1x17 The Game is Afoot (5/5)
Title: The Game is Afoot
Author: spikewriter
Rating: PG
Pairing: Rose/Ten II
Summary: In Victorian London, the Doctor and Rose find fact and fiction colliding in unexpected ways -- and with unexpected, dangerous consequences.
Author's notes: Special thanks to shinyopals who said "go for it" when I pitched the idea -- and put up with it not being finished as quickly as either of us would have hoped.
My apologies for the break between the previous part and now. Real life interfered a bit in getting the final part up and to everyone.
Episode 17 of a virtual series at the_altverse, following Coup by Memory.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
Virtual Series Masterlist
By the time they arrived at Baker Street again, the Doctor was feeling a bit more confident about the state of the TARDIS. It’d still take a while to get everything together as he’d hoped, but at least he could see progress happening.
The same apparently could not be said of the murder case. Holmes looked no happier that morning that he had the evening before, though it quickly became apparent that his frustration was not from the evidence or lack thereof. “I am convinced Doyle is keeping a mistress somewhere in the city and has not had the decency to tell me about it,” he complained almost as soon as Mrs. Hudson had shown the Doctor and Rose to the sitting room on the first floor. “He has sent no note, nor given me any idea of his whereabouts. If it was not for the fact he has done this to me before, I might fear some foul disaster had befallen him.”
Some foul disaster still could have, but the Doctor wasn’t going to say anything about that. Too many things might happen crossing the void without a capsule, none of them pleasant to contemplate. There was also always the possibility a trick of the rift or whatever technology Doyle was using could land him somewhere other than the destination he intended. “Any news on the murder?” he asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from Doyle until the man was present.
Holmes waved his hand. “Lestrade has sent word he plans to call on me, undoubtedly faced with some evidence he cannot unravel. At least you will be here, Doctor; I find I cannot think in such situations unless there is someone else in the room - and I do not count Lestrade in that number. I need someone who at least has an inkling of what is involved in seeing beyond the simple facts to find the truth.”
The Doctor supposed he should be flattered. “And Rose as well, of course.”
“Naturally - you understand why I am so annoyed I find myself without my own assistant. Besides, as Mrs. Tyler is wearing again wearing the skirt I lent her and appears to conform to the mandates of fashion and propriety, Inspector Lestrade will simply have to live with her presence.” He glanced down at Rose’s feet. “But what do you call those shoes you wear?”
The explanation of trainers passed the time rather pleasantly until there was a knock at the door downstairs. “It is not Doyle,” Holmes noted. “He has his own key. Most likely it is the police - ah, I hear Lestrade’s voice.”
This time, there was no effort to appear busy when Lestrade appeared in the doorway. Instead, Holmes greeted him with the question, “I assume you have made a thorough search of Mr. Whyte’s rooms?”
“We have,” Lestrade said. “Very interesting, I might say. Seems easy enough to me, though my superiors have made it clear I am to consult with you and offer all such assistance as you might require.” He looked around. “Doctor Doyle’s not here to take notes?”
“He is away on other business. Doctor Tyler’s good wife has been so kind as to offer to make a record of our conversation. She often performs the same office for her husband. Mrs. Tyler, my notebook and pencil are at your disposal.”
The Doctor didn’t know who twitched more; Rose at the idea of playing secretary or himself at being called Doctor Tyler. He wasn’t going to start an argument about “just the Doctor” at this moment, not when he needed to ensure he didn’t alienate Holmes when he was going to require his help. Thankfully, Rose might twitch, but she did as requested, retiring to the desk in the corner and opening up the notebook that lay there to a fresh page.
Lestrade didn’t look as if he was comfortable with this turn of events, but faced with three pairs of eyes looking at him expectantly, he cleared his throat and began. “Right. Willard Whyte lived alone in lodgings near King’s Cross. His landlady said he was a quiet young man and a good tenant with no difficulties. She did not report any unusual visitors of either sex. In fact, Whyte seldom entertained visitors at all, and the few times he did, he would request the use of the drawing room at the front, not entertain them in his own rooms. She did not know of any family, though she did report he had regular correspondence from outside London, so she supposed there might be family. He, however, did not make a tremendous effort at sharing his personal life with her, but as long as he paid his rent and did not cause trouble, she didn’t particularly care one way or the other. Apparently she has had tenants who were quite friendly, but late on their rent or otherwise a difficulty.”
“So there is precious little information to be gained from the landlady.” Holmes sighed. “Might I hold out hope for the room? Could there be some insight into his personality to be found there?”
He was being a little over dramatic, but Lestrade seemed to take no notice, which told the Doctor this was the way such discussions usually went. “Rooms were neat, clean, and on the surface appeared to have no items that would excite any comment. Closer inspection, however, discovered that his bookshelf had a copy of the Bible, Sir Walter Scott’s Kenilworth, and an edition of Manon Lescaut with what is called ‘curious plates’.”
Lestrade pronounced it “Maynon Lescot,” but the Doctor knew what he meant. Lestrade cleared his throat before continuing. “There was also a set of postcards in an envelope concealed a desk drawer that would be of interest to gentlemen.”
He broke off, eying Rose uncomfortably. “Come now, inspector,” Holmes said. “Mrs. Tyler is a married woman. I think she has some understanding of such things. But let us confine ourselves to what might be relevant to the case.”
“Mrs. Tyler can speak for herself,” Rose muttered under her breath, low enough that if the Doctor hadn’t been standing near her, he wouldn’t have heard her. Fortunately, Lestrade didn’t argue, and after a deep sigh said, "We also discovered some letters and his diary. He was apparently in communication with Mr. Latham’s younger son Rupert. The letters are from him, discussing things he wishes Whyte to keep an eye on. Apparently, he felt he’d been pushed out of the business by his elder brother and was trying to return to favor with Whyte’s help.”
Envy, one of the most basic of human emotions. Somehow, the Doctor couldn’t be surprised. “I’ll wager Rupert Latham was who he met at the Compton.”
“Most likely,” Holmes said, “but it still leaves the question of the last evening. Who did he meet with then?” Stirring himself from his chair, he held out his hand. “Give me the book, inspector. Not the diary, but the copy of of Manon. Doctor, Mrs. Tyler, if you would look through the letters, I would greatly appreciate it. See if there is anything of interest from someone besides the younger Latham.”
All of this left Lestrade hanging, but he didn’t seem particularly surprised, retiring to lean against the wall next to the door while the Doctor and Rose sorted through the letters and Holmes studied the book. The picture the letters formed was easy enough to see; Whyte had run up some debts that might prove socially embarrassing if they came to light. It was a powerful motive for an ambitious young man - and Whyte appeared to have been quite ambitious - to do something not completely ethical to earn the necessary money. Still, there was no reason for him to have been in the office that night that the Doctor could see.
The cry of triumph from Holmes had him looking up from the letters. “The plates are tipped in,” Holmes said. “Beneath one of them is a piece of paper. If I extract that...”
Holmes did just that, removing the paper carefully. It was a folded piece of stationary, more note size than letter, and everything else was put aside as all attention was given to Holmes. “It is,” he said, “quite short, but explicit in its meaning. ‘Do not think you may simply walk away. The matter we discussed moves forward and the deadline will not change. Yrs. J. Mor.’”
Rising from the chair, he started for the desk, offering his apologies, but asking Rose to move. Dipping his pen in the inkwell, he quickly wrote his own note, sanded and folded it, then put both it and the note from the book into an envelope. “Inspector, please take this note to Whitehall and the offices of my brother Mycroft. He will know what to do about it.”
“But...the murder,” Lestrade said as Holmes addressed the envelope.
“I fear you will not catch your man through simple police work. One such as Moriarty is far too slippery. However, undoubtedly he has some designs upon the Partington plans, and that is an issue of immediate concern. If my brother wishes to speak with me, he may find me here.”
Lestrade blustered a little, but took the envelope and went. “Poor man. There is still investigating to be done, of course, though all roads will lead back to Moriarty. No doubt, Rupert Latham has gotten himself caught in the man’s coils somehow, vulnerable in his desire for revenge on his brother. Moriarty excels in finding such weaknesses. But it is that connection which must be of primary concern at this moment. I know he and I will have a confrontation one day, from which only one of us will emerge.”
