Chapter 03
"And John?" Sara asked. She saw Nova's confusion. "Sherlock's alias here. He asked us to go out with him to dinner. Should we just…" She gave a shrug.
"What would you have done if another actor had attempted to make the same proposal?" Nova proposed and Sara grimaced. It simply wasn't professional and it felt distinctly underhanded. "Exactly. Now, let's go. I'm sure after ten or fifteen minutes, he'll figure out the answer is no."
Nova shook her head briefly remembering a flash before the supposed-Sarah Jane has spoken to her. A camera flash? Her corkboard didn't just have the Doctor's past…it had his future. A shiver ran down Nova's spine at that thought. Gallifreyan law could – and would – do some very horrible things to her for such information. If the Doctor was real, knew that she was aware of his personal future, and that she had written such things down, let alone made that information even slightly available…another shiver went down her spine.
"Are you cold?" Sara asked in concern.
Nova tried to smile in reassurance. "Draft. Thinking about how things are going to work on set."
"Yeah. Moffat is horrible!" That got both girls started on the many irritations of their respectively assigned screenplay writers. Nova let herself get lost in the conversation. At this point, there was nothing either could do if the Holmes' brothers or the Doctor were in fact real. All they could do was take things one at a time as they came. Survive.
But mostly, she didn't want to think about the Doctor finding out she was the textbook definition of a time sensitive. If he was real… her life would be in his hands. He would ensure it. The Doctor was many things. Could be many things. Charming was one of them. But when the universe was at stake, he had very little mercy. Time sensitives were incredibly dangerous.
Nova shivered again, clutching her sweater closer to her. She couldn't help her eyes darting around into every alley they passed, hunting for a very unique blue.
That night she dreamed of a Doctor she didn't know, a companion she had never seen named Lilly. A companion that wasn't…
Even in the dream, Nova realized with dread that the events she saw was the best scenario a time sensitive could possibly hope for. It could be so much worse. When she woke, Nova wondered why she had dreamed about a companion and Doctor that weren't familiar to her. She pondered the implications as she made apple-cinnamon pancakes for breakfast.
She heard a gentle knocking and called out, "Sara. My hands of covered in batter, could you get the door please?"
Sara obeyed but nearly choked on her tea she was sipping to see who was at the door and to whom he accompanied. Well, on one hand she might have expected this level of obnoxiousness from Steven Moffat who was always cavalier in how he handled matters. From what Nova said, Randy T. Davies had an ego of his own to contend with but upon the showdown, he became milder. She often wanted to tell Nova how lucky she was to end up with him instead of the other way around. If she had the choice, she would trade in a heartbeat. Moffat only pretended sincerity and it was quite obvious it was a lie. Oh, she could read lies since she had been a pretty bad liar herself. Being with Nova and in this dimension, she had learned a little about maintaining a poker face but the truth was, she didn't like lying, therefore hadn't the affinity for it. But in this business….
She tried to swallow her surprise and shock to see Moffat and John Altamont (or so he called himself) at the door. "Mr. Moffat, we weren't meeting until tomorrow." She knew her schedule backwards and forwards. "What's the urgency?"
"Urgency, Miss Thomas?" Moffat pretended confusion. "That's difficult to say. Exceptionally hard when you leave one of our biggest investors in the lurch. Mr. Altamont visited my office after you two stood him up for a dinner meeting."
"Dinner meeting," she repeated blankly, seeing Moffat's slow smirk come to surface at Sara's seeming mistake. What was this? First, he was actor testing for a part and now he was a… Oh, enough of this. She turned to the man in question. "So, first you tell me you're an actor, now you're an investor and a producer. Are you one or the other?"
"Both to be accurate. My interests are relatively diverse," he looked positively unruffled. "Considering the circumstances, I'm willing to forgive your lack of appearance if you agree to meet with me this afternoon to discuss the finer points of our relationship."
Relationship. Sara thought with a shudder. "You assume I forgive you," her words were cold.
"Pardon?"
"Mr. Altamont, Mr. Moffat, neither one of us needs this. We thought doing the shows might be an interesting challenge, but we maintain the rights to these stories. Something that was negotiated into the contract. And now, I feel exceptionally tempted to exert our right of cancellation and return to the states. I don't know how Nova feels—"
"I agree. Infringing on our privacy is considered a form of harassment." Nova interrupted quietly behind Sara. She had since washed her hands, hearing the contentious voices from inside the kitchen. "We were doing well with book sales. Perhaps we were mistaken in not pitching this to an American production company."
Moffat looked incensed. He had already put so much time into the scripts, not to mention the rewrites Sara had insisted upon. Russell T. Davies said Nova was just as particular wanting more detail in the dialogue and explanation for the Doctor's reaction. They already had a partial cast for both shows even if they didn't have the main show runner. "You really want the shows to be Americanized?" he asked with gritted teeth. "That's your answer?"
"Or not done at all," Nova said.
But that wouldn't do. They already announced they would start filming shortly. Sara had her arms folded across her chest. She wasn't about to let some guy that waltzed into the set who essentially lied to her dictate her actions. She would never let anyone have that satisfaction.
"So much antagonism." John Altamont interceded. "Is it really necessary? I'm only asking that you meet with myself and the other investor for lunch. If you truly aren't pleased at close of trade, then by all means, the show can be cancelled. What harm is there in a meal to discuss business?"
Because this isn't just business. Sara thought. It's something else… It's…
"Fine. One meal," Nova decided, speaking for them both. Usually she could pick up stray thoughts from the various people she worked with but this man, well, she had a hard time discerning anything in particular and what she could feel…the flickers was the insatiable curiosity. A hunger. He wanted…something. But at any rate, she knew she wouldn't get them out of their doorway until they agreed and then in those hours prior, they could plan.
