1x17 The Game is Afoot (4/5)
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
Rose was quickly deciding investigating with Sherlock Holmes wasn't all one might think it was cracked up to be. For one thing, he really seemed to be convinced he was the brightest person in the room and no one came close. Well, except for the Doctor; even Holmes had to admit the Doctor was at least approaching his level, even if he wouldn't say the words. Right now, the two of the were showing off for one another, each doing their best to come up with the most obscure clue in the room that could possibly lead to the killer. She hoped someone was keeping score; she'd stopped at least an hour ago, busying herself with sorting through a pile of papers Holmes had asked her to deal with.
"Some tea, Mrs. Tyler? I fear we may be here a while."
Gratefully, she accepted the steaming cup and saucer Doyle held out to her. "I imagine you're quite used to it," she said as he settled beside her with his own cup.
"Generally, I'm a bit more active than this. Holmes and I, well, we work closely together and he values my opinion, uses me as a sounding board."
His chest had puffed slightly with the words, clearly proud of his place, which led Rose to wonder if he might be feeling a bit jealous of the Doctor. "I'm sure he couldn't get along without his Watson," she said.
It was only when she'd spoken the words that she'd realized what she'd said - and that Doyle was now regarding her curiously. His expression wasn't that he didn't understand what she'd meant, but wondering how she would know. Thankfully, Holmes and the Doctor reappeared at that moment, arguing just as they'd been doing for most of the day. "I think you're wrong; there’s no evidence any of this was actually related to the Partington Plans. Besides, if our victim wanted to help someone steal the plans, they would have known Latham took them home each night. Why go through the office if they knew the plans weren't here?"
Holmes' lips twitched at the Doctor's words, as sure sign he was annoyed. "I cannot help feeling that the plans are somehow involved. If these plans fell into the hands of England's enemies..."
"Yes, I know; end of the world and all that. My point is, unless we can find a connection, it remains a supposition."
"Which is why we should focus on Mr. Willard Whyte. As Mr. Latham has said, there was no good reason for him to be here last night and he had, in fact, left shortly after five when the rest of the office was leaving.” Holmes leaned forward slightly, making his point. “Whyte’s desk was the one most thoroughly ransacked; whoever attempted to search was most determined to hide something, given how the concealed compartments were ripped open - and do not those compartments suggest that he may have had something to hide?"
"Or that he had a desk with concealed compartments; according to Mr. Simmons, the desk’s been here forever. Are you telling me you never had a compartment in a desk you didn't use? Or that you put something there ages ago and completely forgot about it?"
"Good god, we'll be here all day at this rate," Doyle muttered under his breath, but he also reached for his notebook and withdrew a pencil from his vest pocket to make notes. Did Holmes realize Doyle wrote up his cases? Most likely, but Rose wondered if he had any idea they could possibly be published - and what his reaction might be.
The disagreement was still raging - both men were being far to civil to call it an argument, which was a clear sign the Doctor respected Holmes - and Rose turned back to the papers in her hands with a sigh. It wasn't exciting work and she had to wonder what might possibly be discovered. Holmes hadn't given her detailed instructions, simply asking her to look for something unusual and out of place,trusting her judgement to be able to find such a thing. She should be flattered, she supposed; having decided she had a brain, the detective had stopped treating her as if she were some kind of weaker vessel, accepting that her presence had some use, no matter how many mutters were heard from Lestrade.
Having been given such confidence, it would be nice if she actually could find something that would justify that belief. Problem was...
She had flipped over the page she was holding, but nearly missed the faint pencilled note: Compton's Hotel, 7 PM. The writing was Whyte's; she'd seen it often enough that day that it didn't take long to recognize. "Doctor, take a look at this."
Both Holmes and the Doctor immediately ceased their discussion. "It appears Mr. Whyte was meeting someone," the Doctor said. "Doesn't say the date."