It was a grim statement, not particularly improved when Holmes said, “How have your experiments gone? Have they given you the proof you wished to show me?”
“They have,” the Doctor said reluctantly, “though I’d really rather wait until Dr. Doyle -”
At that moment the sound of the front door opening and closing was heard, followed by feet on the stairs. “Oh, I didn’t realize we had visitors again,” he said, hanging a bit on the threshold as if he were unsure he should enter.
“The Doctor and Mrs. Tyler have been good enough to assist me since you had other commitments,” Holmes said - and that hint of petulance was back in his voice. “Currently, we are going through Mr. Whyte’s correspondence, attempting to ferret out his dirty little secrets - though we have already learned he had become entangled with Moriarty.”
Doyle sat. “That is not good.”
“I let Mycroft know. He will have his own steps to ensure the safety of anything that might be of interest to our Napoleon of Crime. There is, of course, still a question of the nature of his connection to the late Mr. Whyte and exactly what he held over him to get him to that office.”
As Holmes spoke, the Doctor quietly made his way over to the table near the window. Among the various debris tossed idly there were the pieces of glass he’d spotted the day before, a veritable rainbow of colors. Carefully, he selected a piece of red and a piece of blue-green glass and, raising them to his eyes, turned back to look at Holmes and Doyle.
There was no question that Doyle had been through the Void now. Particles were virtually dancing around him, strong and likely the result of a recent trip. The only question was exactly how to confront him; at the same time, he didn’t want to risk Doyle deciding he had another “appointment” and slipping away. Deciding the best way was to dive in, he waited until Holmes paused for breath and said, “You wanted to see the proof we were discussing?”
Holmes nodded. “The Doctor has the most amazing tale, Doyle. He claims that much of this strange weather we are seeing is the result of someone moving between universes, that there is one parallel to our own.”
Doyle’s smile suddenly grew frozen. “Did he now? And how did he come about such a wild tale?”
“Because I’ve crossed the Void, too,” the Doctor said. “As has Rose. Such travel leaves traces, which can be seen with the aid of this glass.” He offered the two pieces to Holmes. “Take a look. Try me first.”
To say Holmes was skeptical would be a mild description, but he took the glass and held the pieces up as the Doctor instructed. “There is a kaleidoscope effect about you.” He turned slightly. “About Mrs. Tyler as well.”
“Now look at Dr. Doyle,” the Doctor said.
Holmes looked. And looked. And looked. “How am I to know this is not just a trick of the light?”
“Call Mrs. Hudson in,” the Doctor said. “See if there is the same effect.”
Doyle snorted. “Come, Holmes. Surely you don’t think -”
“Mrs. Hudson! Please come up here!”
No one spoke as they waited for the housekeeper to arrive, the air thick with tension. Mrs. Hudson appeared after a moment, shaking her head. “You don’t need to shout, Mr. Holmes. It’s not as if I’m deaf.” She paused. “What are you doing with that glass? Is this part of your experiments?”
Holmes carefully studied her with the two pieces of glass held to his eyes, making a complete circle while Mrs. Hudson sighed and stood patiently, as if this was not an unusual occurrence. Then, after three circuits about her, he lowered the glass and straightened. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. You’ve been most helpful.”
Shaking her head, Mrs. Hudson departed, and Holmes closed the door behind her. “Do you have an explanation as to why I see the effect on yourself, Mrs. Tyler and Dr. Doyle, yet do not see it on Mrs. Hudson - nor on myself, from what little I could tell.”
“Because what you’re seeing is Void stuff from traveling between the worlds. I’ve done it, Rose has done it - and Dr. Doyle has done it. Quite recently, too, given the large amount around him.” The Doctor fixed Doyle with a steady gaze. “Where’d you get that key? Some market or old traveler who’d been in the East? Or did you simply find it one day, as if it’d fallen from nowhere?”
He’d deliberately not mentioned which key he meant, but Doyle clapped a hand protectively over the key on his watch chain. “I don’t know what you mean. You’re talking complete and utter nonsense.”
“I have never noticed anything of interest on your chain,” Holmes said quietly. “Not even anything that could be considered of sentimental value - and you know I am a keen observer of all things. Yet, you clap your hand protectively over it as if you are hiding some great treasure.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Doyle was nearly sputtering. “Holmes, you know me. We’ve investigated together. This....doctor is someone who’s just appeared and we don’t really know who he is. He could be involved with Moriarty, for all we know.”
“That might be true - but I believe any creature of Moriarty’s would be more interested in taking advantage of the unrest and difficulty caused by these strange happenings than discovering the source of them.” Holmes turned to the Doctor. “You said you have proof.”
All the Doctor could hope for was that the calm, analytical mind that could analyze facts in an unemotional manner was not an invention of Doyle’s. “I am willing to bet you’ve made note of the date and times when the phenomena occurred.”
“I have,” Holmes said and rose to fetch a slim volume from the shelves over the desk as the Doctor spread his papers out on the table. For some reason, he suddenly felt as if he was in the middle of an Agatha Christie mystery, Poirot laying out the evidence of the crime as the guilty party did his best not to squirm too obviously in his chair. Doyle was certainly doing his best not to squirm, looking supremely unhappy at the charts lying on the table.
For her part, Rose had shifted her position, sliding unobtrusively around the edge of the room, positioning herself by the door so anyone leaving would have to go through her. The move was not unnoticed by Holmes, but he offered nothing but a brief and cautious look in her direction as he returned to the table. “What do you have here?”
“These are measurements of energy spikes within the atmosphere of aurton radiation,” the Doctor said. “It’s a radiation produced when there’s a shift in the fabric of time and space, in this case opening a passageway between this world and another, alternate earth, very much like this one but moving on a slightly different timeline. Now, I’m not saying that you’ll have records of incidents for all the spikes, but if I give you time and date, I imagine a number of them will match up.”
“This is preposterous,” Doyle complained. “Who’s ever heard of this - what did he call it? Aurton radiation? Are those even words?”
“Right, so Madame Curie hasn’t done her work yet, and it’s going to be another few years before Röntgen discovers the concept of radiation.”
“Wilhelm Röntgen?” Holmes asked. “Head of Physics at the University of Würzburg. I’ve read some of his papers.”
“Then know he’s going to make some brilliant discoveries in the next few years that will literally change the world. For the moment, though, you will have to trust me that this Aurton Radiation exists, and it’s not supposed to be here, certainly not in the amount that’s being pumped into your universe every time someone comes and goes from one world to the next. Whatever’s happening here, something just as destructive is happening in the other world.”
He could see Holmes didn’t quite believe him. As long as Holmes didn’t accept this, they had no leverage against Doyle, as he was central to all of this, the reason Doyle kept coming back and the only one who could help convince Doyle he needed to stop. But what he was asking was for Holmes to take a leap of faith, something the man didn’t do easily - and certainly not on someone else’s say so.
Doyle must have seen it, too, for he grew a bit more relaxed, leaning back in his chair slightly. Holmes might be the better of the two at observation, but Doyle was not without his own abilities. “This is a tremendous tale you’re spinning, Doctor. Perhaps you should take up fiction.”
“Like you’ve done?” the Doctor asked quietly. “What have you published? Is it just ‘A Study in Scarlett,’ or have you completed Michah Clarke yet? Tell me, did Oscar Wilde really enjoy the story, or is that simply a tale you tell?”
“Who is Oscar Wilde?” Holmes asked.
“No one,” Doyle said, the tension returning. “Another name he’s making up.”
Interesting to discover there was apparently no Oscar Wilde in this world - at lest not one Holmes was familiar with - but it also gave the Doctor a bit of a time frame. “You can’t be blind; you see what is happening with this world. Surely you’ve seen similar signs in your own.”
“I’ve seen no evidence any of this is happening there. You’re talking nonsense.” He turned in his chair. “Really, Holmes; I must protest. How long are we going to put up with this nonsense?”
