(London, 1894, 7.03 PM Approx)
Chief Inspector Byron Carver closed his eyes in repulsion as he lifted the blood-soaked tarpaulin from the body.
It was just as bad as he had feared. The victim wasn't dead so much as literally drained of all life. Their skin was such a pale deathly white that they looked almost like a bag of flour. Their eyes were bloodshot, and their mouth twisted in one last tormented gasp for help.
But most shockingly of all was the way his limbs were curved. They looked like they were made of dough, and had been stretched all over the place in some sort of sick game. Of course, Byron knew better than to believe that this was the work of just any man.
The Black Chariot had struck again.
"Reginald, get on the telegraph, would you? We need to contact Scotland Yard. We need backup." Byron called to his assistant, who was backed well away from the ghastly crime scene.
Reginald nodded slowly, trying to keep the bile in his throat from rising any further. "Yes... sir" he stammered, looking faint. Then he hurried off.
Byron tutted as he replaced the tarpaulin on the corpse. "Such a pointless waste of life," he muttered to himself, stroking his handlebar moustache. The victim was a young man, no older than twenty. Byron recognized him as a local lad. He may or may not have worked in the Bakery Henry's understudy. He would have to inform the kind old man of the passing. He hoped it wouldn't to have to be him who gave the news. Byron sighed. "I do hope we can put this wretched business behind us soon", he continued, but with no real hope in his heart that the day would come.
He'd been investigating the Chariot for over two months now. And this was the tenth victim.
Byron stood up, and after making his final respects to the victim, picked up his black leather briefcase and walked off into the fog of night-time London.
He watched the scared children press their grubby faces up against the window, watching him pass with fear in their eyes. Byron had become a bit of an infamous character, due to his shady dealings around the town whilst investigating the Chariot. He'd needed to be... persuasive in order to get access to the autopsies at Doctor Fincham's laboratory.
There were rumours circulating that he had made a deal with the Doctor to dig up and harvest four human hearts for his studies, in exchange for the autopsy. They weren't exactly true, but people were superstitious in dark times like these. Byron couldn't blame them really. But he'd even heard a few whispers that he himself was behind the Black Chariot's murders, and was self-employing himself to make a living. Poppycock!
But still, after all the stories Byron had heard about the "Crimson Horror" of Yorkshire, he understood why the people of Victorian England needed a foundation to cling on to, a finger of blame to point. He just wished it didn't have to be him.
Byron had been elsewhere at the time, but he'd heard the stories. Jack the Ripper. He'd heard them all. That he was a demon (maybe even the devil), or that he was a Royal Family member. By god, he'd even heard murmurs that Saucy Jack was none other than... a dinosaur! But he digressed.
Above all of the fanciful whispers however, Byron was most intrigued by talk of the Great Detective. Supposedly, he was a mysterious character, who lurked in the shadows, but always answered the call for help when it was given. His skills - supposedly - surpass that of the great Sherlock Holmes himself. He had single handedly solved the mystery of Jack the Ripper (or at least, stopped the killings from escalating further), and all the strange activity around the Great Intelligence Institute had likewise disappeared once he had gotten involved. Byron had heard talk of carnivorous snowmen, but, as usual, he had simply been assigned the boring job of beat patrols.
Until now.
Because when Scotland Yard didn't have anyone else to investigate, or when they were all too scared, or revolted, or uninterested to take on the case, the job always fell to Byron Carver. The joke of the force. The man who made the tea.
So, that was how he found himself two months ago in the district of Chiswick, investigating horrifically disfigured corpses.
The Black Chariot. That was what the kids called it. The children of Chiswick, who are the only ones to have (supposedly) seen it and lived to tell the tale. They say it looks like a horse, with terrible gnashing teeth that slobber and drip with blood-red saliva. A horse, that isn't quite a horse. It's there, but it's not. Byron didn't know what to make of this. He got the feeling that the kids may be making fun of him, but he also felt inclined to believe them.