He smiled. "Very well. Shall we say one o'clock at the 'Rules' near Covent Gardens? I'll have a driver take you— "
"We prefer the tube," Sara said. "More expedient than traffic," she played along with Nova, "but fine, one o'clock." She already knew of the restaurant since it was featured in Downton Abbey and was considered one of the oldest in London. Essentially one that prized itself on various selections of roast along with an extensive drink list. A restaurant with a menu for game. She thought as other thoughts came unbidden into her mind. 'The game. The game is on.' A quote from the original television series. Now as they watched the two leave, she wondered if it was truly the beef that would be for lunch or was the game of choice on the menu going to be them.
Her mouth was dry as she felt the air condense. The hunters seemed to be starting to circle around them. "I have a bad feeling about this," she told Nova.
Nova nodded herself with a small sigh. "You want to make a bet?"
Sara raised an eyebrow at her friend. "On?"
"He said 'fellow investor'. I'm wondering if it's Mycroft or the Doctor. I'm thinking either at this point."
"Occam's Razor, you said."
Nova sighed heavier, "Let's face it, sweetie. The probabilities and possibilities are dwindling in likeliness. An ordinary actor wouldn't come to our apartment. An ordinary investor would not pretend to be an actor. I can understand an investor being sneaky, making sure his money is being spent wisely, but going so far as to pretend to be an actor?" She shook her head. "Not to mention verbally and politically backing us into a corner."
"So…we need a plan," Sara mentioned.
"We need a plan," Nova agreed. "Let's talk about it over pancakes."
+++++LOST+IN+DREAMS+OF+DETECTIVES+++++
So, precisely at one o'clock, the pair arrived at Rules restaurant. "Hello. We're here to meet—"
She was cut off by the maître d' nodding, gesturing the girls onward into the depths. "Yes, miss. You are both expected. This way please." Sara tried not to imagine that it was going to their doom.
They came clothed in comfortable-casual. Which meant jeans, black sneakers, and nice cool, airy blouses. Nova in a blue that matched her eyes. Sara in a green to set off her own. They had decided to act comparable to how they treated Moffat and Davies: direct, firm, unyielding. Considering their other options, it was the best they could come up with. It wasn't like running would help and both knew that. If they did run, they would only make it to the parking lot if they were lucky before hiding goons nabbed them.
However, if they approached the situation as if they were in the right—which they were by all legalities and contracts—and as if this was a grievance—which it was—then (theoretically) they would have the upper hand. They had made a firm resolve not to get visibly angry. No raised voices. No sudden movements.
Basically, they were going to pretend they were hostage negotiators. Or queens. Whichever worked. They had done nothing wrong and were going to act as such. This meeting was obliging, nothing more.
As the maître d' gestured them to a table in a better part of the room, not too close to the kitchen, in a private alcove so as not to be easily disturbed or overheard, they finally got a good look at the two gentlemen waiting for them.
John Altamont was one, though he had dressed for the occasion. As in, he looked like a casual, though well-moneyed, businessman. Both girls remembered that the original Doyle Holmes' brothers had been born into privilege and knew quite well how to comport themselves as well-bred British gentleman.
Nova's eyes drifted to the other male. He was just as tall as Altamont. His features incredibly similar as well. High aristocratic cheekbones. He was dressed similarly to Altamont as well. She blinked at the umbrella leaning casually against the back wall of the alcove.
Both girls now knew with whom they were having a luncheon. But wondered how far these two would take things. Mycroft had never used an alias; he had never needed one. How much would the pair claim ignorance?
"Miss Nova Morganson, Miss Sara Thomas, may I introduce the second main investor in your productions: Mr. Mark Gatiss." John Altamont bowed as a perfectly bred gentleman would as he made the perfect introductions.
Sara and Nova exchanged glances as they settled into the seats opposite the males. The way the alcove was designed none of them had their backs to the open area, but it also made the two seated next to the wall—Gatiss and Nova—much more difficult to extricate themselves if needed. Sara was beside Nova, Altamont next to Gatiss.
Looking at the two males, both quite obvious (to them anyway) with who they were, Nova wondered how accurate Sara's portrayal of them actually were. They seemed to be getting along rather well. Sara had said they had a sibling rivalry. It was how they were portrayed in the books. Not incapable of working together…but difficult.
Perhaps the reason they were so supportive of the books was not just to throw people off the fact that they were real. But for those that did in fact believe in their existence being thrown off from their actual personality types and bearings. If the Holmes' brothers were able to work together without conflict…what would that mean? Especially since in Sara's knowledge the Doctor Who world was entirely apart from the Holmes' world. Perhaps the fact that the two were (maybe) intertwined in this universe that made the difference. Instead of investigating boring criminals, Sherlock used his insatiable curiosity and deduction skills to the far more entertaining alien world. Heck, given his personality (or what she knew of it) Sherlock would be a wonderful head of Torchwood or UNIT. Or both.
With Mycroft in the background, as he liked to be, pulling the strings of world governments to keep silent the fact of alien origins and reality. Covering up incidents – such as the Atmos event – into believable stories the public would accept. With what she knew of him, and what she was currently seeing in the body language of the two, Nova blinked hard as a surface thought abruptly occurred to her. Mycroft wasn't the British Government. He was the Earth Government…or all the most important bits. A master political puppeteer.
Her head tilted as she analyzed the two men, unaware they were watching her with just as much curiosity and deduction.
Sherlock and Mycroft worked with the Doctor—when he was around, that is—to the benefit of the entire planet. It was their biggest compromise. The pair were easily able to control things but the Doctor was an even bigger threat than they were, so they capitulated to the Doctor's rules. Mainly that nothing was genocidal in nature. Ever. The brothers' worked to ensure the Earth's safety. Sherlock from alien incursion—in cohesion with the Doctor—and Mycroft from humanity itself.
So…the stories they had written were just that. Stories. Fiction. The odd part was that it had real people in it. The brothers' probably thought the Holmes' books were hilarious in their inaccuracies.
This dinner was about their own curiosity. They wanted to know about the girls. How did they know of Holmes' existence to begin with? Why dare to write such things?
Or at least…that was what it had been. Nova blinked twice as she came almost out of her thoughts. Sara was the Holmes' priority. Sara knew of the Sherlock Holmes things from her original universe, distorted with this universe's reality though it was. She could easily pass it off as fantasy if Sara stuck to her guns. It was the truth, after all.
