Disclaimer: I own none of these fandoms nor the characters mentioned with the exception of Olivia Brasseaux. She is the only one that I can say is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. This fanfiction is meant only to share and show my love for these different fandoms.

On a Monday night in the not-so-distant future...

I knew that I looked forward to a long week when the highlight of my Monday evening was a shopping trip to my neighborhood Walgreens. Now, for all of my friends and mates across the pond, I'm told this would be the equivalent to visiting Boot's Beauty Store. Hey, if I could get to the U.K., I'd go to Boots.

I stood in front of the the Redbox kiosk outside the store, browsing through the current movie selection to see if anything looked interesting. In fact, this particular Walgreens location was so busy, that it had two Redboxes. If I'd been living my dream life, I'd be in the U.K. browsing videos via LoveFilm, but at least it'd be more exciting than my so-called Monday night.

Be careful what you wish for, Dear Reader, because you just might get it. While I was wishing that I was anywhere other than where I was, I noticed the power went out all the way down the street. I stood there on the sidewalk in pitch blackness not being able to see a few inches in front of my face. Disappointed with the movie selection and my lack of social life, I turned to return to my car. Unfortunately, I have an Olympic talent for tripping on air and I succeeded tripping over my untied shoelaces. What I hadn't counted on were two strong arms catching me mid-fall.

I looked up, seeing a man in his late thirties staring down at me wearing a crooked, boyish smile. Thick brows framed brown eyes and tufted chestnut framed a face brimming with character that couldn't be categorized as traditionally handsome.

"Watch yourself, Miss," he quirked one brow at me in question. "Are you all right?"

My brows shot up at that moment. BRITISH, definitely British. I, being a typical American on a Monday night who is always a sucker for a sexy accent wanted to hear more from this dishy stranger. Being a somewhat self-educated Anglophile, I wanted to hear more from this interesting gentleman that had effectively captured my attention. I figured that I might be able to deduce his place of origin because I'd watched enough BBC America and Masterpiece Theatre to know the difference between an RC accent and a Yorkshire brogue.

"I'm doing better now," I said, trying not to purr. Knowing my luck, my handsome stranger was probably a serial killer or a telemarketer. Either one was bad luck landing and knowing my luck, he'd be both. "Thanks, I need to pay more attention."

"Or tie your shoes," he nodded toward my feet. I scrutinized everything about him in a millisecond. Twinkling eyes, crooked smile and a tad bit snarky. By the voice, I knew he wasn't from Yorkshire, Cornwall or Bristol, but definitely English. He sounded as though he might be from Southeastern England near Essex or Berkshire.

"Well, thank you for keeping me from falling," I looked past him for a moment. The lights for the entire length of the block were still out, but one of the Redbox kiosks was gone. In its place stood a slightly taller blue box. It no longer sported the familiar "Redbox" logo that I knew, but had the words,"Phone Box" across the top of each side and opaque windows. At that moment, I had an epiphany or it might have been the result of the mushrooms my Aunt gave me fresh from her garden.

"What is a TARDIS doing in front of Walgreens?" I asked, making a silent promise to chastise my Aunt for not being able to tell the difference between a Portobello or Psilocybe.

"Well, you were looking for an evening of excitement, weren't you?"

"This wasn't exactly what I had in mind," I countered, taking a step backward. "What is your name?"

"I am the Doctor."

"Doctor who?" I urged, pressing for a more concise answer.

"Precisely," he answered.

"No. What is your last name?" I sighed in exasperation. At least if I were going to hallucinate, why did my hallucination have to be such a cheeky smart-ass?

"No, not 'what,'" he corrected me. "Who. My last name, if you must pin me with one, can be 'Who' for the evening, or simply 'Doctor' if you prefer."

"Fine, I go with this," I shrugged vowing never to eat a garden-fresh fungus again as long as I lived. "My name is Olivia Brasseaux."

"It is," he took my hand in his, brushing his lips against the back of it. "indeed, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Brasseaux. If I may so forward, would you do me the honor of being my Companion for the evening?"

"That's a new pick-up line if I ever heard one," I scoffed. Realizing that that I needed to probably go to the ER rather than stand around talking to a psychopathic phantasm resulting from pesky Psilocybes, I pointed down the street. "If you're looking for a hooker, go to 27th an Vine. That's their hangout."

"No, I meant no offense," The Doctor released my hand. "I merely am looking for a traveling Companion for the evening. The door to the TARDIS slid open of its own accord. "You, obviously, know of me if know that my means of travel is called a TARDIS. Tell me where it is you wish to go and we shall travel there. It shall be a merry adventure!"

"Oh, well, YOLO, carpe diem, seize the day, etcetera etcetera," I mumbled. "Why not?"

I stepped inside the TARDIS, looking around. It certainly looked far better than the cheesy stage that was used to film the earlier Dr. Who episodes. Along one wall were endless panels of films made in Great Britain. "Pick a film, any film, Ms. Brasseaux! We shall go there and walk the paths where only the intrepid dare let their feet fall." He pointed to one of the panels in the upper left that showed a black and white photograph of Cary Grant.

