In 11th grade, our teacher challenged us to write a paper about anything. He told us the topic could be anything we wanted as long as we got excited about writing. It could be a debate for or against something, an informative paper, poetry, an episode of our favorite TV show....

Wait.

What??

Write an episode of our favorite TV show??

Isn't that just fanfiction?!

Yes it is. I'm so doing this.

My response was IMMEDIATE and I started scratching it all out on paper. I made a crossover between BBC Sherlock, Doctor Who, and Star Trek (the reboot with Benedict Cumberbatch)

It was supposed to be a page and a half typed.

....
....
....
I turned in 8 pages.

Oops 😂

I figured you dudes would appreciate it, so I'm gonna post it for you here.

The ending seems a bit rushed, and that's because it is. I had one week to do it, and honestly, I was not finished with it. I wanted them all to time travel, maybe fight some Daleks... but I had to slap on an ending and turn it in when it really would've been more like 30 pages 😂

A Study in Time Travel

Hopeless: Jonathan Hamish Watson felt hopeless. His life was suddenly a dark pit of despair. The only light that made him feel meaningful was gone. His best friend, Sherlock
Holmes, was dead. The flat at Baker Street sat untouched, but John felt the keys in his pocket. He still had to get a few of his things. He drew in a deep breath, his left hand trembling like it so often did nowadays. He turned the handle and pushed open the door to 221B.

It was dead silent. There was no smell of burning chemicals, no body parts on the counter contaminating the workspace, no sound of bullets being shot into the walls, and, most
importantly, no Sherlock Holmes. It was like waiting in a haunted house for someone to jump out at him, but sadly, no one did. The only moving things were the dust particles stirred up by the open door.

He drank in the sight of what used to be his home. Every hole in the wallpaper was there, as was the crude yellow smile which grinned at him from the opposite wall.

‘Oh the irony,’ thought John, for he was far from smiling at this point.
He rested in his favorite armchair, closing his eyes to stop the irritating rays of light.

Silence bothered him; he didn’t feel right without some sort of noise. Silence let him revel in loneliness without his best friend. Sherlock’s words to him ricocheted off the walls of his mind, loud and clear.

“I’m a fake…,”

“Goodbye, John,”

“I researched you…,”

“Nobody could be that clever…,”

“You could,” said John without thinking. He stopped, his own voice in the quiet having
disturbed him. No, not his voice…something else…
It was the sound of grinding metal: a whirring, metallic noise echoed through 221B.

John leapt to his feet and strode cautiously to the window and pulled back the blinds. He saw a man in
a long brown overcoat peering up at the number on the door. He met John’s eyes, grinned, and
then banged his fist on the door.

John swept quickly down the steps and opened the door to see
the smiling face of a man with shining hazel eyes, no eyebrows, a bright red fez perched on his brown hair, a matching pair of suspenders, a bowtie and long slacks. He grinned at the sight of John.

“Hello!” cried the man cheerfully.
John composed himself a moment, stealing a glance over the stranger’s shoulder at a large blue telephone box in the street.

“I– hello…,” he answered curiously.

“Hello!” he repeated. “I’m The Doctor.”

“Doctor…?” he prompted, not in the mood for visitors.

“Just The Doctor,” finished the stranger proudly, shaking hands. “You’re Mr. John Watson, correct?”

John nodded, pulling his hand back from the stranger’s grip.

“Friend of Sherlock Holmes?” The Doctor continued. John sighed and nodded. The Doctor was overjoyed.

“Brilliant! I’m actually here!”

“Doctor…,” John began uneasily. “Sherlock isn’t… well,” he trailed off, hoping The Doctor got the hint. The Doctor bit his lip, clapping a hand on John’s shoulder soothingly.

“Yes, I’ve heard,” he muttered. “No, John, I’m here for you.”

“Beg pardon?”

“For you!” he cried, seizing the other’s forearms. John dug his heels into the ground. He was used to Sherlock dragging him around, not this stranger in a blue box. The Doctor shot him a frustrated, pleading look, and John sighed, following him. The Doctor threw open the doors to
the Police Box, grinning excitedly.

What on Earth was so interesting about a telephone box?

