Thank you all for bearing with me while I struggled through finishing this chapter. Thanks to everyone for reading this and a special mention to Sylvie Orp for reviewing this. More reviews please?

It wasn't possible. Doyle slowly rose to his feet, his gaze darting to every corner of the medium sized room. It looked completely normal apart from the overturned chair and the storm of paper. The room was vaguely rectangular, lined with shelves of files, with a few scattered tables and chairs. There was no other entrance or exit than what he had just broken through. Disbelievingly, Doyle let his gaze travel along the chaos until it came to a leather jacket lying forlornly on the ground. Checking that he was alone, Doyle holstered his gun and knelt down beside the jacket. You didn't need to be a genius to figure out who it belonged to. He picked it up and draped it over a nearby chair, his hairs on his neck prickling with an unidentified tension. Something was very wrong here. It had been Bodie's voice he'd heard, there was no denying it. There had also been no denying the tinges of fear either. And now he had simply vanished – into thin air – as if he had never existed at all. Doyle cast his gaze about the room for a second time, fighting to keep the panic from surfacing. How could this have happened? Where was Bodie?

There was a sudden crash from behind him and he whirled – his gun raised without intervention from his brain. The door lifted on its hinges and absently Doyle realised it must have swung shut behind him. The door swelled again and Doyle steadied himself, ready for the bastards who had taken Bodie. Boom. His finger whitened on the trigger, sweat gathering clammily between his knuckles. Boom.

The door burst open and two figures tumbled out and landed in a tangled heap on the floor, one of them shouting, "Don't shoot!"

It took nearly all of Doyle's self-control to lower his weapon to his side, his heart still hammering at a hundred miles per hour. The Doctor and Drake scrambled to untangle themselves, Drake cursing quietly under his breath. The Doctor was proving to be one of the clumsiest people either of them had ever met. After two or three false starts Drake managed to free his legs and help the Doctor to his feet. Doyle ignored them, electing to go back over the 'crime scene'; his mind spinning with rapidly darkening ifs. He crouched down again, his gaze darting franticly to try and connect some clue. "What are you doing?" Drake asked. Doyle didn't even look around.

"Bodie's gone," he snapped. "He was in here, I heard him," he didn't add that he'd heard him yell. Drake glanced at the Doctor, who moved forwards until he was beside Doyle.

"Are you sure?"

"That's his jacket," Doyle said flatly, pointing at the garment. "He was working down here, remember?" He looked up, his face hard. "Didn't you hear him?" The Doctor shook his head.

"Sorry," he said gently, "I wasn't close enough. Drake?" Drake copied him. An almost ashamed look skimmed across his face.

"Sorry Doyle," he cast his gaze around the small room, "How? There's no other entrance." Doyle stared at him. Before he could voice the scathing shout that was bubbling up in his throat, the Doctor jumped in.

"Shh, both of you!" Riled at being told to be quiet, Doyle shouted at Drake;

"I know there isn't another entrance!"

"I was just trying to be helpful – "

"You can bloody shut up! Bodie's missing!"

"But I was just saying – "

"Fingers on lips!" The Doctor ordered sharply. Both men froze at the strange command and turned to face the Doctor. Drake's hand crept towards his mouth. Doyle clenched his fist by his side. The Doctor regarded them. "Good. Right, first things first, we need to find the secret passageway." Drake stared the weird young man.

"Why would there be…" he started. The Doctor had already rushed off to the shelves full of files and was pulling them out with the air of a distracted child. Drake stepped up behind the Doctor. "Why would Alban have a secret passageway? This isn't some Sherlock Holmes novel!" The Doctor didn't turn around from his task.

"Don't diss Sherlock Holmes! I gave Arthur Conan Doyle the idea. Besides, there isn't another obvious exit so logically there must be a hidden one. Also, since Doyle was outside and heard…" his manic, rapid-fire delivery faltered slightly as Doyle's storm cloud darkened, "Bodie. It would have to have been very quick; you got here pretty fast, didn't you?"

"I hit the door four or five times before it opened," Doyle said as he tried to quench his anger and fear. Being overwrought and distracted wasn't going to help Bodie. "They wouldn't have had time to take him very far." The Doctor nodded almost approvingly.

"You're not a relative by any chance?"

