Lost in Dreams of Detectives - Chapter 2
Disclaimer2: All references to actual people is purely for fun. I have never met these famous people. It's a story. Fictional. I have no idea how they would really act.
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"I'm going to run out of episodes." Sara muttered as she worked on 'The Reichenbach Fall', glancing up at Nova, who chuckled from her laptop, going over their notes for 'Father's Day'. While the original premises, to Sara, were seen on television, the ability to embellish them as stories allowed for character introspection and the ability to fill in quite a few plot holes that seemed to linger. They often exchanged their rough drafts for the other to act as editor, and it was Nova who argued that the emotional fall out when John realized Sherlock had been behind the experimentation was subdued.
"And the sugar needs to be more suspect," Nova explained. "There is very little introduction to it. It just happens, then is pushed to the side. It needs to be a little more pronounced when each character is adding sugar, to ingesting it, up to the hallucinations. Either that, or take it out entirely."
"You're right," Sara sighed. "But in the show, it was kind of vague, now that I think of it. I'll adjust it and have it all processed and delivered from one localized facility. That way, they can think the supply, or one of the additives, is contaminated there on a continual basis. Maybe mislead the readers by having an old record of lead in the water supply that wasn't made public. Sugar has to be bleached by sulfur dioxide or treated with carbonation. It always gets dissolved in water." She smiled deviously. "More John Grisham that way, right?"
"Who's John Grisham?" Nova asked blankly. "And how about fluorine in the water supply instead? I keep seeing articles for it on Facebook lately." Their publisher kept harping on keeping things current and not getting too far afield, since their genre was somewhere between urban mystery and modern-era science fiction.
"He's a lawyer who wrote books. One was about a town with contaminated water… Well…" Sara shrugged. "Never mind."
And that was how their stories went. Missing their families but filling the void by continuing their writing, with the added bonus of paying their bills. A few things happened to cause them to realize that a change of dimension wasn't the only thing that simply occurred. Nova was cooking a cheese soufflé, while Sara teasingly called her Soufflé Girl after Clara. Since Nova's dreams weren't in chronological order, if she was lacking in some detail, she would ask Sara who would fill in the blank for what was missing. Although Clara's inception and the fact that she was another ontological paradox did make sense, given what her dreams had detailed.
"So, the Time Lord Victorious is still the Doctor," Nova assessed as she checked the oven temperature. "He just decides momentarily to abandon the rules of time because he's tired of losing people. Becomes emotionally suppressed. He's not the Scary Doctor." She still didn't even like thinking about the real name of that particular incarnation of her Doctor.
"Nova," Sara sighed. "You can say it here. We've kept checking. The Doctor nor Sherlock exist here. If they did, wouldn't they be on us for copyright infringement?"
"That might be the least of our concerns," Nova let out a giggle. "If how you describe Sherlock's brother is accurate." She admitted the name rang a vague bell when Sara first mentioned him, but that was as much as she could say. She'd never heard of him from a fictional standpoint but for some reason, just like how the Scary Doctor terrified her, so did this Mycroft that Sara described.
She shuddered, only to let out a stifled shriek when the heating pad had slipped from her palm and she accidentally touched the surface of the soufflé pan. The pain of the burn was searing, filling her mind with agony. Immediately Sara was beside her, grabbing her arm, turning the faucet on cold to douse her palm in the water. It was already reddened and beginning to blister. She could hear Nova's whimpers of pain as Sara quickly turned off the stove, not wishing to start a fire.
"I'll call our doctor," Sara said, overwhelmed with empathy with what her friend was going through. She grabbed the cordless and was dialing numbers, hardly paying attention and not even noticing that Nova had stopped speaking to watch the glow radiate from Sara and over to Nova. Nova's eyes widened when in moment her burn was gone, the skin healed like it had never been. Sara was on the phone, just now making contact to the nurse.
"I need a house call. My friend—" Sara was startled when the phone was pulled away from her and disconnected. "Nova, what are you doing?" She was feeling awfully tired suddenly. Maybe it was the adrenaline in reacting to her injury? "We need…"
"No, we don't," Nova said carefully, her stomach tightening with anxiety as she looked at Sara, who was now looking at Nova's hand.
"But how did you…your hand?" Sara exclaimed. "The burn is gone. Did you…?'
