==Chapter I==

The Time Lord

When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

The first thing Holmes noticed while struggling awake was the humming—a low, throbbing tone that sounded vaguely musical. He forced his heavy eyelids open, greatly surprised to find himself alive and seemingly unhurt, although his body still retained the faintest echo of the pain that had wracked him when... Oh, dear God, the creature, where...? He sat bolt upright, heart hammering with the sudden return of his memory, the unreasoning terror that gripped him as he ran for his life still fresh in his mind.

Only to find that the scene had changed to something just as wondrous, though hardly less alarming.

He was resting on perhaps the strangest bed he had ever seen, in a spacious room equally deserving of that description. The white walls and general cleanliness seemed to imply that this was some kind of hospital, but there were many objects in the room whose like he had never seen before, and as to their purposes he could only hazard the vaguest surmise. Where the devil was he? He would be inclined to wager he was no longer in Lhasa, which led to the next troubling question of how long he had been unconscious—certainly long enough to have recovered from his harrowing ordeal at the hands of the creature.

He shuddered at the recollection of those razor-sharp claws tearing through his flesh, the sheer brute strength of the beast as it backhanded him almost casually into the wall... How could he have been so stupid? And—his hands searched his torso minutely, probing beneath the thankfully recognisable hospital gown, missing clothes being the least of his concerns at present—why was he not carrying any scars from his experience... or any scars at all, for that matter? His skin was now entirely unblemished; all the souvenirs acquired from past cases had vanished without trace, even the chemical stains on his fingers from years of experiments.

"Impossible," he breathed, staring at his hands in disbelief.

"Shame on you, Mr. Holmes!" A cheerful male voice broke in on his thoughts, startling him. "Surely the world's greatest detective can't be stumped for some kind of rational explanation!" Although the accent was Estuary, one he encountered constantly in London, the tall, thin figure who came into view as he swivelled on the bed to face him was a thoroughly odd-looking individual. He barely had time to register any of the minutiae, however, before the man was levering away from the wall he had been leaning against and striding towards him, hand outstretched.

"Though, of course, there's always 'Data, data, data!'" the stranger continued merrily. "'I cannot make bricks without clay!' I love it—it's brilliant! You're a genius, you are." His wide, almost manic grin and sparkling brown eyes revealed genuine pleasure at their unusual encounter.

Those eyes... there was something about them, something in them, that made Holmes feel strangely uneasy...

Resisting the sudden urge to retreat, as he still had no clue as to his location, or even whether his legs would support him at present, the detective held his own hand out cautiously, trying not to wince as the man seized it and shook it vigorously. His energetic host was seemingly no immediate threat, although his knowledge of Holmes' true identity was cause for serious concern. He desperately needed more information about, well, everything! "You seem to have the advantage of me, sir," he ventured politely, doing his best to sound grateful—after all, the man did appear to have gone to some considerable effort on his account. "Whom do I have the honour of addressing?"

"Oh," said the man, grinning even as his mouth widened considerably around that one word, "I'm the Doctor. And the honour is mine—it really is. I've read so much about you—brilliant stuff."

The word "Doctor" rang hollowly in Holmes's ears, although the lack of a name attached to the title was more than sufficient to pique his curiosity. "You flatter me, s—Doctor. Are you an associate of Dr. Watson's, by any chance?" Although he was fairly certain that his friend would have mentioned such a colleague long before, given the eccentric nature of the fellow.

"Nooo, but I wish I was." The Doctor flashed him a dazzling smile. "Big admirer, me. I'm gonna have to try to meet him, one of these days."

Now that Holmes had a little more time to observe, there were many details about the man that simply did not hang together, something he found most disquieting. "And yet you do not seem to favour any one particular branch of science, despite your obvious proficiency in the healing arts."

The Doctor, if that was truly his title, gave a shout of laughter, tossing his head back and thrusting his hands into his coat pockets. "Molto bene, Mr. Holmes! However did you deduce that?"

"Simplicity itself, Doctor. What I find much more difficult to comprehend is how you rescued me from that... abomination..." He frowned as the Doctor's eyes narrowed slightly at the last word. "...that was attempting to terminate my existence. I must also question why you would take offence at the use of such a term, unless..." He swung his legs off the bed and slid carefully to the floor, greatly relieved to find himself able to remain standing, then drew himself up with as much dignity as his unconventional attire would allow.