"But the paper upon which it is written was itself created two weeks ago," Holmes said. "I think it would be an excellent idea to make inquiries at the Compton about Mr. Whyte and see of we can determine whom he was meeting there. There is precious little else we can do here. We know where Whyte was killed and we have the instrument of his death -"
"Yes, small bronze statues are most convenient for coshing someone on the back of the head when they're not looking," the Doctor interpolated.
"But until we have motive, there is nothing else we can do." Holmes paused. "Unless you wish to look about the factory itself, my dear Doctor. You did express an interest in the manufacturing that is done here and Mr. Latham said he would be happy to have Mr. Simmons give us a tour."
The Doctor grinned. "Excellent. Coming, Rose?"
"You always know how to show a girl a good time," she teased as she gratefully put the papers aside.
He grinned at her as Holmes said to Doyle, "Come along. I think we have surmised all we can for the moment from what is here."
Doyle didn't respond immediately, instead reaching into his waistcoat to extract a watch,which he examined with a frown. "Unfortunately, I have an appointment I need to keep. I'll meet you at the Compton as soon as I can."
Holmes was clearly not pleased, but he nodded as if such an action was not uncommon. What caught Rose's attention, though, was the key on Doyle's watch chain. Or, rather, it didn't catch her attention in a very familiar way. She would look, only to have her eyes slide away as if of their volition.
As Doyle departed, she caught the Doctor's eye and knew he'd noticed it as well. As Holmes ushered them out of the office and onto the foundry floor where Simmons waited, there wasn't an opportunity to speak to one another. Then, the Doctor's attention was distracted at the prospect of seeing if Latham and Sons had what they needed to repair the TARDIS and Rose knew the discussion would have to wait.
Despite the circumstances of their visit, Simmons took a great deal of pride in showing them about, answering the Doctor's questions with a surety that was a result of long familiarity. The man had worked his way up from a boy apprentice tasked with sweeping the floors to the Latham's right hand man. If anyone else in the shop would be familiar with the Partington Plans, it would be him.
As Holmes had predicted, the quality was good enough to satisfy the Doctor, and to his delight, Simmons graciously handed him two springs to take away. "Use them in your invention and I believe you'll find they will more than serve your needs."
“That should further your work,” Holmes said as they departed. “But not enough, I fear.”
“Every bit helps,” the Doctor said, slipping the springs into his pocket. “Now, what do you know about the Compton Hotel? Given the encyclopedia of your brain, I’m sure there are a few facts rattling about in there.”
“Mostly of the area. It is not as dire as some portions of the East End, but hardly respectable. Most likely, the spot was chosen for an assignation. The only question was with whom.”
Holmes raised his walking stick to hail a cab, when a roar of thunder was heard and a flash cut a trail across the sky. For just a moment, the heavens seemed to split, revealing a jagged scar through which could be seen something that was most definitely not of this world. Rose had seen this sight before, though she wasn’t certain if it was an actual memory or something glimpsed under the influence of the Bad Wolf. What she did know was that this was something they should not be seeing. “Doctor...”
His hand slid into hers, gripping it tightly. “I know. It’s worse than I thought. As soon as we get the TARDIS fixed, we need to get home - after we find out why this is happening. It’s not something from our time; it’s here.”
“There was something Dr. Doyle had; a key.”
“With a perception filter - and something else.” He nodded. “I saw it, too. Remember when I told you there was a time when the Time Lords could move easily between the worlds? Just because they’re gone doesn’t mean all the technology disappeared. Too many things were lost or fell through holes in time and space.”
“And you think he found something.”
“I think that may be a possibility. The next time we see him, I have a few questions to ask the good doctor.”
The sky was still boiling, people on the street clumping together to stare upwards in wonder and fear. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the display was over, and everything was normal again save for a light misting of rain that had not been there before. Holmes turned to face the Doctor and Rose with an expression of great seriousness. “When we are done with the Compton,” he said in a quiet, even voice, “I think it is time for you to reveal your mysteries, Doctor, for they do not affect you alone.”
