1x17 The Game is Afoot (2/5)
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.
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
Despite the seriousness of their situation, Rose couldn’t help gawping at the man who’d just declared himself the world’s most famous detective. Constable Wilkinson seemed impressed as well, though not necessarily pleased. “I thank you, Mr. Holmes, but I think we have the matter well in hand. This gentleman -”
“This gentleman, while undoubtedly guilty of bad manners by attempting to read that fellow’s newspaper, is hardly your thief. You would be better served by attempting to find a boy of about eleven, small for his age due to undernourishment, wearing a flat brown tweed cap with a slight tear near the brim on the left front, who headed in that direction.” He gestured with his cane. “Oh, and he had a red handkerchief trailing from his left-hand pocket. I believe he may be part of the gang of cutpurses that have been recently harrying the market under the auspices of Molly Thornwit. You'll find her at the Speckled Hog just the south side of Westminster Bridge."
Again, Wilkinson tried to speak, but was cut off as Holmes continued. “I can also tell you this gentleman is not involved in nefarious activities as he has been spending his time in this fine market bartering with scrap salesmen. Seriously, do you truly think a man intent upon picking his fellow citizens’ pockets would load himself up with a sack of metal scrap which would make disappearing into the crowd much more difficult? Nor, I imagine, would he bring his wife along to help him carry these items; a man so clearly attached to his spouse would be loathe to abandon her simply for the expediency of his own escape.”
If Holmes was trying to get the police to release the Doctor, he succeeded, Wilkinson and his fellow loosing their grip a bit sheepishly. "I - that is - which way did you say the miscreant went, Mr. Holmes?"
Holmes pointed again with his walking stick. "I imagine he has likely made himself scarce, given the cry that was raised.” He turned to Pierce. “If I might suggest, sir, in the future you would be better served to keep your wallet in the inside breast pocket of your suit jacket, rather than the outer pocket of your overcoat. Of course, you probably put it there without thinking after placing your bet with one of the bookmakers that may be found in the area. Dog racing, is it not?"
Pierce sputtered even as Rose regarded Holmes with amazement and the Doctor looked almost giddy for the first time in several hours. Clearing his throat, Wilkinson said, "I suppose we can take your word, Mr. Holmes - and we'll get on to this Molly Thornwit straight away. Bert, you go see if you can find any evidence if this artful dodger Mr.Holmes was describing, while I take down this here gentleman's particulars.”
As Wilkinson turned to Pierce, who was still sputtering about what this country was coming to, Holmes leaned in to the Doctor and Rose. “I suggest it would be best if we move from the area as quickly as possible. There are still a number of questions the constable might wish to ask that I do not think you wish to answer.”
They needed no more encouragement and let Holmes lead them through the crowd. “I have to thank you,” the Doctor said, his hand tightly grasped about Rose’s. “Your sense of timing was impeccable. But really, there wasn’t -”
“There was considerable need from what I could see. You, sir, were within danger of being dragged before a most unforgiving magistrate - who would likely take a dim view of the trousers your wife wears beneath her coat - and without proper identification, I think you would find yourself hard pressed to defend yourself against your accusers. Even their blind howlings would find traction against such a lack.”
The wind picked up again and Holmes shivered slightly, pulling his muffler more closely about him. “There is a good public house near here on Russell Street. I think it best we retire there and converse over something hot to drink. The weather is not kind today.”
“How long has the weather been acting strangely?” the Doctor asked as they found a table in the Marquis of Angelsey. “Surely this isn’t usual for August.”
A small quirk of a smile crossed Holmes’ lips. “And by those words, you reveal yet another mystery.” The smile quickly vanished. “Nearly a year. The changes were minor at first - a cold day in the midst of high summer, the fall not quite becoming winter until late - but now the patterns have changed radically. There is talk within the highest levels of government about the impact this all could have upon the nation’s crops.”
