==Chapter 2==

The Motorway

Little by little, one travels far.

J.R.R. Tolkien

Watson came to slowly, forcing leaden eyelids open. There was a strange green glow above him, which gradually resolved itself into an extremely low ceiling. Still bleary from whatever had knocked him out, he managed to turn his head towards the faint sound of voices and saw a man and woman in their mid-twenties sitting a few feet away in front of a grime-covered window, although he couldn't see what lay outside of it. As he moved, he felt something stuck to the side of his neck – he reached up carefully to remove it, and was disgusted to find a patch almost identical to the 'Forget' the blonde woman had purchased in the alley, except that this one was labeled 'Sleep 14'.

His eyes narrowed – the pair seemed oblivious to the fact that their... abductee? was awake, an error he intended to take full advantage of! His gaze fell on some kind of firearm lying nearby. Without stopping to question his captors' apparent oversight, he snatched up the weapon and aimed it at the pair as he struggled to sit up, finger curled around what he hoped was the trigger.

The movement finally caught the young man's attention. Seeming strangely calm for someone with a weapon pointed at him, he nudged the young woman next to him, who also turned and gave Watson a sympathetic look.

"I'm sorry. That's not a real gun."

Watson blinked. "And how am I meant to believe that?"

The woman gave him much the same Look that Holmes reserved especially for idiots. "Where d'you get a gun from, these days? I wouldn't even know how to fire."

Watson regarded her steadily, then nodded and lowered the weapon. "All right... Now, would either of you mind telling me what the deuce is going on? Who are you?"

"Well, I'm Cheen, and this is Milo." The young man smiled apologetically as he was introduced. "And I swear we're sorry. We're really, really sorry. We just needed access to the fast lane, but I promise, as soon as we arrive, we'll drop you off and you can go back and find your friends."

Watson looked at Cheen in confusion until the last few words. "Where are they? Well, more to the point, where are we?"

"We're on the motorway." Milo nodded out the window.

Watson shook his head to dislodge the last of the fog in his brain, giving up trying to get a clear answer. He slid off the raised platform he'd been lying on, coming unsteadily forward to see for himself... and his jaw dropped. His brief view of the flying pods above the city had done nothing to prepare him for the sight which now greeted him: larger, box-like versions of those vehicles, more than he could possibly count, were lined up in seemingly endless rows, and not just on their level, but stacked above and below them as well. The scene made Watson feel like a sardine in a tin, and the thick vapour that swirled around the vehicles reminded him strongly of the pea-soup fog he and Holmes had left behind in their own time.

"We're going out to Brooklyn," Milo continued. "Everyone says the air's so much cleaner, and we couldn't stay in Pharmacy Town, because..." He hesitated.

"Well, because of me," Cheen smiled shyly. "I'm pregnant. We only discovered it last week. Scan says it's going to be a boy."

Watson raised an eyebrow, bestowing half a smile. "Congratulations, madam. But I still don't understand why I'm here - I'm fairly certain you didn't know I was a doctor when you abducted me."

Milo stared. "A doctor, seriously? Mate, I worked for doctors before this move – you look nothing like one."

"Milo..." Cheen sighed. "Look, we just needed three people, that's all. You were closest. I'm sorry."

"I'll take that as a compliment..." Watson responded dryly to Milo's innocent outburst, before turning back to Cheen. "But why three?"

"I told you," Cheen repeated patiently, "we just need access to the fast lane. They only allow cars with three adults in that lane."

"And I suppose it never occurred to you to simply invite an extra passenger?" Watson asked, voice heavy with irony, then sighed in resignation. "How long is this going to take?"

"This'll be as fast as we can," Milo hastened to reassure him. "We'll take the motorway to the Brooklyn flyover, and then after that it's going to take awhile, because then there's no fast lane, just ordinary roads, but at least it's direct."

"It's only ten miles."

"How long?" Watson was growing just a little tired of having to fight to get any straight answers – the couple were almost as bad as Holmes.

"About... six years."

