==Chapter 5==

The Same Rain

"Life is made of ever so many partings welded together."
― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

Holmes wearily climbed the steps to the dingy apartment he and the Doctor were sharing. Thank God he had the day off tomorrow; Mr. Trevillian had been his usual interesting self this afternoon, giving his hapless fencing instructor even more reasons to refrain from watching 'The Three Musketeers'. Of all the gymnasiums in London, he had to pick that one to apply to first...

He unlocked the door, pushed it open... and gaped at the sight that greeted him, a veritable snowdrift of papers covering every flat surface, including most of the floor. He couldn't remember the Baker Street sitting room ever looking this cluttered, which was saying rather a lot.

The Doctor sat cross-legged in the far corner, scribbling notes. "H'llo!" he greeted in a cheerful but preoccupied tone, not even bothering to look up. "How was work?"

Holmes picked his way gingerly across the floor to the couch, trying not to shift any of the papers he couldn't help stepping on. "Dreadful, thank you," he answered, voice heavy with irony. "How was your day?"

"I don't know," came the distracted response. "What time is it?" The Doctor set the paper down carefully to his right, then picked up another sheet and started scribbling again.

Holmes cleared a few papers off one of the sofa cushions and collapsed onto it. "About six, I think..." He glanced at the papers he was holding with idle curiosity, but even he couldn't make head or tail of all the different symbols and equations. "Are we having fish and chips again, or did you actually manage to wash some dishes?"

That finally penetrated. The Doctor looked up slowly, guiltily. "...dishes?"

Holmes gave a deep, exasperated sigh – although he couldn't say he was surprised. He'd quickly discovered that living with the Time Lord was a very different proposition to living with John Smith. "Tell them to go easy on the salt this time." He levered himself off the sofa and headed for the bathroom, tossing his wallet to the Doctor on the way past. "I'm going to take a shower."

The Doctor did his best to look meek. "Will do."

Turning on the bathroom light, Holmes blinked in yet more surprise – what the devil was that odd device sitting on the vanity? No wonder the Doctor hadn't had a spare moment for making this dump tolerable. He was about to call out, but then decided to simply carry on and inquire afterwards. He undressed, pulled open the shower curtain... and returned to the living room a few moments later with a towel around his waist.

"Doctor, would you care to explain what that contraption in the bathroom is?" he asked, with as much restraint as he could manage.

"Hmm?" The Doctor looked up as he set the land-line phone down, eyes widening. "Ohhh. Um... it's a detector."

He moved past Holmes to the bathroom, who followed, frowning. "A detector of what?"

The Doctor started gathering up pieces of machinery into his arms, juggling them as he reached for more. "Ah, temporal anomalies!" Pieces were slipping out of his hold, which he began to kick into the nearest corner. "Need it to find a police detective from 2007, blasted back into the past by the Angels!"

Holmes cast his eyes upwards, but lent a hand to gather up the strays, annoyance rapidly being overtaken by his piqued curiosity. "When?" The Doctor still wouldn't let him read all the papers from the file.

"Dunno, unfortunately—that's why we need the detector! The stuff in the file is all from Watson's and Sally's points-of-view and not ours, so we have to fill in a few blanks ourselves." The Doctor hurried into his own, unused bedroom and dumped his load on the bed, then continued, hands now free to wave circles in the air. "Everything is actually looping around constantly between us and Watson and Sally. I think that, once we find Billy Shipton, things are going to happen fast."

Holmes nodded, brightening at the prospect of finally being able to return to Watson and the TARDIS. He turned to go back to the bathroom, remarking over his shoulder, "But in the meantime, Doctor, perhaps you'd be good enough to refrain from leaving stray wires and fragments of circuit board in the bath!" The detective shuddered to think what could have happened if he'd stepped on one of those.

"Ah, sure!" the Doctor called after him. "Sorry!" Although the Time Lord really only sounded relieved at having avoided a scene.

Holmes sighed as he locked the door behind him – it was only a token gesture these days, with the Doctor having a sonic screwdriver and no discernible sense of privacy. After a brief and mostly cold shower, he returned to the lounge to find the Doctor had already brought back their takeaway.

"Speaking of blanks, Doctor," he asked over dinner, "may I ask what the can of paint in your room is for?" He'd noticed it while dropping his armful of equipment, but had been too distracted to think it of any significance at the time.

"Mm, we need to leave a message," the Doctor said around a mouthful of chips. "That's where Sally comes in. Well, not quite – she'll already have met Watson by the time she finds it, but that's where she gets involved." He frowned. "I think it ends up saving her life."