The words teased at Rose’s memory. She leaned forward, about to ask about other phenomenon that might have occurred, but before she could speak, the Doctor said, “Really quite remarkable what you did back there. Amazing how you do that.” He turned to Rose. “He observes life around him, catalogs what he sees, then retrieves the information to form a picture. The man who got his wallet stolen - either he had a betting slip peeking from his pocket or you saw him speaking with a known bookie."
“You have me at a disadvantage, sir. You seem to know my tricks and I do not even know your name.”
“I’m the Doctor and this is Rose Tyler,” the Doctor said, throwing the introduction off casually as he so often did. “I’m curious to know how you became so interested in observing human behavior.”
Holmes behaved as if it were no great matter, but clearly he was pleased by the Doctor’s attention and began to discuss his fascination with human behavior and the world around him. At first, Rose felt a bit impatient, wanting to draw the conversation back to what other phenomena Holmes might have noticed - and if there was anyone in London who might suspect the two were linked, she was willing to bet it was Holmes. Then, however, she realized the Doctor was controlling the conversation, attempting to lull Holmes into a certain sense of intimacy to get the information he wanted. Warming drinks were brought, and all seemed very cozy, as if they’d been friends for some time.
Before too long, however, Holmes paused and considered the Doctor with a somewhat amused expression. “I have deduced one thing from this conversation, Doctor. You have a great talent for making other people talk without saying a word about yourself.”
Rose couldn’t help giggling at the comment and the accompanying somewhat flummoxed expression on the Doctor’s face. “Oh, he’s very good at that,” she said.
“I assume you have been able to get details out of him at some point, Mrs. Tyler. I cannot imagine living with someone in so intimate a relationship as marriage without knowing at least something of his history.”
“I’m familiar with it,” she said, not wanting to give too much away herself. “He still manages to surprise me, though.”
“But he has let down his guard enough to allow you to serve as his assistant in whatever it is he creates. When I observed you in the market, I noted that you were examining the items as carefully as he did. I suspect you often assist him in his work, which accounts for your careful attention. Might I ask what need you had for scrap metal, sir? A gentleman of your obvious intelligence and clear education is not the type one would expect to see bartering with a scrap merchant. And, yes, I observed you for your actions did not seem ordinary and I am always intrigued by what is not the ordinary.”
“Which is why you always peruse the agony columns,” Rose said.
Holmes looked at her with surprise. “I do, but how could you possibly know that?”
Because Mum fancied Jeremy Brett and I think I’ve seen ever episode he did at least five times. She shrugged. “Just a lucky guess, I suppose. It seems like the type of thing you would do.”
“I delight in what is unusual, unexpected and not dull,” he admitted, “a trait I believe we may share, Doctor.”
“Perhaps. And in answer to your question, I’m an inventor. I use the scrap to create parts for my inventions. If I have a special need, I might have something manufactured, but most items start as scrap.”
“And because you create them yourself through trial and error, they do not always work. Such is the case with the wallet you produced, which you clearly thought would provide a suitable identification to the constable, enough so that he would release you without further question. Some might say the fact it was blank was due to absentmindedness, that you had put the wrong item in your pocket, but your wife - oh, yes, I noted the rings you both wear - seemed to expect it would be something else as well before she told you that it was blank.”
“What if I told you I wasn’t at liberty to speak about that item at this moment?”
Rose smelled the whiff of a challenge in the air. Holmes gave every appearance of being relaxed in his chair, but there was an underlying tension, as if their presence was some bone he needed to worried. On his part, the Doctor showed no inclination to give ground to the detective, not willing to grant he might have met someone who could analyze a situation as completely and rapidly as himself, even if the man was supposed to be the greatest detective who ever lived.
The ball was now in Holmes’ court and he considered the Doctor carefully. “Do you know a fellow named Mycroft?” he asked.
Now the Doctor smiled. “I am familiar with your brother only by reputation.”