Was the Chariot a ghost? It certainly would explain why its victims looked like nothing from this world.
Byron was no expert, and he admitted it. He needed backup. He needed a specialist.
He needed a Doctor.
(:-TFOTS-:)
(1 Week Later)
The horsedrawn carriage stopped outside of Paternoster Row on a cold Monday night. Stepping out in his finest fur coat and cane, Byron gestured to Reginald to follow him.
The young man looked reluctant, but stepped out of the carriage onto the stone-tiled floor.
The pair looked up at 13 Paternoster Row. The house certainly was IMPOSING, with its chimneys that stretched into the skyline, to say the least of its inhabitants.
Byron took the lead towards the front door. Begrudgingly, Reginald followed suit, saying dumb things as per usual to try and hide his nerves.
"They say he drinks blood, you know!" Reginald chimed in an annoyingly inquisitive tone, causing Byron to sigh.
"They say he's a lot of things, boy. But what he definitely IS, is the help that we require, so shut yer mouth and behave!"
Reginald looked down and obeyed.
Byron turned to the oak door and rattled the steel knocker four times. There was nothing for a while, then there was muffled voices from inside, followed by short and stubby footsteps towards the door.
At last there was the sound of a bolt being drawn back, and the great oak door swung open.
"Good evening sirs, how may I help you?" came a rough-edges voice from within the hallway.
"My name is Chief Inspector Byron Carver of Scotland Yard, here on behalf of the aforementioned Yard to discuss the-"
"Yes, yes, yes!" the voice rudely interrupted. "I've heard it all before. Try and make themselves out to be allies. Bah! First rule of combat on Sontah: Shoot first, think later! Prepare for your total annihilation!"
Byron stood back in shock, mouth a gasp. "I have never heard such rudeness. I hope this butler is duly fired! I have pre-arranged this meeting with-"
Suddenly a woman ran to the open doorway, and uttered a breathless apology.
"I'm so terribly sorry, sire" she cried. "Strax can get ahead of himself sometimes!" At that, she cuffed the little butler around the back of the head.
"Shoo! Go play with your grenades!" she yelled. 'Strax' cussed under his breath and toddled off.
"So sorry! Please come in. We're expecting you!" the woman shrilled, taking Byron's hat and scarf and hanging them on the nearby rail.
Byron looked back to see Reginald still hovering outside with a mixture of uncertainty and anxiety.
"Come on, Reginald! You're making us look like fools!"
His apprentice nodded sulkily and entered the hallway, closing the oak door behind him. The woman, who was wearing the standard uniform of a maid, came back over to the pair.
"This way, this way! Oh, you can call me Jenny by the way!"
Byron smiled. "Thank you, Jenny. Come along Reginald!"
So the two officers followed Jenny through the interior of her grand house. Gothic, yes - but there was something that Byron couldn't quite put his finger on. An aura of mystics. Like there was something quite unworldly about the entire place. It didn't frighten Byron. He felt very comfortable there.
Eventually they reached a large door, which Byron supposed led to the main room of the house. Jenny turned to them and raised her hand, gesturing them to wait.
"I'll just be one minute. Stay here please."
Then she popped through the door, closing it sharply behind her. There was the sound of talking from behind the door. As Byron stood waiting outside, he noticed Reginald was watching the strange butler 'Strax', as he made his way from what appeared to be the kitchen, carrying a jar of sherbet lemon fancies away with him like a prize catch. Byron felt inclined to say something. This 'Strax' was the most unorthodox butler he had ever seen. He certainly wouldn't want him under his employ.
But he didn't say anything, and moments later Jenny opened the door and gestured them inside. "The Great Detective will see you now."
Byron eagerly stepped into the room. The first thing he noticed was the intense temperature. It couldn't be coming from the fireplace, because the tiny sparks of embers from those coals were so minuscule they could barely be felt up close. No - there was definitely something strange about the room. It was littered with tall green plants and a water fountain beset the centre. A large black chair was sat facing the wall.
