A/N: I know I really shouldn't be starting anything new since I have the worst record with updating, but I couldn't let this go. It's Sherlock and SG-1! There needs to be more of this crossover!
I realize that a top secret military project that answers only to the President probably wouldn't reveal anything to an RAMC doctor, even names, but for the sake of a fic...
Disclaimer- The Dark Lord Moffat owns this reincarnation of Sherlock Holmes. MGM used to own Stargate SG-1, but they sold it to someone else. (Me)
While Sherlock is eccentric, he's not the strangest person John had ever met. No, that belonged to an American military group called SG-1. Thanks to a relative working at Cheyenne Mountain, and a sudden emergency, John was debriefed on America's top-secret military operation.
The first time he met SG-1, he only had time to learn their names and get a quick read on them before they left. Colonel Jack O'Neill was the team leader. He was sarcastic, but protective. Major Sam Carter was a brilliant scientist, Doctor Daniel Jackson was a linguist and archaeologist, and Murray was just… different.
John had the fortune to run into them quite a few times. The first was in Egypt, where he was stationed for a few months. He saw his aunt for the first time in years then, too.
"Watson, we got a group coming in!" John woke up to his friend and assistant, Bill Murray, yelling in his face.
"Wish they could learn to duck," Bill moaned, as they both quickly got into scrubs. "It's been only hours since that last group. Wish they'd wait until we got a few hours of sleep at least."
"Yes, how dare they get shot," John grinned at his friend, though inwardly agreed. He's gotten only snatches of sleep in the past week, and wished that the other doctors would be able to handle this one. But as the chief surgeon, John was the most qualified to deal with severe cases.
They ran into the tent, and John saw why he was called. A group had come in with two wounded, one more severely than the other. One man had been shot in the arm, and the other in the abdomen. John was definitely this man's best chance of surviving without complications. He shook his weariness off and got ready to fix the poor soldier.
"Doctor Daniel Jackson," Bill muttered to John, "Took a bullet to his abdomen. Just a nick, exit wound on his side."
John nodded at Bill. "Doctor Jackson," he said slowly and carefully, "I'm going to give you an anesthetic. You'll feel drowsy, for a few seconds. Do you understand?"
Jackson nodded. "Yup," he grunted in pain, his arm wrapped around the wound, " I've done this plenty of times." He managed a pained grin.
"Daniel!" a sharp, commanding voice yelled from the bed next to him, "I thought I ordered you to be careful, which means no wandering off!" The accent was American, and quite annoying. John spared him a quick glance and saw it was the man with the arm wound. A short woman John didn't recognize was tending to him, her back to John.
"Shut up, Jack." Jackson snapped back, hissing as John moved his arm away from the wound and inserted an IV. "I'm not dead, kidnapped, or even possessed."
"Well that's a first," the voice- Jack- yelled back. John gritted his teeth. If that man didn't shut up soon, he'd knock him out. He didn't like officers-or anybody- yelling at his patients. Especially not while he was operating.
"Sir, you can yell at him later," a female this time, and a voice of reason. John carefully unwrapped the bandage around Daniel's torso as he nodded off from the morphine.
"Major Carter has a valid point, O'Neill. Daniel Jackson can no longer hear you, as he is being operated upon." This guy sounded weird, like he was a computer or something.
"Bill," John said quietly, nodding at the curtain around the bed. Bill nodded in understanding and pulled the divider to give them more privacy. Only one more voice got through before he tuned them out to focus on Daniel.
"Jack, sit down and shut up before you make your arm worse. Sam, Teal'c, you sit down too. I don't want to hear another sound out of any of you." John let himself be amused for a few seconds at the feminine voice before he got to work.
John was wrist deep in his patient, sewing his innards back up, when he heard the curtain get pulled back.
"Out," he snapped, not even looking up. "You can see him when I'm done."
"I'm Doctor Frasier," the soft voice from before said, "I'm his doctor. How's he doing?"
"He'll be fine," John said, a little less annoyed knowing she was a doctor, but wanting her out all the same. "Now please, leave."
"Let me help, please."
John gave a growl of annoyance. "My base, my patient, my rules. Now get out," he snapped.
"Alright. Call if you need me," the doctor said calmly, not offended by his brusque demeanor. Thankfully, without waiting for an answer, she turned and left. John hated when people watched him work or talked at him. They were always in the way and couldn't keep their mouths shut.