Holmes sighed. “And that tells me what I need to know. Have no fear; I have no wish to pry into the secrets Mycroft holds for queen and country. I fear this one curiosity must be unsatisfied.” He gave the Doctor a sideways glance. “Why did you not know about the weather?”
“We’ve been away on...other matters. But has there been other phenomena? Lights in the sky? Strange events not seemingly unrelated.” The Doctor leaned forward. “Yes, there is a reason for concern and a man such as yourself is likely to notice details others might not.”
Holmes frowned, then signaled to the publican they required another round. It was only when three more cups were placed before them that he began to speak. “There have been some nights where the sky almost seemed lit by fire. Reports of strange creatures who appear and disappear. I myself have see what looked to be the very air churning in a vortex, only to see it simply disappear, collapsing upon itself. I have always held that once one eliminates the impossible, whatever remains, however, improbable, is the truth. But these things are impossible by all science known to our age.”
They were impossible because Rose knew very well what the events signified - and her stomach knotted at the thought. Did the Doctor realize? She couldn’t tell given his expression, though she suspected he did.
If he did, he gave no indication, save to ask a few specific details. The excitement Rose had felt earlier at the idea of meeting Sherlock Holmes had evaporated and she now wanted nothing more than to get back to the TARDIS, get the repairs done, and get home safely.
To her relief, the Doctor thanked Holmes for his help. “My experiments call and we need to get back to work.”
“And you leave me with several mysteries yet unsolved.” Holmes reached into his jacket and pulled out a card case. “If you need further assistance, pray do not hesitate to call on me. I would ask for your card, but I fear what is in your case would not produce appropriate directions.”
He offered up that strange slight quirk of his lips that passed as a smile. Rose couldn’t help leaning over to look at the card which bore the legend “Sherlock Holmes” and the address “221B Baker Street” in the lower right corner, feeling a frisson of excitement once more, momentarily blotting out the hard work that lay ahead.
Then the moment was past and they were saying their farewells, beginning the walk back to the TARDIS. The Doctor kept up a steady stream of talk, working through what needed to be done first as far as repairs. Rose didn’t bother to stop him, trying hard not to focus too closely on the implications of what they’d learned. She wasn’t particularly successful.
She didn’t like to remember how many universes she’d jumped across looking for the Doctor, but she’d become quite familiar with what happened when the walls between the worlds are weakened. Eliminate the impossible, Holmes had said. The events he’d described might seem impossible for him, but Rose knew far too well they weren’t
The TARDIS was cold and dark when they returned, power on low to conserve energy until repairs were complete. Even so, the Doctor touched a few controls, bringing the lights up a bit. “You know what this all means.”
“That despite being told it’s impossible once and being told the rifts were closing permanently the second time, turns out someone’s crossing between the universes again,” Rose said, the words coming out far more bitter than she intended. “Never knew something impossible could cause so much traffic.”
The Doctor winced. “Rose...”
“I don’t want to talk about it. For one thing, we’ve got too much to do.” With that, she marched out of the control room and toward their bedroom, intent on dumping her coat before she started to hold his tools or whatever it was he was going to let her do. Behind her, she heard the clank of the bag he’d carried being set down. “Rose.”
“I said, I don’t want to talk about it!” Her voice was hard and tight, and she could feel tears pricking at her eyes. Refusing to turn around even though she knew he was standing in the doorway, she pulled her coat off and dropped it onto the bed. Taking several deep breaths, she did her best to release some of the tension. There was work to be done and the last thing they needed now was a fight.
When she turned back, though, she suddenly felt it all bubbling up. “You knew it wasn’t impossible to cross the universes. You knew and you didn’t say anything. You just stood there while he gave me this big speech about how you needed someone to help you and you couldn’t be left alone and he had to go because the rifts were closing.”
“They were closing,” he said quietly. “And just because new holes can be made, it doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. You know what can happen with inter-dimensional travel, Rose; it’s starting to tear this world apart.”
He kept his gaze steady as it met hers. At last, she turned away. “Still doesn’t explain why he left us there.”