"No. It was you," Nova told her. "But I think… I think we need to be careful about doctors in the future." She shook her head, thinking of her dreams. How she had seen her blood before and it was a shade darker than the humans here, almost a reddish-orange. (Not by much, but enough to notice if someone particularly observant bothered to pay attention.) That the few times she argued when it came to their contracts or even something simple as the postmaster insisting he needed Sara's signature on a delivery and couldn't take hers since it wasn't official. She told herself she had been compelling but it seemed too quick. The fact that some of them changed their mind or in turn, she could almost hear their own thoughts. Are we both losing grasp of our sanity? Nova knew that they certainly had more than enough reason to lose a few screws, considering what they had been through. However, this was another sign—one of many—that they needed to be extremely careful.
Two days later, their agent told them that the BBC wanted to negotiate terms for turning their two book sagas into television shows. "You'll maintain ownership of the two series and will work with the script writers to adapt them to screenplays," she paused. "But it'll be a big change, I'm afraid."
"How do you mean?" Sara asked in trepidation.
"It will require you both moving and taking up residency in London," their agent said. She looked genuinely forlorn. They had developed a relationship in the last five years and now…but this was the way of business. The woman sighed, shaking her head.
"London?" Nova swallowed. "But with the terrorist attacks they've been having, it doesn't seem very safe." She last read about a chemical attack that had been released into the air supply, which could have done some real damage if the military hadn't acted in time. Before that, the United States President had died on U.K. soil by the same group of extremists. She knew she couldn't live her life in fear but London somehow seemed to be the target of a lot of militia involvement.
"It's not as frequent as all that," the agent assured them gently. "You don't have to live in the City. Just nearby where you have access to the BBC studio. Your books are both primarily set in London and the surrounding areas. An American production company would be more limited in getting permission to use British soil. They might have changed it altogether to have it set in America and I think it wouldn't have the same appeal to your audience."
Sara nodded slowly. If they changed to make the stories American, it would be a form of selling out to the highest bidder and compromising on quality. Everything they had written wouldn't have the same charm or texture that they would being in their original setting. They had both done hours upon hours of research into the U.K. region, spelling, word choice, grammar, customs, accents, etc. to make the stories as 'real' as possible, even though they were written by American authors. If they actually made the stories American, it would negate all their hard work. Giving each of them a sick feeling.
She glanced at Nova and frowned. "We can't have the Doctor or Sherlock be American," she said wincing, thinking of some of the tremendously bad time travel movies in her universe and not wishing to see a repeat performance. She did not want to be responsible for another Hot Tub Time Machine. Or something even worse!
"No," Nova agreed. She didn't want to compromise on quality either. "We can't." She pressed her lips together. Finally, they both decided to make the trip to London to make the new contract with the BBC.
It would be a week filled with packing as their departure date came ever nearer. When the taxi arrived to take them to the airport, Sara took a deep breath and tried for a joke, "You think we can get them to let us have a say in casting like J.K. Rowling?" At least, they both had that series in common. One good thing; something they could both relate to and reference.
"We can always ask," Nova replied easily.
And ask they did.
In between unpacking into their new apartment in Little Whinging, Surrey—which both girls found hilarious—they went to the nearby studio to 'negotiate'. The new Sherlock series, named as such, had been assigned the writer Steven Moffat to work with Sara in developing screenplays. The Doctor series had been assigned Russell T. Davies.
Nova wasn't sure, but she thought she could start hating Davies. He was extremely pushy about how he thought things should go. She thought he did it because of her apparent age, gender, or height, and thought he could boss her around using his presence in an attempt to intimidate her into agreeing with whatever he wanted. When that failed so utterly, he began to resort to political speech and she grew to hate the phrase 'let's put a pin in that'. Then came bribery. Next double-talk. After two days of this, she'd had more than enough (counting it as a proof for her future canonization as a saint) and went above his head. She told the executive whosie-whatsit that either Davies was reassigned, checked his attitude, or she would pull out completely.
She was quickly given wholesale veto power. She arranged for Sara to get the same for Sherlock.
Thus, the two girls were able to get in on the casting choices. Just in time too. Word had gone out two weeks prior about a call. The morning of, Nova had thought it would be a good idea to bring their respective corkboards down to the casting office. Mainly for reference as each girl was looking for specific characteristics.
Sara looking for a Sherlock, John, Lestrade, Molly, and Mycroft for her characters. Nova looking for a Doctor, Rose, Jack, Jackie, and Mickey. If either was being honest with themselves, they really wanted the main characters done: the Doctor and Sherlock. Both writers were skeptical that such powerful men could be adequately portrayed by mere actors.