"Unless you yourself are responsible for the creature's presence in the town of Lhasa—in which case, I shall thank you to state your true intentions, here and now. I have played sufficient rounds of one game with the greatest criminal mind in the English-speaking world; and now that he is deceased, I have no wish to demean myself by providing entertainment for any of his subordinates." His steely grey gaze took in the Doctor's growing expression of astonishment, searching for any hint of a deception. "Who are you, 'Doctor', and what precisely is it that you want of me?"

He had been hoping for a strong reaction of some kind—one that would, with any luck, indicate where his host's allegiances really lay—but he was entirely unprepared for the response he actually received. The Doctor's previous smile had faded into a solemnity that made him seem impossibly old. Ancient. As if there was a very old soul in that young body.

"I've never met Professor Moriarty, Mr. Holmes," he said slowly, one eyebrow severely slanted. "I can promise you that. I am not at all connected to him or Colonel Moran or any part of that criminal family. I'm the Doctor. That's what I am, that's who I am. You wouldn't want to know my Name—no one would. I'm the Doctor, because I help people. I heal them if I can. And if I fail them..." His dark eyes were regretful, filled with the sorrow of generations. "I don't forgive myself. And I try to forget. Because if I ever, for one moment, dwelt on the past... I think it would kill me."

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, ruefully. "Not that long ago, I could have given you this wonderful speech about the tilt of the Earth, and its journey around the Sun. Now listen to me. I've gotten so..." He broke off and shook his head, turning away but glancing back at Holmes out of the corner of his eye as if to gauge his reaction.

Holmes realised with chagrin that his mouth was slightly agape, having shamefully all but lost his composure in the face of a formidable presence he would once have cheerfully killed to possess—but no longer. The price for such authority was clearly written in the Doctor's face, burning deep in his ancient eyes. He hastily pulled himself together, and cleared his throat apologetically. "Forgive me, Doctor. As you are no doubt aware, a man in my position cannot afford to blindly place his trust in anyone. I am certain you can understand my suspicions, given the nature of our surroundings."

"Oh, now, I completely understand that, believe me," said the Doctor in an empathic tone. "Paranoia's a terrible thing, 'specially when it's justified. I'd say you've got a very justifiable case."

Holmes waved a hand at the marvellous machines about the room, shaking his head in wonder. "In my experience, who else but the Professor would possess the mental powers to even conceive of such scientific advancements, let alone bring a single one of them to fruition? James Moriarty may have been my mortal enemy, but I am not ashamed to admit that the man was my intellectual superior in matters such as this, at least." This got a smirk and a small snort out of the Doctor, as if at a joke that Holmes couldn't know.

Holmes folded his arms and leaned back against the bed, letting himself relax ever so slightly. "Yet you say you are not associated with him—I am inclined to believe you, if for no other reason than your generous hospitality thus far. Were you prepared to harm me, you would doubtless have done so already. You are not the kind of man who hesitates to act on his convictions."

"Got that in one, didn't you?" the Doctor murmured. "Good reasoning, all of it—I am impressed. I mean, seriously, I only get the chance to meet a genius like you every once in a very blue moon. Sometimes even on..." He stopped himself, his already-large eyes widening further. "Ahhh. Weeeyll, I was going to save it for later, but you wouldn't like it if you stepped outside before I told you."

He hooked his foot around a nearby chair, pulled it over, sat down, and leant forward, his hands clasped between his knees. "This is probably going to be very hard for you to believe, Mr. Holmes, so I won't blame you at all if... well, if you can't believe it, just yet. I mean, I know very well there's only so much incredible information even a brilliant mind can take."

He took a deep breath and released it as he spoke. "Okay, so I'm the Doctor. I look about, what, thirty-five years old? I think you've worked out by now that I'm not as young as I look—in fact, I'm nowhere close."

Holmes nodded slowly. "I confess, your eyes were something of an indication that you are more than you appear to be." A colossal understatement perhaps, but he would much prefer not to admit to his true sentiments on the subject. "Would it be ill-mannered of me to inquire as to your exact age?"