Byron raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure he's here, miss?" he asked Jenny. Jenny nodded, and gestured to the chair.
"They won't talk to you until you pique their interest. Make it worth their while. Choose your words carefully."
Byron nodded in understanding, but it was all a façade, for he hadn't a clue what was going on here. He approached slowly, and upon noticing an ivory steel chair next to the fountain, took a seat in it. He cleared his throat and began.
"Greetings. My name is-"
Jenny coughed loudly to get his attention. "Actually, I literally meant choose your word carefully. Like, you only get one."
Byron opened his mouth to protest. "One? One word? How can I possibly tell the story in one word?"
Jenny shrugged. "It's not impossible. One did it. A woman, in fact. We're not exactly by-the-books detectives, Mr Carver. We only take jobs that take our fancy. So, I'll repeat. Choose your word carefully."
Byron blinked and returned his attention to the back of the chair, which it was clear to him now did have a person sitting in it. He racked his thoughts. One word. What did he need? What was the most important aspect of this case?
He finally decided on his word, and spoke it loud and clear. "Aliens" he said, barely believing the irrational thought he had just shared with them. But it seemed to work, and there was a "Hmm" sound from the chair.
Jenny appeared behind Byron, making him jump. "What do you think?"
The chair turned sharply all-of-a-sudden. Byron got a brief view of its occupant, but they were wearing a black veil. In fact, they were all in black. It was like being at a funeral.
The Great Detective was nodding, hand on invisible chin. Then she put a hand on her veil and lifted it clean off.
And suddenly it was very clear to Byron why she wore it.
Her face was green. And scaly. Her eyes were that of a hungry predator. A snake, to be precise, looking at Byron like he was the mouse for its lunch.
Byron was aware that his mouth was hanging open.
The Great Detective chuckled. "So, Mr. Carver. Are you surprised because you've found me to be a million-year old lesbian lizard from the dawn of time?"
Byron shook his head. Honestly, it was the least strange thing to have happened to him in a long time. "No. I'm surprised because I've found you to be a woman!"
(:-TFOTS:-)
Breakfast in the TARDIS kitchen was becoming more crowded by the day. Now it was no longer Clara, The Doctor and Craig - but also Midshipman Frame, and Jack Harkness.
The Doctor hoped they had enough bacon.
He was finding it quite awkward to be around Clara at the moment. Sure, he'd meant every word to her, but it was like now she expected a relationship from him almost instantly. He kept noticing her looking at him expectantly and longingly. He couldn't deny that he was seriously attracted to her. And he had really enjoyed that kiss with her the previous night.
It wasn't that he didn't want to be with her. He did, more than anything. And he didn't want her to think otherwise. But it was complicated. It always would have been. He was a Time Lord, and she was a human. He would outlive her. He'd have to watch the woman he loves die. And then he'd be alone again. He remembered Emperor Rassilon's words to him when he was being initiated.
"You must always remember. Time Lords are the Sentinels of Time. We are timeless, and so we do not exist within the universe. We must not fall in love, except among ourselves. Love is the end for a Time Lord."
Even though he was the Last of the Time Lords, the Doctor knew he had to uphold these traditions. Time Lord's have a lot of enemies. He'd always be putting Clara at risk. And he couldn't bear that.
So, despite his feelings for Clara, he couldn't bring himself to act on them. It was heartbreaking, but The Doctor had lived long enough to know that having these feelings was all that mattered.
He had a lot of problems to deal with right now. But the possibility of romance was the most terrifying.
Maybe one day.
Maybe one day he would stop running.
"It's been a hell of a long time since I had grub this good!" Jack exclaimed, bringing the Doctor out of his thoughts and back to the present. "Dalek ships don't exactly have luxury menus."
Frame nodded to acknowledge his agreement. He had been pretty quiet ever since his rescue. His experiences were having a big effect on him, and the Doctor could see it. He had considered trying to explain to Frame that he was the Doctor, but decided the brain-ache of regeneration was the last thing the Midshipman needed right now.