Nova though…this could get very tricky. She knew her friend would never leave her and greatly appreciated that, but also knew that this could get very bad very quickly if they weren't careful. Nova resolved to keep as quiet as she could get away with, suddenly fearful of saying the wrong thing.
Sara kept her expression still in seeing the elder brother or Mark Gatiss as he was introduced. It was after all, no worse than they discussed or imagined. She had been writing the stories for so long, trading knowledge between Nova that she felt she was far more pragmatic and less idealistic when it came to the characters. Five years in another dimension had taught her cynicism. It had delivered to them both the burden of grief that without each other and their writing would otherwise be horrendous to bear. She felt Nova take her hand and was once again amazed by Nova's gift with telepathy for which she had no benefit of any instruction. Not that she needs it. Sara thought. Nova learned well enough at her own pace. Sara might be able to convey emotions to her friend but words? No. It scared Sara already to see her own injuries start to self heal much less how she was able to heal others. At least, Nova had a way with many people to hide her ability. But if they saw Sara heal….she shuddered internally. She would be a freak. She might as well join a circus.
Careful. Nova said mentally. Stay with….story. Fantasy.
Sara frowned but the emotions were clear. Nova was worried and she had enough discernment to know they matched or went beyond the profiles Sara had dictated. She drew in her years spent working on her college degree in public relations and communications. Tell only relevant truth. What they need to know. Then, I won't have to lie. If it was just a PR or a brand campaign, that very premise might be easy but what she was dealing with here were rules of diplomacy and guttural tactics.
"Mr. Gatiss, a pleasure," Sara managed but extended her hand out to shake. She had to be professional. "I'm surprised we haven't met before considering both your interest. Your partner's introduction was unconventional."
"It is I who should be apologizing to you. My brother does have a flair for the dramatics and could never resist as it seems an open casting call."
Was that really the excuse? She remembered his reading. It was more of an evaluation, which then was followed by a proposition. Entirely inappropriate but….she recalled in one of the episodes that had yet to be scripted or written (she should say), where Sherlock proposed marriage to access Magnussen's office. He dated a woman, used her and abandoned her just to advance a case. The same was relatively true in the original books although the original canon character had a better disposition around women. She had been trying to improve on the script to reach a steady compromise between the two so his personality would be distinct while adding flawed realistic strength to the female characters.
"I see. A shame. I gave him a callback. I think you missed your calling, Mr. Altamont."
"Perhaps." John just gave a casual shrug. "I am not disinclined to take a more active role than merely an investor. Stage theatrics has always had a particular draw."
"That might be a conflict of interest. Our viewers and the media might accuse me of lack of diversity. Prejudice." That was a reasonable excuse. Besides, she had decided to give the part of Molly to a black actress. If she could choose, she would like the pairing of Sherlock and John to be just as diverse. It might just throw the brothers off to know she didn't have any particular faces in mind or so she said.
"Considerably liberal. You're both Americans. Where was your family from?"
"Sea—" Sara cut herself off as she felt Nova pinch her fingers. Oh, that was a very near slip. "Utah. Near Provo."
"I see." Mark's eyes gleamed at this slip and Sara knew he was aware of her mistake. Damn it. "Now just to be clear—"
"Are there any drinks I can bring your table?" The server asked.
"I'll just have tea, with milk, no sugar." Sara ordered. Nova quickly nodded. "Tea for me too. Chamomile—"
"That usually makes you so tired Nova and it's only mid-day." Sara's expression was firm. She already made one mistake. If Nova drank an herbal blend combined with sugar, which would be no help in combating tiredness, she might not fully have all her wits about her. Usually, with Nova that was alright. She had more than enough intellect to battle exhaustion or fatigue. But now? They needed all their wits and then some about them.
"Right." Nova mentally corrected herself. "Better make it a coffee. Milk and sugar."
"Now, there is no need not to celebrate our business venture." Mark just leaned back in his seat. "Two bottles from the Cayuse Vineyard for the table. I think it's very appropriate, don't you Miss Thomas?"
Sara felt she was suffocating. It was a vineyard located directly in Washington State. She knew it. It was one of her favorite wineries. Since liquor licensing laws were so regimented in Salt Lake City, she became a member of the Wine Club to order bottles of different varieties from that winery as well as two others. Nova would tease her about it but still enjoyed the product just as equally.
The server disappeared as did their apparent hope of distraction.
"The last five years have been quite an adventure for you both since your regrettable accident. And from your own distress, you decide to write two very remarkable stories." He breathed in at their silence. "Tell me, how is Sherlock Holmes to end?"
"That's a writer's privilege." Sara tried.
"Ah, but you're both here under a worker's visa. We approved your journey here and the term of which you could stay."
Their tea was delivered and the wine was poured to all four of them after Mark tasted it to prove satisfaction. "Delicious. I believe it reminds me of Pike's Market, doesn't it?"
"To a legendary degree." Was John's only statement. He was simply evaluating them both.
"Am I to understand that you're threatening to cancel our worker's visa if Sara doesn't tell you the details of how her series of stories end?" Nova repeated. She was surprised that he had been relatively straight forward in the demand but they had remained out of the picture for this long. The differences might have made the work less alarming…..initially but then, some of the similarities likely had caused alarm. And didn't they make adjustments to how it was originally portrayed in Sara's universe? But those similarities….something had caused this man, Mycroft or Mark Gatiss to emerge from the shadows. They were on the rhetorical thin ice.
Mark gave an elegant shrug. "A range of possibilities have yet to be considered. But we're here to speak civilly. None of us should have to entertain the notion of threats. I think instead we should have a toast." He raised his glass. "Let's say to the start of a beneficial new relationship."
"To our relationship." John echoed as he stared at Sara. In that moment, she felt sick. How could she play along with this pretense if they essentially knew the cards she holding. She needed a moment to gather herself.