# # #
The trip to the Compton revealed two things: first that Whyte had dined there a number of times, enough so that he was considered a regular. Second, that he usually dined with the same man, well-dressed and approaching middle age. "The last time he whey here though, they argued, and Mr. Whyte left rather hurriedly. He hasn't been in since."
Holmes thanked the clerk and offered a gratuity which was gratefully accepted. "It would be better if someone knew the other parties," Holmes said in the hansom cab on the way back to Baker Street, "but now we know Whyte was meeting someone regularly - and argued with someone before he died."
"But we've already established that Whyte knew the plans weren't kept in the office, so it can't be related to that," the Doctor pointed out."
"I know. There is still a piece of the puzzle missing." Holmes sighed. "I do wish Doyle had stayed with us rather than attend to this sudden appointment of his; I would have appreciated his insights. Undoubtedly, he will be waiting for us at Baker Street. He never misses one of Mrs. Hudson's teas without good cause."
Doyle was not, however, at Baker Street when they arrived, nor did he appear by the time they had finished tucking into the rather substantial tray Mrs. Hudson had prepared. All of this put Holmes in a foul mood and while he did his best to play the gracious host, the Doctor couldn't help noticing a slightly petulant air characterized by the sudden desire to speak of anything but the case.
The change of conversation did provide the chance to uncover some information about Doyle. He and Holmes had met a few years before when Doyle approached him in the Criterion Bar, confessing amazement at Holmes' detecting ability, which he had witnessed previously. The two men had spent a pleasant evening of conversation and a friendship had grown up. Holmes was of sufficient income that he could easily afford his rooms without assistance, but had extended the use of the second bedroom when he learned Doyle was having difficulty finding suitable rooms on his own. "Perhaps I am being too harsh," he said after several cups of tea and three shrimp paste sandwiches. "Doyle is a good man and he has never pretended that he did not have other interests. He chronicles my cases, and those do provide a invaluable resource in certain instances. There are certain forces at work, certain persons who are far above the common criminal one finds on the street. I keep as close an eye as I can on such criminal masterminds, for when the chance arises, one must be ready to bring them down."
A joke about Moriarty was on the Doctor's lips, but he refrained; he was not at all certain Holmes would take it well and such a mention might give the mistaken impression the Doctor and Rose were in league with Holmes' enemy. If that were to happen, their chances of getting to the bottom of Doyle's universe-crossing dropped from slim to none.
Before he could think of something else to say in place of his Moriarty joke - which he'd have to share with Rose later - Holmes put down his cup, petulance gone and a determined, inquisitive look in his eye . "I had hoped to wait until Doyle had returned to discuss this topic, but I believe we must return to the other issue. When we first met, you clearly had knowledge of what might be causing these strange phenomena we have been experiencing. There is a mystery here that goes beyond the simple murder of Mr. Whyte and I would like an explanation."
And it was a conversation they needed to have. The question was how to begin. "Are you familiar with the idea of traveling to another world?"
"I have read the works of Monsieur Verne, if that is your question. But those are fantasies, trifles to stir the imagination."
"But what if the ability existed, if scientists had found a way? If you can imagine that, then imagine also there are parallel worlds, universes that mirror our own. With advanced technology, one can cross between these worlds, but only at a cost.”
He was silent for a moment, letting Holmes ponder his words. “It will only get worse,” the Doctor continued, pulling himself from his chair and pacing the room. “It’s not just the weather. What you saw this afternoon was a rift, a hole in the fabric of time and space; if such things continue to open, people will fall in and - things - will fall out. You say to eliminate the impossible? If this continues, you will see things far beyond what you ever considered impossible.”
Holmes pondered this, steepling his hands before him as he brooded, weighing what was said and not simply rejecting it out of hand. Perhaps the way he saw the world allowed him that luxury, a chance to consider the fantastical and see if it might be real. Wanting to watch the process of thought across the man's face, the Doctor stopped pacing, which wasn't really effective anyway given the small amount of available space, and stood near the windows, hands dug deep into the pockets of his trousers.