Holmes didn’t answer immediately, staring down at the paper the Doctor had spread on the table. “I find the use of the word ‘there’ very interesting,” he said at last, his gaze never moving. “If what the Doctor says is patently untrue as you insist, then why would you see no evidence there when the only evidence you should see is here.”
The realization of his error was written on Doyle’s face as Holmes raised his eyes at last. “Arthur,” he said, his voice calm, gentle, but still firm and tinged with a hint of disappointment, “I think the time has come to tell the truth.”
“How do you even know such a world even exists?” Doyle demanded, glaring at the Doctor. “Until the moment when I held that key in my hand and found myself somewhere completely different, I had no idea there could even been such a thing. I found people who were near duplicates of folk I knew, yet were not the same - and people who existed here who did not exist there. How did you know of this when I only stumbled on it by accident?”
“Because I was born there,” Rose said. “Grew up in Peckham with me Mum after my Dad died. Quiet, ordinary life until I met the Doctor. But things happened and I found myself caught in this world. I didn’t have the chance to go back because we thought the walls between the worlds were sealed.”
“They were supposed to be,” the Doctor said. “That key must have found or caused a tiny tear, and every time you’ve gone through, you’ve caused the tear to grow bigger. Sooner or later, the universes will shred themselves. This one is doing it now, and even if yours isn’t, it will begin soon.”
He leaned down, resting his hands on the table. “That’s where you went yesterday, isn’t it? You go back and forth between the worlds, selling your stories to ‘The Strand’ magazine, stories inspired by what you’ve done here with Holmes.”
“Is that what you do with my cases?” Holmes asked. “You turn them into cheap fiction for the penny dreadful?”
There was no mistaking the annoyance and contempt in Holmes’ voice, the sound of a trust betrayed. “They’re hardly cheap fiction,” Doyle said. “The stories are immensely popular - much more popular than my other works. Micah Clarke, The White Company are serious books, retellings of great historical events, but all the public seems to want is the further adventure of Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective who solves the unsolvable. I’ve suggested to you that I should publish my accounts of your cases.”
“And I have always said no!” Holmes’ voice rose for just a moment and then he found his control once more. “You have betrayed my trust and put this world in danger. Clearly, there is only one answer to this situation. Doctor, what can be done to solve this problem and save this world?”
And in the end, the great detective, the pillar of rational thought, had come around because he felt personally slighted and betrayed by Doyle. The Doctor would have preferred a more ringing endorsement, but he’d take what he could get. “The trips have to stop. Rose and I will get our ship moving again, and with that, we can hopefully fix the damage. Slowly, the weather will return to normal, though there may be some hard times for a while.”
“And Doyle? Does he stay here? In this world, I mean, for he will not be staying here.”
Doyle’s eyes narrowed, clearly hurt by the betrayal. Was this the moment he decided to send the detective tumbling over Reichenbach Falls? Could it be one of the most iconic moments in detective fiction had come as the result of personal disappointment? “I see I’m not to be given a choice in the matter.”
“No, sir, you are not.” Holmes’ tone was sharp. “You have lied to me, misrepresented who you are and your purpose here and you have cavalierly put this world at risk. I believe those circumstances give you precious little right to expect a choice. Well, Doctor? Stay or go - and if he goes, how do we ascertain he stays where he put?”
“We can’t - unless one of us went with him, there’d be no way to make certain the key was destroyed once he’d returned to his world.”
“And you and Mrs. Tyler do not wish to return to the world from whence you came?”
Before the Doctor could speak, Rose said, “No. Maybe once, but now our home’s here.”
He couldn’t help smiling at the calm assurance in her voice. “We have to send him back and trust he doesn’t return. There’s still much for you to do in your world, Dr. Doyle, even without the inspiration of solving crimes with Mr. Holmes.”
The words were meant to be a comfort, help convince Doyle there were great things ahead, but the anger on the man’s face warned there was little the Doctor could say that would be well received. “Perhaps it’s better this way,” Doyle said, rising from his chair. “Perhaps it’s time I leave my ‘penny dreadfuls’ behind and concentrate on more serious work since I’m clearly no longer wanted.” He glared at Holmes. “Such a shame to see loyalty is a trait only my fictional character has.”
“There are things that demand a higher service.” Holmes’ voice was cold. “You have heard the concerns about the consequences of these conditions. Have you no concern for your fellow man that you think only of yourself?”
“I didn’t know! Finding this key - it was pure happenstance. How was I to know -” Doyle broke off, turning his face away. “You’ve made up your mind and I know there’s precious little that will change it. I’ll say my farewells. Remember me to Mrs. Hudson if you will.”
With that, he gathered up the coat and hat he’d discarded upon arrival. Rose stepped aside from the door to allow his departure, but a sudden touch to his watch chain and an earsplitting roar filled the room, accompanying an almost blinding light. Worse, there was a buffeting wind that arouse in an instant, buffeting papers and small objects in its wake. Instinctively, the Doctor found himself calling for Rose, reaching out blindly for her.
Then, just as suddenly, the noise and light was gone, along with Doyle. The room was a mess, papers fluttering to rest everywhere - but no Rose. For just a moment, the Doctor relived the horror of Canary Wharf as Rose was pulled away from him toward the Void, but then she was sitting up, and shaking her head. He was at her side instantly, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “You’re safe. I thought - who’d think it was a good idea to open the rift in such a tight space?”
“Someone who’s angry and doesn’t understand the technology?” Rose offered, her voice slightly muffled from where her head was buried against his shoulder. She was holding on tight as well, not moving until they heard Holmes say, “If I doubted you before, I do not think I can now.”
Reluctantly, the Doctor let go of Rose and the two of them climbed to their feet. “With luck, he won’t try coming back.”
Holmes’ face was somber. “No, I do not believe he will. I have lost a great friend, Doctor. I can only hope that we have achieved our goal; if we have stopped this madness that is seen in the sky, then I can take comfort in that.”
There was nothing overt in his gestures or manner, but the Doctor suddenly knew he and Rose were no longer welcome at 221B Baker Street. “We have accomplished part of it; Rose and I need to finish the rest. Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.”
Holmes did stretch out his hand, paying the Doctor at least that respect. “Say goodbye to Mrs. Hudson for us,” Rose said. “And apologize for everything she has to clean up.”
“By the time I allow her in here, Mrs. Tyler, most of the work will be done. I do not allow her to touch my papers, else I’d never know where they were.” For just a moment, there was that quirk of a smile. “But I will remember you to her.”
With that, there was nothing more to do but depart, but the Doctor couldn’t resist pausing at the door for one final look. It was a somewhat sad sight, Holmes alone in his room, starting to pick through the debris left by Doyle’s departure. Unable to stand it, the Doctor said, “If I might make a suggestion - let your friend Stamford know you’re looking for someone to share your rooms.”
Holmes looked a bit surprised. “I will not ask how you know I have such an acquaintance, but I will consider your advice.”
The Doctor had no idea if it would work, but he could only hope Stamford - whoever he was in this universe - would have another friend in need of lodgings who might be enthralled with Holmes’ somewhat dangerous lifestyle, even if the name wasn’t Watson. And Holmes could find someone else to unburden himself to.
# # #
It took a while longer to finish repairs to the point where the Doctor was willing to risk the TARDIS in the Vortex. “And, hopefully, some of the effects of Doyle’s crossing have died down. We quite possibly were caught in the after wash.”
“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Rose asked. “That he won’t come back?”
“I think he’s going to send his fictional Holmes over the falls in a struggle to the death with Moriarty and hope he is done with him. Doyle apparently grew to hate Holmes. We may have just helped him along that path. Hang on.”
He pulled the final lever that set the time rotor moving and after that there was precious little chance to focus on either Holmes or Doyle as the TARDIS hurled herself back into the Vortex. To describe the ride as 'rough' was an understatement; the buffeting was just as bad as the first time, but at least they were prepared, and having some idea what behind all this at least gave the Doctor what to look for.
Even so, it was not at all reassuring to hear the TARDIS strain and howl as he and Rose struggled to keep her on an even keel. That the Cloister Bell decided to make it's first appearance just as the console began to spark didn't help matters. "What’s that?" Rose asked, shouting to be heard over the noise.
