==Chapter 1==

The Ignoble Bachelor

But O, what damned minutes tells he o'er
Who dotes, yet doubts, suspects, yet strongly loves!

- Iago, Othello

The TARDIS was magnificent. It didn't take a detective to realise that the time machine was very, very old, and Sally felt that she and the sentient ship had already established a sort of kinship. She laughed as the ship careened on its flight through what the Doctor called "the Time Vortex," clinging to one of the railings. Sherlock Holmes held on to one of the struts, and John clung to another.

The Doctor himself was whirling around the center column, driving a ship that was apparently intended for more than one pilot. "So, Sally Sparrow—love the name, by the way, brilliant—what... would you like to see? Anywhere in time and space."

Sally grinned at John, then at her host. "What about your world, Doctor?"

His own grin froze, and the rest of his body with it. He cleared his throat and said, "Wish I could take you there. You'd've loved it."

Her grin faded. "It's not there anymore, is it? Oh, God, Doctor, I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "It's all right; you didn't know."

She smiled tentatively, wishing for the second time that day that she didn't have quite as big a mouth as she apparently did. "How about I let you decide, and you just take us somewhere fantastic. And preferably not life-threatening."

The Doctor's grin returned with more than a hint of daredevil to it. "But where's the fun in that?" She gave him a Look, to which he replied with a chuckle. "All right, all right—somewhere fantastic, coming right up!"

A starry-eyed Sally fingered her new spidersilk scarf as the group re-entered the TARDIS, which the Doctor had somehow produced for her from the marketplace. "That was just... absolutely incredible..."

Watson smiled admiringly down at Sally - the scarf did look lovely on her, bringing out the colour of her sparkling eyes. It was a great relief to him that this trip, Sally's first, had been free of any incidents; he'd spent the entire time half-expecting something to go wrong.

The Doctor grinned in glee as he started the TARDIS back up, he was obviously loving having another new passenger. "That was nothing compared to the Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire."

Sally's eyes were round. "There's a fourth? Good grief."

"One has to wonder what happened to the previous three," Holmes muttered under his breath. The detective wasn't at all certain why the Doctor had seen fit to encourage Watson's latest infatuation - he certainly couldn't understand what his friend even saw in this... young woman. Of course they owed Miss Sparrow some measure of gratitude for her assistance in besting the Weeping Angels, but surely a clean break between the two would have been kinder in the long run?

Overhearing him, the Doctor shrugged. "Oh, same thing that always happens to empires in the end."

"Overexpansion, corruption, deterioration, desolation," Sally answered softly. "And before you know it, you have the Acropolis and the Colosseum in ruins."

The Doctor smiled sadly. "Well, it's not always quite that bad. Anyway... think it's time to call it a day and sleep on what to do next, eh?"

Watson hesitated. He wasn't all that tired himself, and his leg was still holding up well. He looked inquiringly at Sally. "What say you, my dear? Do you wish to retire... or perhaps you'd like to see some more of the ship?"

Sally shrugged. "Whatever works... I admit, I would like to see more of the ship, though." She smiled questioningly at the Doctor.

He nodded back. "Fine by me! Should warn you that halls and corridors and rooms shift position a lot, but the old girl does make the effort to accommodate passengers. She's also pretty much infinite—even I'm not sure what all she's got and where it is."

Sally gave a short helpless laugh. "Slow down there, Doctor, you're starting to hurt my head." She shook it, grinning.

"Right, sorry. Come on, then!" The Doctor leapt down from the upper deck. "Lots of ground to cover between now and teatime."

Her eyes narrowed. "When's teatime on a time machine?"

The Doctor leaned in, saying in a confidential tone, "When the pilot says it is."

Watson chuckled as Sally laughed, then turned to Holmes. Before he could say anything, Holmes hastily interjected. "Not this time, Watson. I must confess myself more fatigued than I first thought." He only realised after he said it that it was actually true - he couldn't immediately recall when he had last slept.

Watson frowned in concern, kicking himself for failing to notice earlier just how weary his friend looked. "You're probably right, Holmes," he said kindly. "We'll see you in the morning, then." And that was a good point, they'd both have get used to living without clocks again. Waking up in the homeless shelter to his first sunrise in ages had been a shock to his system, but he'd thankfully fallen back into the old rhythm quicker than he expected.

