As the meeting of Sarah Jane and the 11th Doctor draws closer, ideas have been popping into my head as to how they shall meet. What they'll say and all that jazz. So, here is a little idea I had. One shot! Hope you enjoy! Xxx
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His door was open slightly. She could see into his room. It was still dark inside. The curtains had not yet been drawn. A thin sliver of light danced across the floor as the curtains swayed. She could hear scuffles as bed sheets were being rearranged and tidied.
'Luke. Hurry up now. You'll be late for school and you know I can't take you. The car is still in for its M.O.T.' She called through the door. She heard the clattering as the curtains were pulled to their furthest reaches and allowed light to burst into her son's room. The sheet tidying had stopped and the door was flung open. Out stepped Luke, her son. Bag slung over his shoulder and looking annoyingly neat compared to herself. Sarah checked his uniform and ruffled his hair slightly. She smiled. He returned it, he was a good boy.
'Right, off now. Rani and Clyde shall be waiting for you.' Sarah hurried her son down the stairs, gave him a quick peck on the cheek and watched as he walked across the landing.
'Have a good day!'
'I will' he replied. He placed his palm on the door handle and opened it. It gave a satisfying creak and she watched him leave. Sarah smiled. She had no reason to. In fact, she had every reason to be a little bit miffed. The car was still in for its M.O.T, which meant she was practically stranded. She could've read a book, but that would've been too normal. She found books fascinating, but sometimes they weren't as good as her real life adventures. She moved into the living room and sat on the sofa. She contemplated watching the television, but the only things that would be on were early morning television, which always reminded her she should be back in bed.
She could've done some cleaning, but she didn't have the will to clean every floor. Plus, K9 would get fidgety if she did all of his work for him. She could've…
A rattle of the letterbox interrupted her thoughts. She looked at her watch. Too early for the postman. Maybe it was a leaflet informing her of a new pizza take away service. This last thought made her sigh in disgust. Destroying the rainforest to tell her that there was a 'Tantalising Tuesday' offer!
She heaved herself from the sofa and walked to the hallway. Rubbing dust out of her eye. Her mother used to call it 'sleepy dust.' As a child, Sarah had always imagined that fairies would fill your head with dreams and the dust was left over from their parties in her imagination. She hadn't been dreaming much lately. Too worried about bills and the car. So what was the dust for?
She walked into the hallway. Her slipper clad feet making a rather amusing ruffle as she glided across the room. On the door mat lay a single letter. Paper that looked like it was very old. It was facing downwards, so that she could not see the intended recipient. Every so often she'd get letters for next door or across the road. A bit annoying, but tolerable.
She bent down to pick it up. Turning it around in her hands to feel its weight. It was as light as a feather. She held a fear that the slightest movement would rip it. She turned it around several times, but there was no writing on the envelope. It wasn't addressed to anyone and there were no distinguishable marks. Not even a stamp.
Sarah crept back into the living room, the letter fluttering between both hands. Then as though she were being watched, Sarah cautiously opened the envelope. It was so delicate. She'd been correct in thinking that the slightest touch would cause it damage. She ran her manicured nail under the flap and it came away easily. She plunged her hand into the envelope and relieved it of its content. A thin sheet of white paper was pinched between her thumb and forefinger. It felt like the consistency of tracing paper and she could make out etchings on the other side. She discarded the flimsy casing so that it wafted to the floor. She turned the crisp paper over to see the full message. Emblazoned in beautiful red curves was this:
Meet me today. 2 o'clock. Café Belle x
The small kiss seemed to linger in her mind. She knew who this letter was for. It was implicitly for her and she knew the sender. It was his hand writing. The way it snaked elegantly across the page. Leaving her guessing. It had to be him.
She smirked and dropped the letter on to her lap. She turned her head to glance at the clock that hung in her living room. It was barely 9 o'clock. She had five hours. Should she go? It was his handwriting and it did sound urgent. What could he possibly want of her now?