"A sign that she's really, really not happy," the Doctor shouted back. "How are the readings on the Heisenberg Sensor?"
The numbers Rose rattled off were not at all comforting, but at least they weren't on the verge of breaking up. Yet. But they were getting close to their target, so the Doctor stretched to open communications. "Attention Torchwood Control, attention Torchwood Control. This is the Doctor; can you read me?"
For a moment, there was only the crackling of status, almost lost in all the other noise. Then, a vice came through. "Torchwood Control to Doctor. Please give correct call sign to confirm your identity."
"What? Now? We've got an emergency, Torchwood, and we are coming in hot. Not materializing; coming in - as in possibly crashing. Can you get Pete on the line?"
"Dad's going to kill you," Rose said.
"I can handle your Dad; it's Jackie that worries me. Come on, Torchwood! Wake up and answer us here. Preferably before we leave a large crater in the middle of Hyde Park."
"Sounds like the Doctor." Pete's voice crackled over the sound system, sounding a bit annoyed and resigned. "What's the trouble?"
"We've got rifts in the fabric of the universe again. Don't know if the ripples have reached your time yet, but we've got trouble; big, big trouble. Tell you about it when we get in. Right now, though, Rose and I need a homing beacon to help guide us in."
"You've got it. Jackie was wondering if you'd get back in time, so you'd better hurry."
The words didn't make much sense, but the Doctor and Rose didn't have time to do more than exchange puzzled glances before the signal connected. "Hang on," he warned her. "I haven't done this in a few centuries."
The ride was bumpy and the landing would have garnered him a failing grade from his old academy instructors, but despite skipping like a stone across a pond when they first touched down, the TARDIS came to a landing in one piece on the roof of Torchwood's main facility at Canary Wharf. It was even upright, which meant they could walk, not climb out. Hefting the scanner and equalizers he’d grabbed to help with sealing the rift, the Doctor gave the ship a small pat as he and Rose exited, breathing a silent word of thanks.
Pete and a welcoming team were there, none looking particularly pleased. "We don't have much time, Doctor."
"No, we don't. I need the dimension cannon - and don't give me the 'oh, we got rid of it' line. I know it's somewhere down in the bowels of the building."
"It only worked when the stars started going out," Rose reminded him.
"And we've got open rifts right now," he pointed out. "I'm not trying to go anywhere, though. We just do a little reversing of the polarity and it should hopefully provide the power I need to repair the damage. On this side at least."
They were in the elevator, heading down into an area of Torchwood the Doctor couldn't help noticing no one had ever volunteered to give him a tour of. At least Pete was being cooperative, though he kept glancing at his watch for some reason. "And what about the other side?" Rose asked.
"if there's something going in there, he'll notice," the Doctor replied, no explanation as to who "he" was needed. "If he notices, he'll handle things there."
The room Pete led them to was deep in the bowels of the building, but there was a staff there, monitoring the consoles that were showing more than a little sign of life. At almost any other time, he'd be appalled, but at the moment, it was just what he needed. "Doctor, this is Charlene Ashbrook, in charge of the Dimension Cannon project. Charlene, this is..."
"No time to waste," the Doctor said, hurrying past her and pulling the sonic screwdriver from his pocket.
"...the Doctor," Pete finished. "We're in crisis mode here and I need you to do whatever he asks." he paused. "With luck, your equipment will be in one piece when he finishes."
Not bloody likely, the Doctor couldn't help thinking, but even he had enough social graces not to voice the words aloud. Now it was miracle time. He stood before the bank of equipment that served as the controls - and realized he wasn’t certain where to start. “Rose, need your opinion on something,” he called, doing his best to sound as if he had some idea what he was doing.
Rose was at his side almost instantly. Leaning toward her, he asked, “What part drives detecting rift energy? That’s what I need to plug into.”
Her hand on his arm, she drew him over the correct section. “Detection here, power source here. That’s the bit that actually sends you through the void,” she said quietly, pointing toward the relevant equipment.
He nodded, and knelt before the detection console, using the sonic to undo the fasteners so he could pull the front panel free. There were some protests as he began pulling out wires, but no one stopped him. Amid the cries of “We don’t have time,” Rose knelt by his side. “What next?”
He couldn’t help grinning, knowing there was nothing he couldn’t do with her at his side. “These couplings? Unplug them from here and plug them into this,” he said, patting the box he’d brought from the TARDIS
She did as he asked, and the Doctor turned to round the others up. Wires were pulled, pathways rerouted, and what the Dimension Cannon was supposed to do changed completely. When questions were raised, it was Rose who handled them, pushing folks in the direction the Doctor needed them - and keeping him from shorting the entire system at least once.
At last, hoping the setting he was using on the sonic he had would do what a somewhat different setting on the sonic he’d once had most certainly would have done, he turned it on the equipment, boosting the signal before he threw the switch. He was rewarded with a hum followed by a whine that kept rising in pitch. “I’ve never heard it do that before,” Rose said from his side.
“I’ve set it so it’ll pull in the energy, putting a sticking plaster on the tears, if you will. It’s not permanent, and there’s more to do, but if it does what it’s supposed to, it’s going to buy us time to do the work.”
He didn’t really want to the next several months repairing the damage that had been done, but there wasn’t a choice. At least he’d have help this time and his hand sought Rose’s as the whine increased. The readings were doing exactly what he wanted them to do, the levels beginning to even out. If he was really lucky...
Rose pulled away suddenly, frowning as she leaned forward to check something on one of the secondary monitors. “That can’t be right,” she said. “Doctor, take a look at this.”
Before he could, the console began to sizzle and pop, circuits fusing as the machine suddenly shut down. “What did you do?” Charlene protested.
“Oh, did I ruin it?” The Doctor pulled his best innocent expression. “I’m so sorry.”
Charlene looked as if she wasn’t ready to let it lie there, but Pete intervened. “We can talk about this later. Rose, Doctor, we need to leave now. We need to get home.”
He ushered them back to the elevator, whisking them back to the ground floor. “Your mother’s going to be furious,” he said.
“Won’t be the first time,” the Doctor said. “Think I’ll get slapped?”
“If she’s slapping you for this, I’m probably going to be sent to my room without supper,” Rose joked.
“If she sends both us to our room, I don’t mind skipping supper.”
Pete rolled his eyes and hurried them out to the waiting car. “For someone who’s supposed to have mastery over time, it’s amazing that you can’t get anywhere properly,” he complained as the car moved away, heading toward the Tyler Estate.
“I think he does it on purpose,” Rose said. “Adolescent rebellion.”
“Nothing adolescent about it. Throw off your digital watches, you have nothing to lose but your stress.”
Rose laughed, but Pete didn’t, his attention fully focused on the road ahead. The Doctor and Rose teased one another for a few minutes, but gradually they fell silent, uncomfortable at Pete’s obvious worry about how long it was taking for them to get home. Had something happened while they were gone? Was more bad news waiting for them at home?
At the sight of Jackie waiting on the front steps, the Doctor found himself breathing a sigh of relief. She was okay, then. But was Tony? “Thank god,” Jackie said as they piled out of the car. “I thought you were going miss it.”
“We had a bit of emergency at the office,” Pete said, barely pausing to give Jackie a kiss as he headed up the steps. “Had to get these two home safe.”
“Should have known you’d be behind Pete being late. Come on, then. Tony’s already settled down, so we’re ready to start.”
Exchanging curious looks, the Doctor and Rose followed Pete and Jackie inside. Whatever was going on, it had to be serious. Maybe it was family news, maybe concerning Tony if he was already settled down.
But Tony was in the lounge, flopped on the floor in his customary position before the large television that dominated one side of the room as Pete and Jackie headed for the couch. “Don’t just stand there,” Jackie called. “Grab a seat. The show’s about to start.”
The picture on the television changed and Pete, Jackie and Tony’s attention was instantly riveted; it was as if Rose and the Doctor weren’t even in the room. Looking at one another, they needed no telepathy to know they shared a single thought: what the hell was going on?