The next morning, John walked into the short-term post-op room to check on his patient. He had gotten a whole eight hours of sleep and felt much better. The aeroplane to England had left last night, so there was only one occupied bed. His patient was sitting up, talking with a blond woman and a very large and imposing black man, who was wearing a skull-cap, of all things.
The visitors were leaning over Jackson, talking in a quiet voice. When John walked in, they quickly sat up and started asking Jackson how he was. Well, the woman did, and the man sat there eyeing John up. It was really quite freaky. John decided the easiest- and safest- thing to do was pretended he didn't notice the topic change. Whatever they were a part of was above his security clearance. He had no desire to get mixed up with things he wasn't allowed to know.
"Hello," John gave them his winning 'I'm a doctor, you'll be fine' smile, "I'm Doctor Watson, your surgeon. How're you feeling this morning, Doctor Jackson?"
"Call me Daniel please," Jackson replied, "and I'm doing much better."
"Glad to hear," John said. "Are you in any pain? We can increase the painkillers some."
His patient shook his head. "Nope, just a little bit of pain when I shift, but it's nothing I can't handle."
"Good," John smiled, glad he wasn't one of the screaming types that couldn't handle any pain and begged to be doped up all the time. "I'm just going to need to take a look at your stitches." He glanced at the other two, not sure if Jackson- no, Daniel, wanted them there or not. They clearly weren't about to get up and Daniel didn't seem to care, so he mentally shrugged and unwrapped the bandages.
"They're looking good, no sign of infection," John studied the stitches, lightly feeling them. "You'll need to change the dressing a few times, but your nurse, Bill Murray, will show you how to do that. As long as you don't overwork yourself, you'll be good as new in a few weeks."
"So, when will I be cleared to go out into the field?" Daniel asked, giving John a sweet smile and puppy dog eyes.
John arched an eyebrow at him, unimpressed with his attempts to get a shorter sentence. "A few weeks. If you pull your stitches, you'll just be in pain, bleeding, and have to stay at your base even longer. I'll tell your CO to order you to stay on base if I have to."
Daniel looked disappointed as the blond smirked. "Like Jack would do anything else. Between him and Fraiser, you won't be able to go off world for a month." John blinked at the unusual phrase for the field. "Major Samantha Carter," the blond said, turning to John, "and this is Murray." There was a slight hesitation before saying his name, like she wasn't sure.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Watson," Murray said, inclining his head.
"Just John is fine," he told them, shaking hands with Carter.
"Daniel!" a graying man with the arm wound strode into the room, probably aiming for the dramatic. "Hammond's not pleased with you. Colonel Jack O'Neill," he told John, giving him a lazy salute as Daniel gaped at him. "I'm assuming you're the good doctor that patched up Danny-boy here?"
"Yes sir," John nodded. "He'll be fine as long as he doesn't exert himself for the next few weeks."
"Oh, he won't be anywhere but his office," O'Neill glared at Daniel.
"Jack," Daniel whined, "Come on. Just one week."
"Oh, I don't think so, Jackson." John turned to see the short woman walk up, Bill on her heels. "You just got shot. You're not going anywhere."
"I've been shot before. And what about Jack?"
"Not with a bullet, you haven't," she lifted up the bandage to check his stitches. "I think you'll find it's not as easy to bounce back from as a hit from a staff weapon or zat. The Colonel will be staying on base as well."
John and Bill exchanged a look. This group was strange. Almost nothing they said made any sense. John was starting to wonder if he should test them all for drugs.
"Nice job on the stitches, Doctor Watson," she spoke over Jack's whined protest and turning around.
She looked very familiar, but John couldn't quite place her. She must have recognized him too, because she gasped when she saw his face. "Johnny?"
Then it clicked. "Aunt Janet?"
"It is you," she beamed. "It's been too long. What, fifteen years? How's your mother?"
"Something like that," John grinned.
"You're related?" O'Neill asked, "I didn't know you had relatives in England, Doc."
"There are lots of things you don't know, Colonel. How long do we have until our ride comes?"
"General Hammond estimates it will be around an hour until the airplane arrives, Doctor Frasier." That big black guy was weird.
"Perfect," she smiled, grabbing John's arm and manhandling him towards the door. "Johnny and I'll be catching up, if all hell breaks loose and you need me."
Keep your eyes out for a sequel!