“Because he’s a self-flagellating git who doesn’t trust himself.” The words came out bitter. “It’s not that he has less rage and violence than I do; he just covers it better.”
It was the old argument, ground covered endlessly in those early days. How many times had she found herself defending the Doctor in those arguments, not wanting to hear anyone say anything against him even as she called him the nastiest things she could think of?
The sound of movement behind her and his hands came to rest on her shoulders. “I don’t know if he’s involved,” the Doctor said quietly. “Right now, we have no way of knowing that. What we need to do is repair the TARDIS.”
He’d begun a slow massage and she closed her eyes, letting herself relax slightly into his touch. “And the weather?”
“We’ll deal with that when the TARDIS is back up and running. Besides, she could be very useful tracking some of the energy spikes that must be occurring.” His breath was warm on her ear. “I love you, Rose. Don’t ever forget that. I love you and I’m not leaving you.”
The words were meant to comfort, but they still caused an ache, the old wound that he could say the words so easily and the other one never did. At the same time, she felt the little shiver beneath her skin she always felt when he was so close. Turning in his arms, she let her head tilt back to consider him. His eyes were deep and dark, watching her with both nervousness and determination.
“I know you won’t,” she said, letting her hand rise to stroke his cheek. “And you’re right; TARDIS repair first.”
“No, this first.” He pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her so fiercely she wondered if he would ever let her go. Not that she wanted him to.
# # #
By mid-morning, the Doctor had to admit their foray to the market yesterday hadn’t brought him everything he needed and the repairs couldn’t proceed much further without those high tension springs. “So where can we get those?” Rose asked. “Can you find something from this period that will work?”
“Not a perfect solution, but I know exactly who might know where we can find the best quality.”
“Elementary, my dear Doctor?” Rose asked with a grin he found himself matching.
Mrs. Hudson didn’t seem particularly surprised when they presented themselves at the door of 221B. But then, the housekeeper had likely grown used to such comings and going, though she did cast a slightly disapproving eye at the bit of Rose’s jeans that stuck out from under her coat.
“My dear Doctor, what a pleasant surprise.” Holmes rose to his feet, dropping the paper unheedingly on the floor. “I certainly did not expect to see you so again soon.”
“We were hoping for some help,” the Doctor told him, “and I knew that if there was one man in all of London who would know the best place to look, it would be you.”
The words were blatant flattery, but the appeal to Holmes’ ego worked, produce a diffident wave of the hand and an odd quirk of a smile. “I might possess some small knowledge. Pray, what do you need to know?”
Briefly, the Doctor described the parts he needed, pausing only when Holmes felt compelled to interrupt to ensure Rose was seated comfortably. “I do indeed know a manufacturer who might well meet your standards with what you describe,” he said when the Doctor finished speaking. “They have done similar work that was quite well-thought of for the government. I remember Mycroft speaking some faint word of praise, which means their efforts met his exacting standards. It would be easy enough to give you directions.”
He headed for his desk, pulling out a sheet of paper. Pen hovering above the surface, he added, “I am afraid they will not accept barter, however.”
“One barters where one cans, but there is always a need to pay for quality,” the Doctor said. How he was going to get the money he wasn’t quite certain, but he knew between them, he and Rose would find a solution.
As Holmes scribbled on the paper, the Doctor restrained himself from proving too curious about his surroundings. He couldn’t help the niggle at the back of his mind that something wasn't quite right, and it wasn't just the idea someone might be ripping open another hole between the universes.
From below, there came the sound of a door slamming, followed by a voice calling out, "Holmes? Are you in?"
Holmes didn't seem particularly perturbed by this announced arrival, setting down his pen and turning in his chair so he faced the door as footsteps were heard on the stairs, which meant this likely was Watson. The Doctor couldn't help turning toward the door himself with curiosity as a broad-shouldered bearded man in his mid-thirties appeared. "Allow me to present my very own Boswell, Dr. Arthur Doyle."