Author: spikewriter
Rating: PG
Pairing: Rose/Ten II
Summary: In Victorian London, the Doctor and Rose find fact and fiction colliding in unexpected ways -- and with unexpected, dangerous consequences.
Author's notes: Special thanks to shinyopals who said "go for it" when I pitched the idea -- and put up with it not being finished as quickly as either of us would have hoped.
My apologies for the break between the previous part and now. Real life interfered a bit in getting the final part up and to everyone.
Episode 17 of a virtual series at the_altverse, following Coup by Memory.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
Virtual Series Masterlist
By the time they arrived at Baker Street again, the Doctor was feeling a bit more confident about the state of the TARDIS. It’d still take a while to get everything together as he’d hoped, but at least he could see progress happening.
The same apparently could not be said of the murder case. Holmes looked no happier that morning that he had the evening before, though it quickly became apparent that his frustration was not from the evidence or lack thereof. “I am convinced Doyle is keeping a mistress somewhere in the city and has not had the decency to tell me about it,” he complained almost as soon as Mrs. Hudson had shown the Doctor and Rose to the sitting room on the first floor. “He has sent no note, nor given me any idea of his whereabouts. If it was not for the fact he has done this to me before, I might fear some foul disaster had befallen him.”
Some foul disaster still could have, but the Doctor wasn’t going to say anything about that. Too many things might happen crossing the void without a capsule, none of them pleasant to contemplate. There was also always the possibility a trick of the rift or whatever technology Doyle was using could land him somewhere other than the destination he intended. “Any news on the murder?” he asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from Doyle until the man was present.
Holmes waved his hand. “Lestrade has sent word he plans to call on me, undoubtedly faced with some evidence he cannot unravel. At least you will be here, Doctor; I find I cannot think in such situations unless there is someone else in the room - and I do not count Lestrade in that number. I need someone who at least has an inkling of what is involved in seeing beyond the simple facts to find the truth.”
The Doctor supposed he should be flattered. “And Rose as well, of course.”
“Naturally - you understand why I am so annoyed I find myself without my own assistant. Besides, as Mrs. Tyler is wearing again wearing the skirt I lent her and appears to conform to the mandates of fashion and propriety, Inspector Lestrade will simply have to live with her presence.” He glanced down at Rose’s feet. “But what do you call those shoes you wear?”
The explanation of trainers passed the time rather pleasantly until there was a knock at the door downstairs. “It is not Doyle,” Holmes noted. “He has his own key. Most likely it is the police - ah, I hear Lestrade’s voice.”
This time, there was no effort to appear busy when Lestrade appeared in the doorway. Instead, Holmes greeted him with the question, “I assume you have made a thorough search of Mr. Whyte’s rooms?”
“We have,” Lestrade said. “Very interesting, I might say. Seems easy enough to me, though my superiors have made it clear I am to consult with you and offer all such assistance as you might require.” He looked around. “Doctor Doyle’s not here to take notes?”
“He is away on other business. Doctor Tyler’s good wife has been so kind as to offer to make a record of our conversation. She often performs the same office for her husband. Mrs. Tyler, my notebook and pencil are at your disposal.”
The Doctor didn’t know who twitched more; Rose at the idea of playing secretary or himself at being called Doctor Tyler. He wasn’t going to start an argument about “just the Doctor” at this moment, not when he needed to ensure he didn’t alienate Holmes when he was going to require his help. Thankfully, Rose might twitch, but she did as requested, retiring to the desk in the corner and opening up the notebook that lay there to a fresh page.
Lestrade didn’t look as if he was comfortable with this turn of events, but faced with three pairs of eyes looking at him expectantly, he cleared his throat and began. “Right. Willard Whyte lived alone in lodgings near King’s Cross. His landlady said he was a quiet young man and a good tenant with no difficulties. She did not report any unusual visitors of either sex. In fact, Whyte seldom entertained visitors at all, and the few times he did, he would request the use of the drawing room at the front, not entertain them in his own rooms. She did not know of any family, though she did report he had regular correspondence from outside London, so she supposed there might be family. He, however, did not make a tremendous effort at sharing his personal life with her, but as long as he paid his rent and did not cause trouble, she didn’t particularly care one way or the other. Apparently she has had tenants who were quite friendly, but late on their rent or otherwise a difficulty.”
“So there is precious little information to be gained from the landlady.” Holmes sighed. “Might I hold out hope for the room? Could there be some insight into his personality to be found there?”
He was being a little over dramatic, but Lestrade seemed to take no notice, which told the Doctor this was the way such discussions usually went. “Rooms were neat, clean, and on the surface appeared to have no items that would excite any comment. Closer inspection, however, discovered that his bookshelf had a copy of the Bible, Sir Walter Scott’s Kenilworth, and an edition of Manon Lescaut with what is called ‘curious plates’.”
Lestrade pronounced it “Maynon Lescot,” but the Doctor knew what he meant. Lestrade cleared his throat before continuing. “There was also a set of postcards in an envelope concealed a desk drawer that would be of interest to gentlemen.”
He broke off, eying Rose uncomfortably. “Come now, inspector,” Holmes said. “Mrs. Tyler is a married woman. I think she has some understanding of such things. But let us confine ourselves to what might be relevant to the case.”
“Mrs. Tyler can speak for herself,” Rose muttered under her breath, low enough that if the Doctor hadn’t been standing near her, he wouldn’t have heard her. Fortunately, Lestrade didn’t argue, and after a deep sigh said, "We also discovered some letters and his diary. He was apparently in communication with Mr. Latham’s younger son Rupert. The letters are from him, discussing things he wishes Whyte to keep an eye on. Apparently, he felt he’d been pushed out of the business by his elder brother and was trying to return to favor with Whyte’s help.”
Envy, one of the most basic of human emotions. Somehow, the Doctor couldn’t be surprised. “I’ll wager Rupert Latham was who he met at the Compton.”
“Most likely,” Holmes said, “but it still leaves the question of the last evening. Who did he meet with then?” Stirring himself from his chair, he held out his hand. “Give me the book, inspector. Not the diary, but the copy of of Manon. Doctor, Mrs. Tyler, if you would look through the letters, I would greatly appreciate it. See if there is anything of interest from someone besides the younger Latham.”
All of this left Lestrade hanging, but he didn’t seem particularly surprised, retiring to lean against the wall next to the door while the Doctor and Rose sorted through the letters and Holmes studied the book. The picture the letters formed was easy enough to see; Whyte had run up some debts that might prove socially embarrassing if they came to light. It was a powerful motive for an ambitious young man - and Whyte appeared to have been quite ambitious - to do something not completely ethical to earn the necessary money. Still, there was no reason for him to have been in the office that night that the Doctor could see.
The cry of triumph from Holmes had him looking up from the letters. “The plates are tipped in,” Holmes said. “Beneath one of them is a piece of paper. If I extract that...”
Holmes did just that, removing the paper carefully. It was a folded piece of stationary, more note size than letter, and everything else was put aside as all attention was given to Holmes. “It is,” he said, “quite short, but explicit in its meaning. ‘Do not think you may simply walk away. The matter we discussed moves forward and the deadline will not change. Yrs. J. Mor.’”
Rising from the chair, he started for the desk, offering his apologies, but asking Rose to move. Dipping his pen in the inkwell, he quickly wrote his own note, sanded and folded it, then put both it and the note from the book into an envelope. “Inspector, please take this note to Whitehall and the offices of my brother Mycroft. He will know what to do about it.”
“But...the murder,” Lestrade said as Holmes addressed the envelope.
“I fear you will not catch your man through simple police work. One such as Moriarty is far too slippery. However, undoubtedly he has some designs upon the Partington plans, and that is an issue of immediate concern. If my brother wishes to speak with me, he may find me here.”
Lestrade blustered a little, but took the envelope and went. “Poor man. There is still investigating to be done, of course, though all roads will lead back to Moriarty. No doubt, Rupert Latham has gotten himself caught in the man’s coils somehow, vulnerable in his desire for revenge on his brother. Moriarty excels in finding such weaknesses. But it is that connection which must be of primary concern at this moment. I know he and I will have a confrontation one day, from which only one of us will emerge.”