Holmes resisted the urge to grit his teeth at Watson's tone - no doubt his friend had intended to sound solicitous rather than patronising... "Indeed." He forced an apologetic smile in Sally's direction. "Pray excuse me, Miss Sparrow - I look forward to furthering our acquaintance on the morrow." Although it wasn't with any great pleasure. "Good night to you." He favoured her with a very slight bow, then turned and left the room without waiting for a response.

"Good night," Sally called softly after him.

She stood staring at the doorway, apparently deep in thought, until the Doctor broke the awkward silence by saying, "Well, then!" and nodding invitingly at the same door. "Shall we?"

Pulled out of her musings, Sally smiled and nodded. "Yes, please."

For his part, Watson was starting to feel more than a little uneasy. He'd have to make time to talk seriously with Holmes once they'd both rested; and now that he came to think of it, this would be their first chance for a proper one-to-one since they were reunited. He was hopeful, however, that Holmes would relent in due course, once he understood that Sally was no threat to their friendship - he had done so with Mary, after all.

Laying his concerns aside for the present, he took the hand Sally held out to him, and smiled at her impishly, murmuring, "Just wait till you see the library..."

Despite his exhaustion, Holmes spent a largely sleepless night. His mind was simply too full to allow his body to rest – even the TARDIS's music couldn't soothe him this time. Finally, he managed to doze off in his armchair, waking what seemed only a short time later, and not feeling noticeably refreshed.

He wandered blearily into the kitchen, in search of the strongest coffee he could get his hands on, to find Watson already there, brewing a pot of what smelled promisingly like Holmes's favourite blend. The detective hesitated for a moment in the doorway. Perhaps he had been a little hard on his friend... after all, the poor fellow had been under considerable emotional strain of late. Small wonder he'd formed such a swift attachment to Miss Sparrow, the one familiar face in strange surroundings, who in turn must have been quite swept off her feet by Watson's inherent chivalry. How often he'd seen the good doctor unconsciously have that very effect on the women of their own time - never mind an impressionable young girl, raised in an era which was largely devoid of courtly graces.

Watson had turned at the sound of his footsteps, smiling, until he properly took in Holmes's state, eyes filling with concern. "Oh, Holmes..." He put the final touches on the cup he was making and handed it to the detective, who seated himself and sipped the strong brew gratefully, hands wrapped around the cup to keep them steady. "I'm sorry I didn't find you and the Doctor sooner." He returned to the coffee pot and started making one for himself.

Holmes was taken slightly aback, not so much by the apology as the subject matter. "Watson, my dear fellow," he sighed, "why must you constantly hold yourself responsible for circumstances entirely beyond your control?" He waved his hand. "The completed DVD was set to that specific time and place– whether you had taken a week or a year to find all of those fragments, there was nothing you could have done to affect that." He gave his friend what was intended to be a reassuring smile, but which felt rather wan. "Do bear in mind that the Doctor and I knew from the very beginning that you and Miss Sparrow–" even now, he couldn't quite prevent a flicker of disapproval from crossing his face, "would succeed in your endeavors. For the two of us, it was mostly a matter of waiting patiently." Which, admittedly, wasn't one of the detective's foremost virtues...

"Mm…" Watson took a sip of coffee, his knowing smile tinged with empathy. "How bad was it, 1969?"

Holmes grimaced, still undecided over what had been the worst part – although there was certainly plenty to choose to from! The clothes, the music, Peter Cushing… not to mention being forced to live in squalor with the Doctor without the cushioning benefit of the TARDIS, or a housekeeper. "Let's just say I swiftly gained a far greater appreciation of Mrs. Hudson." At least Watson had only experienced flatting with John Smith, who'd been much better house-trained.

Watson echoed the grimace. "I'm sure. And living once more on a student's budget was not something I enjoyed at all…"

The doctor rubbed wearily at his temples, and Holmes realized with a pang that he hadn't seen his friend look so thin and haggard since their first acquaintance. He nodded in sympathy, more determined than ever to keep his friend from any further misery. The very last thing Watson needed just now was to attach himself to a girl who simply wasn't right for him, which they were certain to discover eventually - better for both of them that it should be sooner rather than later. "Still, I must say, Watson – having read minutely your account of those two months –I don't imagine I should have fared vastly better than you did, had our positions been reversed."