“Welcome,” bellowed The Doctor, “to the TARDIS. That’s Time ­And­ Relative­ Dimensions ­In Space.”

John was well aware of his slack jaw. This so­-called TARDIS was physically impossible.

The inside was more than ten times larger than the outside. The Doctor chuckled.

“It’s…It’s, um, very…well– big…,” John stammered, clearing his throat.

“Indeed. Now, John, tell me, would you like to go on an adventure?” John hesitated. The Doctor batted his eyelashes. “Did I mention that it travels through time?”

Moments later, he and The Doctor were hurtling through time and space. John forgot where the coordinates were set for. Perhaps the next decade? The future would be nice. Would there be flying cars? Robots?

The whirring stopped and The Doctor thrust open the door for his companion.

“Here we are… we are currently on board the starship ‘Enterprise,’ under command of Captain James T. Kirk. John, are you ready for the future?”

John had been through war in Afghanistan, as well as all the junk Sherlock put him through. Of course he was ready!

“Absolutely!” he grinned.

“GERONIMO!” cried The Doctor, leaping through the doors.

The soldier felt his jaw drop again. The ship was enormous, vast and breathtaking. He couldn’t help but feel awkwardly out of place. He took note that his hand was not trembling.

The Doctor hummed a little tune, as he strolled through the halls as though he did it every day. Did
he do it every day? John could only guess.

“Oi! Hello!” called the Doctor suddenly. “Yes, hello, you there– oooh, a Vulcan, even better… I’m The Doctor.” The Doctor rambled on about ‘timey­-wimey’ stuff for a minute, giving John an opportunity to stare at the Vulcan.

Looking back on his actions, John felt quite rude staring at the man, but he couldn’t help it. The man was tall and thin like Sherlock, but with
precisely straight bangs. His eyebrows slanted in a way that he seemed to be continuously glaring at The Doctor. He also had ears that were pointed at the tips.

John had just enough time to hear the Vulcan mutter, “fascinating,” at The Doctor before he realized that they expected him to speak. He quickly blushed and reached to shake the
Vulcan’s hand.

“I–Hi…John Watson…,” he said quickly. The Doctor hastily reached up and pulled John’s hand to his side with a warning look.

He looked apologetically at the stranger, wanting to do something right. The Doctor smiled encouragingly.

“John, this is Spock, commander on the Enterprise. Spock, this is John Watson, friend of Sherlock Holmes.” John gave Spock a nervously awkward grin and The Doctor clapped their shoulders.

“Mr. Spock, if you’d be so kind as to introduce us to the captain of this fine vessel…I believe we can be of assistance.” The Doctor snapped his suspenders with his thumbs,
straightened his bowtie, and offered his arm for John to take.

John spared a last glance at Spock’s ears before he fell into step with The Doctor.

John listened attentively to Spock and The Doctor talk about a dangerous prisoner known as “Khan.” So far, the prisoner had declared himself, ‘better at everything,’ and John had to hide a laugh at how incredibly similar his cockiness was to Sherlock’s.

He quickly banished Sherlock’s memory from his mind to focus on the threat here: Khan.

Spock directed John and The Doctor to the bridge of the ship. John was gaping again. He barely had enough time to take in the beauty of deep space before they were approached by a confident, tall, blond man: the captain himself.

“Hello, Captain, I’m The Doctor,”

The Captain smiled. “Doctor? Doctor who?”

“Just The Doctor,” he grinned, “and this is John Watson.”

“James Kirk,” smirked the Captain, shaking John’s hand firmly. He met his eyes with a warm smile.

“John, have a seat and become acquainted. The Captain, The Doctor and I will discuss important matters,” said Spock, motioning toward a seat.

He plopped down next to an eager­looking young boy with light, curly hair, and shining hazel eyes.

“Pavel Chekov,” he said with a Russian accent, maneuvering his hand to shake John’s. “Eet ees wery nice to meet you.”

“My pleasure,” chuckled John, “I like your accent.”

“Aye, and yours as vell. You vant me to show you around?”

The Doctor signaled that there was still time, so John accepted. He became acquainted with Sulu, “Bones” McCoy, Uhura, Scotty, and a few others whose names he was bad at remembering.

