==Chapter Nine==
A Time for Everything
My life is spent in one long effort to escape from the commonplace of existence.
From what he had already seen of Juan's courage, Holmes wasn't surprised that the woman instantly agreed to the operation, even after the Doctor had outlined the risks involved. As might have been expected, though, Cheng Wei wasn't at all inclined to allow his wife to undergo the same process he had. After a few tense moments, Juan managed to convince her husband to resheathe his claws and let the Doctor up again, then dragged the bristling hybrid into a corner of the laboratory for a private 'discussion'. The glint in the woman's eye put Holmes strongly in mind of Mrs Watson, on the rare occasions when she and the detective had found themselves directly at odds regarding Watson's involvement in Holmes' cases – with or without speech, Cheng Wei clearly hadn't a chance of winning this argument.
Mercifully for everyone involved, the operation was a complete success. Just before dawn, Holmes and the Doctor stood at the end of the ravine, bidding a fond farewell to a pair of 'yetis': the larger's coarse fur silver as frost; the smaller's pelt much sleeker and the pearl grey of mountain mist. The Doctor had offered to take them to another world to live with others like themselves – the couple gratefully declined, however, conveying eloquently through look and gesture that they preferred to remain in their own homeland. Holmes really couldn't blame them, although he was greatly disappointed at not having an excuse to visit a new planet before he and the Doctor finally parted ways. Cheng Wei and Juan nosed affectionately at both of them, Juan's eyes as sorrowful as her husband's at having to say goodbye; then, as the rising sun began gilding the mountain peaks, the hybrids turned and bounded away on all fours up the mountain slope, side by side, until they were lost from view in the shadows.
Back in the laboratory, having hastily returned to the tunnel entrance with mere moments to spare, Holmes watched with the Doctor from the TARDIS doorway while the Time Lord reset his sonic screwdriver and pointed it at the roof of the passage. After several seconds of piercing noise, the ground began to shake with the impact of falling rocks as the entire tunnel ceiling caved in – no one else would ever reach this cavern without a cartload of explosives. The scientist was also aboard the TARDIS, still unconscious; the Doctor had placed the man in what he called a 'stasis unit' in the medbay for safety's sake, until they could get him back to the monastery. Holmes was hopeful that the monks would be willing to shelter the man, although how long that would last probably depended on how much the scientist remembered when he finally awoke... Whatever compassion the Doctor felt for the man obviously wasn't strong enough to prompt the Time Lord to link with his mind to find out for certain.
On arrival at the monastery, Holmes and the Doctor revisited the library; Shen Ji greeted them warmly, deeply thankful to have the borrowed manuscript returned intact, and agreed to help them obtain an audience with the senior monks. After a highly abridged account of recent events, the monks consented to give the man shelter, on condition that he be kept under close observation until his mental state could be determined. The scientist was given a plain room, well removed from the novices' dormitories, with one vital extra feature: a door that could be secured from the outside. The man regained consciousness a few hours later during midmorning prayers, stirring, then sitting bolt upright at a sudden clash of cymbals to find Holmes at his bedside. He stared at the detective, eyes wide in alarm – although the reason for that remained to be seen.
Holmes' grey eyes searched the man's brown ones, but found none of the dark fury that had burned in their depths last night, or even any hint of recognition. It was time to get some answers. "Calmly, my friend – you have had quite an ordeal," the detective smiled kindly, laying on his best Norwegian accent. "You are feeling better, I hope?"
The scientist's haggard face was a study in bewilderment. "I... what..." he murmured faintly, glancing around the sleeping cell. "Where...?" The accent was Dorset, Holmes noted wistfully, with the cultured tone of a Cambridge graduate.
The man's confusion was unmistakable, and in spite of the ongoing need for caution, Holmes couldn't help taking pity on him. "This is the Sera monastery, sir," he gently explained. "The monks have been caring for you since you were found in the snow." Better a half-truth than an outright lie... He offered the scientist a cup of water, which was gulped thirstily, before continuing: "Can you remember what happened?"
The man looked at Holmes blankly, brow furrowed. "Found... but... I don't... Who are you?" he asked abruptly.