"Well, we have Clara to thank today! Apparently there was an accident involving the TARDIS stove and a spark plug - all completely unintentional of course! - so we couldn't have it cook our breakfast this morning. Clara kindly volunteered to take its place. Best soufflé maker on Earth, and doesn't do bad bacon EITHER!"
The Doctor flashed Clara a wink, and all the patrons at the table thanked her in turn. She blushed deeply and shrugged all of their praise off.
"Honestly, Doctor! Really guys, it was nothing. Anyone can flip bacon in a frying pan!"
The Doctor raised his hand and piped up again. "But no'one does it quite like you. Utterly unique. Best I've had since Raccidon 5."
Craig and Jack exchanged a sly look. Nothing got past them.
Even though the Doctor was a stranger to subtlety.
"So," the Doctor began through an enthusiastic mouthful of bacon. "Shall I drop you and the good Midshipman off at the Trans-galaxian Station?"
Frame looked up. "Actually, it's Captain now."
The Doctor looked surprised and smiled. "That's great!"
"Well, it would have been if my first time out hadn't been massacred by Daleks. They'll take away everything for this..."
Jack laid a reassuring hand on Frame's shoulder. "I won't let that happen, okay. Okay?"
Frame nodded.
The Doctor decided now was the moment to speak his mind. He'd been pondering it, but was worried that because of what they'd just been through it would be a flat-out refusal.
He would understand if he did refuse. But he was secretly hoping he wouldn't.
"Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to join me Jack," he said, openly displaying his eagerness. "Just like old times."
Jack looked conflicted. He put his fork down and rested his hands in front of him on the table.
"Doctor," he started.
"Yes"
"It's not that I don't want to. Oh god, I want to. I love it here, and always will-"
"Then what is it then?" the Doctor stammered. He looked spurned.
"I've been having serious thoughts about starting a family. A real family. With Alonso."
The Doctor was failing to see the picture. "Well, he can come too! I don't mind at all! The Two Captains! We'll be illegal in over one million galaxies!"
Jack smiled wistfully. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be, please. I don't think Alonso wants to be anywhere near danger for the rest of his life. And I want him to be happy. So what he wants, I want."
The look on the Time Lords tore Jack up. Disappointment. Straight-up depression.
"Oh. That's fine. More than fine! I'll drop you off after breakfast."
And with that he returned to his food, head down so as to avoid looking at Jack.
"You know I want to, Doctor. Thank you for understanding."
The Doctor nodded. He had Craig, Clara and K9, right? And Sexy. He wasn't alone! Still... he and Jack went way back. This was the first time the Time Agent had ever openly refused to go with him.
He didn't like to see them age. He didn't like to see the damage.
He especially didn't like endings.
He was picking at the scraps of toast with his fork now, knocking them around the plate. He was aware that everyone at the table was staring with disbelief at his child-like demeanour.
He just didn't care.
Finishing his mouthful, the Doctor raised his napkin to his lips, then stumbled out of the room.
Clara looked round at the other faces at the table. They were all looking back at her expectantly.
She sighed loudly. "Fine. I'LL go and see if he's okay then."
She stood up, tucked her chair in, and followed in the Doctor's footsteps.
(:-TFOTS-:)
Suffice to say, Reginald did not take the news about the Great Detective as well as Byron had.
In fact, he'd been out in a cold faint for far longer now than any man or woman Byron had ever seen.
The maid called Jenny was tending to him, putting ice on his forehead and a pillow beneath it. The butler Strax was watching with curiously morbid fascination.
"Humans! They have some of the weakest spirits in a mammal I have yet seen! Have they not considered introducing a carbon-based nervous system? We Sontarans have long since lost the ability to fall unconscious due to shock! They have evidently not strategised the possibility-"
"Shush, Strax," the Great Detective (Who had since introduced herself as Madame Vastra) called to her butler. "You're giving me a headache, and that's quite the accomplishment considering I am cold-blooded!"
