==Chapter 6==

Doctor Watson, I Presume

"We are all travelers in the wilderness of this world, and the best we can find in our travels is an honest friend."
― Robert Louis Stevenson

Under the pale light of a waning moon, Wester Drumlins appeared to be classic haunted house material in the making. The Doctor noted that even Holmes didn't seem to be immune to the atmosphere. The detective was looking around nervously and acting rather twitchy as the Time Lord worked on the front door's lock with the sonic. The Doctor muttered encouragement to his tool, and within half a minute, the lock opened. "Ah-ha! There we go!" He grabbed the doorknob and pushed the door slowly, carefully open.

Still, it creaked, and Holmes winced. "Come on, Watson," he murmured—unconsciously, poor man. Empathising entirely, the Doctor didn't react at all. How many times had he reached for a companion who was no longer there?

The Doctor stepped inside, pulling out his torch, and looked around. "Lovely place… too bad the Angels have to set up base here."

Holmes blanched, eyes wide, and the Doctor realised that he'd forgotten to mention the bit about the Angels earlier. "What?!" he hissed.

"Not yet! Look, neither me nor the sonic is picking up anything on them—they're not here yet. But they will be. That's why we need to make this message. "

Holmes exhaled in relief and cast a studying gaze over the building materials stacked around the foyer. "It doesn't look as if anyone lives here at the moment."

"Nope, looks like they're remodeling, which is good." The Doctor set off down the hall, shining his torch around. "Means they won't mind…" He stopped at the doorway to the drawing room, stepped inside, and pointed the light at the conservatory where an Angel would someday stand. "…a little paint they can just paper over…"

He paused, the enormity of simply being in this room impressing itself upon him. So much was going to happen because of this; it wasn't a Fixed Point, but it was a Point at which many timelines intersected and tangled in important ways. "This is it," he said quietly. "This is the room."

Holmes silently handed him the paint can and brush, and took the torch.

The Doctor knelt before the wall and touched it. Traces of Sally's shock and fear emanated from it, four decades in the future. Poor kid—she'd be going through so much before the end of it all. He wished he could give her more assurance that she'd be okay, but all he could do was what he knew had to. Time loops could be very cruel mistresses.

The Doctor finished the final stroke on the final letter, looked up at the rest of the message, looked down at his reference photo, up again, and then rose to his feet. Perfect match. "There we go."

Holmes nodded, looking anxious to leave. A shuffling footstep sounded out in the foyer, and he stiffened and wheeled around to shine the torch towards the open door.

The Doctor frowned. "Hello?"

The slow footsteps got nearer. A tall, thin man appeared in the doorway, in his early seventies, with glasses and whitening hair. He stared at the intruders, but particularly at the Doctor.

"Hullo, sorry," said the Doctor, "we, um… kind of had to do something to the wall, but walls can always be papered over, right? Is it your wall? Terribly sorry about—"

"Oh my God," the old man interrupted, sounding hoarse from shock rather than age, "it's you…"

The Doctor's frown deepened in bemusement. "Yes, it's me. I'm sorry, do I know you?"

The old man approached slowly, looking awestruck. "I've been waiting for you to show up and paint that message, Doctor, these last fifty years." He held out his hand. "Lawrence Nightingale—it's an honour to finally meet you."

The Doctor's eyes widened. "Larry?" He took the man's hand and shook it. "Hello, yes, good to meet you!"

Holmes frowned, giving Larry the onceover. "This is your house?"

Larry shook his head. "I'm just the caretaker, Mr. Holmes—have been since the Fifties." He grinned wryly. "Took me thirty years to make my way back here after what happened—" He shivered slightly, and the Doctor couldn't blame him. "—right in this very room."

"I'm sorry," the Doctor said seriously. "You should probably find a new job in the next few years, though, or retire. Sometime in the next thirty-eight years, the Angels take over this place, and I think it'll be sooner rather than later."