"I need a minute." She said, getting up from stooped seats, which was a task in itself. "Just to use the restroom." Who knew how long she would linger there? She saw Nova move to follow her but in that time, John's movements were quick. He seized her wrist before she step one foot away from the table. She looked at him, aghast.
"It's impolite to leave the table before completing the toast." He said. Etiquette. He was lecturing her on etiquette. Treating them like….
"You know what's also impolite?" Sara seethed, taking the glass of wine off the table. "Harassment. Stalking. Assault." Without a moment's pause, she threw the contents of the wine glass into his face. He gasped, momentarily startled by this one impetuous act. The glass itself slipped from her grip falling onto the hard wooden table where it splintered, two shards cutting directly into Sara's hand. Blood was seeping from the wound. Nova acted quickly, pulling out the two little shards, wrapping Sara's hand in a cloth napkin, hoping they didn't notice the color of Sara's blood. She pulled her friend in the direction of the restroom hoping the distraction would buy her time. Any time at all.
"Incisions that deep would require stitches." John was just behind them. "I do have medical training."
"We'll take care of this at a clinic." Nova argued. "I think our lunch will have to be rescheduled until—"
But he had suddenly circumvented her, taking hold of Sara's wrist, pulling the napkin away as she protested. It was then he raised his eyebrows. Amidst the dried blood, her hand had completely healed, on it's own.
"Interesting," he mused.
Nova swallowed. She knew they had psychic training. She could only grasp certain surface thoughts but the way the two protected their memories….it would take her several minutes if not more to navigate through a virtual maze where he had now since nested the memory about Sara's blood….and the conclusions he was drawing about Nova's in the interim. Forgetting…it takes more discernment. But a surface command….they may have had significant psychic training but if she caught him at the right moment….
"I'm sorry. We do really need to leave." She told him, gripping his arm. "Sleep."
And while, his training inhibited some of the command, it seemed sufficient to get him to relinquish control of Sara's arm and fall to his knees.
The two walked out, napkin in hand. They barely heard Mark or Mycroft call out his John's name before they ventured into the next taxi.
Sara was shuddering. "We can't just run." While that being her first inclination. It was impractical. It would admit guilt or culpability and though one had seen her blood, they didn't have it in their possession so they had no evidence.
"No, we can't run."
"We do the next best thing." Sara answered. "Go to the place they least expect us to be."
"Which is?"
"Work. I think we need the media on this. We already have dedicated websites. We release a viral feed giving limited information on what happened. Enough, so they would have to contend with the media too."
"And the Doctor? Sara, if the Doctor comes for us…." Nova took a deep breath. "It will be worse."
"I know." Sara shook her head. "Then, God help us all."
When they arrived home – Nova had been half expecting a squad of goons to be there to take them into custody – the mathematician left no time to waste. She immediately went into the laptop. It took her half an hour to create a simple information-virus that would loop the general details of what occurred, automatically checking for its presence and then uploading the information again if not.
She used some digits of pi and e as the passcode, backdoor, and security. She knew that pi was one of the code Sherlock used most-often and was counting on it being something he wouldn't think that she would use.
Once the virus was written, she uploaded it into the basecode of each of their dedicated websites, Facebook pages (though that took the longest since she had to get around their malware security), Twitter accounts, the publishing house general pages, as well as the studio's general pages. Even a few websites dedicated to 'policing' big-businessmen and such.
In all honesty, it wasn't much. But she had put it everywhere she could think of that would be seen by the part of the public that cared about such things. Two hours after the meeting, she finally sat back in the office chair. "Okay. That's about all I can do on this front."
Sara nodded. "Good. We'll see how it goes then. The court of public opinion is bigger than most give credit."
Nova didn't voice her concern that the Holmes' were so big and had fingers in so many pies that it wouldn't matter. She knew that it was a worst-case scenario. But as a mathematician she couldn't help thinking such ways. Thinking the worst to be able to plan. In this case, however, she just didn't know what they could do. "They left us alone for so long…why now?"
"Curiosity." Sara sighed. "Opportunity. The publishing house had been getting a few offers for television for about a month or two when this studio swooped in to nab the deal."
"Ah." Nova nodded her understanding. "Which means that if we had just said 'no' and refused any televised anything's, stayed on our bit of continent—"
"No. The contract we signed gives us a lot of authority, but if a good enough deal comes up the publishing house has an army of lawyers to circumvent it. They'd have gotten us to say 'yes' eventually. This would have happened sooner or later." The brunette settled onto the couch. "So what was it about them that you found out?"
Nova began to explain her observations and deductions on the brothers. Gesturing with her hands as she began to become more animated in her musings, as was her nature when she got truly immersed in a topic. When she began to wind down again, both falling silent as they absorbed the information.
Sara finally broke the silence. "If you are right, we can use that to our advantage. If we give them what they want – namely eliminating the mystery behind our knowledge – then they should lose interest and leave us alone."
"I think they already know that we basically 'landed' here years ago." Nova mused. "Tracking down when and where I made our identities would have been easy for them. Comparing it to known facial-recognition database to find out who we were before that and coming up empty, along with their experience with the Doctor, gives them a good idea of what occurred."
She frowned. "If that's true, then why are they still curious?"
"I think because they only have guesses. No confirmation from us. It's just speculation on their part. They want to know if they are right. We don't pose a threat to them. Physically or politically. Not really." Nova shook her head slightly. "Sara…honestly, I'm not that worried about them. They could make life difficult for us, of course they could, but currently the only reason for them to do so is curiosity. I suggest we eliminate that curiosity and they should leave us be."
"What are you worried about then?" Sara asked softly, though she knew the answer.
"If I'm right…then if we don't eliminate their curiosity and make them forget we are even a concern, as soon as the Doctor shows back up Sherlock will contact him. Explain how much of a mystery we are. The brothers will broker some kind of deal of equal information sharing, and then give him our address and all the information they have so far on us.
"Our research says that Atmos has happened but not the stealing of Earth. We are before the TLV appears, but if we aren't careful, we'll have to deal with him." Nova took a deep breath. "You would be relatively safe from him, I think, given that this dimensions Holmes are different enough from what you know as to be easily dismissed. But Sara…I'm the textbook definition of a time sensitive. We've discussed this. You know what it means."