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"Think we'll find a good one today?" Davies asked carefully. Ever since the SNAFU, he was very cautious with his words and tone. (Nova hoped he finally calmed down and relaxed enough to treat her more as a colleague than a servant or a virus. She had occasional optimistic tendencies.)
"Who knows?" Sara sighed.
"Two days with no good candidates. I almost thought one was adequate…" Nova started dispassionately, letting her words trail off with a sigh.
"…but adequate isn't good enough. Yeah, I've got the same problem with finding a Sherlock," Sara finished the thought. "We may have to look outside the country." She paused and looked over at the sheaf of papers. "What's today for you?"
Nova grimaced, "First half of the morning is more Doctors. Then the first crop of Rose readings." She was trying really hard to be optimistic that the next actor/ess would give a good reading—they both were—but she was dripping hope after every hour.
"Good luck," Sara offered, trying to be encouraging.
"You too," Nova took her coffee cup and went off to a separate room for her castings, Sara in the room next to hers for the Sherlock readings.
By the time the Rose-hopefuls came in, Nova was almost convinced that finding a good Doctor was next to impossible. There were many great actors, but all of them seemed to lack some detail that was essential to the Doctor's character, though specific lacking-details varied with each hopeful. None of them had all the pieces. She almost wanted to bang her head against a wall, thinking that may be preferable to listening to one more person screw up her childhood dream-friend.
As a side-thought she peered over at Davies, "So what happens if we can't find an actor for a role?"
Russell shrugged, "We can do as you suggested and look outside the country. Hollywood has many actors. There have been several European actors and actresses make it big lately as well. We can Skype in auditions."
Nova sighed in relief, "Thanks, I feel better. I hadn't thought of Skype."
He gave her a half grin, "Glad I could help. What are we looking for in Rose?"
"Fear in facial expressions and body language, but not in tonality or actions. Very gung-ho attitude. Caring. Adventurous. Sexy, but in a girl-next-door way. Modest."
He nodded in response, jotting her answer down for reference then adding bits of his own. He was the expert after all. Then called in the first eager actress.
About three hours after they began the Rose readings, Nova had gotten so tired of listening to the same inadequacy all over again (only with females this time) that she had gone over in front of her corkboard, laptop in hand, taking turns between re-editting the screenplay for Davies to look over later, and writing the next book in the set. She still had half an ear out in case Russell called her over, but was mostly focused on her task. Personally, she thought that the man was probably enjoying not having her hover over him.
As she was making another note on an index card of a missed detail on the Doctor's childhood and placing it in its correct spot on the corkboard—though she made a little mark on it to check in with Sara on making absolutely sure it was in the right spot later—her mind missed the telltale flash of a camera because Nova heard a female voice directly behind her. "That's impressive." The suddenness and unexpectedness of the comment almost made the redhead jump out of her skin. The woman, an older brunette, was immediately contrite. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to frighten you."
Nova held her chest, trying to get her pulse rate down to a reasonable level as she gave the woman a sardonic smile. "It's alright. You didn't do it on purpose. I get lost in my own world a lot with this," she waved at her nest.
"What are you doing?" the woman asked curiously. She was perhaps in her forties or fifties, with brown hair and eyes. Nova had a small nagging feeling in the back of her mind that she should recognize her, but dismissed it. How could she know the other? She'd never been to London before. Maybe they had passed each other in a coffee shop or something recently.
Nova gestured to the middle of the corkboard where a long, black Sharpie segmented, inch wide strip of plain masking tape lay. "This is the Doctor's timeline. From when I started writing with 'Rose' up until many years later." She gestured off to the right side of the board. "These markings," she pointed to specific emphasized marks on the tape, "are when the Doctor regenerates. We'll need different actors then. I thought it would be useful for Davies to see."
The other woman nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the board. "What about these bits?" she pointed to blue post-it notes that were scattered throughout the pieces. It was obvious that the majority of notes, on white index cards, were of the stories at that particular time. But there were other colored post-it notes as well.
Nova smiled at the other's interest. Not many (other than Sara) ever looked at her board, much less took enough interest to have questions about it. "Those are notes from the Doctor's past that influence his actions or other events. Like this one where he remembers his granddaughter Susan," she pointed to one in particular. "The orange ones are for TARDIS details," she gestured to the very few notes before indicating the next set, "and the green are for companion details. Like this one on Sarah Jane Smith." Nova pointed out the little post-it. "She won't turn up but once or twice in the television series, but it's important when she does."