“Will you please stop bouncing,” Holmes said at last. “I find it somewhat distracting.”
The Doctor stopped what he hadn't realized he was doing, and glanced over to find Rose giving him a teasing grin. She was probably betting herself how long it'd be before he started again, but Holmes roused himself slightly. “If I had not observed you before now, I would swear you were a madman based on your words. Clearly you are not, however, and this explains much - your knowledge, your clothes, the way you and your wife comport yourselves. Even so, you will pardon me if I am not quite willing to accept these ideas.”
It was a start. “But you accept the possibility of the danger to the Earth?”
“My dear Doctor, when is there not danger? If we can fear the growing threat of anarchists, why not other worldly creatures who can tear our very skies apart? In both instances, there is little to be done except when they reveal themselves in some way. I cannot deny something is happening, for my eyes have seen the evidence. But at this point, you simply ask that I believe these things are happening and do not say who is causing this or what is to be done.”
The Doctor sighed. “I suspect what - or who - is behind this, but I have no proof yet. With these parts,” he patted the pocket of his jacket, “I hope I can provide some. As for what’s to be done, that depends on whether or not my suspicions are correct and how the crossings are being made. You know there are times when one has gather more facts before acting. Let me gather those facts; if I am able to prove to you what I’m saying is the truth, will you help me?”
Another pause, another consideration. “If you bring me evidence that what you say is indeed possible, I will help. I am not an easily credulous man, but there are times when one must take that leap.” He sighed. “Now, if I could beg your indulgence, I find myself weary. Come tomorrow and we shall speak more of this. Hopefully Doyle will have returned, because I would like his opinion.”
The Doctor grinned. “I would like to hear Dr. Doyle’s opinion myself,” he said. “Please thank Mrs. Hudson for the tea.”
“I’d think Doyle would be the last person you wanted him to talk to about this,” Rose said as they left.
"The only way we're going to convince Holmes is by proof - and having Doyle there will give me a chance to get my hand on that key. It's not just the perception filter, Rose; there was something else. There was power there, something that really shouldn't be seen on this earth. If I can get my hands on it, I can try to figure out where it came from, but until then..." He sighed. “Let’s see if those springs work like I hope.”
The springs did work, and by the time morning arrived, the TARDIS was at least somewhat functional, though the Doctor wasn’t at all certain she was ready to head back into the Vortex. “Part of the problem is that we don’t know when the rifts are going to open, and I’d lay odds that’s what’s causing the turbulence,” he told Rose as he coaxed a printout of energy spikes from the main console. “Plus, we don’t know if these spikes are caused by just the rift or traversing the universes or both.”
Rose looked at the readings as they rolled out of the printer. “These look big. Okay, not an expert, but when we were dealing with the Dimension Canon, the monitors started showing spikes like this after it started working. Nothing until the stars started going out, no matter how much power we fed it, and then suddenly it was all over the place.”
“Because that was Dalek Caan ripping through time-locks and Davros testing his reality bomb. They were both punching holes through the fabric of time and space without thought for what might happened. I burned up a sun and all I could manage was a projection. Think of that and then think of how much more energy it took to make a hole.”
He could see the information sinking in, the sheer scale of what was happening. “And it doesn’t affect just here, does it? Mum, Dad, Tony -”
“We can stop it, Rose. For one thing, if we can prevent Doyle from hopping between the universes, that will help because he won’t keep aggravating everything. But if we can get back to Torchwood, there are things there I can use that will help me seal the rifts. It’s not easy, but I’ve done it before; practically made a habit out of it, in fact.”
“What if Doyle’s not the only one?” she asked.
She had to ask that, didn’t she? “We have no way of know that,” he said. “Not until we get somewhere with more advanced equipment and I’m not having to make repairs I hope will get us home. If he isn’t, we’ll deal with that then.” If he isn’t, we have bigger fish to fry, but let’s not discuss that now, shall we?