It was a grim statement, not particularly improved when Holmes said, “How have your experiments gone? Have they given you the proof you wished to show me?”
“They have,” the Doctor said reluctantly, “though I’d really rather wait until Dr. Doyle -”
At that moment the sound of the front door opening and closing was heard, followed by feet on the stairs. “Oh, I didn’t realize we had visitors again,” he said, hanging a bit on the threshold as if he were unsure he should enter.
“The Doctor and Mrs. Tyler have been good enough to assist me since you had other commitments,” Holmes said - and that hint of petulance was back in his voice. “Currently, we are going through Mr. Whyte’s correspondence, attempting to ferret out his dirty little secrets - though we have already learned he had become entangled with Moriarty.”
Doyle sat. “That is not good.”
“I let Mycroft know. He will have his own steps to ensure the safety of anything that might be of interest to our Napoleon of Crime. There is, of course, still a question of the nature of his connection to the late Mr. Whyte and exactly what he held over him to get him to that office.”
As Holmes spoke, the Doctor quietly made his way over to the table near the window. Among the various debris tossed idly there were the pieces of glass he’d spotted the day before, a veritable rainbow of colors. Carefully, he selected a piece of red and a piece of blue-green glass and, raising them to his eyes, turned back to look at Holmes and Doyle.
There was no question that Doyle had been through the Void now. Particles were virtually dancing around him, strong and likely the result of a recent trip. The only question was exactly how to confront him; at the same time, he didn’t want to risk Doyle deciding he had another “appointment” and slipping away. Deciding the best way was to dive in, he waited until Holmes paused for breath and said, “You wanted to see the proof we were discussing?”
Holmes nodded. “The Doctor has the most amazing tale, Doyle. He claims that much of this strange weather we are seeing is the result of someone moving between universes, that there is one parallel to our own.”
Doyle’s smile suddenly grew frozen. “Did he now? And how did he come about such a wild tale?”
“Because I’ve crossed the Void, too,” the Doctor said. “As has Rose. Such travel leaves traces, which can be seen with the aid of this glass.” He offered the two pieces to Holmes. “Take a look. Try me first.”
To say Holmes was skeptical would be a mild description, but he took the glass and held the pieces up as the Doctor instructed. “There is a kaleidoscope effect about you.” He turned slightly. “About Mrs. Tyler as well.”
“Now look at Dr. Doyle,” the Doctor said.
Holmes looked. And looked. And looked. “How am I to know this is not just a trick of the light?”
“Call Mrs. Hudson in,” the Doctor said. “See if there is the same effect.”
Doyle snorted. “Come, Holmes. Surely you don’t think -”
“Mrs. Hudson! Please come up here!”
No one spoke as they waited for the housekeeper to arrive, the air thick with tension. Mrs. Hudson appeared after a moment, shaking her head. “You don’t need to shout, Mr. Holmes. It’s not as if I’m deaf.” She paused. “What are you doing with that glass? Is this part of your experiments?”
Holmes carefully studied her with the two pieces of glass held to his eyes, making a complete circle while Mrs. Hudson sighed and stood patiently, as if this was not an unusual occurrence. Then, after three circuits about her, he lowered the glass and straightened. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. You’ve been most helpful.”
Shaking her head, Mrs. Hudson departed, and Holmes closed the door behind her. “Do you have an explanation as to why I see the effect on yourself, Mrs. Tyler and Dr. Doyle, yet do not see it on Mrs. Hudson - nor on myself, from what little I could tell.”
“Because what you’re seeing is Void stuff from traveling between the worlds. I’ve done it, Rose has done it - and Dr. Doyle has done it. Quite recently, too, given the large amount around him.” The Doctor fixed Doyle with a steady gaze. “Where’d you get that key? Some market or old traveler who’d been in the East? Or did you simply find it one day, as if it’d fallen from nowhere?”
He’d deliberately not mentioned which key he meant, but Doyle clapped a hand protectively over the key on his watch chain. “I don’t know what you mean. You’re talking complete and utter nonsense.”
“I have never noticed anything of interest on your chain,” Holmes said quietly. “Not even anything that could be considered of sentimental value - and you know I am a keen observer of all things. Yet, you clap your hand protectively over it as if you are hiding some great treasure.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Doyle was nearly sputtering. “Holmes, you know me. We’ve investigated together. This....doctor is someone who’s just appeared and we don’t really know who he is. He could be involved with Moriarty, for all we know.”
“That might be true - but I believe any creature of Moriarty’s would be more interested in taking advantage of the unrest and difficulty caused by these strange happenings than discovering the source of them.” Holmes turned to the Doctor. “You said you have proof.”
All the Doctor could hope for was that the calm, analytical mind that could analyze facts in an unemotional manner was not an invention of Doyle’s. “I am willing to bet you’ve made note of the date and times when the phenomena occurred.”
“I have,” Holmes said and rose to fetch a slim volume from the shelves over the desk as the Doctor spread his papers out on the table. For some reason, he suddenly felt as if he was in the middle of an Agatha Christie mystery, Poirot laying out the evidence of the crime as the guilty party did his best not to squirm too obviously in his chair. Doyle was certainly doing his best not to squirm, looking supremely unhappy at the charts lying on the table.
For her part, Rose had shifted her position, sliding unobtrusively around the edge of the room, positioning herself by the door so anyone leaving would have to go through her. The move was not unnoticed by Holmes, but he offered nothing but a brief and cautious look in her direction as he returned to the table. “What do you have here?”
“These are measurements of energy spikes within the atmosphere of aurton radiation,” the Doctor said. “It’s a radiation produced when there’s a shift in the fabric of time and space, in this case opening a passageway between this world and another, alternate earth, very much like this one but moving on a slightly different timeline. Now, I’m not saying that you’ll have records of incidents for all the spikes, but if I give you time and date, I imagine a number of them will match up.”
“This is preposterous,” Doyle complained. “Who’s ever heard of this - what did he call it? Aurton radiation? Are those even words?”
“Right, so Madame Curie hasn’t done her work yet, and it’s going to be another few years before Röntgen discovers the concept of radiation.”
“Wilhelm Röntgen?” Holmes asked. “Head of Physics at the University of Würzburg. I’ve read some of his papers.”
“Then know he’s going to make some brilliant discoveries in the next few years that will literally change the world. For the moment, though, you will have to trust me that this Aurton Radiation exists, and it’s not supposed to be here, certainly not in the amount that’s being pumped into your universe every time someone comes and goes from one world to the next. Whatever’s happening here, something just as destructive is happening in the other world.”
He could see Holmes didn’t quite believe him. As long as Holmes didn’t accept this, they had no leverage against Doyle, as he was central to all of this, the reason Doyle kept coming back and the only one who could help convince Doyle he needed to stop. But what he was asking was for Holmes to take a leap of faith, something the man didn’t do easily - and certainly not on someone else’s say so.
Doyle must have seen it, too, for he grew a bit more relaxed, leaning back in his chair slightly. Holmes might be the better of the two at observation, but Doyle was not without his own abilities. “This is a tremendous tale you’re spinning, Doctor. Perhaps you should take up fiction.”
“Like you’ve done?” the Doctor asked quietly. “What have you published? Is it just ‘A Study in Scarlett,’ or have you completed Michah Clarke yet? Tell me, did Oscar Wilde really enjoy the story, or is that simply a tale you tell?”
“Who is Oscar Wilde?” Holmes asked.
“No one,” Doyle said, the tension returning. “Another name he’s making up.”
Interesting to discover there was apparently no Oscar Wilde in this world - at lest not one Holmes was familiar with - but it also gave the Doctor a bit of a time frame. “You can’t be blind; you see what is happening with this world. Surely you’ve seen similar signs in your own.”
“I’ve seen no evidence any of this is happening there. You’re talking nonsense.” He turned in his chair. “Really, Holmes; I must protest. How long are we going to put up with this nonsense?”