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.
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
Despite the seriousness of their situation, Rose couldn’t help gawping at the man who’d just declared himself the world’s most famous detective. Constable Wilkinson seemed impressed as well, though not necessarily pleased. “I thank you, Mr. Holmes, but I think we have the matter well in hand. This gentleman -”
“This gentleman, while undoubtedly guilty of bad manners by attempting to read that fellow’s newspaper, is hardly your thief. You would be better served by attempting to find a boy of about eleven, small for his age due to undernourishment, wearing a flat brown tweed cap with a slight tear near the brim on the left front, who headed in that direction.” He gestured with his cane. “Oh, and he had a red handkerchief trailing from his left-hand pocket. I believe he may be part of the gang of cutpurses that have been recently harrying the market under the auspices of Molly Thornwit. You'll find her at the Speckled Hog just the south side of Westminster Bridge."
Again, Wilkinson tried to speak, but was cut off as Holmes continued. “I can also tell you this gentleman is not involved in nefarious activities as he has been spending his time in this fine market bartering with scrap salesmen. Seriously, do you truly think a man intent upon picking his fellow citizens’ pockets would load himself up with a sack of metal scrap which would make disappearing into the crowd much more difficult? Nor, I imagine, would he bring his wife along to help him carry these items; a man so clearly attached to his spouse would be loathe to abandon her simply for the expediency of his own escape.”
If Holmes was trying to get the police to release the Doctor, he succeeded, Wilkinson and his fellow loosing their grip a bit sheepishly. "I - that is - which way did you say the miscreant went, Mr. Holmes?"
Holmes pointed again with his walking stick. "I imagine he has likely made himself scarce, given the cry that was raised.” He turned to Pierce. “If I might suggest, sir, in the future you would be better served to keep your wallet in the inside breast pocket of your suit jacket, rather than the outer pocket of your overcoat. Of course, you probably put it there without thinking after placing your bet with one of the bookmakers that may be found in the area. Dog racing, is it not?"
Pierce sputtered even as Rose regarded Holmes with amazement and the Doctor looked almost giddy for the first time in several hours. Clearing his throat, Wilkinson said, "I suppose we can take your word, Mr. Holmes - and we'll get on to this Molly Thornwit straight away. Bert, you go see if you can find any evidence if this artful dodger Mr.Holmes was describing, while I take down this here gentleman's particulars.”
As Wilkinson turned to Pierce, who was still sputtering about what this country was coming to, Holmes leaned in to the Doctor and Rose. “I suggest it would be best if we move from the area as quickly as possible. There are still a number of questions the constable might wish to ask that I do not think you wish to answer.”
They needed no more encouragement and let Holmes lead them through the crowd. “I have to thank you,” the Doctor said, his hand tightly grasped about Rose’s. “Your sense of timing was impeccable. But really, there wasn’t -”
“There was considerable need from what I could see. You, sir, were within danger of being dragged before a most unforgiving magistrate - who would likely take a dim view of the trousers your wife wears beneath her coat - and without proper identification, I think you would find yourself hard pressed to defend yourself against your accusers. Even their blind howlings would find traction against such a lack.”
The wind picked up again and Holmes shivered slightly, pulling his muffler more closely about him. “There is a good public house near here on Russell Street. I think it best we retire there and converse over something hot to drink. The weather is not kind today.”
“How long has the weather been acting strangely?” the Doctor asked as they found a table in the Marquis of Angelsey. “Surely this isn’t usual for August.”
A small quirk of a smile crossed Holmes’ lips. “And by those words, you reveal yet another mystery.” The smile quickly vanished. “Nearly a year. The changes were minor at first - a cold day in the midst of high summer, the fall not quite becoming winter until late - but now the patterns have changed radically. There is talk within the highest levels of government about the impact this all could have upon the nation’s crops.”