Strax was silent. Byron had since noticed the odd shape of his head. Whatever he was dealing with here was possibly as crazy as the Black Chariot itself.
Vastra turned her attention to Byron once more. "So, there have been ten victims now, yes?"
Byron nodded, unusually quiet in the circumstances.
There was a hissing sound. It took a moment for Byron to realize it had come from Vastra herself.
"Then we are dealing with a serial attacker. Possibly a savage, feeding on the lifeforce of living things to sustain it's hunger. If it has been here for a long time, then it's probably an outcast from it's own society."
Jenny took a break from cooling Reginald's brow. "So we've ruled out a human killer, then?"
Vastra held out the grainy photographs that Byron had given her to examine. Jenny took them, and upon looking them over, went very wide-eyed.
"No HUMAN could have done this. These victims have been savaged. This is the work of a highly dangerous organism; loose here in London."
Strax looked very interested all of a sudden. "Ah! At last, an opponent worthy of the glory of Sontah. Fear not, for I will thoroughly annihilate this creature in the name of the Sontaran Empire!"
Vastra shot him a murderous look.
Byron spoke up on his thoughts. "Sontaran Empire? Never heard of it."
Jenny and Vastra both looked at him with undisguised amusement. "Strax... Isn't exactly a local..." Jenny confirmed.
Byron rubbed his chin thoughtfully - his means of trying to prove to himself that he was still in control of the situation.
"Neither are you, Miss Vastra. I may be unwise to this situation, but I am not an unintelligent man. You are all... outsiders to this land, aren't you?"
Vastra looked slightly offended. "Earth is my home, always has been, always will be." She looked around, suddenly appearing a little lonely. "Even if it's not... quite how it was..."
She shook her head to dismiss whatever thoughts she was having.
"I think it's time we go see this for ourselves, don't you Jenny?" she called to her maid.
Jenny grinned fiercely. "I do, yes ma'am!"
Madame Vastra smiled as she produced a long velveted rod. Only when she removed it did it become apparent that it was only a case to conceal a much more interesting artifact.
Or to be more precise, weapon. It was a genuine article Samurai katana!
Byron could hardly believe the insane ride he was taking, but he was never one to resist the pull of the tides.
Strax had produced a similarly dangerous weapon, seemingly from nowhere. His looked like a much more advanced version of the standard-issue pistols that officers of the Metropolitan carried on their beats patrols.
"Will you're companion be alright, Mr Carver?" Vastra asked in a disarmingly sweet voice.
Byron blinked, remembering about Reginald for the first time since he had entered the peculiar house.
"Yes. Yes, I should think so. He's a strong lad, made of tough stuff."
"Yes... yes I can see that," Vastra replied with a smirk as she observed the unconscious Reginald. "Very well. Lead on, Mr Carver. Seems we have an alien ghost to catch!"
(:-TFOTS-:)
The Doctor was fiddling with levers feverishly when Clara entered the control room. He barely noticed her, which irritated Clara a bit.
Oh, how she loved the Doctor. But he could be so childish sometimes! Perhaps even worse than Artie when Clara refused to give him more than one boiled sweet in one day.
So after calling him several times to no avail, Clara was forced to punch him in the shoulder. A little harder than she had intended.
The Doctor whipped round, face overcast with annoyance. "Ow! That really hurt!"
"Then stop being such a baby!" Clara retorted.
"This is MY TARDIS! I can do what I want!" he pouted. Clara folded her arms and looked stern.
"Spoken like a true adult."
As her words sank in, the Doctor realized the elements of truth in them. He looked very ashamed all-of-a-sudden. He fell back into the make-out sofa (as Clara now joyously called it) and took a long breath.
"Sorry."
"That's okay."
"Thank you though - really. Sometimes I need someone to remind me that I'm not a god. To stop me when I go too far. Like on the Dalek ship. You'll always have a place here. You're completely unique, and the best friend I could ask for. So, thank you."