Watson flushed faintly. "I wouldn't go quite that far… Wait, you read my account… oh, dear Lord. Tell me I wrote nothing I'll regret for the rest of my life?"

Holmes's expression was deadpan, eyes twinkling. "I wouldn't go quite that far," he echoed innocently, allowing Watson to interpret the cryptic comment however he wished.

Watson groaned and passed a hand over his face, slumping a little over the table. His eyes widened suddenly. "And Sally might have read it, too… As the American teenagers would say, 'My life is over'." He folded his arms on the table and buried his face in them.

Holmes nodded slowly. "I should imagine she has." He frowned as if in thought. "Forgive my obtuseness, Watson, but I fail to see why that should trouble you so." Although he hoped to hear a detailed list...

Watson lifted his head, replying falteringly, "Well, it was… There were some very private things in that account – I had not counted on anyone else ever reading it… least of all a young woman about whom I wrote… some things I would rather have said in person, if I would have let her know at all."

Holmes sighed as Watson's blush deepened, spreading his hands. "Watson… I realise I am ordinarily the last person of whom to ask advice on such a matter… but why have you not spoken to her on the subject? What makes you think the young lady would not welcome an honest declaration of your regard?"

"I have! Somewhat… Only she… would have read the notebook before I had the chance to tell her. And we had some… difficulties… which were purely my fault, but I'd imagine that anything she read would have taken her by surprise."

No doubt – although Holmes had been greatly surprised to learn that the veritable slew of nauseating sentiment in that journal hadn't turned Miss Sparrow's stomach the way it had his. He raised his eyes in supposed despair. "My dear fellow, far be it from me to judge… but if you cannot even find it in you to speak candidly to a young lady whom you are courting…" He shook his head as if in disappointment. "Forgive me, Watson, but you did not hesitate to do so whilst walking out with Mary. What makes this case any different?" He had never entirely approved of Mrs. Watson - or she of him, come to that - but Watson must surely be aware that although his period of mourning was officially over, in the eyes of their world he would be reattaching himself with almost unseemly haste.

He set his coffee cup down and got up from the table. "Well, I suppose I'd best go and make myself a shade more presentable." At least some of what he'd said must have made an impact, judging by the growing gleam of doubt in his friend's eyes. "I shall see you later." Sternly suppressing any qualms of conscience – for all their sakes, he would see this unpleasant duty through - he strolled out of the kitchen towards his bedroom, leaving Watson sitting alone in doleful silence.

As it turned out, the library was Sally's idea of paradise. The entire ship, as far as she had seen, was incredible, but the library was the most beautiful place she had ever seen in her life. After a long, deep sleep in a bedroom much like a bed-and-breakfast room, she found her way back and began to acquaint herself properly with the place.

After an hour, she stumbled upon a section dedicated solely to medieval literature. The brilliant thing was that the books looked as though they were actually that old. She pulled one out and opened it; the illuminated letters on the title page morphed from Middle English to very readable modern English. She gasped. At John's behest, the Doctor had explained to her the TARDIS's translation matrix, but she'd been unprepared for that.

The Canterbury Tales. The next classic on her reading list. She looked up at the ceiling, smiling suspiciously. "Convenient this, yeah?"

The TARDIS twittered in what sounded like quite an innocent tone.

She grinned, shook her head, and set to reading the book. She was five pages into the first story when she heard footsteps and a male voice say, "Ah, good day, Miss Sparrow."

She started and looked up to see Sherlock Holmes with his own open book, having just rounded the corner. She smiled tentatively, not knowing the Great Detective as a person very well yet and not sure how to, well, behave around him. Even John's own journal could only get her so far. "Hello, Mr. Holmes." She brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Ah, please, call me Sally."

He looked vaguely self-conscious, and more than a bit worn. Well, he had just been stuck in the Sixties—she couldn't begin to imagine what that must have been like for him. Still, she had to admit, he wasn't exactly hard on the eyes. "As you wish… Sally. Forgive me, I had no intention of disturbing you. I confess I had not expected to find you here unaccompanied."