The words teased at Rose’s memory. She leaned forward, about to ask about other phenomenon that might have occurred, but before she could speak, the Doctor said, “Really quite remarkable what you did back there. Amazing how you do that.” He turned to Rose. “He observes life around him, catalogs what he sees, then retrieves the information to form a picture. The man who got his wallet stolen - either he had a betting slip peeking from his pocket or you saw him speaking with a known bookie."
“You have me at a disadvantage, sir. You seem to know my tricks and I do not even know your name.”
“I’m the Doctor and this is Rose Tyler,” the Doctor said, throwing the introduction off casually as he so often did. “I’m curious to know how you became so interested in observing human behavior.”
Holmes behaved as if it were no great matter, but clearly he was pleased by the Doctor’s attention and began to discuss his fascination with human behavior and the world around him. At first, Rose felt a bit impatient, wanting to draw the conversation back to what other phenomena Holmes might have noticed - and if there was anyone in London who might suspect the two were linked, she was willing to bet it was Holmes. Then, however, she realized the Doctor was controlling the conversation, attempting to lull Holmes into a certain sense of intimacy to get the information he wanted. Warming drinks were brought, and all seemed very cozy, as if they’d been friends for some time.
Before too long, however, Holmes paused and considered the Doctor with a somewhat amused expression. “I have deduced one thing from this conversation, Doctor. You have a great talent for making other people talk without saying a word about yourself.”
Rose couldn’t help giggling at the comment and the accompanying somewhat flummoxed expression on the Doctor’s face. “Oh, he’s very good at that,” she said.
“I assume you have been able to get details out of him at some point, Mrs. Tyler. I cannot imagine living with someone in so intimate a relationship as marriage without knowing at least something of his history.”
“I’m familiar with it,” she said, not wanting to give too much away herself. “He still manages to surprise me, though.”
“But he has let down his guard enough to allow you to serve as his assistant in whatever it is he creates. When I observed you in the market, I noted that you were examining the items as carefully as he did. I suspect you often assist him in his work, which accounts for your careful attention. Might I ask what need you had for scrap metal, sir? A gentleman of your obvious intelligence and clear education is not the type one would expect to see bartering with a scrap merchant. And, yes, I observed you for your actions did not seem ordinary and I am always intrigued by what is not the ordinary.”
“Which is why you always peruse the agony columns,” Rose said.
Holmes looked at her with surprise. “I do, but how could you possibly know that?”
Because Mum fancied Jeremy Brett and I think I’ve seen ever episode he did at least five times. She shrugged. “Just a lucky guess, I suppose. It seems like the type of thing you would do.”
“I delight in what is unusual, unexpected and not dull,” he admitted, “a trait I believe we may share, Doctor.”
“Perhaps. And in answer to your question, I’m an inventor. I use the scrap to create parts for my inventions. If I have a special need, I might have something manufactured, but most items start as scrap.”
“And because you create them yourself through trial and error, they do not always work. Such is the case with the wallet you produced, which you clearly thought would provide a suitable identification to the constable, enough so that he would release you without further question. Some might say the fact it was blank was due to absentmindedness, that you had put the wrong item in your pocket, but your wife - oh, yes, I noted the rings you both wear - seemed to expect it would be something else as well before she told you that it was blank.”
“What if I told you I wasn’t at liberty to speak about that item at this moment?”
Rose smelled the whiff of a challenge in the air. Holmes gave every appearance of being relaxed in his chair, but there was an underlying tension, as if their presence was some bone he needed to worried. On his part, the Doctor showed no inclination to give ground to the detective, not willing to grant he might have met someone who could analyze a situation as completely and rapidly as himself, even if the man was supposed to be the greatest detective who ever lived.
The ball was now in Holmes’ court and he considered the Doctor carefully. “Do you know a fellow named Mycroft?” he asked.
Now the Doctor smiled. “I am familiar with your brother only by reputation.”