"Hmm," I pondered the possibilities of traveling to a 1950s cruise ship sailing from Europe instead of America. It would be an affair to remember and not a bad choice for my psychedelic traipse through a DVD collection. Being charmed by an impeccably-dressed man from Bristol with a suave Transatlantic accent sounded perfect. It was only perfect until I remembered what happened to Deborah Kerr: she became paralyzed. No thanks.

"I don't think so," I decided, moving on to a picture a few rows away from Cary Grant. I considered other choices, thinking something more modern might be to my taste. I browsed for a moment before landing on an American film, "Star Trek Into Darkness." I'd always been a secret Cumberbitch at heart and spending an evening with Benedict Cumberbatch sounded smashing.

Oh, wait. He played Kahn, an egotistical maniac hellbent on committing genocide and ruling twenty-third century Earth along with his race of genetically-enhanced super men. He sounded like my ex-boyfriend and that was a past . . .or future that I didn't want to visit.

"Not finding anything to your liking, Ms. Brasseaux?" The Doctor asked.

"Not yet," I gave him a beaming smile. I considered watching one of my BBC series, "Sherlock." No, Sherlock never had a love interest and living in London was far to expensive unless I wanted to live in Mrs. Hudson's moldy, damp basement flat that she wouldn't rent even to Americans. Martin Freeman was a roguish, finger-flipping maverick who played Dr. Holmes.

Drat! I remembered Holmes was married to an assassin and had been nearly killed several times. I didn't need that kind of complication in my life. Still, the choices were improving, given the current state of my social life or lack thereof. Perhaps, I was merely looking not at the wrong actors, but the wrong genre.

Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch had also been in one of my favorite movie franchises: The Hobbit. Granted, in that Benedict played a dragon which reminded me of ex-husband number one and Martin played a character that only stood a meter tall at most. Remembering that disheartening point about Bilbo Baggins reminded me of ex-husband number two.

Still, I considered looking at handsome males beyond my comfort zone: Richard Armitage and Aidan Turner, two fine actors of British cinema that made my heart do flip-flops at the mere mention of their names. Richard as Thorin with his majestic black mane, piercing sapphire eyes and brooding manner made me warm in places that I can't mention, Dear Reader, otherwise I'd have to change the rating of this tale to something that children shouldn't read. Hearing that lilting Yorkshire accent that he used while playing Thorin Oakenshield sounded enticing and exciting.

With Aidan Turner who played Kili, I could have great fun with his humor, his naughty humor and flirtatious ways. Then, I remembered that Thorin was killed by Azog who reminded my of ex-husband number one's divorce attorney. Not liking that option, I still almost decided to pick Middle Earth until I remembered every hot dwarf in that movie was killed by an Orc and Kili never managed to have a relationship with his One True Pairing, Tauriel.

Besides, they were too short! I stood at least five feet and six inches.

"Do hurry, Ms. Brasseaux, time is wasting and we haven't all evening," The Doctor scolded me. "Rose took less time than this painting her face."

I considered various movies. Harry Potter had Voldemort who reminded me of my creepy next-door neighbor while the the men of Downton Abbey seemed a bit to stuffy and shirty for my taste. I simply couldn't make up my mind as to where and with whom I wanted to spend my evening.

"I am sorry to say, Ms. Brasseaux, that our time has come to an end," The Doctor replied regretfully, "and we must part ways. Might I call on you again?"

"Wait," I protested, "No, I haven't even been here five minutes-"

"Sorry, must be going," The Doctor said hurriedly, quickly guiding me through the opening doors of the TARDIS. "Perhaps, another time. Cheerio!"

Dear Reader, I never did tie my shoelaces. As I stumbled out of the TARDIS, I accomplished the acrobatic feat of tripping over my shoelaces. . .again. In the dark, I remember hitting my head against something sharp and metallic before I was engulfed by the blackness.

"Hey, lady!" a gravelly voice called curtly behind me. My eyes snapped up and I found that I stood in front of the left Redbox and the power was back on. I looked over my shoulder, seeing a rather rotund woman in her nightgown smoking a cigar standing behind me, impatiently tapping her foot adorned by a pink bunny slipper. "Hurry up. I ain't got all night."

I looked around and everything seemed normal.

Almost normal. The right Redbox was missing and only the left one remained.

So, I decided to do an all-night movie marathon by renting Star Trek Into Darkness, The Hobbit, Sherlock Series One discs one and two and some Poldark. In that evening, I examined some very important life questions deserving consideration.

One: When presented with an opportunity: do you pick the blue box or the red box?
Two: Do you dare keep a Doctor waiting?
Three: If you wait too long, what opportunity may pass you by?
Four: Why can't I ever remember to tie my shoelaces?

Maybe, next week, I'll run into Gandalf and I'll definitely pick The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. Or I'll follow Hermione's advice, "Use the Force, Harry!"


Notes: I am not a Whovian, but I johnlocked, bagginshielded and thoroughly a member of Ravensclaw. This story is just something that came to mind one night when I was trying to decide what to rent. This is the result of my indecisive need for all things British telly. Please be kind to this author and leave comments so that I may improve my craft or be honored by your kind words.