"How so?"
Nova missed the wary tone in the voice, only really registering the curiosity. "Well, a different perspective on what happens to companions after they stop travelling with the Doctor is important. Rose meets her a couple times and they chat about such things."
"I see," the woman looked very thoughtful, serious.
Nova finally saw that, turning to peer at the woman in concern. "Are you alright?"
"Hmm? Oh yes. Just thinking."
"If you came to read for the part of Jackie, I think that's not until tomorrow," Nova said kindly. "Though I do appreciate you taking an interest. Most don't care about my board."
"Oh, I definitely find it interesting." Nova wasn't sure she understood the woman's odd tone. Before she could ask, she was distracted by the woman's next question. "Where do you get your ideas? Did you base the Doctor on a real person? Your father or brother?"
Nova giggled, shaking her head. "Nope. I've been dreaming about the Doctor for as long as I can remember."
"Really?" Eyebrows went up in surprise, "You don't dream about anything else? Ever?"
"Uh-uh," Nova shook her head with a small smile. "It's always been him. I know it's strange. Most people dream about different things, but not me." One more way she was different.
"Truth is often stranger than fiction." Nova nodded her agreement. "Well, I need to be picking up my son from school. He's only thirteen."
"Okay. It was nice talking with you."
"Oh, I have a feeling we'll have a chance to speak again soon." The woman said sagely. As if she knew something that Nova didn't.
It made the redhead uncomfortable. A chill of unease Nova couldn't put her finger on went down her back. She had a feeling whatever she was missing, was a very big something. Wondering what it might be, her mind producing and discarding possibilities at NASCAR speeds, she suddenly realized she'd never gotten the woman's name.
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Moffat was a problem. Sara knew he potentially could be but calling him egocentric was putting it mildly. He was condescending and sometimes even insulting. A week later, Sara had slammed a mug of hot tea on the conference table, which splashed all over his expensive suit.
"You don't seem to like anything, do you Mr. Moffat?" she demanded. "You want all the women to be either clearly stupid around our main character or a dominatrix. Nothing in between." She took a deep breath, "While the character may have an ego, that doesn't mean the women in the show should suddenly forget any education or intelligence they have accrued and…" she pressed her lips together. "You have only called back a limited pool of white actors to test for the parts. We are opening the roles to anyone. If you need a reminder, slavery was abolished in the 19th century. Sometime later, women received the right to vote."
He was furious. He then lashed out at her and stormed off to the production head saying he was an established screenwriter for other series and British, compared to Sara who was just an American novelist. They needed to do something to negotiate the rights so he would have full control over her stories! He was bluntly told to behave himself; otherwise he would be taken off the project. He obeyed with grudging reluctance, but Sara could tell he detested every minute.
But casting was arduous in itself. She met with so many actors, often to test the dialogue when Sherlock and John first met. No one seemed to have the natural flair for the part. The chemistry that should jump out at the screen. Sitting through twenty readings was giving her a splitting headache, while considering Daniel Gillies. While he may not have all the Sherlock qualities, he was the right age and had a degree of sophistication. Still he was born in New Zealand. Perhaps compromises to this extent could be made or possibly, he might work as John Watson. Yes, she could see that.
She went back to her main storyboard over lunch. Each episode was drawn out with summarizing scenes until episode nine. She was working on the tenth. The drawings were vague and nonspecific so as not to show a specific character's face.
"Am I too late?"
Sara turned in surprise at the voice behind her. A tall well-dressed man, a bit thin, although wearing clothes carefully layered to hide it, she was immediately struck by the resemblance. The hair color was different, as well as the eyes. More a greenish-blue. Reddish-brown hair, though not as red as to call it auburn, and a relaxed expression. He was looking at her questioningly.
"Sorry," Sara swallowed, speaking quickly. "Caught me off guard but…" Her lunch was forgotten on the table. "No, I can spare a few minutes for one last screen test. You're reading for Sherlock Holmes, Mr…"
"John Altamont."
She let out a breath. Absolute paranoia. Different dimension, so different names. Nova explained this.
"Alright, Mr. Altamont." She started. She didn't have Daniel Gillies still here to test him with John so they would have to skip to a scene between Sherlock and Molly. She brought out two copies, thumbing through the pages, while prompting the cameras to start recording with a switch in her hand.
