I noticed I do loads and loads of serious stuffs, so here's a good ol' crack fic for you lovely people! :3
John settled into his armchair at 221B and switched on the TV.
"In just a few moments," said a pretty blonde, "We will be revealing the man – or perhaps woman! – who will be playing the twelfth Doctor in the BBC hit series Doctor Who!"
Ever since Sherlock had died he religiously watched Doctor Who, remembering how he had tried to get Sherlock into it. Sherlock had loved it. He'd always try to predict what would happen and on the odd occasion he'd be right. John allowed himself a smile as he remembered Sherlock grumbling that 'all this wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey-stuff wasn't logical. Or fair'.
"But first," the blonde continued, "Let's welcome the writers: Mark Gatiss and Stephen Moffat!"
Two men came into shot. The first – 'Mark' – looked vaguely like Mycroft. John took an instant dislike to the other. Stephen. He seemed like the type of guy who you'd find at the end of a trail of death and destruction – the emotionally traumatic kind.
"We think we've chosen well," Mark was saying, "They're intelligent and we think that they really connect with the alien part of the Doctor – the part that's fascinated with humans and how sometimes they can just be so oblivious to what's out there."
The interviewer smiled brightly and tossed her hair over her shoulder.
"Thank you! Well, folks, it looks like it's about time to announce the name of our next Doctor and answer the oldest question in the universe: Doctor who?"
There was a drum roll and the screen turned to a heavy red curtain with a question mark on the front.
"And…" came the voice over, "the next Doctor is…"
The drum roll ended and the curtain lifted. John gasped.
"Sherlock Holmes!"
John watched as Sherlock turned to face the camera and said:
"hashtag not dead."