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
Rose was quickly deciding investigating with Sherlock Holmes wasn't all one might think it was cracked up to be. For one thing, he really seemed to be convinced he was the brightest person in the room and no one came close. Well, except for the Doctor; even Holmes had to admit the Doctor was at least approaching his level, even if he wouldn't say the words. Right now, the two of the were showing off for one another, each doing their best to come up with the most obscure clue in the room that could possibly lead to the killer. She hoped someone was keeping score; she'd stopped at least an hour ago, busying herself with sorting through a pile of papers Holmes had asked her to deal with.
"Some tea, Mrs. Tyler? I fear we may be here a while."
Gratefully, she accepted the steaming cup and saucer Doyle held out to her. "I imagine you're quite used to it," she said as he settled beside her with his own cup.
"Generally, I'm a bit more active than this. Holmes and I, well, we work closely together and he values my opinion, uses me as a sounding board."
His chest had puffed slightly with the words, clearly proud of his place, which led Rose to wonder if he might be feeling a bit jealous of the Doctor. "I'm sure he couldn't get along without his Watson," she said.
It was only when she'd spoken the words that she'd realized what she'd said - and that Doyle was now regarding her curiously. His expression wasn't that he didn't understand what she'd meant, but wondering how she would know. Thankfully, Holmes and the Doctor reappeared at that moment, arguing just as they'd been doing for most of the day. "I think you're wrong; there’s no evidence any of this was actually related to the Partington Plans. Besides, if our victim wanted to help someone steal the plans, they would have known Latham took them home each night. Why go through the office if they knew the plans weren't here?"
Holmes' lips twitched at the Doctor's words, as sure sign he was annoyed. "I cannot help feeling that the plans are somehow involved. If these plans fell into the hands of England's enemies..."
"Yes, I know; end of the world and all that. My point is, unless we can find a connection, it remains a supposition."
"Which is why we should focus on Mr. Willard Whyte. As Mr. Latham has said, there was no good reason for him to be here last night and he had, in fact, left shortly after five when the rest of the office was leaving.” Holmes leaned forward slightly, making his point. “Whyte’s desk was the one most thoroughly ransacked; whoever attempted to search was most determined to hide something, given how the concealed compartments were ripped open - and do not those compartments suggest that he may have had something to hide?"
"Or that he had a desk with concealed compartments; according to Mr. Simmons, the desk’s been here forever. Are you telling me you never had a compartment in a desk you didn't use? Or that you put something there ages ago and completely forgot about it?"
"Good god, we'll be here all day at this rate," Doyle muttered under his breath, but he also reached for his notebook and withdrew a pencil from his vest pocket to make notes. Did Holmes realize Doyle wrote up his cases? Most likely, but Rose wondered if he had any idea they could possibly be published - and what his reaction might be.
The disagreement was still raging - both men were being far to civil to call it an argument, which was a clear sign the Doctor respected Holmes - and Rose turned back to the papers in her hands with a sigh. It wasn't exciting work and she had to wonder what might possibly be discovered. Holmes hadn't given her detailed instructions, simply asking her to look for something unusual and out of place,trusting her judgement to be able to find such a thing. She should be flattered, she supposed; having decided she had a brain, the detective had stopped treating her as if she were some kind of weaker vessel, accepting that her presence had some use, no matter how many mutters were heard from Lestrade.
Having been given such confidence, it would be nice if she actually could find something that would justify that belief. Problem was...
She had flipped over the page she was holding, but nearly missed the faint pencilled note: Compton's Hotel, 7 PM. The writing was Whyte's; she'd seen it often enough that day that it didn't take long to recognize. "Doctor, take a look at this."
Both Holmes and the Doctor immediately ceased their discussion. "It appears Mr. Whyte was meeting someone," the Doctor said. "Doesn't say the date."
