Elysium: A Wholock

Chapter 1: The Crack at 221B

Based on Pteryx's WhoLock trailer. All rights to BBC and Pteryx

Hi! This is my third fanfic! As they say, three is the magic number, so hopefully I can weave some magic in this story! For those of you who don't know me, I'm LittlePond! a fanvergent. Or on other words, a multi-fandom fangirl! I hope you enjoy this story!

PS Please check out my other fanfics!!!!

Chapter 1: The Crack at 221B

With my time with Sherlock, I'd seen a lot of weird things. A cab driving murderer, an elephant in a room, two geniuses colliding. A crack in a wall didn't make that far up the list. But when it swallowed Sherlock, it blew everything out of the water. Not to mention the time machine that was bigger in the inside, or the man with no name, only 'Doctor.' And never in a million years, did I imagine I could have an adventure crazier than the ones I had with Sherlock.

My name's John Hamish Watson.

Now before you all say that I'm 'that famous blogger,' I'll say three things:

1. You're right.

2. Shut up, I'll sign my signature later.

3. No, Sherlock's not here.

But this story begins when I was awoken by Sherlock. At three in the morning.

"John!" Sherlock hissed, peeking from around the doorway. I groaned sitting up. "Sherlock, what is it? You'll wake Ms.Hudson!" The consulting detective smiled, despite himself, he was dressed completely, even with his favorite black coat. "Murder." My brain wasn't working at it's full potential yet. "A what?" Sherlock rolled his eyes "Murder! Bang, bang! Die!" he yelled, flipping the shotgun in his hand.

"Oh, I thought you were asking for cigarettes." Sherlock scowled, "Don't talk." I threw off the covers, and was about to talk when Sherlock put a finger on his lips, "What did I just say?" I was about to answer. "Don't worry, you'll interrupt my palace warming up." I pulled out a jacket, "You have to warm up?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Just hurry up, John!"

Once I had gotten dressed, Sherlock and I left 221B, and were on our way to the crime scene. It seemed weirdly odd that we were heading to a murder site at six in the morning, but that was life when you were roommates with Sherlock. "You alright?" I asked Sherlock in the cab. He nodded, "Warming up, what did I tell you?" I nodded in the way I always did.

Once at the crime scene, we both walked out of the cab, and were met by an army of emergency lights. Lestrade greeted us, bags under his eyes. "Sherlock, nice of you to drop by." Sherlock scoffed "The best one can do with a call at three in the morning." Lestrade smiled, "Come, it's an interesting case. You'll like this one, Sherlock."

The room's walls were splattered in blood. Whilst the victim's body lay sprawled in a corner, his eyes still open, the echo of his last moments frozen. But his chest was ripped in six parts, almost as if an animal clawed. "Well," I said, "it is interesting, I'll take the case." Sherlock nodded, "Indeed." He walked around, surveying the scene, taking in all of the information. "Use of weapon?" I questioned. "Don't know." Lestrade answered.

Sherlock shook his head "Wrong. See those marks, it's like an animal dug inside, or more specifically, a reptile." I cut in "How-" Sherlock turned to face him, his black hair looked even blacker against the retro styled walls. "The pattern of the marks are jagged. A mammal's or even a bird's would've been clean."

"So, how would've he been murdered?" I asked, still thoroughly confused. I usually was, especially after Sherlock's rants. Sherlock clicked behind him, to Lestrade. "Who was he?" he asked. "Wilfred Collins, veterinarian, had a fondness for the coldblooded." Sherlock smiled, realizing the pun, but it quickly erased, "No. I need something more, allies, enemies, family." Lestrade nodded.

"He had a fight with his parents at eighteen. Went to court, and they were convicted off domestic violence, and he was taken away." Sherlock grinned, "Now we're talking." Lestrade continued, "But there are records that his parents wanted him back, couples counselling." I walked towards the corpse, and felt the marks. "They are definitely reptilian, there's residues of scales."

Sherlock knelt beside me. "Lestrade, don't talk." "O-" Sherlock scowled once more. "Why do you not listen?" He was silent for a moment, a rare moment. "Actually, Lestrade, get me records of Wilfred and his parents. I need to know everything." He left. "Sherlock?" I asked. "I need time on this one." He turned to look at me, smiling. "We've finally caught a good, nice, murder." He turned to Lestrade "Can I have the records you have?"

221B

We finally got back to 221B,  Miss Hudson greeted us, with her usual floral dress and thin woolen cardigan. "How'd it go boys?" she asked, her cheery timbre seemed to lighten the place. "Brilliant, Ms Hudson, got a brilliant one!" Ms.Hudson and I shared surprised faces. 'Brilliant' was a word otherwise non-existent in Sherlock's vocabulary. But I just shrugged and followed Sherlock up the stairs.

I entered the apartment, to my right was the wallpaper and the usual graffiti smiley face, Sherlock sat on the couch, flipping through the records Lestrade had given him. "Gone mad," he muttered. "What?" I asked "His dad, he went mad after the wife died." Sherlock stood up, flipping through more excitedly.

"Of what?" I asked, there was a rant coming on, I knew it. "Don't know, it doesn't say. I suspect either illness or an animal. Most likely illness, probably in the stomach or chest." I nodded, confused already. "This isn't a murder, it's a genocide!" Sherlock jumped like a child.

"Geno, what?" I asked, I was an army doctor, not a philosopher of words. "When someone kills one or their entire family." People these days. This is a good one." This had to be one of the best days of Sherlock's life. But I shook my head again, "Not getting it."

The smile was wiped off Sherlock's face. "For God's sake, what is it like in you brain? It must be so, boring, so placid." There was a knock downstairs "Lestrade," I muttered. Sherlock nodded in response and sat down.

Then, a crack snaked itself across the wall, a metallic blue light shining off it. I slowly walked toward it, intending to investigate, but Sherlock pulled me back by the shoulders. "What are you doing?" he yelled. "What is it? What's going on?" I yelled, the crack seemed to be creating huge amounts of noise.

But, going against his own words, Sherlock walked towards it. "Sher-" he turned around, clearly confused. Somehow, the light seemed to grab him, pulling him inside. "Sherlock!" I yelled. But Sherlock was already gone.

Lestrade walked in, of ill timing, the records in his hands. I picked up the records that Sherlock had, it must've fallen from his hand. "What?" Lestrade looked around, confused. "Who are you?" I was taken aback. "What- where's Sherlock?" I asked, the situation finally settling in. "I've lost him," I muttered, my eyes glassy. Lestrade looked even more confused, "Sherlock? Who's Sherlock?"