he hiding from. And how did the end up sharing a cell?

Rating: T for violence.

Characters: 10th Doctor, Sherlock Holmes, Captain Jack Harkness, John Watson, Detective Inspector Lestrade, Martha Jones, Wilfred Noble, Sergeant Sally Donnovan, Anderson.

Setting: a little after Waters of Mars for Doctor Who, after The Hounds of Baskerville for Sherlock.

Spoilers: Spoilers for The End Of Time (Part 2) and The Reichenbach Fall in the Epilogue.

Disclaimer: I own the laptop I write on, the couch I sit on and this bag of mini m&ms. Anything you recognise belongs to somebody else.

A/N: I'm not to sure about this story, having never written for either of these fandoms, but I've written seven chapters already and I wanted to see if anyone thinks it's worth continuing. So please let me know if you want to see more chapters and I'll keep writing :)

Chapter 1

It was a typical London night, dark and miserable, with rain lashing against the windows. It had been raining an awful lot recently, almost non stop in fact, ever since that truly unexplained incident where planets seemed to appear in the sky. Thirteen days ago to be precise.

Of course, the media's explanation had been unsatisfactory to say the least, mass hallucinations? As if everyone, everywhere in the world could be drugged and see the exact same thing. Still, Sherlock supposed, it wasn't like the government was going to start telling the truth about the incident anytime soon. A few short years ago he would have been the first to refute any claims of extraterrestrial visitors to earth, but now, the evidence was overwhelming. It seemed not a year went by without something odd happening in London, usually something disastrous. Every time the city seemed to survive the disaster by the seat of it's pants. At those times, he would lock himself inside the apartment at Baker street and refuse to come out until things had returned to normal, well, normal for him at any rate.

He may be a genius, he may be a brilliant detective, but he was no more qualified to deal with aliens and spaceships than Mrs. Hudson was, which was a truly depressing thought. Still, he tried his best to put those thoughts out of his mind, there was no sense in worrying about something he could not control. Instead, he did what he did best, went from case to case, deducing, thinking, solving, doing what only he could do.

Except for now, that is. Right now he was just bored. There had been no cases worth his time for four days. Four, long, boring, torturous days where his mind had nothing of note to occupy it. At first he had played his violin at all hours of the night, which had truly annoyed John. When he had grown bored of that, he had moved on the experiments in the kitchen, at least until John had thrown out all his samples, complaining about how it was unsanitary to keep jars of blood in the fridge.

So now he was lying back on the couch, three patches on his arm, desperate to find something, anything to ease the boredom. John had gone down to the shops, needing a break from the irritable Sherlock.

When he thought he could stand it no longer, a car pulled up on the street, and he gave a small, satisfied smirk just before the doorbell rang. Salvation, if only temporary.

"Ah, Lestrade. I can actually say I am glad to see you for a change. Tell me, where is it, who's been killed, and why do you need me, because obviously you wouldn't be here if you didn't need me."

As he spoke, he eyed Lestrade, taking in the fresh shirt, which contrasted with the stubble just appearing on his jaw line. Ah, he had been at home then. Whatever it was, it had been serious, and recent.

"A young woman's been murdered. It seemed like a pretty cut and dry case, there were witnesses, we even have a suspect..."

"Then why are you wasting my time if you know who did it?" Sherlock snapped, frustrated and disappointed.

"This case is a little... strange. No obvious injuries, no cause of death, for all intents and purposes she looks like she just dropped over dead. The witness reports say she was screaming and struggling against the suspected attacker, before she simply fell to the ground and died."

"What about the suspect?" Sherlock asked, suddenly serious, his mind going over possible scenarios.

"He's a strange one. No ID, won't give us a name, keeps protesting that he didn't kill anyone when we have three witnesses that all say they saw him kneeling over the victim holding something to her head just before she died."

Sherlock's eyes gleamed, he took a pen and paper and scrawled a quick note to John. "Take me to the scene." He said simply, pulling on his coat and scarf as he walked briskly out of the apartment, his mind hungry. Things were about to get interesting.

A/N: Continue posting? Quite writing a join a circus? Take up knitting? Well to bad, I already did that, but the first two options are still perfectly valid.