(Would just like to say: This story starts out slow. It's primarily a Johnlock story, and follows the events of the Sherlock TV series, with multiple Doctors interfering with John Watson's timeline to convince him to become more attached to Sherlock Holmes quicker. There's not a lot of spacey/timey travel in the beginning, but there will be some cool stuff at the end when we figure out why exactly The Doctor keeps interfering with John. I own neither Sherlock, nor Doctor Who.)

John huffed a breath as he entered Regent's park. His shoulder hurt, his hand was shaking, and he could barely drag his leg. He squared his shoulders as much as possible, and narrowed his vision. It was a nice enough day, green grass, blue sky,a little bracing damp in the air, the kind of day he had come back to England for.

He staggered backwards as he almost ran into a man with a long camel colored trench coat and pinstripe suit, and a shock of brown hair. And... was he wearing converse? Bit of an odd match up there. He was leaning heavily against an old fashioned Police Box that John really didn't recall being there, and holding his leg, which seemed to be worse off than John's.

"Christ, are you all right? I'm a doctor, I can help."

The man grinned, but it quickly turned into a grimace. "No worry, I'm a doctor too. Well, The Doctor. Hello there. Tell me, what year is it?"

Dr. Watson flicked a tongue over his lips, and looked cautiously into the man's eyes. They seemed focused enough... it didn't look like a concussion. "Well, er, it's 2009, isn't it? January 29th?"

"Brilliant." The other man patted him on his shoulder; the good one, John noticed, as if he had met him before. "Tell you what mate, I bet it's going to be a great year."

John blinked, then grinned at the other 'Doctor'. "I suppose, if you like boring."

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing ever happens to me."

"Oh, I don't know about that. So long as you LET it happen."

Oh, I suppose things just happen to ex army pensioners with a limp?" John joke wryly. "Look, I can at least get you to a cab."

""Don't worry, got one. Go, he needs you. I need to be getting back."

John quirked both his eyebrows at the 'he needs you' line, but shrugged it off, the man was drugged or something, and hobbled onward. A stiff breeze began to blow, and an odd noise, perhaps an alarm of some kind sounded behind him. John lifted his head in alarm.

When he turned around, both the man and the old fashioned call box were gone.

John cleared his voice roughly. "Dreams are getting worse then," he muttered. He rounded a bend, limped over a small hill, and almost (but not quite) didn't recognize the man running excitedly after him, his old pal Mike Stamford.