Sally frowned slightly—what on earth was that supposed to mean? Why would she be "accompanied"? "Well… I am." She shrugged. "Wanted to really explore the library, and John… Not sure where he is right now, actually."

Holmes—Sherlock? Mr. Holmes?—smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid I haven't seen him since breakfast." He glanced at her book. "May I ask what it is you're reading?"

She grinned again. "The Canterbury Tales. It's fantastic—I know it's Middle English, but I can understand it perfectly!"

"No doubt the Doctor has mentioned that that side effect is a permanent one."

She blinked. "Ah… no… It's permanent? Really? Wow." Actually, that could come in handy… She shrugged with her eyebrows. "Well, I guess it's not a bad thing…"

"Mm, it can be most useful at times—although I confess, only being able to hear and read every language as English since leaving Tibet has become a little monotonous."

"Aw, I'm sorry to hear that," she said sympathetically.

He smiled. "With the exception of French, to my great relief—then again, it has always practically been my native language, anyhow."

She smiled back. "I love French," she said wistfully, "but I never got any further than secondary school with it." Never seemed to be time for it.

"That is a shame." He shrugged lightly. "On the positive side, however, you now have a great many more career options open to you."

She smirked and hummed, thoughts going distant quickly… If she went back to her time, it was true: there'd be no end of things she could do with that kind of ability. But if she stayed with John…

"You have no idea how many scholars in our time alone would kill to be able to translate Egyptian hieroglyphs at a glance."

"Oh, I'm sure," she said, hardly paying attention. If she did stay with John, there wouldn't be many options open to her, not as a middle-class housewife. She knew what she was up against, and she still wanted, more than anything, to be with John. The problem still lay in working out a respectable occupation for her time that would give her some kind of stimulation and satisfaction…

He grinned ruefully. "The temptation to take shameless advantage of those abilities once I returned to London was terrible."

She couldn't help grinning back, returning to the present. "I'll bet. I must admit, it would be nice to use that in a professional capacity."

"Yes, it is good to see how many more opportunities there are for women now in the professions than there used to be."

She nodded slowly. "In your time, women can't even vote yet," she mused aloud, shaking her head. "It's not fair. It doesn't make sense—we're people, too, and we have just as much right to have a say in who governs us as any man. Just as much right to do what we want to do." Oh, where had that come from? Shut up, Sally, and get off your suffragette soap box; now's not the time to test Holmes's political waters.

He nodded, not seeming to mind. "It is a great shame that the women of our era have to struggle against such binding conventions and traditions—" he sighed—"and of course, being thought of as unconventional is so often equated with being unwomanly, which can then become a stigma for the unfortunate lady's family as much as for herself. I have seen it happen all too often."

She shifted uncomfortably on her feet. "It changes—it just happens slowly…"

He smiled sadly. "Indeed—although I do wish the price for such change did not include two global conflicts!"

She flinched—he knew about the World Wars? "I guess that only goes to show how messed-up the world is."

He hummed thoughtfully, expression lightening. "But as you say, things improve, eventually." He nodded down at her book. "And I am keeping you from your reading."

Why did she feel flustered? What was wrong with her? He hadn't done anything. "Oh, it's no big deal, really, but, um, I suppose I'll see you later then."

"Of course." He nodded amiably and walked away, and she watched him until he was out of sight.

She could never have told anyone in her time about her hopes for her future—no one close enough left. She hadn't known either of her parents, and her grandma—the only relative she'd really known, the woman who'd raised her—had died of breast cancer just before Sally had entered college. She'd had several friends but no close ones aside from Kathy. There had been no one in the past year around to try to talk some sense into her, and in one conversation, a man she barely knew had managed to stir up doubts she'd thought she'd successfully quelled.

Terrific.

A/N from Ria: *glares at Holmes* I swear, my hands were itching to slap the arrogant little toad while writing this chapter - and this is him being magnanimous! Unfortunately, self analysis is not one of our dear detective's strong points, either...

A/N from Sky: My gosh, yes. Poor Watson and Sally! The course of love never did run smooth, particularly when outside forces are involved. Oh, and to fellow Star Wars Expanded Universe fans out there... if you thought you recognized the title? You did. ;D