==Chapter 3==

A Run-In With Destiny

"The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed."

– C.G. Jung

Watson opened his copy of The Courier, scanning the contents as he strolled across campus. There it was: 'Internship – starting on the ground floor' by John Walker. Not the most brilliant heading, but at least the paper's editor had deemed the article acceptable. He had to admit, it felt good to have his work in print again, even if under a different name! When Holmes learned about this, he'd probably never let him hear the end of it... damn...

Watson shook his head, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. It had been... how long now, six weeks? And as far as he could tell, he was still no closer to finding his friends than when he first arrived. He'd looked everywhere in London he could think of, even taken a page out of Holmes' book by returning to the homeless shelter and making discreet inquiries among the regulars, but no one had seen a sign of the 'disappearing blue box' for months.

He sighed deeply, smoothing the now somewhat crumpled paper, and turned to the arts page. Perhaps he could visit the library for something besides research this week...

It was a lovely autumn day, so Sally Sparrow was taking advantage of the sunshine. Granted, this meant that she was juggling a couple of library books in her arm as she walked, but it was just too nice outside to stay indoors. She had one book (London: A Social History) open, and a small notebook open on top of it, into which she jotted down notes for her paper. She hadn't narrowed down her topic yet—all she had thus far was the history of London as a cosmopolitan city—but she had three weeks to get this done. She'd manage.

She turned the page, and then she was colliding with someone and her books were scattering on the pavement. She gasped. "Oh God, I'm sorry!" Blushing, she knelt down and started picking her things back up, feeling awkward and ridiculous.

Chiding himself sternly, Watson quickly bent down to help, his own cheeks scarlet. "Oh no, no, no, it was my fault!" He looked up as he handed the notebook back. "I should have... been..." ...good heavens...

Sally took the notebook back and tucked it safely along with the library books between her arm and side. "I should have been watching where I was going, too." She met his gaze and had difficulty not staring. The man was rather older than she was—looked as though he could be faculty—and was rather handsome in almost an old movie star sort of way. Longish ginger-blond hair, warm hazel eyes, and a very neat moustache... broad-shouldered... bet anything he'd played sports in college... and made half the girls swoon...

She smiled shyly. "Hi."

Watson couldn't help smiling back, charmed. "Hello." What a beautiful smile... her eyes hadn't shone like that the first time he'd seen her... Suddenly he realised he was all but staring and hastily pulled himself together. He held out his hand as they stood back up, then saw that he was still holding the paper in that hand and switched it to the other with a sheepish grin. "Sorry. Ah, John Walker."

She took his hand and shook it, liking him more by the second. He had a charming smile and deliciously smooth accent, rather like the old BBC accent. "Sally Sparrow." She let go of his hand to brush the hair away from her face. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Watson cringed inwardly next moment. He'd only just kept from saying Yes, I know when she introduced herself, but surely he could have thought of a better alternative?

"So, I've never seen anybody so engrossed in the paper," Sally continued lightly. "What's it got this month?"

"Oh, the usual assortment." Watson managed to resist the temptation to point out his own article. "I'm afraid you surprised me at one of my guilty pleasures: the book review."

Sally frowned smilingly. "What do you have to be guilty about, reading book reviews?" She did it herself all the time.

Watson's smile turned rueful. "Because I deeply regret not having the chance to read them myself." So many wonderful stories in this century, and so little time – he hoped. "At least with these, one gets a sense of the reviewer's enjoyment – which I'll admit isn't a huge consolation, but still..."

Sally nodded in understanding. "I know what you mean." A bit of wistfulness entered her voice. "I haven't read half the classics that I'd like to, and reading for the purpose of writing essays only gets you so far." There were just too many books out there and too little lifetime.

Watson gave a huff of laughter. "Very true." He'd gotten some memorable Shakespeare essays back from his students at Milton High School. "Is that what you're studying here, literature?"

"Mm, in part. It's what I'm minoring in. My major is history." Sally flipped her hair over her shoulder and tilted her head back slightly. "What about you? What do you do?" She would venture now to say that he was not faculty.