Faintly taken aback by the abrupt change of subject Doyle managed to stammer out; "n – no, I don't think so – how's this helping Bodie?" a waspish snap closed on the question mark.

The Doctor disregarded this last question instead opting to continue with his observations, "So logically it must have been close by and in an easy-to-access place… I'd imagine that it would be very hard to get Bodie to go somewhere he didn't want to go. A secret passage way would be useful if you wanted to hide something because, well, come on! How many people would think of that?"

"Like a stakeout," Doyle had managed to get a grip on himself. Bodie could handle himself – he'd proved that many times before. Before he had time to clarify what exactly the Doctor meant a loud thunk! echoed through the room making Drake jump about three feet in the air and Doyle reach for his gun. The Doctor stepped back, a large grin spreading across his face. His hand was still on the length of string attached to a small hook. A large section of the floor smoothly hinged and dropped away revealing a dark square hole. Doyle leaned forwards cautiously and saw a silvery ladder falling away into the reddish-black depths. The Doctor swaggered up beside him.

"Besides, a secret passageway is just cool."

Fuzzily, Bodie opened his eyes. Even the dull lighting sent glass shards into his brain and his eyes screwed shut again. When he thought that he could take it he let his eyelids flutter open again. He found himself staring at a red-bricked wall. He blinked. Slowly he turned to head to see that he was surrounded by three more walls. A drop of water splashed on his head and instinctively he moved his hand to wipe it off. A loud jingle caught his attention and he glanced down at himself. His hands were shackled to the ground with a pair of heavy, rusted manacles. "This is bad." Bodie glanced up at the open square of light about seven or eight feet above him. "This is very bad."

The Doctor dropped ineptly to the ground. His feet splashed into the thin covering of water – at least he suspected it was water – and he moved aside to allow Doyle to land somewhat more gracefully. Drake came last; his hands gripping the metal like his life depended on it. Doyle tugged him impatiently to the ground, grimacing as Drake sent a wave of dirty water slopping over the hems of his jeans. Drake noticed and winced. "Sorry." The Doctor was staring around them with a satisfied this-is-more-like-it grin on his face. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and scrutinised the red brick red tunnels that meandered off in several different directions and the slowly flowing water. His eyes narrowed. Purposely he turned and held out his hand.

"Give me my screwdriver please." Doyle regarded him warily, his hand clasping the device inside his pocket. The Doctor sighed. "I promise it isn't a weapon and I'm not going to hurt either of you." Doyle still didn't make a move and the Doctor knew that Doyle thought he was a nutter. He closed his eyes and said in a soft tone that was as unthreatening as possible, "If you want to rescue Bodie you're going to have to give me the sonic. You'll never find him without my help and for that I'll need it." It was a bit below the belt and Doyle's eyes flashed warningly.

"Why? How do you know where he is?"

"I don't," the Doctor tried to reassure him – painfully aware of the weaponry that one Raymond Doyle had about his person – "I'm not working for Alban or anything, remember? UNIT? The Psi-Stones? I can detect them with the sonic and I'm betting that Alban would've taken him to wherever they are. You've got to trust me." Doyle glared at him and the Doctor could read the doubt and the worry and hope that skimmed across his face in an almost unreadable swirl. With a dark finality Doyle pulled the sonic out of his pocket and handed it to him. The Doctor's fingers closed reverently around it and he thumbed the button. The crystal on the end lit up in a blaze of green and all three of them winced as it shattered their developing night vision. The Doctor cocked his head to one side almost as if he was listening to the device before pointing down one of the tunnels. "This way," he said. He began to walk off, his feet splattering in the centimetre high stream and he was closely followed by Doyle. Drake hesitated momentarily, debating whether to follow them into the dimly lit maze or to go back to the light and safety. He glanced up and with a jolt he realised that the hatch had closed up behind them. He dithered hurriedly before his reporter's instinct and a good dose of fear of the dark won out. He ran after the diminishing figures.