Holmes didn’t answer immediately, staring down at the paper the Doctor had spread on the table. “I find the use of the word ‘there’ very interesting,” he said at last, his gaze never moving. “If what the Doctor says is patently untrue as you insist, then why would you see no evidence there when the only evidence you should see is here.”
The realization of his error was written on Doyle’s face as Holmes raised his eyes at last. “Arthur,” he said, his voice calm, gentle, but still firm and tinged with a hint of disappointment, “I think the time has come to tell the truth.”
“How do you even know such a world even exists?” Doyle demanded, glaring at the Doctor. “Until the moment when I held that key in my hand and found myself somewhere completely different, I had no idea there could even been such a thing. I found people who were near duplicates of folk I knew, yet were not the same - and people who existed here who did not exist there. How did you know of this when I only stumbled on it by accident?”
“Because I was born there,” Rose said. “Grew up in Peckham with me Mum after my Dad died. Quiet, ordinary life until I met the Doctor. But things happened and I found myself caught in this world. I didn’t have the chance to go back because we thought the walls between the worlds were sealed.”
“They were supposed to be,” the Doctor said. “That key must have found or caused a tiny tear, and every time you’ve gone through, you’ve caused the tear to grow bigger. Sooner or later, the universes will shred themselves. This one is doing it now, and even if yours isn’t, it will begin soon.”
He leaned down, resting his hands on the table. “That’s where you went yesterday, isn’t it? You go back and forth between the worlds, selling your stories to ‘The Strand’ magazine, stories inspired by what you’ve done here with Holmes.”
“Is that what you do with my cases?” Holmes asked. “You turn them into cheap fiction for the penny dreadful?”
There was no mistaking the annoyance and contempt in Holmes’ voice, the sound of a trust betrayed. “They’re hardly cheap fiction,” Doyle said. “The stories are immensely popular - much more popular than my other works. Micah Clarke, The White Company are serious books, retellings of great historical events, but all the public seems to want is the further adventure of Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective who solves the unsolvable. I’ve suggested to you that I should publish my accounts of your cases.”
“And I have always said no!” Holmes’ voice rose for just a moment and then he found his control once more. “You have betrayed my trust and put this world in danger. Clearly, there is only one answer to this situation. Doctor, what can be done to solve this problem and save this world?”
And in the end, the great detective, the pillar of rational thought, had come around because he felt personally slighted and betrayed by Doyle. The Doctor would have preferred a more ringing endorsement, but he’d take what he could get. “The trips have to stop. Rose and I will get our ship moving again, and with that, we can hopefully fix the damage. Slowly, the weather will return to normal, though there may be some hard times for a while.”
“And Doyle? Does he stay here? In this world, I mean, for he will not be staying here.”
Doyle’s eyes narrowed, clearly hurt by the betrayal. Was this the moment he decided to send the detective tumbling over Reichenbach Falls? Could it be one of the most iconic moments in detective fiction had come as the result of personal disappointment? “I see I’m not to be given a choice in the matter.”
“No, sir, you are not.” Holmes’ tone was sharp. “You have lied to me, misrepresented who you are and your purpose here and you have cavalierly put this world at risk. I believe those circumstances give you precious little right to expect a choice. Well, Doctor? Stay or go - and if he goes, how do we ascertain he stays where he put?”
“We can’t - unless one of us went with him, there’d be no way to make certain the key was destroyed once he’d returned to his world.”
“And you and Mrs. Tyler do not wish to return to the world from whence you came?”
Before the Doctor could speak, Rose said, “No. Maybe once, but now our home’s here.”
He couldn’t help smiling at the calm assurance in her voice. “We have to send him back and trust he doesn’t return. There’s still much for you to do in your world, Dr. Doyle, even without the inspiration of solving crimes with Mr. Holmes.”
The words were meant to be a comfort, help convince Doyle there were great things ahead, but the anger on the man’s face warned there was little the Doctor could say that would be well received. “Perhaps it’s better this way,” Doyle said, rising from his chair. “Perhaps it’s time I leave my ‘penny dreadfuls’ behind and concentrate on more serious work since I’m clearly no longer wanted.” He glared at Holmes. “Such a shame to see loyalty is a trait only my fictional character has.”
“There are things that demand a higher service.” Holmes’ voice was cold. “You have heard the concerns about the consequences of these conditions. Have you no concern for your fellow man that you think only of yourself?”
“I didn’t know! Finding this key - it was pure happenstance. How was I to know -” Doyle broke off, turning his face away. “You’ve made up your mind and I know there’s precious little that will change it. I’ll say my farewells. Remember me to Mrs. Hudson if you will.”
With that, he gathered up the coat and hat he’d discarded upon arrival. Rose stepped aside from the door to allow his departure, but a sudden touch to his watch chain and an earsplitting roar filled the room, accompanying an almost blinding light. Worse, there was a buffeting wind that arouse in an instant, buffeting papers and small objects in its wake. Instinctively, the Doctor found himself calling for Rose, reaching out blindly for her.
Then, just as suddenly, the noise and light was gone, along with Doyle. The room was a mess, papers fluttering to rest everywhere - but no Rose. For just a moment, the Doctor relived the horror of Canary Wharf as Rose was pulled away from him toward the Void, but then she was sitting up, and shaking her head. He was at her side instantly, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “You’re safe. I thought - who’d think it was a good idea to open the rift in such a tight space?”
“Someone who’s angry and doesn’t understand the technology?” Rose offered, her voice slightly muffled from where her head was buried against his shoulder. She was holding on tight as well, not moving until they heard Holmes say, “If I doubted you before, I do not think I can now.”
Reluctantly, the Doctor let go of Rose and the two of them climbed to their feet. “With luck, he won’t try coming back.”
Holmes’ face was somber. “No, I do not believe he will. I have lost a great friend, Doctor. I can only hope that we have achieved our goal; if we have stopped this madness that is seen in the sky, then I can take comfort in that.”
There was nothing overt in his gestures or manner, but the Doctor suddenly knew he and Rose were no longer welcome at 221B Baker Street. “We have accomplished part of it; Rose and I need to finish the rest. Goodbye, Mr. Holmes.”
Holmes did stretch out his hand, paying the Doctor at least that respect. “Say goodbye to Mrs. Hudson for us,” Rose said. “And apologize for everything she has to clean up.”
“By the time I allow her in here, Mrs. Tyler, most of the work will be done. I do not allow her to touch my papers, else I’d never know where they were.” For just a moment, there was that quirk of a smile. “But I will remember you to her.”
With that, there was nothing more to do but depart, but the Doctor couldn’t resist pausing at the door for one final look. It was a somewhat sad sight, Holmes alone in his room, starting to pick through the debris left by Doyle’s departure. Unable to stand it, the Doctor said, “If I might make a suggestion - let your friend Stamford know you’re looking for someone to share your rooms.”
Holmes looked a bit surprised. “I will not ask how you know I have such an acquaintance, but I will consider your advice.”
The Doctor had no idea if it would work, but he could only hope Stamford - whoever he was in this universe - would have another friend in need of lodgings who might be enthralled with Holmes’ somewhat dangerous lifestyle, even if the name wasn’t Watson. And Holmes could find someone else to unburden himself to.
# # #
It took a while longer to finish repairs to the point where the Doctor was willing to risk the TARDIS in the Vortex. “And, hopefully, some of the effects of Doyle’s crossing have died down. We quite possibly were caught in the after wash.”
“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Rose asked. “That he won’t come back?”
“I think he’s going to send his fictional Holmes over the falls in a struggle to the death with Moriarty and hope he is done with him. Doyle apparently grew to hate Holmes. We may have just helped him along that path. Hang on.”
He pulled the final lever that set the time rotor moving and after that there was precious little chance to focus on either Holmes or Doyle as the TARDIS hurled herself back into the Vortex. To describe the ride as 'rough' was an understatement; the buffeting was just as bad as the first time, but at least they were prepared, and having some idea what behind all this at least gave the Doctor what to look for.
Even so, it was not at all reassuring to hear the TARDIS strain and howl as he and Rose struggled to keep her on an even keel. That the Cloister Bell decided to make it's first appearance just as the console began to spark didn't help matters. "What’s that?" Rose asked, shouting to be heard over the noise.