Holmes sighed. “And that tells me what I need to know. Have no fear; I have no wish to pry into the secrets Mycroft holds for queen and country. I fear this one curiosity must be unsatisfied.” He gave the Doctor a sideways glance. “Why did you not know about the weather?”
“We’ve been away on...other matters. But has there been other phenomena? Lights in the sky? Strange events not seemingly unrelated.” The Doctor leaned forward. “Yes, there is a reason for concern and a man such as yourself is likely to notice details others might not.”
Holmes frowned, then signaled to the publican they required another round. It was only when three more cups were placed before them that he began to speak. “There have been some nights where the sky almost seemed lit by fire. Reports of strange creatures who appear and disappear. I myself have see what looked to be the very air churning in a vortex, only to see it simply disappear, collapsing upon itself. I have always held that once one eliminates the impossible, whatever remains, however, improbable, is the truth. But these things are impossible by all science known to our age.”
They were impossible because Rose knew very well what the events signified - and her stomach knotted at the thought. Did the Doctor realize? She couldn’t tell given his expression, though she suspected he did.
If he did, he gave no indication, save to ask a few specific details. The excitement Rose had felt earlier at the idea of meeting Sherlock Holmes had evaporated and she now wanted nothing more than to get back to the TARDIS, get the repairs done, and get home safely.
To her relief, the Doctor thanked Holmes for his help. “My experiments call and we need to get back to work.”
“And you leave me with several mysteries yet unsolved.” Holmes reached into his jacket and pulled out a card case. “If you need further assistance, pray do not hesitate to call on me. I would ask for your card, but I fear what is in your case would not produce appropriate directions.”
He offered up that strange slight quirk of his lips that passed as a smile. Rose couldn’t help leaning over to look at the card which bore the legend “Sherlock Holmes” and the address “221B Baker Street” in the lower right corner, feeling a frisson of excitement once more, momentarily blotting out the hard work that lay ahead.
Then the moment was past and they were saying their farewells, beginning the walk back to the TARDIS. The Doctor kept up a steady stream of talk, working through what needed to be done first as far as repairs. Rose didn’t bother to stop him, trying hard not to focus too closely on the implications of what they’d learned. She wasn’t particularly successful.
She didn’t like to remember how many universes she’d jumped across looking for the Doctor, but she’d become quite familiar with what happened when the walls between the worlds are weakened. Eliminate the impossible, Holmes had said. The events he’d described might seem impossible for him, but Rose knew far too well they weren’t
The TARDIS was cold and dark when they returned, power on low to conserve energy until repairs were complete. Even so, the Doctor touched a few controls, bringing the lights up a bit. “You know what this all means.”
“That despite being told it’s impossible once and being told the rifts were closing permanently the second time, turns out someone’s crossing between the universes again,” Rose said, the words coming out far more bitter than she intended. “Never knew something impossible could cause so much traffic.”
The Doctor winced. “Rose...”
“I don’t want to talk about it. For one thing, we’ve got too much to do.” With that, she marched out of the control room and toward their bedroom, intent on dumping her coat before she started to hold his tools or whatever it was he was going to let her do. Behind her, she heard the clank of the bag he’d carried being set down. “Rose.”
“I said, I don’t want to talk about it!” Her voice was hard and tight, and she could feel tears pricking at her eyes. Refusing to turn around even though she knew he was standing in the doorway, she pulled her coat off and dropped it onto the bed. Taking several deep breaths, she did her best to release some of the tension. There was work to be done and the last thing they needed now was a fight.
When she turned back, though, she suddenly felt it all bubbling up. “You knew it wasn’t impossible to cross the universes. You knew and you didn’t say anything. You just stood there while he gave me this big speech about how you needed someone to help you and you couldn’t be left alone and he had to go because the rifts were closing.”
“They were closing,” he said quietly. “And just because new holes can be made, it doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. You know what can happen with inter-dimensional travel, Rose; it’s starting to tear this world apart.”
He kept his gaze steady as it met hers. At last, she turned away. “Still doesn’t explain why he left us there.”