"Freelance journalist – I write the odd piece for The Courier, among others." Which wasn't strictly true, but once he'd expanded his portfolio a bit, he hoped to be able to find more work. Another student brushing past them made Watson realise that they were still standing in the middle of the path. "I, ah..." Perfect, now what? He hadn't a clue what he was supposed to be doing, but he was certain that he shouldn't just let her walk away. "Actually..." Oh, for God's sake, you idiot, what do people normally do in this century? "I was just on my way to get a coffee. Would you... care to join me?"

Sally's eyes widened—he was... was he asking her out for coffee? She'd had a couple of boys hit on her in the past, but she'd never so much as been asked out in her twenty years of life, let alone gone on a date. "Sure." She smiled more fully, flattered. "Sure, that'd be great. I mean, I would like that, yeah."

Watson beamed. "Wonderful!" He was about to offer her his arm, then remembered just in time that that wasn't done anymore. He sighed internally – he was all for equality of the sexes, but for him, the biggest letdown of time travel had been discovering how far the standards for common courtesy had fallen over the centuries.

Sally grinned back. Handsome and adorable—and a bookworm, to boot. This man was quickly ticking off the check-boxes on the list of traits she found attractive. On the walk to the nearest cafe, she determined to find out a bit more about this man, who, come to think of it, she had seen once or twice around campus before. "So, freelance journalist," she said conversationally. "That must be fun."

"Oh yes, but a lot of hard work, as well." Watson grinned as he opened the door of The Lab for Sally – this gesture he could get away with, at least. "Honestly, the amount of research I've been doing lately, I might as well be going for my own B.A." Although very little of that had been for a paycheck.

"Mm, I'd imagine."

"Morning, John, Sally," the cashier greeted them cheerfully. "What can I get you?"

The Lab was one of Watson's favourite spots on campus: a student-run café whose name allowed patrons to say they'd been in 'the lab' without admitting to skulking off for a coffee. What appealed to Watson most was the décor, which, as one might assume from the name, was essentially a chemical laboratory. The staff wore white coats and safety glasses instead of aprons, and the various beakers and flasks that the drinks were served in reminded Watson of Holmes' chemistry set with an odd sense of nostalgia, given that the results of his friend's experiments were often a lot more interesting than he'd intended...

Watson returned abruptly to the present, trying to look like he'd only been frowning at the periodic table menu board. "What'll you have?"

"Ah, just a medium Americano, please." It was all she really needed—she'd already had her morning coffee.

"Mocha double espresso, thanks." Watson's main weakness in this century, served in a pair of test tubes; normally he'd limit himself to once a week, but this was a special occasion.

"Do you really like journalism, though, or is it just a stepping stone?"

Watson took out his wallet, looking at Sally curiously. "Ah, yes to both questions, actually. It's a fascinating line of work, I've learned a lot, but I don't plan to make a career of it." He'd be glad to go back to being a mere chronicler after this, leaving the investigative side of things to Holmes. "And you? History's a bold choice for a first degree – where do you see yourself going with it?"

"I'm wavering between a researcher—like, for documentaries—or a historical nonfiction author." She accepted her coffee with a nod of thanks. "With a little fiction thrown in. Maybe both—I still have a little under two years to figure it out." She shrugged, belying the anxiety she was dealing with over not being able to decide definitively on a course of action. Her problem was that she wanted to do too much, and life was not likely to let her do everything she wanted.

She led him over to a window table once he'd received his espresso. "How about you? What would you like to do beyond journalism?" Interesting that he was in-transit in his career—he couldn't be any younger than his late thirties.

Watson shrugged. "Well, life being what it is, personally I find it's better not to plan too far ahead. I've done a fair bit of travelling in my earlier days, though, and I'd quite like to do a bit more before I get much older." His smile turned wistful. "Maybe I'll try travel writing next." He was starting to wonder if he might need to widen his search beyond London... Oh. Watson suddenly noticed that he'd unthinkingly pulled out a chair for Sally. After a moment's uncertainty, good manners won out, and he nodded down at the chair invitingly, deciding to simply carry on as if such gestures were nothing unusual.