Holmes bowed, still smiling. "Emil Sigerson of Norway, at your service, good sir. And you?" he inquired lightly.
"W-warwick," the scientist stammered. "Matthew Warwick... Professor of Physiology, Hampton College." The introduction flowed with the ease of frequent use, and more than a little pride – Warwick was clearly speaking the truth, as he knew it, at least.
"An honour to meet you, Professor Warwick," Holmes responded cordially and made himself extend a hand, trying for the moment to overlook the fact that the man had recently attempted to kill him and his companions. "What brings you to Tibet?"
Warwick's jaw dropped.
When the Doctor was alone, it was difficult to say what exactly he was thinking. Time Lord brains didn't function as human brains did, of course, and a lone Gallifreyan could be thinking about literally dozens of things all at once. (Human brains tried to do that, the Doctor knew, but they tended to make a hash of it.) So he was standing on the walkway of the perimeter wall, gazing down across the valley, mind full and empty at the same time.
That's where Holmes found him. The human leant on the parapet next to him and offered him one of two steaming cups. "Tea?"
The Doctor eyed the brew dubiously. "It's not yak butter, is it?" He'd had bad experiences with yak butter.
Holmes grinned and gave a theatrical shudder. "No, it's chai—you seemed in need of something calming."
The Doctor accepted the mug gratefully. "Oh, good, chai—I like chai." He inhaled the steam, then took a careful sip. "So, how did it go?"
Holmes sighed. "Well, that depends upon the point of view. The good news is that he truly seems to have no recollection of his…" He shivered genuinely, eyes haunted. "…possession. It took a little time for the rest of his memories to return, but they only extend to when he left Lhasa to travel here. Most likely, he was caught by the weather while climbing the pass and had to seek shelter…" His expression grew grave.
The Doctor shivered and lowered his face into his hand, sighing.
"Sadly, regaining one's memory means that one must accept the bad with the good… His name is Matthew Warwick; he graduated from Cambridge to take up a five-year tenure at Hampton College in Devonshire, furthering his studies in the field of physiology, researching the effects of modern medicine on the human body at a cellular level." Holmes sighed deeply. "The tragic irony is that his young wife was afflicted by tuberculosis… though that may have been his primary motive for choosing that field of study. In any case, she died after only three years of battling the disease."
The Doctor set down his mug, heart aching for the scientist, able to empathise a bit too deeply for his own comfort.
"After her death, Warwick became more determined than ever to discover the secrets of the human gene. He expanded his research to include alternate forms of medicine, which resulted in his early dismissal from Hampton—he was employing a few of the poorer students as test subjects for some of his more controversial theories. After narrowly avoiding prosecution, he left England to continue his research across Europe, then Asia, eventually arriving in Tibet. He had become intrigued on his travels by tales of Shangri-La, the fabled land of eternal youth. Such legends, he believed, must hold at least a grain of truth…"
The Doctor closed his eyes, sighing. "Too clever for his own good," he murmured, "and not clever enough…" He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, dragged them down his face. "Ohhh, what a mess. What a human… Dalek… mixed-up mess…" Sighing again, he glanced back over his shoulder at the monastery. "Well, I can't think of a better set of people to help Warwick heal from it, though."
Holmes nodded solemnly. "And I had originally intended to remain another week…" He shrugged casually. "But a few more days' rest couldn't hurt." The Doctor snorted in agreement—the man really ought to give himself more rest than that, though the Time Lord knew he wouldn't. Holmes was too much like the Doctor for that.
The human frowned thoughtfully. "Doctor… that lantern I found in the wardrobe room…" His expression was a mixture of remorse and confusion. "When I shone it into Warwick's eyes, I'd hoped merely to blind him for a moment, but instead he screamed in agony, as if I had thrown acid in his face! What could have caused that? You said that the K'vir were vulnerable to sunlight, not electricity."
The Doctor frowned, not certain what Holmes was talking about. "Lantern… oh! The torch! Oh, well, it's got a solar battery—power of the sun in that torch." He grinned. "That one, in particular, is human-made." He picked his mug back up and took a sip.
