Chapter 2

"No, ma'am. I'm afraid I cannot do that. Not without the proper paperwork."

"But I'm telling you," a deep, but slightly familiar voice said. "They will be sending the papers over later today."

"Then come back," the first voice, higher and with an odd grating quality, said. "I will not risk doing an unlicensed chipping. And I've never seen this species before. I will have to read up on it. What did you say it was?"

"Never mind," the deep voice said, sounding very annoyed. "I will take my business elsewhere."

Sherlock felt himself being picked up. He was conscious, but seemed to be paralysed.

What had happened? The last thing he remembered was standing behind the Doctor and River as they observed the reunion of the little creatures. And then he had felt a pain in his shoulder. Like a needle. He had been drugged.

He could not see. There seemed to be something covering his face. Like a hood. It was held in place by something around his neck which he rather feared was a collar. The alien woman! She must have decided he'd make a better pet. Despite him being covered in the rather astounding amounts of vomit that had been expelled by his predecessor.

Then he realised that he was no longer covered in the disgusting substance. Her first priority had been to have him cleaned. The woman really was very focused on hygiene.

He was lying face down over something that was probably her shoulder, which was swaying and moving. She was carrying him along. To her home? He rather hoped that she had been bluffing about taking him to someone else who would consent to performing a chipping, and who knew what other procedures, on an 'unlicensed' pet.

There was a metallic click. Like some kind of lock.

And then Sherlock was lowered and placed on something soft and cool. Possibly a large seat of some kind.

There were movements and then a soft hum. They were in a vehicle. He was being taken further away from the spot where she had picked him up.

He tried speaking, but all he managed was a low groan. His jaw still would not move according to his will.

"Ssh, be quiet," the woman purred. "I'll feed you right when we get home."

Sherlock tried to huff, but it came out more like a sigh.

"Yes, I'll take good care of you," she said, sounding pleased. "Such a cutie. Nice and clean."

"H... How...?" Sherlock managed to cough, not sure if she could make out the word.

"How? Oh, I gave you a nice bath. You're so pretty. For a pet, I mean," she said, in the same content tone of voice.

"Why?" he tried.

"Because I want a pet, of course! No use sitting there all lonely in that big house. You'll do just fine. Keeping me company, uttering a word now and then, and I'll feed you at regular times and cuddle you at night. Perfect, isn't it?" The vehicle was slowing down.

"A word?" Sherlock managed a weak chuckle. As soon as this drug, whatever it was, wore off, he'd give her a lot more than a word.

"You're a lot better than the small one I had, you know. There's more to cuddle. So glad you didn't watch where you went," she continued.

"Stupid..." Sherlock grumbled and then settled down to trying to learn as much about the creature and her vehicle from what he could hear and feel.

Then they stopped moving, she got out and, from the sounds of it, went around the front of the vehicle to open the door to his seat.

...

"Land here, Doctor," River ordered as she was looking intently at the screen of the Tardis console.

"Here?" the Doctor frowned. "It's almost right on top of where we last saw him. We know he's not in this area."

"Maybe he didn't wander off that far. He might be waiting for us. And the Tardis says the key is right below us," River said.

"If you say so," he said, and landed the Tardis just outside the market place, in front of a large shop of some kind. The facade of the building was covered in white tiles and the name on the sign on the door translated as 'Pet Spa and Maintenance'.

River frowned as she saw the sign. "Come on," she said, grabbing the Doctor's hand and pulling him along.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," the shopkeeper said as soon as she walked in. "Oh, I see what you've got there. Timelords have become quite rare these days. No wonder you want him chipped."

"Oi!" The Doctor looked scandalised. "Why are you assuming that I am her pet?"

"Sweetie," River said, rolling her eyes, "he's not blind." Then she directed herself to the shopkeeper. "You don't happen to have seen a man in a dark coat? Possibly in the company of a large green woman?"

The shopkeeper hesitated. "Usually I value my customers' privacy. But I must admit there was something fishy in this case. Was he yours?"

"In a way," River nodded. "So have they gone, or are they still in the back?"

He shook his head, sadly. "They're off."

"So they must have left things. From Sher... from the pet," River said.

