Feathers
I was stuck in a place I didn't want to be, thinking about things I didn't want to think about, bored out of my mind, not feeling well, and I happened to watch a television program I'd never seen before . . .
Crossover between Star Trek – Enterprise and Sherlock, PG-13
OOOOO
It didn't bear thinking about.
Thinking about how I, John Watson, formerly respected physician – and apparent fellow inmate with Sherlock Holmes, had arrived on a space ship with the optimistic name of Enterprise, in the future . . .
The elf-maiden in the violet cat suit kept telling people that our existence was impossible that we should be existing in their universe; I chanced a peek at Sherlock to see how he was taking in this situation.
He was talking with a dark-haired fellow, who sounded normally British in this crowd of American voices. It figured that he would have found the one rational mind in the bunch, whilst I was entertaining Captain America and some alien doctor with bony ridges on his cranium plus the elf-maiden who wasn't bad to look at.
Polite society wins out – we spent a couple of conventional moments introducing ourselves to each other. Sherlock and the dark-haired man ignored everyone else, though I did catch his name was Malcolm Reed – ship's armory and tactical officer.
We have just organized an official expedition to the 'Mess Hall' to get something to eat. Oh, look! Windows! I spend the next couple of moments contemplating the Universe. Meanwhile, the other members of our group, minus Sherlock and Malcolm Reed, recommend that I avoid the meatloaf. It does look 'processed'.
I look back at Sherlock and I notice a blond-haired man who is regarding Holmes and Reed with some interest; actually more than some interest, seeing that Malcolm is now resting his head on the middle of Sherlock's chest – my friend being a great deal taller than the other man.
"Is this somethin' that I'm gonna hafta worry about?" the blond man with the red piping on his uniform was concerned. I was worried too, and said, "Probably. Is Lieutenant Reed a friend?" I put some emphasis on the word 'friend', and the man said, "I'm Commander Tucker, and you are?" "Doctor Watson." I tried to sound friendly, but I just sounded pained. We both looked at this touching tableau, then turned to sit down – I had just picked up a plate of pasta, with meat sauce and garlic bread.
Sudden movement just out of my sight grabbed my attention. Reed captured Holmes' hand and mentioned loudly that he just had to see his 'weapons'. I muttered the phrase 'personal interaction', and heard Tucker say, "Birds of a feather flock together."
Next thing I knew I was back in my bed, having had a dream . . . and a desire to have some pasta with meat sauce . . . and garlic bread.