“Because he’s a self-flagellating git who doesn’t trust himself.” The words came out bitter. “It’s not that he has less rage and violence than I do; he just covers it better.”
It was the old argument, ground covered endlessly in those early days. How many times had she found herself defending the Doctor in those arguments, not wanting to hear anyone say anything against him even as she called him the nastiest things she could think of?
The sound of movement behind her and his hands came to rest on her shoulders. “I don’t know if he’s involved,” the Doctor said quietly. “Right now, we have no way of knowing that. What we need to do is repair the TARDIS.”
He’d begun a slow massage and she closed her eyes, letting herself relax slightly into his touch. “And the weather?”
“We’ll deal with that when the TARDIS is back up and running. Besides, she could be very useful tracking some of the energy spikes that must be occurring.” His breath was warm on her ear. “I love you, Rose. Don’t ever forget that. I love you and I’m not leaving you.”
The words were meant to comfort, but they still caused an ache, the old wound that he could say the words so easily and the other one never did. At the same time, she felt the little shiver beneath her skin she always felt when he was so close. Turning in his arms, she let her head tilt back to consider him. His eyes were deep and dark, watching her with both nervousness and determination.
“I know you won’t,” she said, letting her hand rise to stroke his cheek. “And you’re right; TARDIS repair first.”
“No, this first.” He pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her so fiercely she wondered if he would ever let her go. Not that she wanted him to.
# # #
By mid-morning, the Doctor had to admit their foray to the market yesterday hadn’t brought him everything he needed and the repairs couldn’t proceed much further without those high tension springs. “So where can we get those?” Rose asked. “Can you find something from this period that will work?”
“Not a perfect solution, but I know exactly who might know where we can find the best quality.”
“Elementary, my dear Doctor?” Rose asked with a grin he found himself matching.
Mrs. Hudson didn’t seem particularly surprised when they presented themselves at the door of 221B. But then, the housekeeper had likely grown used to such comings and going, though she did cast a slightly disapproving eye at the bit of Rose’s jeans that stuck out from under her coat.
“My dear Doctor, what a pleasant surprise.” Holmes rose to his feet, dropping the paper unheedingly on the floor. “I certainly did not expect to see you so again soon.”
“We were hoping for some help,” the Doctor told him, “and I knew that if there was one man in all of London who would know the best place to look, it would be you.”
The words were blatant flattery, but the appeal to Holmes’ ego worked, produce a diffident wave of the hand and an odd quirk of a smile. “I might possess some small knowledge. Pray, what do you need to know?”
Briefly, the Doctor described the parts he needed, pausing only when Holmes felt compelled to interrupt to ensure Rose was seated comfortably. “I do indeed know a manufacturer who might well meet your standards with what you describe,” he said when the Doctor finished speaking. “They have done similar work that was quite well-thought of for the government. I remember Mycroft speaking some faint word of praise, which means their efforts met his exacting standards. It would be easy enough to give you directions.”
He headed for his desk, pulling out a sheet of paper. Pen hovering above the surface, he added, “I am afraid they will not accept barter, however.”
“One barters where one cans, but there is always a need to pay for quality,” the Doctor said. How he was going to get the money he wasn’t quite certain, but he knew between them, he and Rose would find a solution.
As Holmes scribbled on the paper, the Doctor restrained himself from proving too curious about his surroundings. He couldn’t help the niggle at the back of his mind that something wasn't quite right, and it wasn't just the idea someone might be ripping open another hole between the universes.
From below, there came the sound of a door slamming, followed by a voice calling out, "Holmes? Are you in?"
Holmes didn't seem particularly perturbed by this announced arrival, setting down his pen and turning in his chair so he faced the door as footsteps were heard on the stairs, which meant this likely was Watson. The Doctor couldn't help turning toward the door himself with curiosity as a broad-shouldered bearded man in his mid-thirties appeared. "Allow me to present my very own Boswell, Dr. Arthur Doyle."