Holmes raised an impressed eyebrow, then frowned again. "Doctor… the firearm that Warwick used last night… Pardon my curiosity, but that did not look as if it been fashioned by any human." His tone turned grave again. "You have referred more than once to these 'Daleks,' in connection with the K'vir... Though the name does sound vaguely Polish, I would surmise that they too are from another planet? And that that was one of their weapons?"
The Doctor's grin faded completely, memories that he'd tried so hard to hold back resurfacing… Of the Dalek Emperor, of the Cult of Skaro, of Davros, the Time War, Rose… "The Daleks come from the planet Skaro… they created the K'vir to be one of their weapons during the Time War. The weapon the K'vir were using must have been... cannibalised... from a Dalek shell." He gave a slight, mirthless smile. "And created just keeps turning on the creator... At least you'll never have to meet any of them—they're gone now." All that death and destruction… the loss of his planet… his people… his family… the first woman he'd truly loved since the death of his wife… "All of them."
Holmes looked utterly appalled, and he had every right to be. The man wasn't even a soldier, couldn't wrap even his impressive mind around something so absolutely senseless… He sipped his tea, then said quietly, "And that, I hope, truly is the last humanity will ever see of the K'vir…" He gazed out over the valley, a fond smile stealing across his thin face.
"Mm…" The Doctor took a sip of his own tea and couldn't help smiling just a little at Holmes's expression, knowing the turn of his thoughts. "Cheng Wei and Juan are going to be brilliant together."
The detective nodded, still smiling. "Of that, Doctor, I have no doubt whatsoever." He gave a huff of laughter. "And I strongly suspect that there are going to be a few more folk tales in these parts about yetis from now on."
The Doctor grinned slightly. "Yeaaah." He sucked in a breath. "Betcha anything they'll be the new unofficial guardians of this place… help out travellers in trouble, that sort of thing. Which reminds me: how did you find Cheng Wei in the first place?"
The tenor of Holmes's reply was… disturbingly casual. "Well, actually, I didn't; he found me, before I'd even gone a mile." His eyes shone briefly (there were few things more beautiful than true happiness in a person's expression) before he switched subjects. "Oh, Doctor, before I forget…" He dug his mobile (the spare mobile, it wasn't really his, the Doctor had to remember) out of his parka and looked at it wistfully. "You'd best have this back."
The Doctor's smile again faded completely as Holmes handed him the phone. "Oh, right." It really hit him, then: this was it, Holmes was moving on with his life, the Doctor had to leave… He inhaled slowly and managed a slight smile for the man's benefit. "Thanks." He pushed the phone down into his pocket.
Holmes's answering smile was regretful—he didn't want to say goodbye, either, the Doctor supposed. Hoped. "Thank you, Doctor." He grinned in wonder. "This has been the most amazing adventure—I wouldn't have missed it for the world."
The Doctor smiled a little more fully again and murmured, "Neither would I. You were brilliant—are brilliant. And I don't just mean your mind." He reached out and gently clapped a hand on Holmes's thin shoulder. "You're just an amazing man, Sherlock Holmes."
The detective blushed and looked down. "Well," he murmured, "I've no doubt the same could be said for all your companions, Doctor…" His look turned chagrined as the Doctor's own smile tightened, and Holmes looked up apologetically.
The Doctor took a deep breath and nodded. "It's true." In the end, everyone left him, but he would not have missed one moment with any of those brilliant, wonderful people. "I only take the best."
"And I am deeply honoured to have been counted among them, my dear sir, if only for a short time."
The Doctor's eyes refocused on Holmes, desperate for a refuge from the loneliness that was already threatening to engulf him. "Come with me," he murmured. "Please."
Holmes shook his head, sighing. "You've no idea how tempting that offer is, Doctor—but, sadly, I must decline." The regret faded from his eyes (the Doctor could just see his thoughts turning towards Watson). "I have pressing engagements elsewhere." He grinned wryly. "As you already know."
The Doctor looked down and nodded stiffly. "Right. Right. Well, then…" Then he had an idea—really, it was only stalling the inevitable, but still… He lifted his head slowly. "Fancy one last trip in the TARDIS? There's something I'd like you to see—call it a thank-you."
The already large grey eyes widened in surprise. Smiling broadly, Holmes gave an eager nod like a little boy anticipating a surprise (and, in all fairness, that was more or less what he was). "After you, Doctor."