"But the paper upon which it is written was itself created two weeks ago," Holmes said. "I think it would be an excellent idea to make inquiries at the Compton about Mr. Whyte and see of we can determine whom he was meeting there. There is precious little else we can do here. We know where Whyte was killed and we have the instrument of his death -"
"Yes, small bronze statues are most convenient for coshing someone on the back of the head when they're not looking," the Doctor interpolated.
"But until we have motive, there is nothing else we can do." Holmes paused. "Unless you wish to look about the factory itself, my dear Doctor. You did express an interest in the manufacturing that is done here and Mr. Latham said he would be happy to have Mr. Simmons give us a tour."
The Doctor grinned. "Excellent. Coming, Rose?"
"You always know how to show a girl a good time," she teased as she gratefully put the papers aside.
He grinned at her as Holmes said to Doyle, "Come along. I think we have surmised all we can for the moment from what is here."
Doyle didn't respond immediately, instead reaching into his waistcoat to extract a watch,which he examined with a frown. "Unfortunately, I have an appointment I need to keep. I'll meet you at the Compton as soon as I can."
Holmes was clearly not pleased, but he nodded as if such an action was not uncommon. What caught Rose's attention, though, was the key on Doyle's watch chain. Or, rather, it didn't catch her attention in a very familiar way. She would look, only to have her eyes slide away as if of their volition.
As Doyle departed, she caught the Doctor's eye and knew he'd noticed it as well. As Holmes ushered them out of the office and onto the foundry floor where Simmons waited, there wasn't an opportunity to speak to one another. Then, the Doctor's attention was distracted at the prospect of seeing if Latham and Sons had what they needed to repair the TARDIS and Rose knew the discussion would have to wait.
Despite the circumstances of their visit, Simmons took a great deal of pride in showing them about, answering the Doctor's questions with a surety that was a result of long familiarity. The man had worked his way up from a boy apprentice tasked with sweeping the floors to the Latham's right hand man. If anyone else in the shop would be familiar with the Partington Plans, it would be him.
As Holmes had predicted, the quality was good enough to satisfy the Doctor, and to his delight, Simmons graciously handed him two springs to take away. "Use them in your invention and I believe you'll find they will more than serve your needs."
“That should further your work,” Holmes said as they departed. “But not enough, I fear.”
“Every bit helps,” the Doctor said, slipping the springs into his pocket. “Now, what do you know about the Compton Hotel? Given the encyclopedia of your brain, I’m sure there are a few facts rattling about in there.”
“Mostly of the area. It is not as dire as some portions of the East End, but hardly respectable. Most likely, the spot was chosen for an assignation. The only question was with whom.”
Holmes raised his walking stick to hail a cab, when a roar of thunder was heard and a flash cut a trail across the sky. For just a moment, the heavens seemed to split, revealing a jagged scar through which could be seen something that was most definitely not of this world. Rose had seen this sight before, though she wasn’t certain if it was an actual memory or something glimpsed under the influence of the Bad Wolf. What she did know was that this was something they should not be seeing. “Doctor...”
His hand slid into hers, gripping it tightly. “I know. It’s worse than I thought. As soon as we get the TARDIS fixed, we need to get home - after we find out why this is happening. It’s not something from our time; it’s here.”
“There was something Dr. Doyle had; a key.”
“With a perception filter - and something else.” He nodded. “I saw it, too. Remember when I told you there was a time when the Time Lords could move easily between the worlds? Just because they’re gone doesn’t mean all the technology disappeared. Too many things were lost or fell through holes in time and space.”
“And you think he found something.”
“I think that may be a possibility. The next time we see him, I have a few questions to ask the good doctor.”
The sky was still boiling, people on the street clumping together to stare upwards in wonder and fear. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the display was over, and everything was normal again save for a light misting of rain that had not been there before. Holmes turned to face the Doctor and Rose with an expression of great seriousness. “When we are done with the Compton,” he said in a quiet, even voice, “I think it is time for you to reveal your mysteries, Doctor, for they do not affect you alone.”