Sara nodded, but Nova wasn't finished. "And something is happening to me as well."
"What do you mean?"
"I dreamed about a Doctor last night that I've never seen before. Well, I've seen him, but not that one. It was an alternate than the one I usually dream about. Along with a companion that I'm not familiar with. One that's time sensitive like me. I think it was a warning of what may occur if he finds me. But also…it may be that my dreaming ability is expanding. I don't know why…" she shrugged helplessly.
Sara felt a cold chill creep across her. "Combined with my new healing ability…"
"Yeah. My vote is to get the Holmes' to forget about us. So we don't have to worry about the Doctor."
"I don't know on a practical scale how they will forget about us, Nova." Sara said. "Given that they know we came from another dimension but only contended with information that was inaccurate to a point…." She shook her head. "Something triggered them to give us a closer watch. And they saw my blood. You thought to grab it and we don't visit doctors but….you demonstrated telepathic ability." She took a deep breath. "The viral campaign will buy us time, I think." She looked at the computer. Already, thanks to Nova's virus, there was a reaction but it also delivered consequences. Video footage was delivered when the press confronted the men regarding the accusations.
"Given the reaction and the increased threat to public safety, we are taking all due precautions to ensure the authors Sara Thomas and Nova Morganson do not come to any undue harm. We are declaring them persons of intern and under protection of the British Government until such time when this matter has been resolved."
Sara looked at the screen critically. "He considered that we would do this." Her voice was matter of fact. "Our passports have been suspended. We can't leave the country."
"Of course he did." Nova shook her head. No wonder he didn't send any goons. He didn't have to and thanks to them, now they were people of notoriety. The viral campaign was an artifact they simply used against them. "Occam's Razor." She repeated in her continued mantra. "The simplest solution. Using the public in turn to keep watch as well."
"I'm sorry." Sara muttered regretfully. "I thought he wouldn't expect this. I did this study on Wikileaks and the use of viral marketing or using information as a source of defense but…." If she had to admit it, it didn't end very well for some of those sources or the Wikileaks founder, Julian Assange. From what she remembered, he was still stuck in an Ecuadorian Embassy due to some tenuous charges brought against him. "But there's been cases where viral campaigning or the court of public opinion has been successful and…"
"It wasn't a terrible idea…" Nova started.
"But not a good one."
"Considering the realm of choices we had ranked from bad to abysmal, on that scale, it was our better option." Nova reasoned. Now they had to deal with the ramifications. They had been essentially confined inside a box and their choice given the level of CCTV cameras in the UK was to see if they could make their way out of the box. But that meant, the brothers would essentially be watching them run around like a bunch of lab mice. She remembered how in the story, The Hound of Baskervilles, John was observed running around a lab room as Sherlock monitored the situation. Now she pondered whether 'John' actually existed or was he just representative of the people they facilitated or did business with.
"Forgetting." Sara suddenly spoke.
"Sorry?" Nova asked, interrupted from her train of thought.
"I just thought of something. I mean, I guess. The stories weren't an issue. Not really, because the plots were singular. I mean, obviously they didn't go to a Baskerville Military Base or meet with a dominatrix who tried to blackmail them."
"So I would hope." Nova replied. "Then, what are you thinking?"
"It's what wasn't there…" Sara started. "Before….for the two of them to maintain control and affect the memory on a mass scale since the Atmos incident. To corrupt it on that scale. She looked at the faucet and remembered how they discussed the hallucinogen being transmitted by dissolving water with sugar cane. How Sherlock was so certain that the water supply delivered the hallucinogen because the water and sugar came from the same processing plant. "It's their own ArchAngel network. Like what the Master used. Maybe nanites." She remembered Nova describing them.
"You think we can test for it?"
"Maybe. Another question. Why isn't it working on us?" Nova asked.
"You're time sensitive." Sara told her. "And I'm….I don't know what I am. But if the public fears a contaminant in the water…" Ugh, it was radical conspiracy theory for her considering there were people trying to convince the public that fluoride was the way of the government to cause mind control in her dimension. But what if that was really the case? Considering the reality they were in and their confrontation, not to mention their abilities, she couldn't dismiss it.
"I think if they are to forget, you are likely our best bet." Sara said. "Maybe I can help. But I think we both need to practice more than we have been doing."
"My version of forgetting was them losing interest," Nova countered softly. "For them to actually forget? Manipulate their memories?" She shivered at the very idea. "Sara…please don't make me do that," her whispered the heartfelt plea.
To Nova, who had been at least partially telepathic her entire life, she knew the intricate dance memories played on an individual's personality. To her viewpoint, changing a memory—even one—would be to change the person. Essentially killing the person they are, creating a new person in their place. Doing such an act against a person's free will was tantamount to rape, followed by murder.
Gallifreyan law had something very similar to what Sara was suggesting. It was used only when no other option was available. It was called the Final Action and was, in essence, the death penalty. Their body was alive, but they were no longer the same and never again would be. Though it could be used for mentally ill patients, that was an unusual case.
Nova held her middle tightly, trying to comfort herself, rocking back and forth slightly. "Please don't make me," she begged quietly. A tear silently ran down her cheek. "Please don't make me." She would rather be a virtual prisoner, trapped in her own apartment, than kill in cold blood. If she had no other choice, she would re-think things…but not if she had another choice. Any other choice.
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Sara shrugged helplessly. Maybe she was being hypocritical with what the Doctor did or was going to do to Donna. She hated that episode, was critical of it but told Nova about the events according to the television show she saw regardless. With some pieces of the timeline missing, she had to fill in the blank. She only wondered whether Nova gained more clarity of those events once she dreamt about them. After all, dream time was longer than real time. One could dream several lifetimes in the space of a night. Sara so often dreamed about being back home, getting married and having children. Watching them grow up. All those might-have-beens. But how could she marry now, knowing her peculiarities? Having children might not even be possible. Nova had spoken of the curse of Time Lord sterility and how they essentially used genetic material to clone their children, which they called 'looming'. Even when some of the Time Lords were able to reproduce naturally, it was illegal for them to do so.