The Doctor nodded back, stepping into the TARDIS and moving slowly over to the console. Holmes left his half-finished tea on the wall and followed him in. The TARDIS chirped happily at Holmes just before the Doctor threw down the lever and she vwoorp-vwoooorped (he loved that sound so much) out of Tibet… only to rematerialise almost immediately. Smiling fondly, the Doctor nodded at the door. "Go on—open it."
Looking rather nervous, the detective descended the ramp, took a deep breath, and pulled open the door. His spare frame went absolutely rigid.
Beyond the doorway, Earth nearly filled the view, suspended in the void, glimmering blue and green and silver. The darkness stretched for an incalculable distance beyond it, the stars performing their ancient, silent dance across space.
The TARDIS beeped softly as the Doctor moved to join Holmes (the gaping mouth and stare didn't escape his notice upon arrival). He placed a hand on the doorframe and leant on it, murmuring, "Been a while since I've done this… Have to do it every now and then, just stop and step back and soak it all in… Home sweet home." The only one he had left… He tilted his head, glancing at Holmes. "Like it?"
Holmes nodded wordlessly, eyes fixed on his homeworld and glistening. "Thank you…"
The Doctor smiled and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Thank you, Sherlock." He smirked a little. "I couldn't just let you go off and get on with your life without seeing this." He glanced back out the doorway. "This is something everybody should get to see, or see and appreciate…"
Holmes seemed to be able to tear his gaze away long enough to smile at the Doctor. "Indeed—though I have great difficulty fathoming how anyone could fail to appreciate such a wonder as this…" He turned back again, his gaze wistful as he took in the distant stars, and sighed deeply. "And… I think you had better return me to Tibet, Doctor—" he smiled ruefully—"before I succumb completely to temptation!"
The Doctor exhaled forcefully but nodded solemnly, turned, and moved back towards the console. "Better close the door." He was really going to miss Sherlock like crazy, he just knew it…
Even with the door closed, the magnificent vision of his home planet remained vividly before Holmes' eyes – of all the wonders he had witnessed recently, he knew that this would be the one he saw oftenest in his dreams. Astonishingly, one of the most breathtaking aspects had been the colours! No modern globe or atlas that he'd ever seen had prepared Holmes for such rich, vibrant hues of blue and green, the snow-white clouds a delicate filigree, wrapped around the Earth like a shawl of finest lace... To his acute disappointment, Great Britain had been mostly obscured – understandable, however, being midwinter. He hoped that Watson's old injuries weren't plaguing him too greatly with the growing cold. And the stars... Just to see so many hundreds of thousands all together, burning steadily in the frozen night, and only the Doctor knew how many were warming other planets that also teemed with life... so far away, yet with the TARDIS, close enough to touch...
The thump of the TARDIS landing once more jolted Holmes from his rapt musings. Swallowing the persistent lump in his throat, he turned away from the door as a mournful flurry of beeps and whistles came from the console, smiling sadly up at the central column in sincere regret. "As I shall miss you, dear lady; it has truly been an honour." He bowed deeply for the last time, closing his eyes for a moment to send the earnest thought as clearly as he was able: Look after him.
She answered with a reassuring chirp. Always...
Holmes took one final, lingering look around the control room, then steeled himself to open the door and step outside again, noting approvingly that they had landed back in the exact same place. He turned back to the TARDIS to find the Doctor hadn't followed him out, but was standing awkwardly in the open doorway – the Time Lord's pained expression spoke volumes. The detective nodded in understanding, then paused. "Doctor... you could stay awhile," he suggested softly. "Considering the life you normally lead, I imagine the universe owes you at least a few decades off."
Now it was the Doctor's turn to look tempted, closing his eyes briefly; Holmes could see plainly the combined fear and longing in their depths when he reopened them. "I can't," his colleague admitted quietly. "It's really the other way around, you know – I'm still paying off my debts..." He smiled tightly, one long-fingered hand clutching the door frame hard enough to whiten the knuckles. "No rest for the wicked."