Clara smiled and sat down next to her Time Lord, and rested her hand on his knee. "I can be more than a friend, you know," she whispered softly to his ear with an audible hint of seduction.
The Doctor turned his head to her. At this point he just wanted to SCREAM: Yes! He wanted to embrace Clara, and tell her just how he felt.
But he was waging an internal battle in his mind. His brain was screaming 'no', but his hearts weren't listening. He just wasn't able to come to a conclusion either way, and just sat there looking foolish.
"Come on Doctor!" he thought to himself. "She's perfect. She's beautiful, funny, clever Clara. Everything you need! You don't need to punish yourself anymore."
He opened his mouth wide like a python in some kind of attempt to reply, but the words never came as all of a sudden the TARDIS was shuddering; the great machine rumbling and roaring as it soared out of control through the universe.
"Again?" Clara yelled over the noise.
As the shaking intensified Clara was almost thrown from her seat, but was relieved when the Doctor grabbed her arm and held her in place.
"Gotcha!" he cried. And he certainly had, in every possible way Clara could imagine.
Jack, Craig and Frame had run in by now, and were clinging to the railing for their lives.
"I remember this!" Jack shouted, laughing at the nostalgia.
Finally the great rumbling stopped and the TARDIS was still. They had landed somewhere. SomeWHEN.
Clara loved this part. Every self-respecting companion of the Doctor did. Even Jack couldn't disguise his excitement at the thought of what might lie beyond those familiar blue doors.
There was, after all, only one way to find out.
(:-TFOTS-:)
"Right here."
Bailworth Avenue was one of the murkiest and gloomiest places in all of London. The fog shrouded the entire area, but what could be seen wasn't exactly scenic. Sewage was overflowing from the gutter. Rats scarpered in all directions as Byron and the Paternoster Crew arrived.
Without warning Vastra suddenly ran at one of the slower rats with all the blinding speed of a hunter. The vermin stood no chance. It was devoured in mere seconds by the Silurian and her long, forked tongue.
Vastra turned back to her companions, and smiled sheepishly. "My apologies. How un-ladylike of me to think about my stomach at a time like this!" she hollered, winking at Jenny, who shook her head in a mix of disbelief and amusement.
Byron felt physically revolted, but he managed to keep down the retch building in his throat.
"You were saying, Inspector?" Vastra said sweetly to her associate, who was looking unceremoniously out-of-his-comfort-zone.
But Byron soldiered on nonetheless. "Right here, in this avenue. This is where all of our eyewitness accounts point to. The Black Chariot."
Vastra unslung her travelling bag from her shoulders and pulled out one of the most peculiar devices Byron had (or ever would) see. It was somewhat reminiscent of a metal detector, but complete with a ridiculous-looking trumpet head on the end.
"What is that machine?" Byron asked, eyes wide.
"I doubt you would understand it, Mr Carver" Vastra said smugly.
"Try me."
"This is a Transducing Un-guided Battery Analyser," Vastra replied, without a pause between words. "We like to call it a T.U.B.A. don't we Jenny?"
"We certainly do, Miss!"
Byron closed his eyes in a complacent frown. He was feeling like the butt of a ridiculous joke. "Yes, but what does it do?"
Vastra smiled at the Inspector as she raised the T.U.B.A in the air and began to sweep the area around her, pointing it in all directions. "It Transduces," she spoke slowly, as if to mock Byron's limited understanding.
The T.U.B.A began to make a peculiar electronic bleeping sound as it came online and analysed the surroundings.
Vastra looked curiously at the readings it was displaying. "That's odd. I'm reading both Beta and Gamma signatures in short space. I'll try backing up."
As she did so, Byron persisted to inquire to Jenny. "What are you... looking for exactly?"
Jenny sighed deeply. "We're looking for energy signatures to identify possible causes of the activity of this 'Black Chariot', sir". Notably the dryness of her words was the most apparent when she said 'Sir'. Either her politeness was slipping, or she just didn't care.
