The doctor walked toward his friend, Rose, a coquette - or at least she was tonight - who was on the prowl for a date. He was in charge of providing her tutelage for the evening, just in case she got into trouble. A guy with very large biceps came up to Rose and told her he had just won a fight. The doctor juxtaposed his choices: he could tell Rose the guy was just a charlatan, that he wasn't really in a fight, or he could tell her to go for it. Rose asked about the guy's interests. He started talking about his opinions on fandoms like Twilight, and how it was better than Harry Potter and that he was right and no one could change his mind. What a bigot, thought the Doctor.
"Come on," he said to Rose, pulling her vehemently to the exit, engendering her to bump into someone and fall over. Her indiscretion caused her to curse before she looked up at the person. The tall man's face was obfuscated by a deerstalker hat, a turned up collar, and a dark blue scarf. Next to him was a shorter man with a striped jumper who helped Rose back up.
"Are you all right?" the short man asked.
The doctor was absolutely laconic; he couldn't believe his eyes, which led to not knowing what to say next. "Well, this is just... strange. Impossible, really."
"Doctor, you'll just have to acquiesce that we are indeed here. The question is, how?" asked Sherlock Holmes as he removed his deerstalker.
"There really does seem to be an ambiguity about that. I certainly haven't the foggiest," said John Watson.
"Although it is quite serendipitous that we've managed to run into you, Doctor. I thought you were just a myth, but I stand corrected," Sherlock told the flabbergasted man. "You will help, won't you?"
"Well, yes, of course. Rose, this is Sherlock Holmes. No time for questions, we have to think up some machinations to fix this and get them back to their world-"
The doctor was interrupted by two men at the door.
"How is life back on Planet Vulcan? Good, I hope?" James Kirk asked.
"Oh, absolutely beatific, thank you," Mr. Spock replied with just a hint of a smile on his normally stone-like face. His eyes met the doctor. His right eyebrow rose.
The doctor whipped out his sonic screwdriver and scanned the room. "Oh my. There seem to be small rifts in the space-time continuum ubiquitous around this building."
"Rifts. I hate those," Kirk grumbled.
"No offense, captain, but not the time," Sherlock snapped in a tone that was much less than amicable.
"Alright, everyone, stop arguing," the doctor was hopping all about the place, scanning and sniffing. "Oh! Please, everyone, eschew the toilets! They tend to be hot-spots for these temperamental rifts."
To be continued…