The Written Void (3/?)
He was running, his long coat flapping behind him as he lengthened his stride. His white shoes pounded the slick cobblestones as he weaved in and out of the lampposts. Yard by yard he was closing in, so close to catching them-
His shoe suddenly caught the slippery edge of a stone and he stumbled forward, his side crashing into a lamppost with violent force. The Doctor's cry of pain resonated through the empty avenue as he sank to the ground, his breath coming in short gasps.
"Doctor!" Rose had caught up at last, and now fell to her knees beside him. "Oh my God, what happened?"
"I don't…I don't think I love cobblestones anymore."
"What hap-"
He waved away the question. "Don't ask."
Rose took his hand and attempted to pull him up. The Doctor hissed in pain. "Something's broken, Rose."
"What! Your arm?"
The Doctor groaned then gulped out, "Rib. Just a momentary thing. It'll heal."
"That'll take months!"
The Doctor suddenly grinned despite himself. "Oh, you humans. I'll be good as new in a few minutes."
"Oh, really." Rose cocked her head and smiled. "Well, aren't you special."
"I like to think so."
The pair froze as the sound of hurried footsteps suddenly became audible. A cane struck out of the dark fog and into the dim pool of light beneath the lamppost, followed by a thin figure dressed in black Victorian attire and top hat. A moment later a similarly dressed man revealed himself, moustached, a look of concern upon his face.
"Are you alright, sir?" began the second man, kneeling down next to the fallen Doctor.
The Doctor's eyes widened and he quickly struggled to his feet. "I'll be fine, just-oh!" he gasped, gripping his left side as the pain caught up with his sudden movement.
"Please, allow me to help," the man ventured again. "I'm a doctor."
An amused expression crossed the Doctor's face. "That's brilliant, ah, Doctor…?"
"Watson."
"Well, Dr. Watson, unless you can glue this rib back together with those nifty Victorian medical instruments of yours, I'm afraid I'll have to tough this one out."
Dr. Watson's brow furrowed. "Your rib? What would cause such an injury on the street?"
The Doctor cocked his head to the side and rolled his eyes upward. "Oh, you know…slammed into a lamppost at high velocity. Just popped out in front of me! Blasted fog."
Rose stifled a laugh. "It's a miracle he can even walk about on a daily basis."
The Doctor smirked, nodding his head in her direction. "Thinks she's funny, but I'm so not amused."
Rose looked up sharply, recognizing their old joke. The Doctor grinned and they both burst into laughter.
"Heavens, man! Are you injured or not?" The Victorian doctor was clearly frustrated by this bewildering change of events.
"Ow! Oh, that smarts!" The Doctor clutched his side again. "Ooh, shouldn't have laughed at that."
The first man had said nothing, but had watched the events before him with sharp, hawk-like eyes, taking in every detail about the newcomers before him. "We are not too far from Baker Street, Watson," he said quietly. "I suggest we take him there first."
"I would be very glad of your help, Doctor," the Doctor added, obviously tickled by the similarities in names.
Watson nodded, but cast a wary eye over the couple. "And how will your friend fare?"
"She will accompany me. If you'll lead the way, we'll be right behind you."
Watson turned and joined his friend. "Such strange people, are they not, Holmes?" he muttered as they began to walk ahead into the night.
"Ah! That's better!" The Doctor suddenly piped up, rubbing his left side.
Rose looked up at him. "What? You're all healed now?"
"Yep, but I believe we'll need those guys for a little more than hospitality. I want some answers," he replied, gesturing to the men in front of them. He suddenly grinned. "Who'd a thought we'd actually visit their rooms in Baker Street!"
"They exist then?"
"Unless we've been chatting with a couple of holograms. Ooh, that's a thought. Literary holograms. Fantastic, isn't it?"
Rose shot him a questioning glance. "Of course! But can we get out of here, this impossible world we've landed in?"
The Doctor's face fell, as if remembering some unspoken doubt. He bit his lip. "Something's not right, Rose, and for the love of me I can't figure it out."
Rose took his arm and leaned against him as they continued to walk. "With all these fictional men running about, do you think we're living in some sort of book?"
The Doctor chuckled. "Nah, it's impossible! There's no such dimension in time that could-"
He froze, his eyes widening. Rose released his arm as the Doctor began furiously pacing before her, hissing words and running his hands through his hair.
"There is no such dimension that exists entirely in fiction," he was muttering. "Anywhere the TARDIS lands has a basis in reality, some fiber of substance in time." He ruffled his hair again. "Then by that fact alone, that means-" He looked up suddenly and stared at his companion. "Rose, we're not in a book. No, no, those people-" he stabbed a finger in the direction of Watson and Holmes-"Those characters are alive on your Earth! Alive at the very same time as their authors!"