"And Time Lords and humans generally can't reproduce," Nova explained. It filled them with sadness. If that was the case, then they were truly alone for whatever time they had on this earth.
Sara was just frustrated. She didn't like feeling trapped in this manner. It was likely why she backlashed against….she groaned internally. What to call him? John Altamont? Sherlock? Still at the moment seeing the wine drip down his face, it had been satisfying. Momentary pleasure. Long-term repercussions. Although, she didn't know she could really swallow that toast down.
"So, we don't alter their memories. Maybe it would be a give-away to the Doctor if we did," Sara swallowed. The one other thing she wouldn't relish was the consequences meted out by a Time Lord, considering their justice system could be undeniably harsh. She also wouldn't want to have her memories altered. Didn't like what the two were doing but was acting the same way in a gutter fight the real way to accomplish their aims?
"Okay, no memory modifications," Sara said finally and Nova let out an exhale, "but it may call for something else considering we are under public scrutiny."
"Which is?" Nova asked, partially afraid of what next her friend might say. Sara's last suggestion had not been pleasant. If that was the best idea the brunette could offer…
"Transparency," Sara said. "We talk to the press. We go on talk shows. We act as though we have nothing to hide but to ensure it…" She paused, "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. We announce we're giving John Altamont the main role to demonstrate our transparency. Perhaps give him a guest role in The Doctor Chronicles as a way of crossover and congeniality."
"They might have anticipated this," Nova said flatly. "Should he refuse?"
"It would serve to discredit him as we had his screen test recorded," Sara told her. "Either way, it could be an advantage. Better the devil you know than the devil you don't."
Nova's eyes widened. "Considering that these men are likely running the earth in the Doctor's absence…" She shook her head remembering their stray thoughts. The feelings she managed to ascertain from them. "We can't make another mistake if we intend to proceed with this."
"I know," Sara muttered, closing her eyes while massaging her temples.
"Will you be able to keep your calm?" Nova tried again, drumming up Sara's weak point.
"I'll try." Sara said. "I hope so." She knew she had to or the mess they found themselves in would be even bigger. "What about you? This plan? Is it workable?" She knew she was asking Nova to effectively pretend, to act. This media performance was something that Sara personally loathed but she had to deal with people and the public. Two concepts that weren't always rational regardless of the individuals that comprised them.
"We can try," Nova hoped her smile was positive and encouraging. She knew it would probably work on many different businesses and people…but she didn't know about the Holmes' brothers.
She idly wondered if these versions of them were in fact brothers. Mark/Mycroft had made an insinuation to the fact, but only one. They had similar features, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. There were only approximately 8000 different facial bone structures and hair color/style combinations per skin tone. It could be a complete coincidence. Pure curiosity, she supposed. Though it could make a difference if the girls had to try to use a familial relation to manipulate the brothers. She doubted such a scenario would work at all – and would more than likely get them into even more trouble than before. "We can't fight them physically. Our best chance is to use the public. Let's do it."
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So, it was less than twenty-four hours later that the two girls found themselves in a BBC-1 studio, ready for an interview. Both had no doubt that the brothers were aware of everything. Getting out of their apartment had been interesting. Looky-loos, snobs, and all sorts stared at them and jeered.
It was also going to be a live interview, so both had to be very careful of their words.
Tracy Davis was doing the interview. She was a very polite mid-forties lady even off camera, which was nice. She was also incredibly supportive of their plight and given them tips on how to sound during the interview itself to invoke the maximum amount of sympathy from viewers. "Now remember that the producers will probably get one of the gentlemen on the phone to give an answering statement. Keep calm. Don't rise to any bait they may throw. And here…" she handed each girl a paperclip, "…if you get nervous, reach into your pocket and fidget with this paperclip. It will focus your energy so that you don't appear outwardly awkward. Okay?" she smiled encouragingly at both girls.
"Okay. Thanks, Tracy." Sara replied with a half-smile.
"Only doing my job, dearies. Helping you look good on camera." She gave them a saucy wink. "And if you flub your words, just apologize and say that you are nervous. It will make you appear more human and approachable."
"Just another couple of average girls."
"Exactly!" Tracy nodded firmly, her smile still large in her enthusiasm. She looked behind her off-set and called out. "Can I get Makeup over here for a touch-up, please?" In answer, another young twenty-something scuttled up and spent a few minutes on each to 'fix' whatever had accidently been brushed away.
"Everybody ready?" a male voice yelled out from somewhere unseen. "We're live in five, four, three" he stopped counting aloud and held up fingers, only to start putting them down again. When he reached no fingers, he pointed at Tracy.
Tracy gave a big grin at the nearest camera. "Hello and good evening! I'm Tracy Davis for BBC-One, here with international best-selling authors of The Doctor Chronicles and The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, Sara Thomas and Nova Morganson, on the subject of their recent problem with an investor." She looked over at the two girls who were seated side-by-side on a couch next to Tracy's swivel-seat. "So, ladies, in your own words, what's been going on?"
Sara gestured with her hands a little, "Well Tracy, it's really kind of bizarre. We've been able to write full-time now for the last few years because of how everyone has been liking the books."
Nova nodded agreement and tried to ignore the cameras. "We were approached for a screenplay deal and we're so glad that we were able to interest a company here in Britain, because that's where our books are mostly set anyway."
The girls had coached each other on how they were going to respond to the questions. Every question they could think of that may be asked, they had come up with a re-response, instead of having to think on-the-spot. Sara continued the explanation. "But since we're still writing the books, and have many bits and pieces interconnected for upcoming novels, we wanted more control than average in how the screenplays were to be written, along with picking the actors and such."
"To be sure that all the details would be accurate," Tracy nodded her understanding.
"Right. As well as explaining to the actor beforehand on small stuff so that they could portray things to the audience. Things that haven't been released yet." Nova gestured, "We've been in casting calls for the past week."
"Which is where the trouble started," Tracy interjected. A statement rather than a question.
