==Chapter 4==

Love From The Doctor

"It isn't possible to love and part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you"

— E. M. Forster, A Room with a View

Sally was on her way to the nearest parking lot from the college library, her best friend Kathy Nightingale in tow. She stopped when she heard a familiar baritone greet her with a "Hello." She turned fully towards the owner of the voice, her face brightening: it was her handsome, enigmatic stranger. "Hi, John. Ah, John, this is my friend Kathy; Kathy, this is John. We bumped into each other the other day."

John grinned sheepishly. "Literally, as I recall." He extended a hand to Kathy, who shook it, her dark eyes wide. "It's nice to meet you, Kathy."

"Nice to meet you, too, finally," said Kathy. She turned back to Sally. "Girl, you didn't say he was this cute!"

Ah, yes, Sally could always count on her bestie for support. "Yeah, ah, no." She blushed. "Moving on…" To John: "What are you up to?"

The poor man was rather red-faced, himself. Sally swore that if Kathy ruined her first good chance at having a real boyfriend (and a sweet one, at that!), she'd kill her, bestie or not. "Ah, the library, I have a date," he stammered. Blushing harder, he said hastily, "Some dates to check—I'm writing an article on the college's history." He looked down at the ground as if willing it to open up and swallow him.

"Oh, I think that should be fun!" This was Sally's element, after all: history, research, writing. "Do you have any specific focus or a set length or anything?"

He looked up again, expression grateful. "Ah, yes, the college's foundation and original faculty—" he grinned ruefully—"five thousand words."

She tilted her head and smiled. "Well, then, that ought to be just enough space to dig up and flesh out a good story or three about the faculty." She shrugged. "Everybody's got a story." And stories about founders were often the best.

He nodded thoughtfully. "Yes—actually, I shouldn't wonder if at least a few of the original students were still alive and well…"

Kathy grinned. "Ohhh, and I just bet they'll have some colourful stories about their professors!"

Sally gave her an exasperated look. Honestly. "Right. You mean the ones he won't be allowed to publish?"

Kathy shrugged in return. "Hey, can't libel the dead, right?"

John chuckled. "Sadly, it's a college paper; I'm not supposed to make them turn in their graves, either!"

Sally shook her head. "You see what I have to put up with?"

Kathy gave her a good-natured smirk. "Just keeping you on your toes."

Sally raised an eyebrow, just as good-natured. "Funny, and here I thought I was dangling…" She turned back to John with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry—we should let you get back to work."

He smiled regretfully. "Indeed, I must be going." His smile softened, and Sally couldn't help thinking that he really was the nicest and possibly even handsomest man she'd ever met. "It was good to see you again."

Her own smile turned soft in response. "Yeah, it was good seeing you again. Should, um, bump into you more often." Her eyes widened in horror as she realised just how bad that could sound, and she grabbed Kathy's arm. "Bye!" She all but ran, pulling Kathy with her.

The demon child giggled. "I was going to say something suggestive, but you beat me to it!"

Sally groaned. "You are the absolute worst! As if it wasn't bad enough, my not even knowing how to act around a cute guy…"

Kathy grinned teasingly. "Looked to me like you were doing okay—your boyfriend could hardly take his eyes off you!"

Sally blushed again—he most certainly had not. John Walker was probably not at all interested in a college kid nearly young enough to be his daughter. Most likely, he was only being friendly. "He's not my boyfriend! I only just met him—we don't even have each other's numbers!"

Kathy stared, shaking her head in disbelief. "Girl… what are you playing at?"

Sally groaned. "It's not like I didn't want to! But… I don't know… something about him…" She shook her head—it wasn't just the age gap. "It just suddenly seemed… way too overt. Almost crass." She flung her hands out helplessly. "I don't know…"

Kathy smiled sympathetically. "Aw, sweetie…" She patted Sally's shoulder kindly, then she took on a mock-stern tone. "But seriously, if you don't grab him, I will, so get on with it!"

Sally laughed silently, half-despairingly, and shook her head. She would like nothing better than to get to know John Walker better, but she wasn't at all sure that that would ever happen, much less anything more serious. "We'll see…"

All right, look: what matters is we can communicate. We have got big problems now. They've taken the blue box, haven't they? The angels have the phone box.