"A very interesting story you have there," John said, looking at the storyboard.—
"Yes, well, not all of it is scripted yet but—"
"You have the knowledge already in mind," he completed, his eyes roaming the board with an intensity that unnerved her. "Beginning and the end, how intriguing."
"I like to plan ahead," Sara said. "Do you mind reading a scene between Sherlock and Molly? I'll take the part of Molly and you read Sherlock. See how natural it feels?"
"No doubt, I'll find it natural enough," he quipped dryly—unsettling her more. Then accepted the folded script, already turned to the correct page. "Just a cold reading I suppose."
"It's a rough script. A few episodes in. We're working to revise Molly a bit but so far, this is what we have. It will be enough to test with and get a feel for things," she paused, "Whenever you're ready."
"I.O.U. Glycerol molecule. What are you?" His voice took on a unique hypnotic focus.
Sara cleared her throat. "What did you mean, 'I owe you'? You said 'I owe you'? You were muttering it while you were working."
"Nothing. Mental note."
Sara hesitated before reading the line, suddenly regretting her choice in scene as it reminded her of her own lost family. Her father's voice calling out to her before everything she knew disappeared. "You look a bit like my dad. He's dead and…" She allowed her voice to trail. The original Molly apologized for this comment, Sara recalled distinctly. She'd never liked that Molly felt the need to do so, thus removed it from her own version.
"Molly, please don't feel the need to make conversation. It's really not the time."
Sara pressed her lips together tightly. Memories swarming together to make the words a little more real as they left her. "When he was dying, he was always cheerful. He was lovely. Except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once. He looked sad." How she wished she could see her father one more time! Her heart clenched at the idea. While she and Nova did their best with only each other, it still wasn't as wonderful as being in her own father's arms again would be.
John was looking at her curiously but continued reading. "Molly..."
"But you look sad...when you think he can't see you. I know you are," she paused.
"Are you okay? Don't just say you are, because I know what that means; looking sad when you think no one can see you."
"But you can see me."
"Maybe I don't count...or do I? What I'm trying to say is that, if there's anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all, I can help you." She swallowed, "I just mean... I mean... If there's anything you need—I can do it." The memories were fading enough that she could focus wholly on Molly, which was echoed in her tone. She would've made a terrible actress.
"B-but what could I need from you?"
"Maybe nothing. Perhaps everything. I don't know. But you could probably say 'thank you' actually."
John paused significantly, as if to test the words, "Thank you."
"I'm just gonna go and get some crisps. Do you want anything? No, I know that answer already. You don't."
"Well, actually, maybe I'll..."
Sara shook her head. "I know you don't."
The scene over, she stopped recording and logged the digital feed. Not surprisingly, it was the best one yet. She only hoped Nova's efforts would soon pay off. "I would like you to come in again," she said, pulling out her planner and looking at the date. "I would like you to read with someone we are considering for John Watson. You were very good, Mr. Altamont. I'm impressed."
"So am I," he said. "Two American authors writing two British series so adeptly." He paused, looking around significantly, "And where is your esteemed co-author?"
"Working late with her screenwriter and producer. The show is fairly complicated, and they don't have half the cast assigned—"
"A pity. You both are here in London on your own. Has anyone even offered a tour?"
"I… Well, no but…"
"Then allow me the pleasure," he said simply as Sara stared at him blankly. "I assure you that acting is mainly a simple hobby of mine. I was interested in just meeting you both."
"Mr. Altamont," Sara started, "I don't mean to be tactless but there was an accident. Nova and I lost our families and well, after that… Neither of us are interested in dating anyone."
"Then by all means, it is not a date," he stated but Sara stood stock still, until he supplied a business card. "You see, my brother is an esteemed politician in London. I would not care to risk a scandal or nefarious activity by any of my actions."
It was strange. His eagerness to go on this very not-date but she looked down at the card, closing her eyes. She also didn't want to risk muddling with politics when the television shows were so close to being launched.
"Alright. I'll check with Nova. If she can pull away from what she's doing, then we'll go," Sara said as John inclined his head. Somehow even though she should be leaping for joy at finding such a good match to play the part, a part of her was rankled. Was it his persistence? Surely, she had been asked out before. Maybe once she spoke to Nova and explained the circumstances, a rational discussion would ebb away her uncertainty. The mathematician could always be counted on (ha!) for such things.