Holmes's eyes widened, although noting in relief that the Doctor had said nothing about Watson's life being in danger. "Where are we going?" Where on earth was a painted message going to last for thirty-eight years?

"Wester Drumlins – it's a house from early this century on the south side of London. I need to paint the message on a wall in there."

"And then what, paper over it? Assuming we aren't caught trespassing!"

The Doctor shook his head. "We paint and run. We don't really have a choice."

Holmes nodded resignedly, although he couldn't deny feeling a welcome thrill at the prospect of the adventure. Being part of the 'rat race' again was as tedious as he remembered it, and falling back on old habits to relieve the boredom had simply not been an option, even without his recent resolution. He really wished they hadn't landed in the Sixties...

Visiting the nearest police station seemed like a natural course of action, even if they would be unequipped to deal with… whatever it is she was dealing with here. The supernatural? Or Arthur C. Clarke's Third Law? Whatever it was, maybe the police had information about the house. Maybe there had been other disappearances on that property, not just Kathy and Larry.

She tried to state her case as calmly and sanely as she could to the desk sergeant, but it was more difficult than she had thought. Before she was even finished, she could see that she'd lost the man. "Look," she sighed, "I know how mad I'm sounding."

"Shall we try it from the beginning this time?"

She leaned over the desk. "Okay. There's this house. A big old house, been empty for years, falling apart. Wester Drumlins, out by the estate. You've probably seen it."

"Wester Drumlins?" the man repeated, as if it rang a bell.

"Yes."

"Could you just wait here for a minute?" Sally nodded, and the desk sergeant left.

She sighed again and turned around, gaze drifting towards the church opposite the station, visible through the station's huge window. It was raining hard, but she could have sworn that angel statues stood on the church's facade. Which was only natural for a church, but the statues resembled the one in the garden of Wester Drumlins. At least, she thought they did. She approached the window to get a better look through the rain.

The next moment, there was nothing there.

She was so paranoid that she was imagining things. "Okay, cracking up now." Great.

"Hi," came a voice from behind her, with a noticeable African accent. "D.I. Billy Shipton." She turned and walked back to the desk as the owner of the voice approached it. "Wester Drumlins, that's mine." He was a rather good-looking young man with a shaved head, sharp cheekbones, and a goatee. "Can't talk to you now, got a thing I can't be late for, so if you could just…" He looked up then for the first time and saw her—and gave her a quick look-over. "Hello."

Sally raised an eyebrow. "Hello."

"Eh, Marcie, can you tell them I'm going to be late for that thing?"

How was Sally attracting men right and left all of a sudden? Maybe it was the moment she started interacting with guys who were out of college but not old enough to be her father…

D.I. Shipton led her to an underground car park filled with vehicles. He'd explained that they'd been towed away from Wester Drumlins.

Sally frowned incredulously. "All of them?"

"Over the last two years, yeah. They all still have personal items in them and a couple still had the motor running."

Sally tried to wrap her head around that—what the hell was happening here? "So over the last two years, the owners of all of these vehicles have driven up to Wester Drumlins House, parked outside and just disappeared." Back in time like Kathy and Larry? What made it happen? Was there some kind of rift in Time like in sci-fi novels or Star Trek? She caught sight of a tall blue box that said "Police Public Call Box" in retro lettering, just hidden away in one corner. "What's that?"

"Ah! The pride of the Wester Drumlins collection. We found that there, too. Somebody's idea of a joke, I suppose."

"But what is it?" She approached it and began to walk around it, studying the weatherbeaten old thing. "What's a police box?"

"Well, it's a special kind of phone box for policemen." D.I. Shipton moved forward to join her. "They used to have them all over. But this isn't a real one. The phone's just a dummy, and the windows are the wrong size. We can't even get in it. Ordinary Yale lock, but nothing fits. But that's not the big question." He turned to her, smiling. "See, you're missing the big question."

She eyed him. "Okay, what's the big question?"

"Will you have a drink with me?"

She laughed incredulously, nearly choking on her shock. "I'm sorry?"

He was all boyish charm, unperturbed. "Drink? You? Me?" He checked his watch and smiled at her. "Now?"

She smiled incredulously. "Aren't you on duty, Detective Inspector Shipton?"

"Nope," he said easily. "Knocked off before I left. Told them I had a family crisis."

"Why?"