"Sounds like a T-shirt," Watson murmured wearily, studying his latest journal entry yet again. He snapped the notebook shut with a sigh of frustration, he already had the Doctor's message fragment memorised from staring at it the first twenty times... but what on earth did it mean? What angels? The only angel he knew of was that statue he'd seen in the warehouse where his companions and the TARDIS had vanished... but that couldn't be it, statues weren't alive.

It had been a severe blow to discover that Holmes and the Doctor were also stranded in Time without the TARDIS, and clearly in the past, not the future – but what date? And why was the Doctor calling his ship 'the blue box', why not call her by her real name? Unless he was worried about leaving too detailed a message where it could be found by accident, given that that was exactly how Watson had found it. Just a offhanded quip in an internet chat room... the angels have the phone box... and since then he'd barely slept in his quest for the rest of the message.

Well... if he was entirely honest with himself, he'd had more than his usual difficulty sleeping ever since his first date... encounter with Sally. It was all very well telling himself that this was a mere infatuation, most likely brought on by lack of companionship, and the sooner he left, the better for the both of them... but that didn't keep him from smiling every time he thought about her, or seeing her beautiful amber eyes every time he closed his own...

Watson groaned, shaking his head – he was hopeless and he knew it. Even if he weren't due to leave again – although Heaven knew when, even now! – what possible chance would he have? No modern female would truly want a Victorian-age antique like him, and he was nearly old enough to be her father, for heaven's sake...

"Hello, John."

Watson's heart missed a beat, looking up to see Sally ahead of him on the path, smiling warmly; he couldn't help smiling back.

"Sally." Dear Lord, were they ever going to stop meeting like this? He tried in vain to ignore the treacherous thought that whispered: When you stop spending more time than necessary on campus... "It's good to see you – I was hoping we'd meet again."

Sally's eyes shone, smile turning shy. "I was hoping that, too. I mean... I enjoyed our talk the other day."

"So did I." For God's sake, man, what are you, a moonstruck teenager? Grow up! Watson's smile faded, knowing deep down that that relentless inner voice was in the right of it. However either of them might feel about each other, he couldn't lead her on like this, it wouldn't be fair. "Would, ah..." He took a deep, quiet breath. "Would you walk with me? If you're free, that is," he added hastily. "I don't want to make you late for anything else..." Perfect, now he was starting to babble. He fell silent, cheeks growing warm.

Sally's smile turned reassuring. "All I have to do right now is homework." She shrugged, grinning. "Obviously, I'm not. I'll get to it... this evening." Another shrug. "It's a beautiful day, I'm enjoying it."

Watson nodded, wishing that he could say the same. He pocketed his notebook and inclined his head invitingly, sternly suppressing the impulse to offer her his arm as they continued on together. "How have you been?"

"Pretty well. Been taking lots of pictures as the leaves turn – lovely colours right now. How about you?"

"Mm, not too bad." Although Watson knew his face was telling a very different story. Seeing himself in the mirror this morning, for the first time in 48 hours, had been an unpleasant wakeup call. The last time Holmes had looked that haggard, Watson had forbidden him to receive any clients for a fortnight...

He suddenly became aware that Sally was looking him over in obvious concern. "You don't look so well," she said softly. "What's wrong?"

Watson grimaced. "Understandable. I've been doing some... rather intensive research over the last few days. I haven't had much chance to catch up on sleep yet."

He couldn't escape her studying gaze. "Investigative journalism?"

"No, it's more of a... personal matter." He drew another deep breath. "The problem is that... that research has led to certain... complications." Coward...

Sally reached out and laid her hand on his arm – it was all Watson could do not to take it in his own. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not in the least... but... I'm afraid I must." Watson forced the words out, each one a knife in his gut. "Sally... I have no idea what the future holds, but... whatever does happen... I doubt that I'll be here for much longer." Dear God, give me strength... "The last thing I would ever want is for you to get hurt... and I am deeply concerned that... if we continue to spend time in each other's company..." The lump in his throat was back with a vengeance.

Sally had listened to his stammerings with an incredulous frown, hand unconsciously withdrawing from his arm. "John, what are you talking about? Are you in trouble? What's wrong?"