# # #
The trip to the Compton revealed two things: first that Whyte had dined there a number of times, enough so that he was considered a regular. Second, that he usually dined with the same man, well-dressed and approaching middle age. "The last time he whey here though, they argued, and Mr. Whyte left rather hurriedly. He hasn't been in since."
Holmes thanked the clerk and offered a gratuity which was gratefully accepted. "It would be better if someone knew the other parties," Holmes said in the hansom cab on the way back to Baker Street, "but now we know Whyte was meeting someone regularly - and argued with someone before he died."
"But we've already established that Whyte knew the plans weren't kept in the office, so it can't be related to that," the Doctor pointed out."
"I know. There is still a piece of the puzzle missing." Holmes sighed. "I do wish Doyle had stayed with us rather than attend to this sudden appointment of his; I would have appreciated his insights. Undoubtedly, he will be waiting for us at Baker Street. He never misses one of Mrs. Hudson's teas without good cause."
Doyle was not, however, at Baker Street when they arrived, nor did he appear by the time they had finished tucking into the rather substantial tray Mrs. Hudson had prepared. All of this put Holmes in a foul mood and while he did his best to play the gracious host, the Doctor couldn't help noticing a slightly petulant air characterized by the sudden desire to speak of anything but the case.
The change of conversation did provide the chance to uncover some information about Doyle. He and Holmes had met a few years before when Doyle approached him in the Criterion Bar, confessing amazement at Holmes' detecting ability, which he had witnessed previously. The two men had spent a pleasant evening of conversation and a friendship had grown up. Holmes was of sufficient income that he could easily afford his rooms without assistance, but had extended the use of the second bedroom when he learned Doyle was having difficulty finding suitable rooms on his own. "Perhaps I am being too harsh," he said after several cups of tea and three shrimp paste sandwiches. "Doyle is a good man and he has never pretended that he did not have other interests. He chronicles my cases, and those do provide a invaluable resource in certain instances. There are certain forces at work, certain persons who are far above the common criminal one finds on the street. I keep as close an eye as I can on such criminal masterminds, for when the chance arises, one must be ready to bring them down."
A joke about Moriarty was on the Doctor's lips, but he refrained; he was not at all certain Holmes would take it well and such a mention might give the mistaken impression the Doctor and Rose were in league with Holmes' enemy. If that were to happen, their chances of getting to the bottom of Doyle's universe-crossing dropped from slim to none.
Before he could think of something else to say in place of his Moriarty joke - which he'd have to share with Rose later - Holmes put down his cup, petulance gone and a determined, inquisitive look in his eye . "I had hoped to wait until Doyle had returned to discuss this topic, but I believe we must return to the other issue. When we first met, you clearly had knowledge of what might be causing these strange phenomena we have been experiencing. There is a mystery here that goes beyond the simple murder of Mr. Whyte and I would like an explanation."
And it was a conversation they needed to have. The question was how to begin. "Are you familiar with the idea of traveling to another world?"
"I have read the works of Monsieur Verne, if that is your question. But those are fantasies, trifles to stir the imagination."
"But what if the ability existed, if scientists had found a way? If you can imagine that, then imagine also there are parallel worlds, universes that mirror our own. With advanced technology, one can cross between these worlds, but only at a cost.”
He was silent for a moment, letting Holmes ponder his words. “It will only get worse,” the Doctor continued, pulling himself from his chair and pacing the room. “It’s not just the weather. What you saw this afternoon was a rift, a hole in the fabric of time and space; if such things continue to open, people will fall in and - things - will fall out. You say to eliminate the impossible? If this continues, you will see things far beyond what you ever considered impossible.”
Holmes pondered this, steepling his hands before him as he brooded, weighing what was said and not simply rejecting it out of hand. Perhaps the way he saw the world allowed him that luxury, a chance to consider the fantastical and see if it might be real. Wanting to watch the process of thought across the man's face, the Doctor stopped pacing, which wasn't really effective anyway given the small amount of available space, and stood near the windows, hands dug deep into the pockets of his trousers.