"Because life is short and you are hot." As pick-up lines went, that had to be one of the sweetest she'd ever heard. "Drink?

He was flirting with the ease of someone who was well-practised, and though the attention was flattering… She smiled. "No." And turned away, starting to walk off.

"Ever?"

"Maybe." Not sure I should be going out with you when the only thing I know about you is that you just knocked off police work for a date with a girl you just met.

"Phone number?"

He caught up with her, and she turned back to him. "Moving kind of fast, D.I. Shipton."

"Billy. I'm off duty." He looked much too pleased with himself… and it was kind of adorable.

She grinned in spite of herself and stopped. "Aren't you just." She pulled out her notebook and pen and began to scribble down her number.

He craned his neck over to see. "Is that your phone number?"

She smiled. "Just my phone number. Not a promise. Not a guarantee." She handed him the paper and shoved her notebook and pen back into her pocket, shoving her hands into the pockets as well. "Not an IOU. Just a phone number."

He looked down at the paper in his hand. "And that's Sally…?"

"Sally Shipton." Her eyes widened in horror. "Sparrow!" He looked up at her, wide-eyed. "Sally Sparrow." His own look of surprise turned into a smile of delight, and she wished the ground would just swallow her up right there and then. On the other hand, he was cute and it was kind of funny… She grinned and turned away, ducking her head. "Okay, I'm going now. Don't look at me."

"I'll phone you."

"Don't look at me."

"Phone you tomorrow."

"Don't look at me!"

"Might even phone you tonight!"

She opened the door and stepped out. "Don't look at me!" She closed it behind her, still avoiding looking at him.

"Definitely going to phone you, gorgeous girl!"

"You definitely better!"

Well, she supposed that had gone about as well as could be expected, her first genuine offer for a date. He was kind of sweet—it could be fun. Wasn't quite the date you've been hoping for, though, a rebellious part of her mind whispered.

Shut up, she replied. John had nothing to do with this—she might like him, but he obviously wasn't interested.

Well, that had gone better than expected! Billy turned and gave the police box a grateful grin, then stared. What the hell? Where had those angel statues come from? Oh, wait...

"Okay, Mitch, very funny! Call it even!" He should have known his partner would get him back for the fake parking ticket last week. "Mitch? You back there?" Pretty clever, finding a statue that looked like it was actually trying to get into the box; the other three were just standing around it with their hands over their faces. The detail on these things was incredible...

He gasped as something hit him hard on the back, knees suddenly buckling under his weight. Oh god, his head... Why was it so dark?

"Welcome!"

Billy looked up blearily to see two strange men coming towards him up the... alley? "Where am I?"

Both men were tall and thin, the one on the right wearing a long brown trenchcoat, holding some kind of beeping device. "1969. Not bad, as it goes. You've got the Moon landing to look forward to."

The second, sharper faced man gave him a Look. "Can we get on with this?"

"Working on it!"

"How did I get here?" And who the hell were these two, what did they want with him?

"Same way we did. The touch of an angel." The trenchcoat man climbed through the bars of the access ramp and sat down next to Billy. "Same one, probably, since you ended up in the same year. No, no, no, no, no, don't get up. Time travel without a capsule, nasty. Catch your breath, don't go swimming for half an hour."

"I don't... I can't..." Was that a siren in the distance? He had to get out of here, find some backup... just as soon as his legs cooperated.

"Fascinating race, the Weeping Angels," the man chattered on. "The only psychopaths in the universe to kill you nicely. No mess, no fuss, they just zap you into the past and let you live to death. The rest of your life used up and blown away in the blink of an eye. You die in the past, and in the present they consume the energy of all the days you might have had... all your stolen moments..." He sniffed. "They're creatures of the abstract. They live off potential energy."

"What in God's name are you talking about?"

The second man gave Billy a look of weary sympathy. "Just nod when he stops for breath, it saves time."

"Tracked you down with this." The madman held up his machine, which looked like a cross between an old-fashioned movie projector and a transistor radio. "This is my timey-wimey detector. It goes 'ding' when there's stuff. Also, it can boil an egg at thirty paces, whether you want it to or not, actually, so I've learned to stay away from hens. It's not pretty when they blow."

"I don't understand. Where am I?" If he didn't get any straight answers soon, he was going to flatten someone!

The saner man sighed impatiently. "He already told you: 1969." Okay, he'd been wrong, both of them were mad.

"Normally, I'd offer you a lift home, but somebody nicked my motor. So I need you to take a message to Sally Sparrow." And for the first time, the madman had Billy's full attention. "And I'm sorry, Billy. I am very, very sorry. It's gonna take you a while."