It was Sara's turn to nod. "Yes. I didn't know it at the time, but one of our main investors in the production came in to audition for the part of Sherlock. He was quite good and when I told him that I wanted him to come in for another reading, he invited me to dinner."
"Oh wow. Must have been some impression!" Tracy exclaimed.
"That's what I thought. I tried to let him down gently, because it's just bad form to be seen like I'm playing favorites with the potential actors."
"Isn't picking an actor in and of itself playing favorites?" Tracy asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Well, yes. But taking one out to lunch, before we've even settled on a certain candidate would be cruel." Sara gestured. "It may give the impression that we would pick that actor, even though it hasn't been decided yet."
Tracy translated for the slower viewers, "You didn't want to give him false hope."
"Exactly," Sara nodded again.
"But the next day, before breakfast, he came to our apartment—"
Tracy cut off Nova in the middle with a surprised expression and loud exclamation, "He came to your apartment?!"
Both girls nodded in sync. "He did. Along with my co-screenplay writer Stephen Moffat. That was when we learned that John Altamont wasn't just a potential actor, but one of our main investors," Nova gestured here plaintively. "He was insistent on taking us to lunch."
"You didn't want to," Tracy observed.
"No. I mean, would you want to?" Nova raised an eyebrow.
"A strange man that you've only met once shows up at your flat before you're even out of your pajamas to ask you to lunch, when you had already turned him down?" Sara clarified, turning it around so that more of the audience could (hopefully) understand how creepy it sounded. "If he really did want the part of Sherlock, we still didn't want to be seen as playing favorites."
Nova grimaced, "But then he insinuated that he'd pull funding if we didn't."
"Really?" Tracy exclaimed in disbelief.
They nodded again. "So, we threatened to just pull the plug ourselves. I mean, if they are just going to make us do things we don't want to do anyway, no matter what we say, what would be the point?"
"You didn't want to be manipulated."
"Would you?" More nods. "He insisted that it was just business and gave his word. That he, and the other main investor in the production, wanted to meet us face-to-face and it was all strictly professional."
"So, we give in—because we really do want to make the series here instead of in the States, since the books are set here—and meet the next day with him and Mark Gatiss."
"Which is where it got even more bizarre," Tracy announced, keeping up a dialogue between them, a running narrative for the audience.
"Uh-huh. In the beginning they were both perfect gentlemen. Interested in how things were going with the differences in writing screenplays versus novels. We shared how we've got the first few done. Some of the difficulties being while the series will be longer overall, we are still trying to portray certain details in the shorter episodes also, so that things stay true to the books."
"But then Altamont brought up his casting again. We assured him that while his was the best, we hadn't yet heard readings from the European actors and actresses, nor the Americans. We still didn't want to be seen as playing favorites."
"Otherwise, people could say that he bought the role."
"He kept pressing the issue, not seeming to hear us the other times we said it. I got really frustrated after saying the same thing for the fourth time. So," Sara gave a sheepish, embarrassed smile, "I threw a glass of wine in his face."
"Oh my!" Tracy said, covering her mouth with a hand, but the camera was able to see a small amused smile of her own.
"Not one of my finer moments."
Nova said, "We figured we'd better explain what happened to the public, before the story warped into some weird version that sometimes happens."
"Like a game a Telephone," Sara agreed. "Going from one person to the next changes the story until you hardly recognize it from the truth."
"Then the next thing we know, we're being told there's an investigation and our passports are revoked. We're practically on house-arrest. All we were trying to do was be professional…then this happens."
"Which must have been very distressing," Tracy sympathized. "Although, Mark Gatiss gave a statement due to the rise of protesters in response to your public appeal that it is only temporary and for your protection." She paused. "You would have seen quite a few groups of protesters on your way to the station."
"We did indeed," Sara told her seriously. "And we fully understand the repercussions of our attempt to make the public aware of the issue. Although it is said there is no such thing as bad publicity, we for one, would like to carry ourselves with the highest moral integrity. We have a lot invested in these stories and don't want to see them fail."
"Perhaps we didn't value the position John Altamont and Mark Gatiss have as investors to the show," Nova agreed. "Our first impression was done under less than favorable circumstances and I believe many misunderstandings were made. All we want is to bring the best quality show we can offer to the viewers, while still being true to our loyal readers."
"Yes," Sara nodded. "Much of my casting was done for Sherlock aside from the lead." She paused. "However, to show we bear no ill will for our disastrous lunch meeting and being that John Altamont has delivered the best screen test so far, we are now in our official capacity with our contracts offering him the role of Sherlock, with Daniel Gillies to play John Watson."
The audience gave a gasp and there was an immediate surge of whispers. Tracy hesitated for a moment. "You're not concerned that he is buying the role?"
Sara gave her a smile, "I will offer complete and utter transparency to the British public, including all screen tests that took place, and the notes made by myself and my casting director, for every audition. I personally read with him, and my screenwriter and casting director assessed the test. Though, I would have liked to have him read with Daniel Gillies, that was more of a formality to see how they interacted naturally together. However, it would not be the first time that actors who disliked one another off camera were utmost professionals while filming. Please be assured he wouldn't have received the part if he wasn't the best candidate."
"And these screen tests are all available on your website?" Tracy confirmed.
"Each and every one," Nova said. "I would also like to offer him a recurring guest role in The Doctor Chronicles if he is interested and as his schedule permits."
"And what role would that be?" Tracy asked.
"Well, that would be spoilers, wouldn't it?" Nova teased with a grin.
"Any questions from the audience?" Tracy started.
A older brunette woman towards the back stood. "You're basically hiring your very own stalker to join the show. Doesn't that make you nervous?"
"Stalker was an exaggeration and mostly on my part." Sara said, "We only just met and since we have been working so hard, we were unaccustomed to their approach. I do admit freely that when John Altamont asked me to dinner, I was surprised and nervous about the invitation. I did walk out without an answer and went home without firmly telling him 'no'."
"And we're not precisely morning people," Nova gave a chuckle. Everyone laughed.