Watson stared at Cheen. "What?!"

"Be just in time for him to start school," Cheen said, smiling.

"Ten miles in six years?!" Watson repeated slowly in disbelief, the couple's shared giggle starting to seriously grate on his nerves. "You have got to be joking!"

"Not at all. Look. Honesty patch." The woman pulled her hair off her neck, revealing yet another of those cursed patches.

Watson's eyes flashed. "Then you're a pair of damn fools! Especially you, madam! You're with child, and you're wearing that?" He swiftly peeled the patch off Cheen's neck, discarding it in disgust, then looked at her hard, voice deadly serious. "No more, do you hear?" Hang professional detachment – he'd be damned if he'd stand by and allow this woman to risk the health of her unborn child, not if there was the slightest chance he could prevent it...

The couple stared at him, incredulous. "What the hell?" Cheen protested. "There's nothing wrong with wearing a patch during pregnancy. Mood patches are medically safe!"

Watson snorted. "And who told you that: those vultures in Pharmacy Town? That's exactly what they used to say about cocaine..." His voice trailed off, and he sighed. His surroundings were obviously affecting him more than he'd thought; he was suddenly feeling as far from home as he actually was. He passed a hand over his face, took a deep breath, then smiled wearily at the pair in truce, extending a hand to Cheen. "John Watson."

Cheen shook the offered hand cautiously, giving him an odd look. "Nice to meet you... Dr. Watson..."

Watson shook hands with Milo as well, then peered out again through what he now knew to be the car's windshield. "What in the world is all that vapour? Fog?"

"That's the exhaust from the cars." Milo shook his head. "Mate, what century are you from?"

Watson grinned wryly, glad that the young man had made it a rhetorical question. Milo, you wouldn't believe me if I told you...


Holmes waited tensely, all but quivering with impatience, while the Doctor unlocked the metal door at the end of the alley. They stepped through onto a small balcony in a huge, dim tunnel that stretched away out of sight. The detective stared at the thousands of stationary vehicles stacked in every direction, even as he and the Doctor began to cough from the thick, foul-smelling smoke that filled the air. He covered his mouth and nose with his coat sleeve, eyes watering, heart sinking. How the devil were they going to find Watson in all of this?

As if in answer, the car nearest the balcony opened its door, and a strange figure looked out, face covered by a leather helmet, goggles and scarf. "Hey! You daft little street struts," came a male voice in what sounded remarkably like an Irish brogue. "What're you doing standing there?" The figure beckoned urgently. "Either get out or get in. Come on!"

Holmes certainly wasn't about to refuse the invitation! Grabbing the Doctor by the arm, he pulled him forward into the car, then sank down onto the nearest seat, he and the Time Lord gasping for breath.

"Did you ever see the like?" Their host shook his head in disbelief as he pulled the door closed again. "Just standing there, breathing it in."

"Here you go." A woman in the front passenger seat had risen when the two men entered, and handed the pair of them some sort of clear mask each, attached to tubes. Holmes copied the Doctor in putting the mask over his mouth and nose, breathing deeply, nodding to the woman wordlessly in thanks as fresh oxygen soothed his burning lungs.

Then their host removed his scarf and goggles... and Holmes found himself wide-eyed for the second time in as many minutes, as the figure revealed itself to be a human-sized cat – or with the face of one, at least! He realised next moment that he was staring and hastily pulled himself together; after all, he'd seen a great many stranger things than this with the Doctor.

"There's this story says back in the old days, on Junction Forty-Seven, this woman stood in the exhaust fumes for a solid twenty minutes. By the time they found her, her head had swollen to fifty feet!" Wherever he might actually be from, their host clearly had an Irishman's love of a tall tale.

"Oh, you're making it up," the woman scoffed.

"A fifty-foot head!" the cat insisted, climbing back into the driver's seat. "Just think of it. Imagine picking that nose."

"Stop it, that's disgusting."

"What? Did you never pick your nose?"

The woman suddenly sat up straight and tapped the cat on the arm, all joking forgotten. "Bran, we're moving."