Holmes was unable to suppress a faint wince at the familiar phrase – he remembered Watson wryly uttering those very words as he returned to Meiringen... The detective had failed in exorcising the ghosts from his past often enough to understand the Time Lord's need to remain a step ahead of his own memories, terrified that stopping even for a moment would allow them to break through all of those carefully constructed defenses...
The Doctor had clearly noticed his reaction, if not entirely understood it, because the next moment he had moved forward and wrapped his arms lightly around Holmes' shoulders. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I wish I could stay – I really do. And if you ever need me..." He sighed. "Just think of me. An idea is the most powerful thing in the universe – and it will cross Time and Space, I promise."
The detective returned the hug gratefully, much taken with the sentiment – especially as it too sounded exactly like something his best friend would say. "I stand by what I said before, Doctor: you and Watson really do have a great deal in common." He looked the Doctor straight in the eye, a stubborn gleam in his, half-daring the Time Lord to argue.
The Doctor's eyes became suspiciously moist, glancing down as he expelled a forceful breath. "Thank you..." he murmured thickly, the lump in his throat audible.
Holmes silently clasped his colleague's shoulder, then chuckled at another sudden thought, shaking his head. "Although how on earth I am going to tell Watson about any of this...! He'd probably think I had gone mad, or been using the cocaine a little too freely. The supernatural isn't normally a field in which I would place any credence."
The Doctor smiled a little, in spite of himself. "'No ghosts need apply,' eh?"
Holmes gave a silent huff of laughter. "Precisely – although I suspect that I may be a shade more tolerant of Watson's love of scientific romances in future."
The Doctor's smile turned apologetic. "I'd let you take away something from the TARDIS, if I wasn't afraid of it messing around with the course of history."
The detective tensed, colouring, abruptly reminded of a matter he should have recalled a good deal sooner. "Well, actually, Doctor..." He drew a sheet of paper from his coat pocket and unfolded it. "I have been meaning to mention..."
The Time Lord's eyes went round, mouth falling open as he instantly recognised the document: a page torn from his copy of 'Sherlock Holmes for Dummies', a page that just so happened to contain a complete list of Watson's published cases. "Sherlock Holmes...!" he spluttered. "But... you can't do that! It's... You can't know your own future like that!"
Holmes met the Doctor's appalled look with one of mild pleading. "You would not begrudge me this, Doctor? It is only the titles – an ambiguous oracle, at best." He looked his colleague squarely in the eye. "I took great care not to look further into the volume. I shall burn this page once I have committed it to memory, I promise."
The Doctor groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Ohhh... Fine," he sighed at last in exasperation. "But if you break something, you're putting it back together yourself, understand?"
Holmes nodded solemnly, relieved. "I would not have expected anything else, Doctor; you have enough to worry about, as it is." He cocked his head, regarding the Doctor thoughtfully. "I would ask if we shall ever meet again – but somehow I doubt you'd tell me, even if you could..." His lips twitched. "And, oddly enough, I find I actually prefer not to know." There were sundry benefits to uncertainty, after all.
A very faint smile returned to the Doctor's face. "I'd like to see you again, someday, when you're back home with Watson."
"Then by all means, Doctor," Holmes responded warmly, "consider yourself invited." The Doctor turned reluctantly away, nodding in silent farewell. Holmes stepped back a little further from the TARDIS, echoing the nod. "Until we meet again, my friend – travel well." He grinned. "I would say 'Travel safely', but I wouldn't want to get the Eyebrow."
The Doctor flashed the ghost of a grin over his shoulder as he stepped back into the TARDIS. "I will – travel well, I mean. I always travel well."
The door closed, and a few seconds later, the lantern on the roof started pulsing with blue light, the wheezing groans that sounded during every flight filling the air. Holmes watched in rapt fascination as the TARDIS began to fade in quite a spectral fashion, rapidly becoming more and more insubstantial, the noise also gradually dying away – until finally, there was nothing in front of the detective but a square outline in the snow on the walkway, the only sound from the whistling mountain wind and the distant chanting of the monks at their prayers.
Holmes drew a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh. "Godspeed, Doctor," he murmured fondly to the empty air, then turned to descend the steps to the courtyard, refolding the pilfered sheet and carefully returning it to his pocket. He wouldn't need to study it for long before burning it – at least half of the cases on that list had already happened...