"A sign that she's really, really not happy," the Doctor shouted back. "How are the readings on the Heisenberg Sensor?"
The numbers Rose rattled off were not at all comforting, but at least they weren't on the verge of breaking up. Yet. But they were getting close to their target, so the Doctor stretched to open communications. "Attention Torchwood Control, attention Torchwood Control. This is the Doctor; can you read me?"
For a moment, there was only the crackling of status, almost lost in all the other noise. Then, a vice came through. "Torchwood Control to Doctor. Please give correct call sign to confirm your identity."
"What? Now? We've got an emergency, Torchwood, and we are coming in hot. Not materializing; coming in - as in possibly crashing. Can you get Pete on the line?"
"Dad's going to kill you," Rose said.
"I can handle your Dad; it's Jackie that worries me. Come on, Torchwood! Wake up and answer us here. Preferably before we leave a large crater in the middle of Hyde Park."
"Sounds like the Doctor." Pete's voice crackled over the sound system, sounding a bit annoyed and resigned. "What's the trouble?"
"We've got rifts in the fabric of the universe again. Don't know if the ripples have reached your time yet, but we've got trouble; big, big trouble. Tell you about it when we get in. Right now, though, Rose and I need a homing beacon to help guide us in."
"You've got it. Jackie was wondering if you'd get back in time, so you'd better hurry."
The words didn't make much sense, but the Doctor and Rose didn't have time to do more than exchange puzzled glances before the signal connected. "Hang on," he warned her. "I haven't done this in a few centuries."
The ride was bumpy and the landing would have garnered him a failing grade from his old academy instructors, but despite skipping like a stone across a pond when they first touched down, the TARDIS came to a landing in one piece on the roof of Torchwood's main facility at Canary Wharf. It was even upright, which meant they could walk, not climb out. Hefting the scanner and equalizers he’d grabbed to help with sealing the rift, the Doctor gave the ship a small pat as he and Rose exited, breathing a silent word of thanks.
Pete and a welcoming team were there, none looking particularly pleased. "We don't have much time, Doctor."
"No, we don't. I need the dimension cannon - and don't give me the 'oh, we got rid of it' line. I know it's somewhere down in the bowels of the building."
"It only worked when the stars started going out," Rose reminded him.
"And we've got open rifts right now," he pointed out. "I'm not trying to go anywhere, though. We just do a little reversing of the polarity and it should hopefully provide the power I need to repair the damage. On this side at least."
They were in the elevator, heading down into an area of Torchwood the Doctor couldn't help noticing no one had ever volunteered to give him a tour of. At least Pete was being cooperative, though he kept glancing at his watch for some reason. "And what about the other side?" Rose asked.
"if there's something going in there, he'll notice," the Doctor replied, no explanation as to who "he" was needed. "If he notices, he'll handle things there."
The room Pete led them to was deep in the bowels of the building, but there was a staff there, monitoring the consoles that were showing more than a little sign of life. At almost any other time, he'd be appalled, but at the moment, it was just what he needed. "Doctor, this is Charlene Ashbrook, in charge of the Dimension Cannon project. Charlene, this is..."
"No time to waste," the Doctor said, hurrying past her and pulling the sonic screwdriver from his pocket.
"...the Doctor," Pete finished. "We're in crisis mode here and I need you to do whatever he asks." he paused. "With luck, your equipment will be in one piece when he finishes."
Not bloody likely, the Doctor couldn't help thinking, but even he had enough social graces not to voice the words aloud. Now it was miracle time. He stood before the bank of equipment that served as the controls - and realized he wasn’t certain where to start. “Rose, need your opinion on something,” he called, doing his best to sound as if he had some idea what he was doing.
Rose was at his side almost instantly. Leaning toward her, he asked, “What part drives detecting rift energy? That’s what I need to plug into.”
Her hand on his arm, she drew him over the correct section. “Detection here, power source here. That’s the bit that actually sends you through the void,” she said quietly, pointing toward the relevant equipment.
He nodded, and knelt before the detection console, using the sonic to undo the fasteners so he could pull the front panel free. There were some protests as he began pulling out wires, but no one stopped him. Amid the cries of “We don’t have time,” Rose knelt by his side. “What next?”
He couldn’t help grinning, knowing there was nothing he couldn’t do with her at his side. “These couplings? Unplug them from here and plug them into this,” he said, patting the box he’d brought from the TARDIS
She did as he asked, and the Doctor turned to round the others up. Wires were pulled, pathways rerouted, and what the Dimension Cannon was supposed to do changed completely. When questions were raised, it was Rose who handled them, pushing folks in the direction the Doctor needed them - and keeping him from shorting the entire system at least once.
At last, hoping the setting he was using on the sonic he had would do what a somewhat different setting on the sonic he’d once had most certainly would have done, he turned it on the equipment, boosting the signal before he threw the switch. He was rewarded with a hum followed by a whine that kept rising in pitch. “I’ve never heard it do that before,” Rose said from his side.
“I’ve set it so it’ll pull in the energy, putting a sticking plaster on the tears, if you will. It’s not permanent, and there’s more to do, but if it does what it’s supposed to, it’s going to buy us time to do the work.”
He didn’t really want to the next several months repairing the damage that had been done, but there wasn’t a choice. At least he’d have help this time and his hand sought Rose’s as the whine increased. The readings were doing exactly what he wanted them to do, the levels beginning to even out. If he was really lucky...
Rose pulled away suddenly, frowning as she leaned forward to check something on one of the secondary monitors. “That can’t be right,” she said. “Doctor, take a look at this.”
Before he could, the console began to sizzle and pop, circuits fusing as the machine suddenly shut down. “What did you do?” Charlene protested.
“Oh, did I ruin it?” The Doctor pulled his best innocent expression. “I’m so sorry.”
Charlene looked as if she wasn’t ready to let it lie there, but Pete intervened. “We can talk about this later. Rose, Doctor, we need to leave now. We need to get home.”
He ushered them back to the elevator, whisking them back to the ground floor. “Your mother’s going to be furious,” he said.
“Won’t be the first time,” the Doctor said. “Think I’ll get slapped?”
“If she’s slapping you for this, I’m probably going to be sent to my room without supper,” Rose joked.
“If she sends both us to our room, I don’t mind skipping supper.”
Pete rolled his eyes and hurried them out to the waiting car. “For someone who’s supposed to have mastery over time, it’s amazing that you can’t get anywhere properly,” he complained as the car moved away, heading toward the Tyler Estate.
“I think he does it on purpose,” Rose said. “Adolescent rebellion.”
“Nothing adolescent about it. Throw off your digital watches, you have nothing to lose but your stress.”
Rose laughed, but Pete didn’t, his attention fully focused on the road ahead. The Doctor and Rose teased one another for a few minutes, but gradually they fell silent, uncomfortable at Pete’s obvious worry about how long it was taking for them to get home. Had something happened while they were gone? Was more bad news waiting for them at home?
At the sight of Jackie waiting on the front steps, the Doctor found himself breathing a sigh of relief. She was okay, then. But was Tony? “Thank god,” Jackie said as they piled out of the car. “I thought you were going miss it.”
“We had a bit of emergency at the office,” Pete said, barely pausing to give Jackie a kiss as he headed up the steps. “Had to get these two home safe.”
“Should have known you’d be behind Pete being late. Come on, then. Tony’s already settled down, so we’re ready to start.”
Exchanging curious looks, the Doctor and Rose followed Pete and Jackie inside. Whatever was going on, it had to be serious. Maybe it was family news, maybe concerning Tony if he was already settled down.
But Tony was in the lounge, flopped on the floor in his customary position before the large television that dominated one side of the room as Pete and Jackie headed for the couch. “Don’t just stand there,” Jackie called. “Grab a seat. The show’s about to start.”
The picture on the television changed and Pete, Jackie and Tony’s attention was instantly riveted; it was as if Rose and the Doctor weren’t even in the room. Looking at one another, they needed no telepathy to know they shared a single thought: what the hell was going on?