The Doctor focused on his hands as they clasped and unclasped. "I'm roughly nine centuries old, or, at least, I like to claim that I am. In all honesty, which I think you'd prefer, I believe I've been claiming to be nine hundred years for a couple centuries, at least, now—give or take." He looked up and met Holmes's widening eyes squarely. "That's because I'm not human," he said quietly. "I know I look it, but you look just as equally Time Lord, which is who my people are. Or were. This isn't my world, though it is the only home I have left, now... I'm going too fast for you, aren't I? I'm sorry."

"On the contrary, Doctor," Holmes murmured faintly, gripping the bed behind him for support as covertly as possible. "I really must congratulate you; you are the first person in the last two years—human or otherwise—that has succeeded in flooring me repeatedly within the space of a few minutes."

The Doctor grinned briefly. "Well, that's something, then."

The concept of intelligent life elsewhere in the universe had arisen on occasion in conversations with Watson, usually after his friend had just finished his most recent foray into the realms of pseudo-scientific fiction. At the time, Holmes had been forced to admit that, given the sheer size of the cosmos, such extra-terrestrial beings were at the very least a distant possibility from a purely mathematical standpoint—but to be confronted with actual proof of that existence...

Face alight with growing fascination and more than a little awe, he straightened and cautiously approached the... Time Lord, had he called himself? Although Holmes could not be truly afraid—not with the evidence before him of his host's... well, humanity, for lack of a better word. There had been something in the Doctor's voice as he spoke of his loss that had sounded an answering echo in Holmes; and the detective's home was only ever half a world away, at most.

The Doctor smiled encouragingly at the detective. "There is so much more I could tell you—so much more that I'm honestly having to exercise some impressive self-restraint. Trust me, I can rattle your ears off given half the chance—this version of me has got the fastest mouth I've ever had."

He frowned at himself as Holmes raised a curious eyebrow. "Ooo, that was a sizable chunk of information right there. But, seriously, just ask me anything you want." He spread his hands out, palms up, and that encouraging smile returned. "Can't promise that I'll have the answers or that I'll be willing to give them, but I'll do my best. You're not flat-out rejecting my fantastic claims, and you have no idea just how grateful I am for that."

Holmes smiled slightly. "Well, to my mind, Doctor, there are only three real possibilities. First: that you are an outright lunatic, but our acquaintance thus far has done nothing to confirm such a theory—quite the opposite, in fact. Second: that you are a charlatan, and all of this is nothing more than an elaborate hoax. However, I have seen into the minds and hearts of enough of my fellow men to recognise a lie when I hear it, arrogant as that might sound, which leaves only one viable option: that you are telling the truth, however improbable it may seem."

The Doctor's smile burst into a full-blown grin. "That's brilliant. 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains'... gah, genius!" He seemed to be nearly beside himself with childlike joy. "Mind you, I wouldn't completely rule out the lunatic bit." He winked. "People are always calling me crazy, but who cares? I don't!"

Holmes' brow furrowed. "That being the case, however, I do have several questions, the foremost of which is how you knew my identity. Emil Sigerson is a pseudonym I have been forced to adopt for some considerable time. Since you have not been seeking me on Moran's behalf, or Watson's..." He faltered for a brief moment before continuing, "I would appreciate knowing of any flaws in my performance, that I might not make the same error twice—something which could have fatal consequences, and not merely for myself."

"Ohhh," the Doctor drawled, tilting his head, "I wouldn't worry about that. I—well, to be honest, I travel in time. It's what I do—it's what my people did. You know, Time Lord, reason for the name. Anyway, I've read Watson's stories in the future—all of them. Including the ones that haven't been written yet..." He gave the detective a significant look.

Holmes frowned, uncertain of how to interpret his host's expression. "I am well aware that Watson has chronicled more of our cases together than have been published to date—what of it?"

The Doctor exhaled impatiently. "Pffff, all right. It means that I know what has already happened to you and Watson, and what hasn't taken place yet but will. I know your futures... An' believe me, that worst nightmare of yours is never going to happen."

Holmes stared. "So, what you are telling me, Doctor, is that Watson and I will one day be reunited—for certain?" He eyed the man opposite him warily, hope and disbelief battling for supremacy in his breast. "Believe me, sir, there is nothing I should like more than to accept your assurances as absolute truth, and yet..." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "I am certainly no expert in such matters, but is it not the nature of time to be subject to change? Does not merely possessing knowledge of the future cause it to alter?"

