The Murdoch Mysteries & its characters are the property of Maureen Jennings, Shaftesbury Films, and ITV Studios. In short: I own nothing. The title & chapter headings are lyrics taken from songs by The 1975.

As stated in the summary, this story takes off from Episode Six of the now-infamous web series The Murdoch Effect. You might want to watch that before reading this. Reviews are much appreciated 3

"-have your gun back for five minutes, and you knock him out!"

"He asked me to!"

It was too loud to be 1899. Too loud and too bright. William fought to open his eyes only to slam them shut against the chemical burn of the strange, overly saturated lights coming from the ceiling. He groaned. There was no doubt: this was still 2012.

"Murdoch? I think he's coming around. Here, get him up before the Inspector sees."

The future Julia was just as adept at moving dead weights as her nineteenth century counterpart. That was good. Reassuring, in a roundabout sort of way. Odds are he would've taken a great deal more comfort in her familiar dexterity if each change in position didn't send his brain thudding against his skull.

"Yeah, like that lard-ass ever leaves his office."

"God, Crabtree. Don't be such a prick."

"Whatever."

Such vulgarities! And yet a second pair of hands was soon helping –well, hauling –him farther up on his feet. With the additional support, William was willing to risk opening his eyes again. There, backlit by the sharp, white light was Julia, looking every bit as divine as Botticelli's Madonna with her golden hair curling free around her shoulders and that peculiar glitter dusted across her eyelids. He'd noticed it earlier, but he couldn't seem to stop staring at it now. It was just so, so -

Oh, dear. George must have hit him very hard indeed.

"I think you gave him a concussion."

"What?!" George caught William's wince and lowered his voice. "C'mon, he's fine. Aren't you, Murdoch?" A friendly shoulder-jostle came close to toppling him, but William managed to reach a hand out to catch his weight against the table.

"Yes, fine." He cleared his throat, forced a smile, "I'm fine."

"See? Nothin' t'worry about." George slapped him on the back again –this was getting a bit ludicrous; to what extent did violence indicate camaraderie in the twenty-first century? And to think he'd found the practice excessive back in 1899. This did not bode well for him.

Well. Nothing did, really, if he was being honest. His tried-and-true method of time travel wasn't working, which left him stranded in this brave new world, as it were, without any clue as to what he was expected to do next. They'd solved the crime, hadn't they? Now he had to go back to 1899 and do the same there. It was only logical. Why couldn't this world just make sense?

"Sooo, we done here?" George jerked his thumb over one shoulder, "Cause I've booked some time at the range, and…" Julia rolled her eyes.

"Great. I'll have them send down your 'World's Best Partner' award."

"Such an honor," George clasped his hands over his heart in mock humility. Grinning, he turned on his heel and rounded the corner, calling back after he'd disappeared from view: "See ya tomorrow."

William furrowed his brow. "Tomorrow?" He glanced up at Julia in time to catch a wry smile that made his stomach flip.

"Yeah. You work here now, remember?" She rubbed his shoulder. "You sure you're okay?"

"Fine. Truly."

It wasn't quite a lie. Yes, his head was spinning from the repeated blows, and, yes, the thought of living out the rest of his life here, a hundred and thirteen years ahead of where he'd been when he woke up this morning was so inconceivable, so terrifying that he hadn't even begun to process it. But Julia…

"Come on, I'm driving you home." He blinked. Had he been staring? He was almost certain that he'd been staring. A flush crept up his neck as he quickly searched out something –anything –he could fix his attention on.

"I'm not sure I have a home," he blurted. "No, I mean –" he fumbled at her bewildered expression, "-I, ah, moved and it's been –I wouldn't want to inconvenience-"

"-Look," Julia interrupted, sparing him from scrounging for any more excuses, "You bail me out of a gambler's den, I drive you home after your idiot partner knocks your lights out. Fair's fair. What's your address?"

A fantastic question. William made a show of checking his pockets. What would he say when the search yielded nothing? That he'd forgotten his keys and his wallet? If that didn't make Julia suspicious than nothing –wait.

Keys. And a wallet. Right there, in his jacket pocket. But they hadn't –they hadn't been there before! Had they? William pulled the billfold out and opened it quickly to mask the slight tremors creeping through his fingers. A myriad of brightly colored bits of plastic all begged to be examined, but it was the plain piece of cardstock that seized his attention. It was an address.

Taken down in his handwriting.

Wordlessly, he held it out to Julia.