Doyle didn't know where the Doctor was leading them, but he did know that he was horribly, hopelessly lost. The Doctor was scampering ahead and every so often pausing at a new turn or branch of tunnel to shake his sonic screwdriver and stare at it before changing his direction. His face – from what Doyle could see – was boyishly focussed like a child learning to ride a bike. Drake was walking just behind Doyle, every so often almost sprinting to keep up. Doyle hated this; when Drake was falling behind it meant Doyle couldn't see him anymore, so each time he sprinted up Doyle had to restrain himself from pulling his gun on him. Finally Drake decided it was probably safer to be with Doyle and managed to pace himself to match him. They walked on in silence for a while before Drake asked; "did he say he met Arthur Conan Doyle?" Doyle shrugged, ears still pricked for the faintest sign of movement and said,

"I'm not sure the Doctor is entirely… sane."

The strange sensation of being watched was back and Doyle could keenly feel the shivers running up and down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck were rising and suddenly, inexplicitly he was very, very jumpy. Drake hadn't seemed to have noticed – or if he had he was incredibly good at hiding it.

"D'you think Alban found this or built it?" The Doctor had dropped back now and he heard Drake's question.

"I'm betting he found it, London has hundreds of these tunnels underneath it," he smiled a little and added almost to himself, "If you build it he will come."

"What?" Doyle asked, temporarily thrown. "What are you on about?" The Doctor glanced at him.

"Field of Dreams – it's a film… oh yeah, you wouldn't have seen it, would you? It doesn't come out until 1989." Doyle gawked at him.

"What the hell are you on about? That's ten years away!" The Doctor grinned sheepishly and said,

"Just go see it. The ending will make you cry." Doyle fixed him with a look that said 'I don't cry'. The Doctor returned it with a look that stated 'I don't believe you'. Doyle sighed and turned away.

"Can we just get on with finding Bodie?" he ground out. He stepped off to one side, stumbled as his foot caught on something long and thin. He staggered forwards and almost lost his balance, only catching himself on the tunnel wall. He looked down. A tangle of wires stretched out in the water, they looked like strands of dark hair interwoven in a complicated weave. Drake reached out his hand, fascinated by the tiny dots of white light – almost invisible underneath the murky water – that danced up and down it when the Doctor snapped,

"Don't touch it!" Drake withdrew his hand sharply and Doyle gave him a scornful look. Shouldn't he know not to touch unidentified wires? Especially those in water. The Doctor was kneeling in the water beside it, ignoring the water soaking into his trousers.

"What is it?"

"I don't know…" the Doctor murmured, the sonic already buzzing along the length of it. Doyle tracked its progress away into the darkness. It was long. It was long enough that it disappeared out of sight. The Doctor shook his screwdriver and started to technobabble. Doyle didn't pay much attention; instead he was peering into the shadows, his sense of wrongness crackling through his limbs like lightening. Dimly, he heard the Doctor warn him to step back because "it might not like this." The wire sparked and screamed in protest, both the Doctor and Doyle winced, and then fell silent. "That wasn't meant to happen…" the Doctor said confusedly. A deep, thundering din suddenly started to pulse in Doyle's ears. Foreboding eating at his guts he slowly turned to survey the wide tunnel in front of them. The thunder grew louder and he was sure he could hear snapping noises interspersed within it. He squinted harder into the darkness. Both Drake and the Doctor were looking the wrong direction. A glow appeared out of the gloom and began to quickly increase in size – Doyle's eyes widened with fear.

"RUN!" he yelled. The Doctor spun around to see why and immediately his legs sprang into action of their own accord, throwing him down the tunnel. Drake perplexedly glanced at them as they tore past.

"What's wro –" he started, before Doyle seized his arm and dragged him along with them. He looked back and let out a gasp of terror. He speeded up, almost keeping pace with Doyle and the Doctor. They ran.

The wave of electricity surged behind them in a huge unstoppable wall.

Already Doyle could feel the electrons nipping at his heels; feel the charges attacking his back. The electricity arched, attracted to the metal around them. Drake glanced back and staggered – half blinded – before Doyle pulled him onwards. The Doctor cast his gaze around wildly but it was Doyle suddenly changed direction. He shoved the other two into the tiny side tunnel and under the cover. Burning electrons danced on his skin, in his hair, his eyes and he gritted his teeth against the pain. Someone yelped. Doyle hurled himself into the meagre safety, half-expecting his life to start flashing before his eyes. The surge of electricity swept onto them.