Oh, where to begin... "Forgive me, Sally... I wish I could give you an explanation... but trust me, it's better for us both if we go our separate ways."

Her disbelieving laugh twisted his insides. "You're breaking us up... when we're not even together in the first place? What is it? Are you... a convict? Witness protection? Undercover agent? What?"

Watson shook his head sadly. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." If only he could lie to her, give her at least a concrete reason for his wounding her. "I'm so sorry, my dear – you deserve far better than this."

Her voice grew sharp. "Don't tell me what I can and can't believe – you might be surprised. And don't think I can't tell that you're handling this alone, either, and you shouldn't be."

They finally agreed on something, and he couldn't even tell her... Watson set his jaw, hating himself – but there seemed no other choice, she was as stubborn as he was. "Goodbye, Sally. Do both of us a favour, and forget me." Turning on his heel, he walked away from her as swiftly as his limp would allow, blinking hard. It was taking every ounce of self control he had not to turn back... but then running footsteps sounded behind him, and she was blocking his path again.

"Maybe you can, but I can't!" She thrust a scrap of paper into his hand, eyes burning with unshed tears as they searched his face. "Call me when you're ready to stop acting like a self-destructive idiot." And then she was striding away from him, back the way she'd come, head held high.

Watson stared after her helplessly until she'd disappeared around the corner, then down at the paper in his hand, bearing Sally's hastily-scribbled telephone number. He shouldn't keep it, he knew that – it was clear to him now why she'd looked so sad when he'd first seen her. He only had to open his fingers and let the autumn breeze snatch the paper away, a clean break for them both... but all the way home, his hand remained stubbornly closed.

Danger: Keep Out: Unsafe Structure, London County Council. So… getting onto the grounds of Wester Drumlins was technically illegal, but it was precisely because it was so old and broken-down that Sally wanted to photograph it. Old houses were the classical music that soothed her soul, which kind of needed soothing right now.

An October shower was just petering out, which suited her purposes just fine. The night being wet meant that the odds of her not being caught were in her favour.

She grabbed hold of the lovely wrought-iron gates and began to climb. Getting onto the grounds presented no difficulty; getting into the house, well… After searching for five minutes, she had to settle for breaking a boarded-up window; not the kind of entry she'd wanted to make, but there was just no other way to get into the house. It was abandoned and probably condemned, anyway—she was certainly not going to hurt anything, and she wanted to get photos of the place before it was gone.

The scent of rot hung heavy in the air. Dulled chandeliers rested beneath dusty plastic on the floors, and faded wallpaper had peeled away from the wall in many places. It put her in mind of melancholic classical piano.

She couldn't deny that she was also a bit spooked—she'd never ventured alone into an abandoned space at night before. But there was really nothing to be scared of; this place was abandoned, and it wasn't as if there were monsters in the dark like the ones that had plagued her childhood nightmares. Even so… she couldn't quite shake the feeling of being watched, which was also ridiculous, and which she set down to nerves. How could you feel if somebody was watching you, anyway?

Oh. Oh, what was this? A letter—"B," she thought—peeked from beneath one of the pieces of peeling wallpaper. Which was fantastic—written messages beneath wallpaper and flooring were always fun to uncover. She pulled the paper further back…

"Beware the Weeping Angels."

...all right, ominous. She stripped more paper away below that.

"Oh, and duck! Really, duck! Sally Sparrow, duck, now."

Cold fear and adrenaline flashed through her body, and she ducked on instinct. The window behind her shattered, and something hit the wall just about where her head had been two seconds before. The object, a garden pot, bounced off the wall and shattered on the floor. She shuddered, too stunned to think coherently. She turned and shined her torch out the window, but no one was there, just a stone angel statue, posed with its hands covering its face. A weeping angel, her mind supplied, and she shuddered again.

From whom had the message on the wall come? And why was it addressed to her? And what kind of sick coincidence could it be that she would uncover a message ostensibly telling her to duck, barely two seconds before a thrown object nearly killed her?

She'd find out first, and then she'd run.

But all the wall had to say was "Love from the Doctor, 1969".

After a thoroughly bizarre experience in an abandoned house, Sally was not really willing to go back to her apartment and spend the rest of the night alone. She'd never get any sleep—not that she was probably going to get any sleep at Kathy's flat, either, which was where she was headed.