But it was in that hallway that she nearly bumped into a middle-aged woman with long brown hair. Sara gave her a quick glance and nearly froze. Sarah Jane, she thought. She didn't waste another moment, pushing down the hallway straight into Nova's office. "Nova! Something really weird is going on here!" she called.
"You too?" Nova asked wearily.
"Oh yes me too! First it was Sherlock's duplicate, or the actor's. Different name though. John Altamont and then… I could have sworn I saw Sarah Jane Smith just walking down the hallway. Is it me, or are we just going mad?"
Nova closed her eyes, taking a moment to just breathe, "I thought she looked familiar. It's been so long since I've dreamed about Sarah Jane and Rose…" she sighed heavily. Abruptly, she shook her head sharply. "Let's not jump to conclusions. Okay? Analyze facts."
"Sounds good."
"Fact one: just because they looked a certain way before does not mean that they look like that in reality." Sara nodded. Made sense. "Fact two: we spent months of research making certain that none of them were real, in every permutation we could come up with. Including checking the Dark Web for conspiracy nuts. Fact three: from what you've told me of Mycroft, if he was real, he would never have let the publishing house print our books to begin with. He's too paranoid and secretive for that."
Sara paused in the middle of agreeing. "Unless he thought that the books would throw people off track into thinking he was fiction."
"Then why would he and Sherlock be investigating now?" Nova countered with a raised eyebrow. "The two would be fine with it and leave us to making their names a household fictitious pastime. Maybe change their own to avoid confusion, but still."
"Okay. So, either it's a huge coincidence or the brothers are real and leaving us to ease the attention off of themselves. I guess I can buy that. What about Sarah Jane?"
Nova gestured, "Again, a coincidence."
"Both happening on the same day?" Sara said with a skeptical eyebrow of her own.
"True random patterns include clustering," the mathematician said with a shrug. "Like hearing the same song over and over again on the radio, even after switching stations. It happens."
"Okay. And if it isn't a coincidence?"
Nova sighed again, deeper this time, "For a second, let's forgo that we spent months and months making absolutely certain that no Doctor Who or Sherlock Holmes characters existed. Let's pretend that they are real." Her friend nodded. "We both know we're never getting home. It's been too long for the crack to still be active. Finding the correct dimension would be next to impossible. Actually travelling there is impossible. It's been too long. There's no possible way, in any math that I know of, for us to get home." Both girls choked back tears, but each nodded their understanding. Nova continued, "Our actions have proven that we know a lot more than we should. At best, we are a planetary risk. At worst, a universal one. By Gallifreyan law, we would fall into the Doctor's jurisdiction and he would be well within his rights to confine us both to his ship for the duration of our lifespans, or even to outright kill us using the Final Action. I doubt he would, but you get the idea."
Neither girl liked the idea of being held against their will, let alone their mind erased and rebuilt. "On the flip side, running would be useless. We are literally a household name in a lot of countries because of the success of the books. Our pictures are on the back and inside covers. We'd be recognized wherever we go. Even if we disguised ourselves, facial recognition software goes by bone structure and mathematical distances between facial features that are impossible to alter without severe plastic surgery, the kind which we can't afford.
"If Mycroft and the Doctor both exist, then Mycroft, if his character is as you've described to me, would probably have some sort of deal with the Doctor. Have those two working together would guarantee they find whatever they are looking for. Regardless of what it is."
Sara nodded slowly, "So…it's a giant coincidence or we are gigantically screwed."
"Basically. Which is part of the reason we made damn sure that none of them existed years ago." Nova shrugged helplessly, though her eyes were serious and stubborn. "It was a casting call, Sara. They probably were just actors, playing towards the role they wanted."
"But…"
"Occam's Razor, Sara. What is more likely? That they are great actors auditioning for parts that we advertised for? Or they are the real-life versions of characters that we spent months making absolutely, positively certain were fiction?"
Sara gave a small reluctant smile, "Well, when you put it like that..."
Nova grinned in reply, "Exactly. Now, let's go home." She didn't mention it to her friend, but the redhead had a bad feeling. She hadn't lied directly. She was certain that if Mycroft and the Doctor actually did exist that the pair had made a deal decades ago for working together. If they existed, it would be child's play for them to find out how, when, where, and – most importantly – why Nova had hacked the computer system to give them identities. She shivered again when a deep sense of absolute dread washed over her.
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Originally posted: ~3.25.16
Edited: 2.11.20
Wordcount: 5,647