Bodie strained against his restraints, sweat coating his forehead. The chains jangled but refused to yield. He gulped air and tried again before he slumped back down in his prison, exhausted. The chains may have been rusty but they weren't breakable. He let his head rest on the damp brick wall behind him. The loud sparking noise had shocked him out of his trance-like state and he had suddenly been overpowered with the determined urge to get free. He knew it was impossible. Bodie closed his eyes. Doyle would be looking for him he knew, the stubborn little bugger wouldn't leave him here to rot – would he? Bodie almost laughed. No, Doyle's conscience wouldn't let him… unless something had happened to him. Bodie had no recollection of what happened after he had been grabbed by… one of Alban's goons he guessed. There was no way an old man like him would've been able to hit him hard enough to knock him out. But Doyle would've been on his way down… a spike of alarm shot through Bodie's stomach; if Alban had managed to snatch Doyle as well...

Doyle could be as imprisoned as he was – or worse. With a burning sense of renewed vigour Bodie glanced up at the square above his head. He had to get out here.

Doyle slowly raised his head and coughed. Dizzily, he crawled out from behind the wooden shelter and started patting himself down. To his surprise he found he was still in one piece. "Is everyone alright?" he asked. The Doctor eased himself out and flopped onto his back.

"What was that?" Drake asked blearily.

"Looked like lightning," Doyle answered; Drake glanced over at him and clapped a hand over his mouth. Doyle glared at him. "What?" Drake shook his head, trying to smother his laughter. Doyle raised his hand to his head. Tiny hairs stuck to his hand and he sighed. Before Drake could get in a jab the Doctor said,

"That wasn't real electricity."

"It felt like it," Doyle muttered, trying in vain to flatten his hair so it didn't stick out ubiquitously. Drake sniggered quietly at the agent as he attempted to earth himself. The Doctor hauled himself upright and pulled a face at the state of his tweed jacket.

"We should be dead," he stated simply, "that should've killed us – would've killed us. But it didn't. Why?" Drake moved his shoulders inside his khaki jacket. His hair was plastered to his face with sweat.

"We're alive, so does it really matter? Don't look a gift horse in the mouth and all that." The Doctor shook his head and held up his finger.

"Always look a gift horse in the mouth! It could be very important, couldn't it Doyle?"

"Hmm?" Doyle was checking his gun; it didn't seem to have been affected by the strange wave. He glanced up when he realised the Doctor was talking to him. "Yeah," he agreed absently. The Doctor didn't seem to really take what he was saying as he continued.

"If it had been real electricity we would've been fried almost immediately. Water is a brilliant conductor, and we were standing in a couple of centimetres of it! Besides, have either of you lot ever seen electricity move like that?"

"I've seen some strange things but never anything like that," Doyle muttered. Drake shook his head.

"Me neither."

"That's because it wasn't real electricity. When I sonicked the wire I must have tripped a safety feature. The energy was the fail-safe or perhaps an Antivirus system. It looked and," he glanced quickly at Doyle, "felt like real electricity. But it wasn't. It acted like it, except for the water." His face fell abruptly and he suddenly looked a lot older. "Oh no…" he breathed.

"What?" Doyle asked, his voice coming out harsh. The Doctor shook his head quickly.

"It might be ok, it might be an automatic response… hopefully it was automatic…" he murmured to himself. Doyle grabbed his shoulder.

"And if it wasn't automatic?" he asked. His voice was dangerously soft and the Doctor gulped. Doyle stared at him, his green eyes burning with displaced fear. Carefully, the Doctor removed Doyle's hand from his shoulder and said,

"Alban now knows that we're here." Doyle stepped back, his face pugnacious in the dim lighting.

"Bodie," he said hotly. He backed up into the main tunnel and located the wire. He pointed down the tunnel system. If the wires were connected to some dangerous device then their best bet was to follow it. Of course Alban could be holding Bodie somewhere completely different in this maze. "This way," he ordered, trying not to let the helplessness show, and broke into a run, drawing his weapon. Drake glanced over at the Doctor who lifted his shoulders helplessly and they began to sprint after the rapidly-disappearing CI5 agent.

"Doyle! Wait!" Hearing the tone Doyle reluctantly slowed his pace to allow Drake to catch up. "Doyle..." without warning Doyle suddenly spun around and pinned him up against the wall.