She hurried up the stairs, calling "Kathy?"

The living room was full of TV screens, every one of them featuring an old-looking video of a man in his thirties, with spiky brown hair, big brown eyes, glasses, and a brown pinstripe suit. One screen included another man in his thirties, pale and dark-haired, grey-eyed, with classical features and wearing a plain grey, vaguely '60s suit.

The first man was saying, "They're coming. The angels are coming for you. But listen, your life could depend on this. Don't blink! Don't even blink. Blink, and you're dead. They are fast, faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don't blink. Good luck." The video then froze, and Sally shivered slightly. Weird.

She rang up Kathy and waited. "Hello?" said her friend. Sally felt a bit bad about waking Kathy up, but one of the things about their friendship was that they could ring each other up at any time if they really needed someone to talk to.

"Bit freaked," Sally told her. She pulled out the coffee canister and filters and started to fix a pot of coffee. "Need to talk. Making you a coffee."

"Sally Sparrow, it's one in the morning. Do you think I'm coming round at one in the morning?"

"No. I'm in the kitchen. What's that on all those screens in your front room?"

"Oh, God," Kathy said in a panicked tone. "Oh, God. Sally, you've met my brother Larry, haven't you?"

"No."

"You're about to."

Sally was just wondering how this would be a bad thing when the kitchen door opened to reveal a blond young man who was most definitely naked. Oh.

"Okay," said the man Sally assumed was Larry. "Not sure, but really, really hoping. Pants?"

Eyes wide, Sally shook her head. "No."

From upstairs, Kathy began to shout furiously. "Put them on! Put them on! I hate you! What're you thinking?"

Larry drifted away, obviously still half-asleep.

Kathy entered the kitchen, wrapping her robe around her. "Sorry. My useless brother." Then something about Sally's face must have betrayed her… state of not-quite-upset, because Kathy bent down with a look of concern. "Sally? What's wrong? What's happened? Is it John again?"

In the full light of day, Sally, Kathy, and Larry made an expedition to Wester Drumlins. Kathy glowered at her brother as they began to climb the fence. "Can't you just stay with the car?"

Larry smirked. "Driver's privilege—that's why keys were invented."

"Kathy, it's okay," said Sally. "We might need him anyway if we run into whoever threw that pot at me last night." She winked, but she was half-serious: the missile that nearly killed her had unsettled her just as much as the message to her from 1969.

Larry blushed, looking awkward, then grinned appreciatively at the house as it came into view. "Like I'd miss something like this? This is so Scooby Doo!"

Kathy rolled her eyes in a clear "why me?" manner.

Inside the entrance hall, she was still not impressed. "What did you come here for, anyway?"

Sally smiled and led the way to the drawing room. "I love old things. They make me feel sad."

Larry looked at her oddly. "So what's good about sad?"

Sally raised her eyebrows and widened her eyes, mischief glinting in them. "It's happy—for deep people."

Kathy smirked.

Larry looked as if he wasn't sure whether to laugh or be offended. His eyes widened as he took in the message on the wall. "You weren't joking!"

Kathy looked out the broken window. "Is that the Weeping Angel? Wouldn't mind that in my garden."

Sally joined her and frowned, a chill running down her spine. "It's moved."

Behind her, she could hear Larry peeling off more wallpaper.

Kathy blinked. "It's what?"

Sally stared at the angel. "...since yesterday. I'm sure of it. It's closer. It's got closer to the house."

Kathy gave her a disbelieving grin. "Oh, come on. It was dark last time; everything looks different at night!" She looked back at Larry. "What are you doing?"

"Well, there might be more!"

Sally sighed. Every bit of her instinct told her that something was very, very wrong here. "I know what I saw, and I'm pretty sure there's nothing more there. What I want to know is, how is it possible? "

Kathy shrugged. "Someone's playing a joke?"

Larry frowned doubtfully. "Strange sort of prank—did anyone else know you were coming here?"

Sally shook her head. "It's off-limits—the only person to whom I would ever say something about this in the first place would be your sister. Besides which…" She nodded at the wall. "...the wallpaper. This is old—older than the week that I've even known about this place."