The Doctor took another deep breath. "Not if you're very, very careful, and does it sound like I'm giving a lot of details to you? Look, Time tends to be in flux, all right? You're right: it does shift and change... but not always." He stood abruptly, shunting his chair backwards, and began to pace the room. "There are things called Fixed Points in Time. They're events—births, deaths, decisions—that must always happen. They must always happen, no matter what... or Time will start to fold in on itself. Things like the signing of the Magna Carta, or Columbus's discovery of the New World..." He stopped in his tracks and spun around to stare meaningfully at Holmes. "Or a certain meeting at St. Bart's, in 1881."

Holmes' jaw dropped. "You can not be serious!" However, there was no trace of doubt or humour in the Doctor's steady gaze. Stunned, the detective managed to stammer out, "Pardon me, sir, I... I had no idea... How is it possible, Doctor, for Watson and I meeting as we did to be so... fundamental to the well-being of... I do not even know what to call it!" His mind reeled at the implications of such a concept. "It seems woefully egoistic to believe oneself as anything more than... an insignificant speck in the grand scheme of things." Especially since it was that very perspective which had led Moriarty to his downfall, figuratively and literally.

"I know you didn't have any idea. How could you?" the Doctor sighed, dropping heavily back into the chair, which creaked in protest. "But it's not egoistic—from where I'm standing, it's just history. It's as much history as anything you ever learned in school, because every man that makes history is just that: a man."

"I... think I am beginning to understand. So, these Fixed Points—you can sense them?"

The seated figure nodded approvingly. "Yeeep. Part and parcel of being a Time Lord. One of the reeeally interesting things about you—and Watson—is that you two've got several Fixed Points in your lives." He sat forward, clasping his knees. "St. Bart's is one... Reichenbach is another. And, here's the really interesting part: so is every story Watson ever publishes about you."

"Good Lord," the detective breathed.

"From a time-traveller's standpoint, it's absolutely fascinating!" The Doctor was perched on the very edge of his seat, eyes aglow with enthusiasm. "You don't often come across a couple of people who are practically Fixed Points themselves..."

"Evidently," Holmes murmured, shaking his head to clear it, with little success. "Just... promise me one thing, Doctor. If you ever do meet Watson, don't tell him about all of this—he is vain enough about his scribblings as it is." It was oddly comforting in this otherworldly moment to have something familiar of which to disapprove.

"Ohhh!" the Doctor frowned in protest. "He's got as good a reason to be proud of his work as you do of yours, Holmes! You shouldn't be so hard on him for it—after all, it's what really gives the both of you your immortality."

Holmes scowled and folded his arms defensively. "Something I have never desired, Doctor."

"Well, you've got it," the Time Lord countered bluntly. "And it's important. You want Scotland Yard to improve? Deal with it." At Holmes' slow nod, the Doctor's unyielding expression relaxed back into a smile. "'Sides, Watson deserves it. He might not be writing a 'series of lectures', but he does write a set of stories that are far above anything any other writer has done by this time."

"Speaking of time, sir," Holmes interjected thoughtfully. "I can understand, to some extent, how you knew me through these Fixed Points in my timeline—but would I be right in thinking that this is not one of them?"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, apparently impressed. "You being on this investigation, you mean?"

"To all intents and purposes, our meeting would seem to be a mere coincidence. However, you are a time-traveller—" a thought that would never cease to fill him with wonder—"who is required as a matter of course to take a wider view of such issues. In your not-so-humble opinion, to quote Watson: 'What in blazes is going on?'"

Author's Note from Sky:

I can't tell you how exciting and how fun it was to write this chapter—it's actually the first scene Ria and I wrote. And if I can fangirl a bit over my co-author? It's just that I've always been impressed with her Holmes, and now with the advent of Holmes meeting the Doctor, I'm more impressed than ever! I love the powerful sense of wonder she gives our detective and how he gets on so well with our Time Lord. It's absolutely fantastic.

Now, thanks to the load of artwork I have to do this weekend, the next chapter won't be up until Monday, at the earliest. But stay tuned, because Holmes meets the TARDIS, and much adorable-ness ensues from our heroes!

Please review!