"Oh, I have a caller," Tracy paused. "It seems to be John Altamont himself. What do you think everyone? Will he take the offers or turn down the role?"
The room was split. Some thought rising above their circumstances was a brave thing to do, but a few others did grumble about the investors buying the role. Sara and Nova had expected it. Regardless, now they were throwing the ball into the men's court.
"Mr. Altamont, hello and thank you for calling in. Such an exciting turn of events! I hope you heard Ms. Thomas' and Ms. Morganson's offer?"
"Indeed. I was pleased and gratified by their explanations, which I concur would explain the misfortunate turn of events. It would seem we both made errors and assumptions, so to that end, I would like to extend an apology for any offense committed by myself and Mark Gatiss within the last two days." He paused, "I would be honored to accept the roles if that is what these esteemed authors have chosen."
"Then we are pleased you accept and hope we can put this unfortunate incident behind us," Sara said. Both knew it would take more than a talk show to accomplish that task, but still, the first stage of their plan was complete.
"Then it is quite auspicious I have decided to come in person," the voice had an echoing quality for several seconds as John Altamont strolled out from stage left, already dressed as the proscribed character from Sherlock, "that I might formally reconcile in person." He immediately walked over to shake hands with each while waving to the audience.
"Mr. Altamont, have you quite recovered from yesterday's argument?" Tracy asked. "I imagine having wine thrown into your face was quite a shock."
"To a degree, but Ms. Thomas does have an edge in recovering faster than I do." John said simply, the insinuation he made quite plain to both Sara and Nova.
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There were more questions before the shoot ended. John Altamont offered to drive them home, however they insisted on using their own transport. For a time, they were silent. "It went no better or worse than expected," Sara told Nova.
"I suppose not." Nova felt drained. The camera session exhausted her. "Let's just go to a pub tonight, then go home. Too tired to make dinner and—"
Suddenly a car slammed into theirs, crunching it partially against the wall. Sara was pinned on the opposite side, with the fused metal but the door next to Nova was ripped away. Men dressed in black seized her.
"Nova!" Sara screamed, starting to struggle. A quick exchange in another language but it did sound as though they were asking whether to take her too?
"No, all we need is one," one man decided.
"Nova! Stop! Don't—" But they dragged her friend out of the car and before Nova could scream, a gloved hand wrapped around her mouth as a needle went into her neck. She started to collapse and they were carrying her away.
All this while, Sara couldn't move. She'd frozen in place. She tried to cry out for the driver but then she looked. Pieces of metal ripped through his abdomen and chest. He was dead. Their driver was dead. Surely she should have… She gasped, energy tingling. No. Her body was self-mending, but she still couldn't move. Couldn't reach him.
"Are you alright?" It was John's voice filtering into the car.
"I… They took Nova," Sara could only imagine to say. "The seatbelt…I can't…"
John whipped out a tool belt, removed a razor and cut the restraint away, helped her from the car, catching her arm as she wobbled on her feet. "Night like this… Where could they have gone?"
Night… "Wait, it's November the 4th?" Sara asked him.
"Yes, it is," John replied in consternation.
"St. James Park," Sara said, without a trace of doubt. She remembered how the needle went into Nova's neck. It had similar elements to the story. The one she had yet to write. "They're putting her in the bonfire. To burn her alive."
Immediately he seized her arm, dragging her to the street where she simply watched, dumbfounded as a motorcycle started to approach. It didn't merely stop as it did on the show. But John had excellent reflexes. The vehicle wasn't going at speed. He quickly pulled the driver off the vehicle by his arm, sending him to the pavement before getting on the motorcycle himself. He pulled Sara up behind him.
"Wait…" she started, "can't we use a car? I don't like—" Her words were drowned out as they headed to the park and seeing it was like a macabre setting of that very episode.
Already the fire was lit. Flames arching high against the sky.
Sara jumped awkwardly down from the motorcycle and darted forward. John beside her—as he hadn't shut off the bike, instead just hopping off and letting it skid down the street until friction stopped it—as she scrabbled deeply inside, pulling Nova's unconscious form out from beneath the pyre of flames. Uncaring of the cuts and burns she was receiving in the process of moving aside so much burning debris. They would heal quickly anyway. "Nova?" She asked desperately, trying to shake her gently. "Nova!"
"She's not breathing." John assessed, his eyes on Sara.
"Get us some air!" she shouted to the growing crowd around them as she pretended to start CPR. Instead, she channeled a focused burst of healing energy into Nova. Against the flames throwing everything into dancing shadows and red-orange glow, she hoped the people would never notice. But some were watching. At least one cellphone was recording.
Nova's eyes fluttered opened. "What am I doing here?" she asked in confusion.
Sara hugged her tightly in relief. "Pretending to play the part of Guy Fawkes."
"The young lady has recovered and there is nothing more to see," John announced loudly. "If you visit the concession stand, you will find complimentary drinks are at your disposal."
"I want to go home," Nova whispered.
"We will," Sara assured her. "We—"
"Without ensuring medical treatment after a traumatic accident and severe smoke inhalation?" John interjected smoothly. "I have called my own personal doctor to meet us at my townhouse, where I assure you, you will both be quite safe until morning. Once you have recovered, you may return home."
"We don't want—" Sara tried again.
He didn't let her. "This is a matter of safety. I do not think it is advisable for either of you to return home at this moment." He paused significantly, "Once the doctor has tested and cleared you, then your departure can be arranged." He walked away, nodding to the medics just arriving on scene. "Please assist them to my car."
As they were half-carried, half-dragged to the vehicle, Nova looked at Sara in half-panic. "The doctor will want to see our blood to check our levels. We can't…" her voice trailed off meaningfully.
"I know," Sara said quietly, leaning over to whisper into Nova's ear. "Since you burned your hand, I managed to get my hands on some type O positive blood from the hospital. Blood donor bag. They take our blood, we just switch out the sample. You think we can manage it?"
Nova swallowed dryly. "It's worth a try," she said. "It's better than nothing."
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Edited: 2.18.2020
Wordcount: 10,275