"Yes, indeed, they left his loose shells or skins or... whatever that was." The man nodded enthusiastically. "I've kept it for you, if it's of any value..."

The Doctor sighed and reached into his pocket. "We'll be having that," he said, holding up his psychic paper.

The man frowned at the paper for a moment. "So you're not a pet," he said slowly.

"Not officially," River smiled.

"Right. I'll get you the things they left." The shopkeeper turned and disappeared for a moment.

"I'm not your pet," the Doctor muttered to River, glancing around the room.

River just gave him an indulgent grin.

After a minute, the shopkeeper returned with Sherlock's coat, scarf and jacket.

"Any ideas where they went?" River asked.

The man shrugged.

"Can you tell us anything about the... owner?" the Doctor asked, examining the coat. He found the Tardis key in one of the pockets and sighed.

River frowned at the key, then looked expectantly at the shopkeeper.

"Well... Rather... green and... tall," he started describing.

"Yes, but do you know where she lives? Where we can find her and the pet?" River asked impatiently.

He stroked his beard. "Well… Maybe I could help you, but like I said, I value privacy. I want the people who come here with their pets to be able to trust me…"

"You want to get paid," River said, rolling her eyes.

"This is a business just like any other," the spa owner shrugged.

The Doctor held up his psychic paper again. "And you'd like to stay in business, right?"

The man squirmed. "Yes, of course, but… It might give me a bad name…"

"We can make sure your reputation gets a lot worse than that," River said, almost friendly.

"Right." The shopkeeper frowned, bent to take something from behind the counter and handed it to them.

The Doctor examined the strange round object. "Thank you," he said before turning to River. "We should take this to the Tardis."

…

"There we are." The woman removed the hood and then lifted Sherlock out of the vehicle and carried him into a huge white round building. She looked down at him in her arms. "Now what does my woochi-woochi want to eat?"

"Don't eat..." Sherlock grumbled, testing his muscle control, which was returning more and more by the minute.

"Oh, are you one of those species that doesn't need anything? Perfect, perfect!" She almost clapped her hands, but then seemed to remember she was still carrying Sherlock and put him down on a giant chair, where she loosened the collar a little.

Sherlock curled up immediately, and rubbed at his arms, feeling cold and aching slightly.

"I'll just go get you some pillows and something to play with. Don't worry, I'll be back in a second!" she said cheerily, before she waddled out of the room.

As soon as she was gone, Sherlock got to his feet, feeling more than a little wobbly. He went over to the windows and got up on his toes to look out. The dwelling seemed to be in some kind of suburban neighbourhood, though all the buildings were of greatly varying sizes and shapes, as if they housed very different creatures. So a borough for aliens. A middle class ghetto.

He listened for a moment, and when he had determined she was several rooms away, he went over to the door through which they had entered, examining the strange panel that seemed to serve as a handle. It was almost out of his reach, but by jumping he managed to press the button that seemed to be used most often. The door made a strange kind of hum and seemed to shift a little, but it did not open. Guessing it needed to be pushed for a longer time to actually open the door, he began looking around for something to stand on so he could reach it.

"Oooh," her voice sounded suddenly behind him, and he almost dropped the large stool he was trying to carry over to the door.

She dumped the stack of pillows and brightly-coloured blubber in one of the chairs and walked over to him. "Poor dear. You should have told me! No need to be ashamed, I'll take care of you." She pressed the button and the door opened. "There you go."

Sherlock glanced up at her and then bolted for the door. He wasn't entirely sure what she was up to, but he wasn't going to let a chance like that slip away.

"Oh, you really needed it, didn't you? I should have known, it's often a side-effect of the drug. Poor thing," she said, following him lazily. "Don't go too far, dear!"

Sherlock ran towards the nearest clump of... trees? Plants, anyway, tall enough to disappear between.

"Hey, where are you going?" he heard the woman cry behind him, but she couldn't keep up with him with her heavy limbs, and soon he couldn't hear her anymore as he kept running through the plants and then over the street between the strange mix of big and small houses.

"Well, you seem to be in quite a hurry," a greasy voice suddenly said next to his ear.

Sherlock jumped in surprise and tried to dodge the large hand making a grab for him, but it got a hold of the back of his shirt and he fell, confused and - he hated to admit it - scared.