“Oi! Social butterfly!” called The Doctor in his new friend’s direction. “We’re going to see the prisoner. You’ll see your buddies again soon.”

John shook hands with Chekov and Sulu, thanking them quickly with a grin before following The Doctor, Kirk, Spock, and Bones into the
cells.

A glass barricade. One panel of glass separated the five men from the villain trapped before them. The Doctor suddenly stopped directly in the doorframe, right in John’s line of view. He stammered.

“I-­I…Bones, take John…sick bay… John has–has space sickness, yes…,” he rambled.

“Doctor, what are you going on about?” growled McCoy.

“John, listen, you might be in for a bit of a shock…,” The Doctor bit his lip.

“I honestly don’t think anything could…be more of….a…a shock…to…me…,” John felt his words trailing off in realization.

The Doctor had moved aside. John was slowly moving forward, his eyes filling with tears, his hand outstretched. His fingers brushed the cool pane of glass. The man in front of him stared back with the blue-­green eyes that had once belonged to
Sherlock Holmes.

“Hello, John,” Sherlock– or rather, Khan– muttered in a low whisper. He met the pane of glass with a soft gaze.

Suddenly, he turned around, muttering to himself, infuriated. He whipped back around to glare at Kirk, eyes on fire.

“How dare you fool me like this! John Watson died years ago! I cried over his grave! Is this a mockery of my compassion?” he bellowed.

“Khan, listen–” Kirk began, but was quickly outspoken.

“Moriarty used me, used John, and you think it wise to toy with me?!”

McCoy strode forward and opened a small port on the prison, “Khan, just touch him,” he instructed like a drill sergeant.

“NO!” bellowed the prisoner. “He isn’t real!”

Spock pushed John’s hand through the opening anyway. The soldier winced, expecting to be struck. He opened one eye to see Sherlock staring in shock at their hands. Slowly, like molasses, he reached out and brushed his hand against his old friend’s.

Both men gasped, and Sherlock pulled away quickly.

“Sherlock…”

“John, I–”

“I told you not to be dead… It took a madman in a blue box to get me here; don’t tell me he helped you, too?”

Sherlock shook his head, “No, John… it was an accident. I was on the run from a terrorist group and stumbled upon a laboratory that happened to contain a working time machine… I didn’t mean for this to happen. It was a crack in time, if you will.

"Granted, having deleted space from my memory, I had to join Starfleet Academy to survive. I made it my duty to get revenge…stop Moriarty…get back to you…” Sherlock’s eyes flitted to Spock. “I needed the Enterprise. I needed the power to do it… I don’t know what I was thinking. My apologies.”

“You idiot,” muttered John, gripping his fingers. Sherlock smirked darkly.

The Doctor cleared his throat and interjected, “Ahem…is Mr. Holmes safe to take back to Baker Street?”

Before Kirk or Spock could respond, John cut them off.

“He will repay you for any damage caused to the ship.”

Sherlock tapped John’s wrist with a look that simply stated that he had no money.

“Well then solve a bloody crime for them!” John hissed in frustration.

Sherlock perked up a bit.

While the crew discussed what Sherlock could help them with, the group sat on the bridge. The Doctor sat with one arm draped around Chekov, the other around Sulu, and he was telling them, along with John, Sherlock, and Scotty, all about the planet Raxacoricofallipatorius.

The Doctor loved how Chekov giggled every time the planet was mentioned. Sherlock found all of this to be intriguing, and was itching to test his deduction skills on aliens such as “Klingons.”

Ready and now quite eager to go, the reunited best friends sat and waited for the case. It was well­ worth the emotional trauma previously caused to be reunited and peaceful again.

With a snap of his suspenders, The Doctor swept the fez off his head and plopped it delicately on Chekov’s, bellowing out, “GERONIMO!” in a loud voice as Sulu put the ship at warp speed. The entire crew thanked the three visitors for resolving things peacefully.

Kirk invited the men to stay on the ship, and they knew they would be a world of adventure as the Doctor grinned at the, declaring in a proud voice: “With all of time and space on
the horizon, what do you say we explore the Final Frontier?”