"What's your play?" Eyes rolling from panic, Drake stammered,

"What – what do you mean?"

"What are you really doing here?" Doyle pressed harder and Drake let out a little yelp of surprise and pain.

"I told you, I'm a reporter! That's true!" Drake faltered. Doyle rolled his eyes and increased the pressure for the second time.

"How come you didn't hear Bodie? I heard you tell the Doctor you were closer. You should've heard him." Drake glared at him and abruptly shouted,

"I'm deaf, alright? I don't like people knowing about it!" Releasing him, Doyle gawked at him.

"But you can hear me!" Drake shrugged his jacket back onto his shoulders and gave him an angry stare. In the tones of someone having to explain something for the hundredth time Drake said, "being deaf doesn't mean you can't hear anything at all, you idiot. I'm only moderately deaf – I can still hear people but I have to be concentrating. The reason I didn't hear Bodie or the electricity-death-wave was that I wasn't listening for it!"

"So…"

"I can lip-read if I'm really having trouble and the dim lighting certainly doesn't help," Drake motioned down the tunnel, "shall we get moving or wait for the Doctor to catch up?"

"Hey, what's this?" The Doctor slowed at Drake's question. He had his hand flat against the wall, confusion clouding his face. Drake looked up at him, "Feels like…" he rubbed the brick, his finger dipping into the engravings, "writing. There's something written here." The Doctor directed the sonic and pushed the button down. The writing was sharply illuminated by the green crystal. Drake leaned in for a closer look. "I don't know that language," he said, squinting. The letters scored into the red brick were like runes, crudely carved with an unsteady hand. In an almost dreamy fashion the Doctor began to recite,

"It slumbers in the deepest well,

Dark and secret, secured to hell,

It came against us from the night,

And sought to extinguish all our living light,

But the Lonely God came from above,

And trapped it underground,

There it lay a-waiting, imprisoned and tightly bound,

Beware my children, it lies there still,

Biding its time, where there's a will,

Eight, six, four, two,

It's awake and waiting for you,

You cannot run,

You cannot hide,

The Darkness hunts with silver eyes…"

The Doctor's voice trailed off and dissipated into the musty air, a strange taut expression on his face. Drake glanced from the writing to the Doctor.

"What is it?" he squeaked. The Doctor backed away from the wall, shaking his head in… what? Disbelief? Denial? Fear?

"How?... I buried it deep… It shouldn't have been able to escape. It can't have. It can't have!"

"What can't have?" Drake asked quickly, his heart thrashing with borrowed tension, "what did you bury?" The Doctor turned his rapidly widening gaze on him.

"Something bad – no, scratch that – something very, very, very bad. I thought it was asleep but Alban must have woken it. But did he go looking for it?"

"What?" Drake demanded, half-drunk with anxiety. "WHAT did you bury?" The Doctor glanced at him and answered quietly,

"The Darkness."

Before Drake could ask the next obvious question on his lips, the Doctor spun round and whistled. There was no response. He whistled again. Doyle didn't answer. Immediately the Doctor broke into a run. He rounded the corner with Drake close on his heels and skidded to a stop. The wire continued onwards and snaked around the next corner but the Doctor's attention was drawn by the door set into the brick work. What really caught his eye was that it was ajar. With a quick motion to tell Drake to be quiet the Doctor carefully pushed the door open.

It was a large room, clinical in its design; a few papers were lined up neatly on a table and one lone bulb burned in the centre of the ceiling. It cast stark shadows that bluntly sliced along the walls. The Doctor advanced cautiously inside and looked about. A large square hole was cut in the floor; a heavy, iron cage-like covering was propped up beside it. The Doctor crossed to it and carefully peered inside. A jolt of recognition shot through him as he saw the chained man. "Bodie!" he called delightedly. "Are you alright?"

Bodie looked up, a sarcastic expression on his face. "I'm bleeding marvellous," he said drily. He lifted his manacled wrists as Exhibit A and said, "You lot took your bloody time getting here! I've been getting very bored." The Doctor cast his gaze down – estimating how deep the well-like hole was. Drake started searching for a ladder they could use, ducking in and out of the shadows. "Have you seen Doyle?" he asked as casually as he could (not wanting to alarm Bodie) "he seems to have disappeared." Bodie laughed at the Doctor's painfully obvious worry.