Sally smiled her thanks, charmed even more by this truly adorable man, and sat. "I'm jealous already." What she wouldn't give to be able to go traveling. She'd been told before that one's twenties was typically when one developed wanderlust, and she had a pretty bad case of it. It was one of life's greatest pities that one needed money to travel, and that no one at the ripe old age of twenty had money. "Where have you been?"

Watson sat down himself, considering his next words carefully. He certainly couldn't tell her he'd been travelling in Time and Space, but some things couldn't have changed much, like geography. "Oh, here and there," he said modestly. "America, for one – I spent quite a bit of time there, mainly in the Midwest." He managed a smile. "I even had a job as a high school English teacher, for all of a fortnight."

Sally frowned in sympathy. "Just two weeks?" That was... odd, to say the least. "How did that happen?"

"Just helping out a friend," Watson reassured her. "He was... going through a bit of a rough patch." His gaze drifted involuntarily to the window, looking wistfully out at the passing students. "I'm hoping to see him again one of these days..." He kept telling himself that it was only a matter of time before he found what he was looking for – but the worrying question was always at the back of his mind: how long?

Sally hummed in sympathy, sipping at her coffee. He looked... lonely... and sad. She wanted to offer something further in the way of comfort, but he was still a stranger and she was uncertain of what to say. Still... something about the look in his eyes tugged at her heartstrings.

Watson shook himself from his musings with an apologetic smile, this really wouldn't do. "I'm sorry, where were we?"

Sally smiled back—he really did have a nice smile. "We were in a galaxy far, far away. Or traveling, take your pick."

Watson's heart skipped a beat, before realising she was only referring to Star Wars. "Ah, I've also seen Paris, from above and below." Funny, he'd never thought about it that way before.

Sally's eyes widened. "You've been up the Eiffel Tower?" She wrapped her hands around her beaker, appreciating the warmth in the slightly-too-cool cafe. "I'm definitely jealous." She'd never even made it off Great Britain, and she'd always wanted to visit France.

"Actually, the Tower was a bit of an anticlimax after the catacombs." To say the least...

She raised both eyebrows in surprise. "Very nice," she said appreciatively. "Lots of history down there. So... what were you up to?"

He knew he shouldn't, but he just couldn't resist. "Hunting a vampire."

What?! No, wait, mischief glinted in his eyes. Odd joke, but she'd play along. "Vampires in Paris. Who'd've thought?"

"Her victims certainly didn't..." Oh God, why had he said that? "But what can you expect at Halloween?" Watson hastened to add, wishing fervently he'd never opened his mouth.

She blinked. ...what. Opened her mouth, then closed it. The bit about Halloween rang hollowly in her ears—not that she thought for a second that any real vampires were involved, but... John Walker was not quite telling the truth. "Not much else, I suppose," Sally murmured, and took another sip of her coffee.

Definitely time to change the subject. "But enough about me." Watson sat back, trying to at least appear relaxed. "So, what do you do when you're not studying?"

Hmm... "I read." Sally shrugged. "And I explore, sort of. I take photos as a hobby—purely a hobby, mind: I'm not interested in it enough to pursue a living that way... But I do enjoy it." She shrugged again. There really wasn't much thus far to speak of in her short life.

"What kind of photos?" Watson took his first test tube of espresso from its stand, sipping carefully.

She grinned ruefully. "Photos of old things, typically. Especially old houses—I love old houses." She'd grown up in a sterile, cookie-cutter house with her aunt; she lived in a sterile, cookie-cutter flat now; and she would give anything to live in a faded old house that had every bit as much character to it as the people who'd lived in it had.

Watson couldn't help but smile himself at the growing enthusiasm in her voice. "If only the preservation societies weren't so dreadfully outnumbered, there'd be a lot more of them still standing." Although he'd actually been quite impressed at how much of the 'modern' architecture of his era remained after all this time.

