Chapter Six

Sherlock Holmes bent over his Langstrom box, and peered into the miniature society like a god surveying his domain. Satisfied with the busy hum of activity, he carefully replaced the sky to their world, picked up the canister of smoke and began walking to his next hive. His thoughts were distant, far from the rolling green and the distant grey, to the years behind, circling ever closer to the scant time remaining to him, and how he intended to spend it, but most of all, if he wished to. So distracted was he, that he was not immediately aware of the warning prickle along the back of his neck—an annoying, life-saving, chill that told him he was being watched. Without turning his head, he caught the glint of metal beneath the crisp Spring sun, and a flash where there should be none on the ridge of a hill. Sherlock Holmes ground his teeth together, determining that the time he had left would not be spent suffering ill-mannered fools who were spying from the grass.

The Doctor frowned at his sonic screwdriver and flipped it closed with a sigh. He was too far away to get a proper reading on the lean figure in the valley below, aside from the fact that the man in question had just disappeared. The Doctor poked his head over the grass, surveying the swaying sea of green, and furrowed his brow in defeat. He started to stand when a voice barked from behind him, causing him to scramble forward instead.

"This is private property, young man!"

The Doctor rolled nimbly around, stretched out his long legs, and propped himself up on his elbows, arching an amused brow at the looming detective.

"Young man he says," the Doctor whispered to himself.

"You have been watching me, why?"

"I was a bit flustered in town earlier, and wanted to properly introduce myself. I'm the Doctor," he said, cheerfully, hopping to his feet and extending his hand.

Sherlock Holmes' sharp features were carved from granite, betraying all the amusement of a judge on his bench. "You intended to introduce yourself from a hilltop, while you were taking photographs of me?"

"It does seem a bit of a round about way of going about introductions now that you mention it—"

"Your camera," Holmes cut him short, holding a demanding hand out. The Doctor took this opportunity to heartily shake his hand, pleased beyond words to finally meet the human legend (again), however, the Doctor soon discovered how Sherlock Holmes had managed to survive all these years against overwhelming odds—quick as a snake he stepped forward and frisked the Doctor.

"A bit personal isn't it—hey! Wait now," the Doctor took a step forward when Holmes snatched his sonic screwdriver from his pocket, but quickly backed up at the warning look from the steely eyes. The Doctor brought his hand up short, chewing on his fingernails with worry. "Be careful with that. I really wouldn't fiddle with that too much. It's not a camera." He explained as Sherlock Holmes turned the device over in his curious hands and suddenly, hopefully, a light bulb went off in the Doctor's mind. "It's a torch."

"Young man, every British citizen has a right to privacy, especially on their own land, which you have breached," Holmes said, severely.

"Right, just turn—" However, Sherlock Holmes needed no direction, and easily located the switch that turned the sonic screwdriver ON. It flared to life with a flash of lights and buzzing.

"Oh, there you are. It's a new design. American. You know how much they like their flashy lights," the Doctor finished waggling his fingers mysteriously.

Holmes paused, looking up to arch a sharp eyebrow at the younger man, before returning his attention to the strange device.

"Right, see, not a camera—just a torch," the Doctor said, taking a cautious step forward to slowly stretch his long arm out, plucking the screwdriver from the detective's hand to wave it casually about, while he took all the readings he needed and to further distract him, he said, "Could I get your autograph by chance? You can sign my stomach."

This innocent inquiry sparked the Legend's ire, and the Doctor was treated to a terse lecture on personal rights from the man himself, whose voice climbed ever higher with every pause to draw breath while the Time Lord listened with rapt attention. In the end, the Great Detective escorted him off his land with threats of sending him to gaol if he should ever show his face again. All in all, the Doctor enjoyed himself tremendously.

The sun was falling, and it knew not if it would rise the next morning to shine down on the beginning of the end for this world. Two stalwart guardians of time were reunited in the waning light of day and the gangly man eagerly pulled his companion from the long lane leading from the farmhouse, into the cover of trees.

"Did Mary see you, Amy?" the Doctor asked of her exit from the farmhouse.

"No, I managed to avoid her—are you sure we have the right house, because she looked like a he to me."

"Yes, I'm sure that's her. I'm the one who isn't supposed to be able to tell you humans apart, being an alien and all. Use your eyes, Pond."

"I was," Amy growled.

"Did you find anything out of the ordinary inside? Cracks in the walls? Giant puppets? Clowns with laser guns?"

"Nothing so obvious, but I did find someone inside who I'm fairly sure would like to see Mary Russell dead. I knocked on the front door and a horrid little woman answered it."

"Mary's aunt."

"I handed her the psychic paper, and she thought I was a teacher from a boarding school for disruptive children come to take Mary away. She gave me a thorough tour of the house and went on and on about what a wretched child Mary was."

"Nothing out of the ordinary there," the Doctor sighed. "I managed to get a good scan on Sherlock, nothing is tampering with him—more than usual at any rate."

"Doctor," Amy began gravely, "I really think we should just tell them, or at least one of them, and get them together that way. They're not exactly the sort to be manipulated or tricked with some moronic story like we usually do."

"We can't," the Doctor said, quietly, eyeing the shadowed farmhouse. "There's always tomorrow, Amy, and I think—" A light she knew well entered his eyes. "We'll recruit some reinforcements."