"It's ok, he already found me. He said he was checking the next room for something to get me out of here." As if by magic, Doyle appeared, lugging behind him a grey collapsible ladder.

"Found it in the other room," he explained breathlessly at the inquiring looks, "Alban isn't there." Grunting, he heaved it over to the edge of the hole.

"Hurry up Doyle," Bodie moaned, "I think I've lost feeling in my arse."

"Mine's fine," Doyle said with a twinkle.

"Oh stop competing."

"I'm just savouring the moment."

"Of what? Having more feeling in your arse than mine?" Doyle rolled his eyes.

"No," he said in the tones of speaking to an idiot, "of rescuing you. Makes a nice change."

"But whose fault is it that I have to rescue you?"

Doyle was saved from answering as he finally managed to unfold the ladder. "Watch out," he ordered as he started to manoeuvre it towards the hole. Drake stepped forward to help him and discovered that the ladder was far heavier than it looked. Eventually they managed to lower it into Bodie's prison in a way that it wasn't going to crush him. It wasn't tall enough reach the top of the pit. Bodie just watched them with a burning impatience. Doyle wiped his hands on his shirt and asked, "Anyone have any lock picks?"

"Not lock picks," the Doctor said, brandishing the sonic screwdriver, "this." He swung his legs over the edge and inched himself onto the top step and began to climb down. The Doctor splashed into the hole and began to sonic Bodie's restraints. "Somebody keep watch, Alban could arrive at any every second. It's gonna take some time to get these off." Bodie groaned. Doyle glanced at Drake and motioned to himself.

"I'll do it," he said with a small apologetic smile, "Might be better." Drake nodded in agreement and stationed himself beside the hole. Doyle crossed over to the door, his gun clutched in his fist.

"Are you nearly finished?" Bodie asked after about three minutes.

"No," the Doctor muttered, "hold still!"

"Sorry," Bodie replied sheepishly. His wrists were starting to ache from the strain of holding the manacles up and he was desperate to be able to move about freely again. Gritting his teeth he tried to contain the tremble that was seeping into his muscles. The Doctor hissed out through his teeth and called to Drake, "Can you come and help me with this?" With a quick glance at Doyle to check whether he could cover the room by himself, Drake scrambled down the ladder into the pit.

"What do I need to do?" he asked quickly. The Doctor handed him the sonic and began riffling in his pockets humming under his breath.

"Doctor…"

"I'm busy Bodie, please don't interrupt," the Doctor absently rebuked him.

"Doctor!"

"Bodie!" Drake looked down.

"Doctor!" he yelped. The Doctor glanced over at him.

"What is it Drake? You know it's very hard to concentrate when you lot are yelling at me and my socks are soaked through –" he was on the last syllable when the meaning of the sentence hit him full on. He looked down in a panic. As if that was the cue, water suddenly began to rush in from the sides, climbing rapidly to their thighs.

"Get the cuffs off!" Drake cried, almost throwing the sonic back to the Doctor. The Doctor seized it and the buzzing resumed with a frantic pace.

"Drake! Get out!" Bodie yelled at him. Doyle spun around at his friend's voice. Adrenalin pumping through his body he rushed over to the pit, pushing his gun into its holster. He nearly made it.

Before his disbelieving eyes the iron cover smoothly fell on top of the gap and locked with a hydraulic hiss.

Doyle tore the last half a metre like his feet had wings, and grabbed at the cold bars, yanking with all his strength. They refused to budge. He tried again, his muscles screaming from the exertion. The water had risen to their chests and the cold shock of it made them all gasp. The Doctor stabbed the sonic at Bodie's restraints in a final, desperate move. They clicked open. Bodie shoved the manacles away and scrambled to his feet. The water was still rising quickly.

"Unlock the bars!" Drake spluttered frantically. The Doctor directed his device at the metal and swore.

"I can't!" he choked out, "it's deadlocked!" The water was lapping at their chins now, each drop lethally reminding them of their impending doom. Doyle wrenched at the cover for a third time, pain stabbing up and down his arms.

If he couldn't remove the bars then the Doctor, Bodie and Drake were going to drown.