Sally moaned. "Oh, I know." It hurt her heart to think about the history that just faded away all the time... "People just don't care... all they're concerned about is the here and now."

"...too true..." The lump in Watson's throat was back, chest aching as a sudden wave of homesickness crashed over him. He'd only revisited Baker Street once since discovering the museum, it was too painful a reminder of how far he really was from home...

He was definitely in pain. He was lonely and in pain, and she wanted to reach out and comfort him, but he was still a stranger. ...so why didn't he feel like one? After a pause, she murmured, "Do you want to talk about it?

What he wouldn't have given at that moment to confide in her, tell her everything... He fought the impulse, this was not the time, if there ever would be one. He had nothing to offer her, no conclusive proof of any kind, one more word out of place would probably end with Sally thinking him insane – and Watson could bear the loneliness far more easily than he could the thought of this dear, sweet girl being afraid of him, for any reason. He shook his head, trying to smile. "Thank you, Sally... but I'll be all right."

She nodded slowly, not at all convinced. "If you're sure..."

He'd rarely been less certain of anything, but managed a nod. Then his eyes widened as he caught sight of the clock above the counter. "And I'd best let you escape, I think." Good heavens, had they really been talking for half an hour?

Her eyes widened in turn—she had a math quiz this evening to study for. "Oh God, I do have to go." She stood, then paused—now was about the time when normal people asked for contact info, wasn't it? Exchanging phone numbers? She liked this enigmatic, lonely man very much, and she certainly wouldn't mind further coffee outings, but... How was she to go about asking him for his number or giving him hers?

Watson stood with her, holding out his hand. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to make you lose track of time. It was lovely to meet you, Sally." Despite any awkward moments, he hadn't enjoyed anyone's company so much in what seemed a very long time.

She felt her face go warm as she shook his hand. "It was nice meeting you." The words sounded inadequate, but she hesitated to sound like a teenager with a crush. She let go of his hand and paused again, wanting very much to ask for his number or give him her own. But that would be putting herself on the line, and was she actually afraid to do that? What was wrong with her?

Was she... blushing? "No doubt we'll run into each other again sometime." Oh, for God's sake, man, can you at least try not to sound like a buffoon?

She smiled, unreasonably flattered—surely, he was only being courteous! "I would like that." Her eyes widened again as she realised how not right that sounded. "Not-not that I would like to literally run into you again, but I, ah, oh..." Blushing again, she turned to leave, feeling like a complete idiot. "Definitely going now."

Watson couldn't suppress a chuckle, he was too relieved at not being the only one feeling tongue-tied. "Goodbye, Sally –" adding on a sudden impulse: "take care."

She stopped and smiled back at him over her shoulder, touched at the sentiment. "You, too. Bye."

Sally Sparrow had never been sure before if she actually believed in love at first sight—or first meeting, anyway. But just now, walking away from an encounter with a handsome man who seemed to check off most of the boxes on her wishlist, she almost thought she might.

Watson raised a hand in farewell, watching her leave with a strange sinking feeling... but that was foolish, no doubt they would see each other again, they spent enough time in the same place... and it was only then that he realised he was still beaming like an idiot. Oh no... dear God, no, he couldn't be... they'd only just met... He groaned softly, sinking back down into his chair, head in his hands.

"Perfect."

Author's note from Sky: *whistles innocently* Let me start out by saying that Sally is just tough to write, even though she's one of the best rounded one-shot characters in the show. We just don't know very much about her education, her interests outside of "old things" and photography, or her life goals. I had to make things up based on some, well, basic deductions, and I'm all the time scared (even after two years of roleplaying her) that I'm getting her voice wrong.

Also, d'awww, Watson. *hugs him* The poor dear just has a tendency towards love at first sight!

Author's note from Ria: True facts – thank God he at least manages to keep falling for nice girls! But naturally, the course of true love never runs smooth, especially when you have two angst-happy authors on the case... *evil chuckle* Stay tuned!