"Right. I'm there. I'm on it." Their host released the handbrake, allowing the car to advance a short distance with all the other cars in their line, clouds of vapour spewing from a pipe at the back of each vehicle. Holmes could now understand why the atmosphere outside was so toxic – had no one on this planet thought to invent a smokeless fuel?

"Twenty yards. We're having a good day." The cat put the brake on again and turned back to Holmes and the Doctor. "And who might you be, sirs? Very well-dressed for hitchhikers."

Holmes removed his mask and extended a hand. "I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is the Doctor." He gave the Doctor a puzzled look when the Time Lord winced, smiling weakly.

The cat chuckled good-naturedly as he shook hands. "Sherlock Holmes? And what asylum might you have escaped from, my good man? No wonder you were inhaling that poison!"

The Doctor sighed, muttering to Holmes, "Five billion years in the future doesn't mean Watson's stories are out of print."

Holmes suppressed a groan – he might have known... "Not at all, my dear sir," he said aloud to the cat as if weary of the question, "I am merely named after the detective. My parents were as well-read as you in ancient literature."

"Ah, my apologies, then!" the cat smiled. "My name's Thomas Kincaid Brannigan, and this is the bane of my life, the lovely Valerie."

His wife nodded pleasantly. "Nice to meet you."

"And that's the rest of the family behind you." Brannigan nodded towards a hanging curtain at the back of the car.

The Doctor drew the curtain aside and revealed a basket containing a litter of six kittens. "Aww, that's nice..." He carefully picked up one of the babies and stroked it as Holmes gazed at them in wonder. A cat and a human... had had kittens... "Hello, you sweetheart, you. How old are they?"

"Just two months." Mrs. Brannigan smiled, tickling her infant tenderly behind the ears.

"Poor little souls," Brannigan continued. "They've never known the ground beneath their paws. Children of the motorway," he explained as both men looked at him oddly.

Holmes' brow furrowed. "They were born in here?"

Mrs. Brannigan nodded. "We couldn't stop. We heard there were jobs going, out in the laundries on Fire Island. Thought we'd take a chance."

Holmes stared, incredulous. "You have been driving for two months?" Just how long was this motorway?

"Do I look like a teenager?" Brannigan snorted. "We've been driving for twelve years now."

The Doctor blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Yeah! Started out as newlyweds. Feels like yesterday."

"Feels like twelve years to me." Mrs. Brannigan's smile was definitely strained.

"Ah, sweetheart, but you're still lovely."

Holmes could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Twelve years?! How far have you come?"

"Battery Park. It's five miles back."

It was the Doctor's turn to stare. "You travelled five miles in twelve years?"

"I think they're a bit slow," Brannigan murmured to his wife.

"Where are you from?" Mrs. Brannigan asked, starting to look at the two men suspiciously as the Doctor put the kitten back in the basket with its siblings.

Holmes suddenly recalled with a rush of guilt why they were there in the first place. "Doctor..."

"Right." The Doctor sobered. "Never mind that. We've got to get out – our friend is in one of these cars. He was taken hostage. We should get back to the TARDIS..." He turned and pulled the door open again, and Holmes saw in alarm that there was no longer anywhere to get out to, just a wide gap before a blank wall!

"You're too late for that," Brannigan admonished. "We've passed the lay-by. You're passengers now, Sonny Jim."

"When's the next lay-by?" the Doctor demanded.

Brannigan tilted his head consideringly. "Ooh... six months?"

Holmes gaped in horror. "What?!"


Author's note from Ria:

Poor Holmes, we really do have far too much fun torturing him! When Sky and I were first discussing rewriting the whole season, the first idea that jumped out at us was how the detective would react to Watson being carjacked – and the thought has become no less disturbing between then and now!

Author's note from Sky:

...I think that was the reason we decided to keep this episode the way it is! We really are evil... I would just like to add that I think this is one of the most frightening episodes of Doctor Who, because it's just... it's something that could happen, you know?