Sarah returned shortly. "An ambulance is on the way. Is there anything we can do for him while we're waiting?"
"Take the umbrella again, if you would, so I can get a good look at this." Pulling on a pair of gloves, Harry moved aside a shock of short brown hair to get a good look. "Well, it's a nasty laceration, but I don't think there's a fracture. Don't worry so much about all this," he said, motioning to the crimson stream slowly flowing down to the street. "The scalp tends to bleed a lot. I'm much more concerned about brain injury."
Sarah held the umbrella in one hand and a torch in the other. She studied the young man at her feet. She felt drawn to him somehow, and wondered how and why he had ended up on her doorstep.
As Harry worked on him, Sarah kept staring at his face. He looked so helpless just lying there.
Suddenly her heart stopped. Was he... could it be? Now her heart was pounding so hard she was surprised Harry couldn't hear it. "Harry," she said quickly, "when you listened to his heart, was there anything unusual about it?"
"No, should there be?" he asked distractedly, trying to decide whether to suture now or wait until they were out of the rain.
Sarah knelt down next to the man and put a hand on his shoulder, staring intently at him. "I know this is going to sound crazy, but check and see if there's another heartbeat on his right side."
Harry looked at her for a moment. He knew exactly what she was getting at. There was no point trying to dissuade her, but the very fact that she asked saddened him. He sighed and placed his stethoscope in the spot the Doctor had indicated for his second heart all those years ago, not expecting to hear anything but breath sounds.
And that's all he heard. "Sorry, Sarah, just the one heart."
Sarah was crestfallen, but tried not to let it show. She smiled feebly and shook her head. "Of course not. Silly idea, wasn't it?" She turned her face away so Harry couldn't see her crying, grateful for the rain.
But Harry had seen the pained expression on her face. She looked like a child who had just bounded down the stairs on Christmas morning to find nothing but an empty tree, and had realized for the first time that there was no Father Christmas.
For not the first time, Harry cursed the Doctor for breaking Sarah's heart. For months now, ever since the day she'd sheepishly returned from Scotland without him, Harry had been watching her sleepwalk through her life. It was as though without the Doctor, she had no direction, no purpose, no reason for going on.
If she'd been a weak person, Harry could have accepted it. But she wasn't, and to see such a strong will break... He heard the ambulance siren screaming down the street.
Sarah heard it too. She looked down at the stranger again. He may not have been the Doctor, but he was here on her doorstep, and that made her feel somehow responsible for his welfare. "I want to go to the hospital with him, Harry," she said.
"Sarah..." he warned, then he sighed. "I don't suppose there's any point in trying to talk you out of getting involved in all this, is there?"
"No, Harry," she said resolutely. "Sorry, there's not. He ended up here for a reason, I'm sure of it. Besides," she said, putting a smile on her face. "Who knows, there could be a great story in this once we find out who he is."
Harry shook his head, then started calling off vital signs to the newly arrived paramedics. As they were fitting the cervical collar, he pulled Sarah aside. "Listen, if you want to go to hospital, all right, but it doesn't make any sense for you to ride with him while I drive behind. Just in case something happens, I'll ride in the ambulance, you follow in my car, and we'll meet back up in A&E. Then at least I'll be able to drive you home afterwards."
Sarah put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. "Thank you, Harry."
Moving. He was moving, he could tell that much from the vibration and swaying. But he felt strangely immobile, strapped down, a stiff collar holding even his head. He heard himself moan ... or at least he assumed it was him. Nothing seemed to make any sense.
"Steady on old chap," said a voice. "We have to keep you from moving, so I'm afraid you're somewhat strapped down at the moment. Just try to stay as still as possible. We'll be at the hospital very soon now."
He heard the words, and tried to stay calm. He thought he should look around, but he couldn't get his eyes to open. He figured he was probably in an ambulance, and something about that bothered him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He felt the ambulance stop, and the jarring drop as the stretcher was pulled off the vehicle and rolled into the hospital. What was he thinking about again? He couldn't remember. Couldn't remember anything, actually, he realized with a start, and he could feel his heart start to pound. Then he felt a soft hand in his, and he felt his eyes open, almost of their own accord. A moment or two later, when they focused, he saw a face leaning over him, where he could see it.
She was beautiful, and looking at her, he suddenly felt as though everything was going to be all right.
"Welcome back," she said, smiling reassuringly at him. "Harry here has told everyone that I'm his assistant, so I'll be able to stay with you through most of the procedures and tests that you'll be having."
He looked behind her and realized that the ceiling wasn't moving anymore; he must be in a room. "Thank you," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "I ... er ... I don't remember your name, I'm sorry."
"You don't remember my name because we weren't introduced. I'm Sarah Jane Smith, and this is my friend, Doctor Harry Sullivan." She motioned towards Harry. "We found you unconscious on my front steps. Do you remember anything yet?"
"Yet?" he asked. He realized that he remembered the man named Sullivan asking him a question, but nothing else. "Er ... no. I don't think so."
"Well, no need to worry about it for now, just concentrate on getting better. I'm sure your memory will come back soon." She patted his arm gently.
A nurse started rolling up his sleeve, but he still couldn't move his head to see what was going on. He cried out as he felt a jab. "What's going on?"
"It's alright, nothing to worry about, the Sister here is just drawing a little blood so it can be tested." Sarah held his hand. "There, it's almost over. You can squeeze my hand if you need to."
He concentrated on the feel of her hand, and in a moment he felt something being taped to his arm. "Do I have to wear this collar?" he asked.
"Just until we've made sure you haven't broken anything," he heard Harry say. Then he heard another person approach.
"All right then," he heard a woman say, "we'll need to get some information while we're waiting for the Doctor. Name?"
"I'm afraid he's suffering from memory loss," Harry said. "You'll have to register him as a John Doe."
"John Doe it is, then," she said.
Sarah saw the fear in his eyes and the wounded look on his face. She had a sudden urge to stroke his head and comfort him. She wanted to tell him that she knew exactly how he felt, lost, out of place, confused and alone. She understood what it felt like to be suddenly dropped into an unfamiliar place and not be able to find your bearings.
"Well, then," he said, "it's a name, I suppose. Better than 'hey you'." And somehow, it did make him feel a little better. A little more ... anchored. Even if it wasn't his name, it was something.
"I'll just call you John, then, if I may," smiled Sarah at him.
He liked that smile. A lot. He smiled back at her.
For what seemed like an eternity, John was examined, poked, prodded, and questioned about his pain. He had been cleaned up, stitched up and IV'd. He'd begun to think of his little cubicle as "home".
When it came time to X-ray his head, Sarah told John that since they wouldn't let her in anyway, she'd just stay in the cubicle and wait for him. And anyway, Harry had medical privileges; they had to let him in. So when they left, just as she had hoped, she was all alone.
Immediately, she started going through John's soaking clothes, looking for anything that would give her a clue as to his identity. First on the pile was his jacket. Nothing in any of the pockets. Same for the shirt. She looked around and made sure no one was coming, then reached for his pants.
She knew she shouldn't even let the thought that he could have bigger-on-the-inside pockets enter her head. After all, he had just one heart, but still, she had to see for herself before she could let this go. She thought she felt something as she picked up the soaking-wet pants, and prayed, 'Oh please, let that be a sonic screwdriver.'
Slowly, she reached her hand into the frustratingly normal-sized pocket.
She drew out a box.
A small, square, dark blue velvet-covered box, the type that you'd put a ring into.
She opened it and sure enough, it held a beautiful, sparkling, engagement ring.