Chapter Four: The Doctor and the Detective
His shoe suddenly caught the slippery edge of a stone and he stumbled forward, his side crashing into a lamppost with violent force. The Doctor's cry of pain resonated through the empty avenue as he sank to the ground, his breath coming in short gasps.
"Doctor!" Rose had caught up at last, and now fell to her knees beside him. "Oh my God, what happened?"
"I don't…I don't think I love cobblestones anymore."
"What hap-"
He waved away the question. "Don't ask."
Rose took his hand and attempted to pull him up. The Doctor hissed in pain. "Something's broken, Rose."
"What! Your arm?"
The Doctor groaned then gulped out, "Rib. Just a momentary thing. It'll heal."
"That'll take months!"
The Doctor suddenly grinned despite himself. "Oh, you humans. I'll be good as new in a few minutes."
"Oh, really." Rose cocked her head and smiled. "Well, aren't you special."
"I like to think so."
The pair froze as the sound of hurried footsteps suddenly became audible. A cane struck out of the dark fog and into the dim pool of light beneath the lamppost, followed by a thin figure dressed in black Victorian attire and top hat. A moment later a similarly dressed man revealed himself, moustached, a look of concern upon his face.
"Are you alright, sir?" began the second man, kneeling down next to the fallen Doctor.
The Doctor's eyes widened and he quickly struggled to his feet. "I'll be fine, just-oh!" he gasped, gripping his left side as the pain caught up with his sudden movement.
"Please, allow me to help," the man ventured again. "I'm a doctor."
An amused expression crossed the Doctor's face. "That's brilliant, ah, Doctor…?"
"Watson."
"Well, Dr. Watson, unless you can glue this rib back together with those nifty Victorian medical instruments of yours, I'm afraid I'll have to tough this one out."
Dr. Watson's brow furrowed. "Your rib? What would cause such an injury on the street?"
The Doctor cocked his head to the side and rolled his eyes upward. "Oh, you know…slammed into a lamppost at high velocity. Just popped out in front of me! Blasted fog."
Rose stifled a laugh. "It's a miracle he can even walk about on a daily basis."
The Doctor smirked, nodding his head in her direction. "Thinks she's funny, but I'm so not amused."
Rose looked up sharply, recognizing their old joke. The Doctor grinned and they both burst into laughter.
"Heavens, man! Are you injured or not?" The Victorian doctor was clearly frustrated by this bewildering change of events.
"Ow! Oh, that smarts!" The Doctor clutched his side again. "Ooh, shouldn't have laughed at that."
The first man had said nothing, but had watched the events before him with sharp, hawk-like eyes, taking in every detail about the newcomers before him. "We are not too far from Baker Street, Watson," he said quietly. "I suggest we take him there first."
"I would be very glad of your help, Doctor," the Doctor added, obviously tickled by the similarities in names.
Watson nodded, but cast a wary eye over the couple. "And how will your friend fare?"
"She will accompany me. If you'll lead the way, we'll be right behind you."
Watson turned and joined his friend. "Such strange people, are they not, Holmes?" he muttered as they began to walk ahead into the night.
"Ah! That's better!" The Doctor suddenly piped up, rubbing his left side.
Rose looked up at him. "What? You're all healed now?"
"Yep, but I believe we'll need those guys for a little more than hospitality. I want some answers," he replied, gesturing to the men in front of them. He suddenly grinned. "Who'd a thought we'd actually visit their rooms in Baker Street!"
"They exist then?"
"Unless we've been chatting with a couple of holograms. Ooh, that's a thought. Literary holograms. Fantastic, isn't it?"
Rose shot him a questioning glance. "Of course! But can we get out of here, this impossible world we've landed in?"
The Doctor's face fell, as if remembering some unspoken doubt. He bit his lip. "Something's not right, Rose, and for the love of me I can't figure it out."
Rose took his arm and leaned against him as they continued to walk. "With all these fictional men running about, do you think we're living in some sort of book?"
The Doctor chuckled. "Nah, it's impossible! There's no such dimension in time that could-"
He froze, his eyes widening. Rose released his arm as the Doctor began furiously pacing before her, hissing words and running his hands through his hair.
"There is no such dimension that exists entirely in fiction," he was muttering. "Anywhere the TARDIS lands has a basis in reality, some fiber of substance in time." He ruffled his hair again. "Then by that fact alone, that means-" He looked up suddenly and stared at his companion. "Rose, we're not in a book. No, no, those people-" he stabbed a finger in the direction of Watson and Holmes-"Those characters are alive on your Earth! Alive at the very same time as their authors!"
Chapter Four: The Doctor and the Detective