"Aha! Jenny, take a look at this!" Vastra called to her companion hurriedly.
"Has the T.U.B.A found anything?"
"It sure has! Take a look at this!"
Jenny read from the instruments readouts, and looked instantly worried. "It's not..."
Vastra nodded fiercely. "It is! Palisade Energy! We're dealing with very bad things here, Jenny."
"Will we be requiring explosive materials?" Strax questioned, unmistakably excited at the hope of using his favourite tools.
"No. At least, not yet," Vastra replied, striking the look of anticipation from the Sontaran's face.
"If we are in fact dealing with a killer with access to Palisade Energy, then we must evacuate this entire area immediately!"
Byron coughed into his gloved hand, raising the Detective's attention.
"Excuse me? Palisade what? What the devil is going on?"
But just then it became inherently apparent that the mysterious energy was the least of Byron's ponderings. For a distinctly unworldly roaring sound indicated the impending arrival of a certain associate of the Paternoster's.
Right before his eyes a St. John's Ambulance Police Telephone Box was materialising. Byron stepped back in alarm as the strange box whipped up the winds and blew the ruffs of his coat.
Finally with a rumble the TARDIS had landed on Bailworth Avenue.
Vastra looked skyward. "What does he want, I wonder?"
Byron was confused as to who 'he' was - that was until 'he' made himself known, popping his head from the box's blue doors.
"Victorian London! Again?" he cried.
Then the impossible man he stepped out from the box, followed by a very pretty but equally unusual young woman. Then by a tall man in a black coat and a round man with messy hair. The four of them then noticed Vastra, Jenny and Strax.
"Oh, it's the Paternoster Gang! Hello again!" he yelled joyously, running up to Vastra and taking her hand in an enthusiastic shake. "Vastra! How are things? How's the wife?"
Jenny piped up with a wave. "Over here Doctor!"
The 'Doctor' man turned his head to her and smiled. Then he noticed Strax behind her, and sprinted over to the little butler, taking his head and locking it within his arm in a friendly but intentionally rough noogie.
"Strax! How are you doing you psychotic potato head?" he chimed cheerfully. The little butler didn't seem to reciprocate the good nature of the greeting, however.
"Sir! You're making me look weak in front of the humans!" he protested as the man drilled into his round head mercilessly.
But the Doctor didn't seem to care. He was just so overjoyed to see his friends again.
"And what do we owe this pleasure?" Vastra cooed.
"What, do you think I planned this? Nah! But whilst I'm here let me introduce you! This is Captain Jack Harkness, the best time agent this side of Gallifrey! Oh, and this is Craig Owens. He works for a call centre, but don't judge! He's really quite lovely!"
"Oy!" the round man shouted.
"And you know Clara."
"Hi!" the brunette woman called, smiling and giving a quick wave of her hand.
The Paternoster Trio exchanged looks.
"But no. We're not here for any particular reason. ...Although! Is that Palisade Energy I detect?" he continued, reaching into his dapper black suit and producing a long metallic stick that he began to wave about like the Ripper with a knife.
Now the jovial attitude of the mysterious 'Doctor' had dissipated completely, to be replaced by a look of concentrated concern.
"Doesn't miss a trick, this one," Vastra grumbled. "Yes, Doctor. We found the Palisade Energy ourselves".
"Ah, but do you know what it means?" The Doctor countered. No'one answered, because they couldn't.
So The Doctor elaborated for them, hands outstretched to mime his words.
"Okay. Palisade Energy is a very particular form of energy, used only in Dark Space. It has symbiotic characteristics, meaning it attaches itself and/or replicates itself to it's hosts to perform a duty."
The Doctor still hadn't addressed Byron. Either because he didn't want to, or more likely because he hadn't yet noticed him.
Byron tried to speak up and regain his control of his own mind, but the Doctor cut him off as he began.
"If there is Palisade Energy here in Victorian London, it means only one thing. So is a crack."
