This is a better summary of the story I wrote. Basically, it's the same as the other one, only I forgot to mention that it takes place between the end of Series Four and the beginning of Series Five (and The End of Time) for Doctor Who, after the end of Series Two for Sherlock, and somewhere in the three years separating Series Four and Five for Merlin. I did not have space to mention that there are MAJOR SPOILERS for Sherlock in the first few paragraphs. Also, Merlin will show up later, but I only had things for two crossovers and mine is eventually a four-way crossover. Finally, this is set in Sherlock's universe, which is the same as Merlin's and is similar to ours except that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle did not exist, because that would just screw a whole bunch of things up.

All that said, enjoy!

Disclaimer-The BBC got there first. And I could never come up with this amazing of an anything in a million billion years. Point being I own nothing.

He walked slowly, avoiding others who kept their heads down and plowed through the crowd. The ever-present wind ruffled his hair, blowing it into his eyes, but he ignored it. With his collar pulled up so nobody would recognize him, Sherlock Holmes surveyed the busy street.

In an alley, a blue box wavered into existence. A man stepped out of it and ran his hand through his hair, making it stand on end. He inhaled some of the cool London air and sighed. "Sure is good to be back," he said quietly, to himself. Nobody heard him. The Doctor was alone.

John smiled as he picked up the cigarette package he had found. He reminisced for a moment about how no matter how well he hid them, Sherlock always seemed to be able to find them. John was used to Sherlock's constant boredom and odd, sudden bursts of insight and deductions, but remembering these things still hurt. It had only been a fortnight since Sherlock's death.

John glanced out the window. He saw a tall man, not unlike Sherlock in appearance, and smiled wistfully again. The man turned, and John thought he saw Sherlock staring through the windows of 221 Baker Street. John shook his head, disbelieving, and in that instant of uncertainty, Sherlock had disappeared, melted into the mass of people filling the sidewalks.

John turned away from the window and sighed. It seemed as though he'd been seeing Sherlock everywhere lately. Which is impossible, John reminded himself. Sherlock is dead.

The Doctor wandered out of the alley, hands in his pockets, head down. He was curious to see if anybody would recognize him. He doubted it, though. It's not as though he was on the news very often…well…not recently, anyway. At least he didn't think it was recently.

He grabbed a newspaper off of a stand and scanned it for the date. "London, 2012," he said quietly. "Last time I was here…it was the Olympics, wasn't it?" The Doctor replaced the newspaper and continued on his way.

Sherlock accidentally bumped into a man wearing a strange combination of a suit and a long coat. They both mumbled apologies and walked off in opposite directions. Soon, Sherlock reached the newspaper stand. He didn't look at it twice. He already knew everything that would be reported, and a great many things that would not be. He had almost passed the alley when something caught his attention.

Was that…a police call box? Sherlock instantly had about…ten ideas…about how it got there when he walked over to get a closer look. Okay, seven ideas. He could tell, just by looking at the door, that it was still in use, and by noting the small keyhole that the box was locked. Five ideas remained. The phone itself was a dummy, as proven when Sherlock saw that the number keys had hardly been used. Eventually Sherlock took a step back from observing and concluded that he only had two ideas.

Either it was a very good museum replica, which was unlikely, because what museum would make an antique telephone box and then just leave it in an alley? The only other possibility was that someone had brought it here, salvaged from an online shopper. Sherlock reached to check his phone. There were several boxes like it up for sale on various sites.

Having reached the dull conclusion, Sherlock turned to leave. Leaning against the wall was the man in the odd outfit, the one who had bumped into Sherlock earlier.

"Have you figured it out, then?" the stranger asked.

Sherlock answered simply, "I have deduced that this is a ridiculous replica of a police call box, probably left out here by someone in one of the flats around us. The flats are far to small to contain such a thing."

"Oh, you called her ridiculous! And here I thought you'd got it!" the other man exclaimed. He went over to the box and patted it. "Although I suppose nobody has ever guessed what it was."

Before the strange man could finish, Sherlock said, "I don't guess. I observe everything and then use what I observed to deduce."

The stranger laughed. "Well you can't observe everything if you've never seen the inside! Come on, I'll show you. Then we'll see if you can get it." With an absurd grin plastered on his face, the man pulled a key out of his pocket with a flourish, unlocked the door, and leapt inside. Sherlock watched the entire proceedings apathetically, as he watched nearly everything.

The man opened the door again. It had swung shut once he was inside. "Come on, then! Don't you want to see?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes very slightly, but he although he wasn't interested in this strange man and his box, he was bored. He couldn't solve cases, what with being dead and all.

He stepped inside.

I'm a little concerned about how this will go. I wrote the outline with one of my (cough, crazed fangirl, cough) friends, and it really is just a crack fic. I honestly have no excuse for this but that the rigours of marching band are finally taking their toll on my brain and I spend far too much time watching British tv. I have not decided how long this will be, but regardless it will most definitely just be pure. Crack.

Also, as Sundapple helpfully pointed out, the Doctor has an ulterior motive behind asking Sherlock into the TARDIS. Remember, Rule Number One - The Doctor lies. Which I think means that the Doctor also can act pretty well. Wibbly wobbly timey wimey reasoning never gets old, and everything will be revealed in a later chapter, quite possibly the last (bwahaha).

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think! Also, please check out the poll on my profile and vote if you ever want to see any more of my stories. Thanks for the support! Every review makes my day.