"Yeah…" Larry tilted his head, looking at the message again with an odd expression. "It's weird, actually…"

Sally frowned again. "Yes, we did establish that…"

He shook his head. "No, it's just… that guy on the DVDs, he keeps going on about angels."

Her frown deepened. "The DVDs you were watching last night?"

"Yeah, I was checking to see if they were all the same. He's an Easter egg."

"Excuse me?"

"You know how on DVDs they put extras on, documentaries and stuff? Well, sometimes they put on hidden ones, Easter eggs. You have to look for them, follow a bunch of clues in the menu screen. And that guy's on seventeen different DVDs."

Kathy rolled her eyes again. "Yeah, and all he does is sit there saying random stuff—real interesting!"

Larry gave her a Look. "It is, actually." He turned back to Sally. "It's like he's having half a conversation. Me and the guys are always trying to work out the other half."

Intrigued herself now, Sally smiled. "When you say you and the guys, you mean the Internet, don't you?"

Larry gave her an odd look again. "How d'you know?"

Her eyes glinted with mischief again. "Spooky, isn't it?"

The doorbell rang just then, and all three jumped.

"Who'd come here?" Kathy whispered.

Larry managed to give her another Look, despite his wide eyes. "You mean besides us?"

Sally rolled her eyes and made to return to the front door. Kathy grabbed her arm. "What are you doing? It could be a burglar."

"A burglar who rings the doorbell of an abandoned house?"

Kathy conceded with a nod. "Okay. We'll stay here in case of…"

It was Sally's turn to give her a Look. "In case of…?"

"Incidents?" Kathy said weakly.

Larry rolled his eyes. "It's probably just some preservation society nut."

Sally sighed again and shook her head. "Fine." She returned to the front door and opened it to find a ginger-haired young man waiting.

"I'm looking for Sally Sparrow," he said.

Okay, this was just getting ridiculous now. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"I was told to bring this letter on this date at this exact time to Sally Sparrow."

Sally eyed the envelope in his hands. "Looks old."

"It is old. I'm sorry, do you have anything with a photograph on it, like a driving license?"

Definitely gone from weird to absurd.

Kathy and Larry hovered at the edge of the sitting room doorway, peeking around it to watch Sally and the newcomer. A rustle outside sounded behind them.

"Wait here," Kathy whispered. She moved back and turned to go out into the conservatory. There was nothing. No animals, no people, just another angel statue close to the house. She must not have seen it when she was looking out a minute ago.

"How did they know I was coming here?" Sally asked as she rummaged her purse for her license. "I didn't tell anyone. How could anyone have known?"

"It's all a bit complicated. I'm not sure I understand it myself."

Sally found her card and held it up for him.

Kathy returned to the drawing room door.

Larry glanced over his shoulder. "What was it?" His expression changed to a puzzled frown as he looked past Kathy into the conservatory.

"Just a bird, I think. What's wrong?"

"Sorry," he said, "just… I didn't notice that statue there before…"

The man studied the card. "I'm sorry, I feel really stupid, but I was told to make absolutely sure. It's so hard to tell with these little photographs, isn't it?"

Sally's patience was starting to wear thin. "Apparently."

"Well, here goes, I suppose. Funny feeling, after all these years."

"Who's it from?"

"Well, that's a long story, actually."

She could have slapped him for being so ridiculously hesitant. "Give me a name."

Kathy turned to look in the same direction. "Well, if you hadn't been…" She gasped at the sight of an Angel statue standing almost in the conservatory doorway, staring straight at them, both hands down. "Oh my God…!"

"Katherine Wainwright. But she specified I should tell you that prior to marriage, she was called Kathy Nightingale. "

Kathy turned away unthinkingly to look at Larry, eyes wide. "That wasn't—"

A door slammed shut somewhere in the house

Sally paid it little heed as she said echoed, "Kathy?"

"Kathy, yes. Katherine Costello Nightingale."

"Is this a joke?"

"A joke?"

It had to be. "Kathy, is this you?" Sally called, as she turned and walked back to the drawing room. "Very funny. ...Kathy?"

There was no one there. Just the statue outside.

"Kathy? Kathy!" The door slam—that had been the drawing room door. But where the hell was Kathy and her brother?!

The man followed her in. "Please, you need to take this. I promised."

