Title: Three Times

Summary: Three times the Doctor visited his friends in the wrong years, and the confusion that it caused them all.

Paring(s): Dean/Castiel, Merlin/Arthur, Sherlock/John

Add. Info: Inspired by this 4614e630e5dbbbff2d7cdeadfcc145

Rating: PG

Sam and Dean Winchester stood there, trying desperately to figure out what the big blue box before them was and how it had gotten into the bunker. Had it been created by demons? Had it been put there by ghosts?

"Look, it says police public call box," Sam pointed out the writing that was painted over the door. "Police public call boxes were used in the sixties in England. When someone caught a criminal they were supposed to trap the criminal inside the box and pull the phone out of the door to call someone. The idea was abandoned by the late sixties, though, because not many people could manage to trap the criminals inside."

"That's great, Sam," Dean said. "Really, I'm just honored to have had that useless fact spewed upon me. But what I really want to know is why and how a police public call box got into the bunker!"

"Well — "

Before Sam could get started, the door of the mysterious box swung open. A man with floppy brown hair, wearing a tweed jacket paired with a red bow tie, stepped out of the box. He looked wore a small frown in his face. "Dean! I need you and your husband to come with me!"

"Who the hell are you?!" Dean roared. "And this is my brother!"

"I know that's your brother — hi, Sam," said the mad man. "I need both of you to come with me, but I need your husband, too, Dean. So can you please call him and tell him to get here right away?"

"I'm not even married!" Dean bellowed. "And I'm straight!"

The stranger laughed. "Yeah, right. You straight. Good one, Dean!"

Dean crossed his arms. "Okay, if I've got a husband, then why don't I know about him? Huh?"

"Oh, you know," the man huffed. "The angel with the messy hair and that ugly trench coat he's always wearing! Seriously. Where is he? It's urgent!"

Dean stared at the crazy man, speechless, for a while and Sam just looked at Dean and said, "Dude,"

"Oh," the stranger frowned. "Oh, so sorry. Wrong year. Toodles!" Then he hurried back into the mysterious blue box which then disappeared into thin air while Dean stood there with his mouth hanging open and Sam staring at him in shock.

Neither the prince of Camelot or his manservant had ever seen anything like the blue box that had appeared before them. Nor did they know what it was doing in the prince's chambers.

"Do you think it's some form of magic?" Arthur questioned.

"I don't know, sire," Merlin shook his head. It's certainly not like any magic I've ever encountered, he thought to himself, though he couldn't say anything like that out loud. Especially not in front of his new boss who just so happened to be the king's son — the king who hated magic more than anything else.

When the door of the blue box swung open, a man dressed in terribly odd clothing stepped out. His face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. "Arthur! Where's your boyfriend? Oh, there he is. Okay, listen — "

"This is my servant," Arthur said, looking horrified. Merlin, himself, looked rather confused.

"And who exactly are you?" Merlin questioned.

"Merlin, please," Arthur said to him. "Let me handle the questions." He turned back to the strange newcomer. "And who exactly are you? You know, I'm the king's son. I could have you executed."

"Oh, not again!" The man rolled his eyes dramatically. "Wrong year! Got to go!" Then the mysterious box disappeared and Merlin watched with furrowed brows and a confused frown.

Arthur turned to Merlin with an exasperated expression. "Boyfriend?!" He huffed and Merlin just shrugged his shoulders.

Sherlock sat on the sofa, chin resting on the top of his hands that were clasped together, attempting to deduce anything he could about the mysterious blue box that had appeared out of thin air before thin eyes.

It had clearly traveled a lot and it was very, very old. That was all well and good. What bothered Sherlock — aside from the fact that it had appeared out of thin air, of course — was the fact that it appeared, according to his deductions, to be sentient. Which was absolutely preposterous. An inanimate object couldn't be sentient.

The door swung open and out stepped a man with a red bow tie who's face was dripping in sweat. His eyes were wild and his brown hair was sticking up in all directions. "Sherlock! Where's your husband?!"

"My...what?" Sherlock was seldomly taken aback, shocked, or caught off guard. This, however, appeared to be one of those very rare occasions. "I'm not married."

The stranger gaped at him, eyes growing impossibly more insane. "You're kidding me! You are joking with me right now, Sherlock Holmes! Tell me right now that this is some terrible, cruel joke or so help me — !"

"I'm...not joking," Sherlock furrowed his brows.

"So you're telling me right now," the crazed man placed his hands firmly on his hips. "That you are not married to John Hamish Watson?!"

"Wha— John?! No!" Sherlock yelled.

"Ugh!" The man huffed and turned to step back inside his box. "Goddammit! Forget it all! I give up! I'm handling this on my own!"

"Wait!" Sherlock said. "Are you from my future? And what do you mean, John being my husband and all? And how is that blue box of yours sentient if it's inanimate? What's your name?"

"It'll all make sense in a few years, Sherlock, I promise!" The man said. "But right now, I've got to run. Aliens, world domination, end of the human race! Don't worry, though, I'll handle it. See you in a few years. Bye!" And with that, he stepped back inside and the box disappeared.