Vastra raised her eyebrows. Or whatever counted for her as eyebrows. "You mean the space/time rifts? The Pandorican Cracks? Doctor, they were closed!"
"And now they're open again. An old battle wound giving the universe more pain. We've got to find it. If I could just triangulate the-"
"Sorry, but who the hell are you? What is going on here?" Byron managed to muster. The Doctor looked at him for the first time.
"Who the hell are YOU?" he asked.
"Byron Carver, Chief Inspector at Scotland Yard. Now, your turn."
"I'm the Doctor."
"Doctor Who?"
A smile crept to the Doctor's lips. "Exactly," he whispered. "I'm starting to like you, Byron."
He then turned to his strange rod which had begun to glow bright green and buzz loudly.
"Now what is that?" Byron asked incredulously. His mind felt like it would blow at any second.
"Sonic Screwdriver."
"Oh now you lot are just taking the-"
Then the air was perpetuated by some of the most horrific screeching Byron had ever heard. It was the ducks at Old Man Robert's house. But it signalled something much worse.
There were ripples in the air and a sense akin to falling through liquid slowly.
"Doctor? What is that?" Clara cried, frowning.
"Something's coming," The Doctor replied. "Everyone back away from the middle of the road."
Unsure of what was going on, but trusting of the Doctor, they did so. Byron, however stayed put, staring into the distance to try and identify the cause of the occurences.
"Byron, what are you doing, come on!" The Doctor yelled.
"I've waited six months for this! I won't let this case stay unsolved for one more minute!"
"Don't be an idiot!" Vastra cried.
There was the distant sound of metal clanking upon stone. Galloping. A horse. It was getting louder and somewhat closer by the second.
Still in Vastra's hands the T.U.B.A was going haywire, with Palisade Energy coming in from all directions.
"For god's sake!" The Doctor pleaded.
Byron ignored them all. He was so close now, to solving everything. He would be a joke no longer.
The hooves were so loud now it was deafening. A few black ripples were swirling at the end of the street.
"He'll die if he stays there!" The Doctor yelled to his companions. "What the hell is he doing?"
"Well stuff this!" Clara exclaimed, suddenly running towards the detective at full speed.
"Clara, no!" the Doctor screamed, utterly terrified.
Then there was a horribly loud whiney and a huge black horse and carriage burst from the black swirlings. It was a horrendous image. The horse was demonic, eyes red and teeth grinding and frothing with saliva. There was no mistaking it for a living creature. It was as close to death as any of them had ever seen.
The Black Chariot.
Clara reached Byron and pushed him away with all of her strength. Then she turned just in time to see the approaching chariot before it tore right through her, zapping her with a full blast of Palisade Energy.
Then it had passed through her, and she fell backwards to the ground without a whisper, skin as ghostly white as the ten others before her.
The scream caught in the Doctor's throat. The world around him was dizzying. He fell to his knees, trying to use his mouth to scream her name, to no avail.
Hot tears poured from the his eyes. It was all his fault. He'd killed her again.
Clara Oswin Oswald. The best soufflé maker on Earth. The most beautiful woman in all of the universe.
And the woman he loved unconditionally. He'd never told her that either. Now, he never would.
Clara Oswin Oswald. The eleventh victim of the Black Chariot.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Next Chapter: The Second Funeral of Clara Oswald - 1/6/13 (Don't worry, I'm not like Moffat. I'm much worse.)
Thanks again to everyone who is following the story. At the time of writing the story was 80 followers, which is simply incredible. I never expected this, and thus I hope I can keep every last one of you satiated. If not, I have failed.
So if you enjoyed or hated this chapter, please leave a review.
In the run-up to the anniversary (so long boohoo!) I will keep posting to this story. it is a long one, and there are many story arcs to be followed. (Some are resolved quicker than others). I want to be as interactive with you lovely fans as I can, so if you want to request anything in terms of story, characters and monsters I'll see what I can do for you. I'm here to entertain you after all. :)
Ciao for now amigos!
ASouffleToServeTwo