She was just passing the first block from the station when her mobile rang. "Hello?"

"Sally Sparrow? This is Billy Shipton."

"Billy!" Something wasn't right—he didn't sound right. "What's wrong?"

"I'm in the hospital."

She stopped short. "What?! I just saw you in the car park three minutes ago!"

"I know. But for me… it's been much, much longer."

In the geriatric ward of the nearest hospital, she found him in a bed by large windows, the sole occupant of his room. The man sleeping there was old and thickset and balding. She couldn't even see a resemblance.

"Billy?" she said softly. He didn't reply, and she moved on to the window. Just like Kathy and Larry. Blasted to the past, old before they were even born… How could… how…

"It was raining when we met." His voice was older, hoarse.

She turned back to him. "It's the same rain."

He explained what was wrong. It all boiled down to heart failure. He thought it might have had something to do with being blown back nearly forty years—he wasn't that old, after all.

As he rested from his story, she picked up a framed photo from the bedside table. A wedding photo, showing a young Billy with poofy, '60s hair and sideburns, and an attractive brunette. Sally smiled. "She looks nice."

He smiled back. "Her name was Sally, too."

Was. So they'd had less than thirty-eight years. Poor Billy. "Sally Shipton."

"Sally Shipton," he drawled affectionately, shaking his head. She giggled—the memory of her blunder just seemed silly now—and set down the photo. "I often thought about looking for you before tonight, but apparently it would've torn a hole in the fabric of space and time, and destroyed two thirds of the universe. Also, ah… I'd lost my hair." He winked at her, still the charmer.

She smiled slightly. "Two thirds of the universe. Where'd you get that from?"

"There's a man in 1969. He sent me with a message for you."

"What man?"

"The Doctor."

"And what was the message?"

"Just this: 'Go see John Walker. Look at the list.'"

Her eyes widened. John, who are you?! "But what does that mean?"

"He said John would have it by now. A list of seventeen DVDs. I didn't stay a policeman back then. Got into publishing. Then video publishing. Then DVDs, of course."

Seventeen DVDs. Larry. "You put the Easter Egg on?" The one with the two men, the one she had discovered last night in Kathy's flat.

"All seventeen DVDs have one thing in common; you two need to figure out what it is."

She shook her head. "I don't understand." Why me? What does this have to do with me?

He nodded sympathetically. "He said you'd understand it one day, but that I never would."

She smiled. "Soon as I understand it, I'll come and tell you."

"No, gorgeous girl, you can't," he said, with more than a hint of regret. "There's only tonight." Her insides turned cold. "He told me all those years ago that we'll only meet again this one time. On the night I die."

Had they had a future taken from them? Sitting on the edge of his bed, their hands clasped together… it felt very much like it. She could have been Sally Shipton… "Oh, Billy."

"It's kept me going. I'm an old, sick man. But I've had something to look forward to. Ah, life is long, and you are hot. Oh, look at my hands." He flexed them ruefully around hers. "They're old man's hands. How did that happen?"

She bit her lip, trying to hold back her tears. "I'll stay," she said softly. His Sally was gone, and no one should have to die alone. "I'm going to stay with you, okay?" Something had drawn them together before pulling them apart.

"Thank you, Sally Sparrow." A tear slipped past her defences. "I have till the rain stops."

Too soon! The rain won't last much longer. She nodded wordlessly, chest aching.

She held his hand as he fell asleep, until she could no longer feel a pulse, and the heart-rate monitor fell to a steady whine. People came, unhooked the body, and wheeled it away.

A man who, in another lifetime, could have been her husband.

She lifted her chin, turned away from the window where the sun was just starting to set, and strode away. She would cry later.

Sky: Poor Billy! And poor Sally! Of course, they're the ship that we all shipped for 60 seconds, and the screentime between them is magical. Recapturing that magic on paper was difficult (as it always is when novelizing a scene that people have already seen). You don't have the actors' appearances and body language, so you have to compensate with a character's thoughts, and it's not easy. Especially with "Blink," being a very visuals-heavy story...

Ria: To all those who've been wanting to see what Holmes and the Doctor were up to in '69, hope you enjoyed this. I love that Holmes is now having to deal with someone else's mess, who's even more of a slob than he is! *evil grin* And none of our heroes have finished getting into trouble yet... stay tuned!

Oh yes, and a Happy New Year, everyone!