Sally rounded on him, heart pounding with fear and adrenaline, very much ready to slap him. She needed answers, and he sounded like a broken record! "Who are you? Why are you here?"

"I made a promise."

She tried not to growl. "Who to?" She wasn't sure she succeeded.

"My grandmother, Katherine Costello Nightingale."

"Your grandmother?"

"Yes. She died twenty years ago." He would have been very young then, when his grandmother died. What a responsibility to saddle a child with!

Sally opened the envelope, withdrawing from it old photographs of an eerily-familiar woman. "So they're related?"

"I'm sorry?"

"My Kathy, your grandmother. They're practically identical." She began to read the letter.

My dearest Sally Sparrow,

If my grandson has done as he promises he will, then as you read these words it has been mere minutes since we last spoke. For you. For Lawrence and I, it has been over sixty years. The third of the photographs is of my children. The youngest is Sally. I named her after you, of course.

I have thought long and hard about how to tell you about the events that befell us. I do not fully understand what happened myself...

Sally looked up. "This is sick. This is totally sick!" She threw down the photographs and the letter and ran up the stairs. "Kathy? Kathy! Larry?" She heard the front door close and ran back downstairs. "No, wait! Hang on!"

The man was heading down the driveway. Darn him, why was he leaving?! She picked up the photographs and letter and ran outside, just in time to watch him drive off.

She walked away from Wester Drumlins alone.

In her favorite cafe, with a mocha latte to soothe her, Sally finished the letter.

You love the mournfulness and fragility of old things - the sadness of things finished, over with. But every moment, when it happens, is as fresh and optimistic as the moment you are in now.

I suppose, unless I live to a really exceptional old age, I will be long gone as you read this. But right now I'm alive, and living a life that is every bit as real as yours.

Don't feel sorry for me. I have led a good and full life. I've loved a good man and been well loved in return. You would have liked Ben – I wish you could have met him. He was the very first person Lawrence and I met in 1920.

To take one breath in 2007 and have the next in 1920 is a strange way to start a new life, but a new life is exactly what I wanted. Lawrence took a while longer to adjust to the lack of technology, but I think, eventually, he also found what he was looking for. Our mum and dad are gone by your time, so really there's no one else to tell.

Sally, I'm so sorry—I know your family are gone, too, and I hate to think of you on your own. You'll probably say I'm sticking my nose in again, but I have to ask: is it possible that you and John...? I don't know what he did to make you angry, but the one time I met him at college, his face lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw you—and plenty of relationships have started on a lot less. Maybe I can't steal him off you now, but that's no excuse for not taking the chance to be happy when it comes your way. Don't be scared.

All my love,

Kathy

There was a note inside the envelope, scribbled in a different hand, that gave the name of a cemetery and its location. Sally didn't want to go find the grave, but… she had to.

Benjamin and Katherine Wainwright. Just an ordinary headstone in an ordinary cemetery. But her best friend was lying in the grave beneath, with her husband. Dead for twenty years. Died the year Sally was born, 1987.

She set down the white lilies she'd brought and knelt down to read the inscription. Kathy's birth year was listed as 1902. "1902?" Something about that rang wrong… if the Nightingales had landed in 1920… Sally grinned past her tears. "You told him you were eighteen? You lying cow."

She stood and walked away from the cemetery. Once she really started crying, she wouldn't stop, and she wasn't going to do it here. She was going to find out the truth about Wester Drumlins, and why Kathy and Larry ended up in the past.

And then she'd mourn.

Author's note from Sky:

Ow, oh, my heart! Poor Watson and Sally! In all seriousness, Watson does canonically have self-esteem issues. Nowhere is this more blatant than in The Sign of the Four, when he believes he's unworthy of Mary, but it's all throughout the Canon. Most of his references to himself are pretty derogatory.

...as for Kathy Nightingale, you have Ria to thank for her being a demon child. ;) And as for Sally... well, yes, she has some issues herself, but thank goodness she didn't let Watson walk away without calling him out and giving him her number! Doggone it, now I have Sally feels and I still want her to be an actual Companion!

Author's note from Ria:

*hugs Sally and Watson, then bangs their heads together* And that's all I have to say about that... well, till next chapter, anyway! In which we may just see more of Holmes and the Doctor... stay tuned!