“Will you please stop bouncing,” Holmes said at last. “I find it somewhat distracting.”
The Doctor stopped what he hadn't realized he was doing, and glanced over to find Rose giving him a teasing grin. She was probably betting herself how long it'd be before he started again, but Holmes roused himself slightly. “If I had not observed you before now, I would swear you were a madman based on your words. Clearly you are not, however, and this explains much - your knowledge, your clothes, the way you and your wife comport yourselves. Even so, you will pardon me if I am not quite willing to accept these ideas.”
It was a start. “But you accept the possibility of the danger to the Earth?”
“My dear Doctor, when is there not danger? If we can fear the growing threat of anarchists, why not other worldly creatures who can tear our very skies apart? In both instances, there is little to be done except when they reveal themselves in some way. I cannot deny something is happening, for my eyes have seen the evidence. But at this point, you simply ask that I believe these things are happening and do not say who is causing this or what is to be done.”
The Doctor sighed. “I suspect what - or who - is behind this, but I have no proof yet. With these parts,” he patted the pocket of his jacket, “I hope I can provide some. As for what’s to be done, that depends on whether or not my suspicions are correct and how the crossings are being made. You know there are times when one has gather more facts before acting. Let me gather those facts; if I am able to prove to you what I’m saying is the truth, will you help me?”
Another pause, another consideration. “If you bring me evidence that what you say is indeed possible, I will help. I am not an easily credulous man, but there are times when one must take that leap.” He sighed. “Now, if I could beg your indulgence, I find myself weary. Come tomorrow and we shall speak more of this. Hopefully Doyle will have returned, because I would like his opinion.”
The Doctor grinned. “I would like to hear Dr. Doyle’s opinion myself,” he said. “Please thank Mrs. Hudson for the tea.”
“I’d think Doyle would be the last person you wanted him to talk to about this,” Rose said as they left.
"The only way we're going to convince Holmes is by proof - and having Doyle there will give me a chance to get my hand on that key. It's not just the perception filter, Rose; there was something else. There was power there, something that really shouldn't be seen on this earth. If I can get my hands on it, I can try to figure out where it came from, but until then..." He sighed. “Let’s see if those springs work like I hope.”
The springs did work, and by the time morning arrived, the TARDIS was at least somewhat functional, though the Doctor wasn’t at all certain she was ready to head back into the Vortex. “Part of the problem is that we don’t know when the rifts are going to open, and I’d lay odds that’s what’s causing the turbulence,” he told Rose as he coaxed a printout of energy spikes from the main console. “Plus, we don’t know if these spikes are caused by just the rift or traversing the universes or both.”
Rose looked at the readings as they rolled out of the printer. “These look big. Okay, not an expert, but when we were dealing with the Dimension Canon, the monitors started showing spikes like this after it started working. Nothing until the stars started going out, no matter how much power we fed it, and then suddenly it was all over the place.”
“Because that was Dalek Caan ripping through time-locks and Davros testing his reality bomb. They were both punching holes through the fabric of time and space without thought for what might happened. I burned up a sun and all I could manage was a projection. Think of that and then think of how much more energy it took to make a hole.”
He could see the information sinking in, the sheer scale of what was happening. “And it doesn’t affect just here, does it? Mum, Dad, Tony -”
“We can stop it, Rose. For one thing, if we can prevent Doyle from hopping between the universes, that will help because he won’t keep aggravating everything. But if we can get back to Torchwood, there are things there I can use that will help me seal the rifts. It’s not easy, but I’ve done it before; practically made a habit out of it, in fact.”
“What if Doyle’s not the only one?” she asked.
She had to ask that, didn’t she? “We have no way of know that,” he said. “Not until we get somewhere with more advanced equipment and I’m not having to make repairs I hope will get us home. If he isn’t, we’ll deal with that then.” If he isn’t, we have bigger fish to fry, but let’s not discuss that now, shall we?