Larry nodded solemnly. "I've only stayed to make sure the message was preserved." He sighed. "So many times I've been tempted to add to it, tell the three of us to run... but it's like you said, isn't it, Doctor? You can't outrun them—and this was always going to happen."

The Time Lord looked at him sadly. Even if Larry had had a good life, it hadn't been the one he'd been meant for. "Somehow, yes. I'm so sorry; I wish it didn't have to."

Larry smiled kindly. "Don't you be sorry, Doctor. I've had a good, long life and so has Kathy." He grinned. "Even got grandkids now—she's that proud!"

The Doctor couldn't help smiling softly. "Awww, that's lovely. I'm glad." He bent down and gathered up the paint can and brush.

Holmes was looking at the old man with respect, probably for his sheer nerve to stay here all this time. "Thank you for waiting, Mr. Nightingale."

Larry shook hands with him. "Don't mention it—it's the least I could do for her." He smiled wistfully, eyes distant, and when he spoke again, it was definitely mostly to himself. "She had her mother's hair…"

The Doctor frowned. "What did you say? Who is 'her'?"

Larry shook his head. "She wouldn't tell me her name… but she said to give you three her love."

The Doctor's eyes widened again—he could think of only one woman who could be living in this era and know him and his Victorian Companions. "I see. That was very sweet of her."

"Yes, she was," Larry said softly. A gleam of regret was visible in his eyes, and the Doctor's chest ached—this whole thing wasn't fair for anybody who'd gotten involved.

Larry saw the pair of them back to the front door. "Well, goodnight, gentlemen. I'd wish you luck, but I doubt you'll be needing it." He grinned again. "I'll tell Kathy you stopped by."

"Thanks," the Doctor said ruefully. Time travel could sometimes be the oddest thing… "Tell her best wishes from us. And… take care of yourself."

Larry nodded. "I will." He seemed about to say something else, then changed his mind and closed the door.

The Doctor understood nonetheless, and resolved to pass on the unspoken message someday.

A kindhearted soul at the college newspaper had given Sally John's address when she claimed an emergency, and now she stood before his door. She took a deep breath, knocked, and stepped back, heart hammering.

After a few seconds, the door opened wide, its owner looking stunned. "Sally, what on earth are you doing here? How did you...?" He shook his head. "Never mind, come in."

"Thanks," she murmured. The flat itself looked like it wasn't about to collapse on its renter, a sight better than other flats she'd known, but it was also quite bare aside from stacks of newspapers. No photos, no memorabalia, nothing to indicate a past or a future. She turned back to the enigma that was John Walker and cleared her throat. "I was told by someone to come see you—at least, I'm pretty sure he meant you." She studied him as she continued: "He said, 'Go see John Walker, look at the list.'"

Something indefinable flickered in his eyes. "Did he give you a name?"

She swallowed dryly. "You wouldn't know it, I think, but he said that 'the Doctor' told him to give me that message."

He sagged in relief but looked confused. "Did he say anything else? Where did he see the Doctor?"

"In 1969," she said softly.

He nodded, that apparently making sense to him, then frowned as if seeing her for the first time. "Are you all right? Please, sit down."

She shook her head, certain that if she sat down, her guard would relax and the grief would finally come crashing down on her. She opened her mouth to explain, but nothing came out.

He blushed. "Sally, I... I am truly sorry for what I said to you on our last encounter." He looked down for a moment. "I never meant to hurt you, I just…" He looked back up and met her gaze. "I just wanted to spare you any more pain later…"

She gave a short, almost sobbing laugh and looked down herself. "I can see why now, at least." She looked back up. "People have died." Her voice had gone hoarse.

He paled, eyes widening, and stepped closer. "Tell me," he said softly.

She closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. "The man who gave me that message, Billy Shipton…" She took another shuddering breath and whispered, "And Kathy…"

His breath caught, plainly horrified. "Oh, Sally…!" He stepped closer still and wrapped his arms around her.

She instinctively returned the hug, breath hitching—the one person who would normally be giving her comfort right about now was gone. "John," she whispered, "what's going on? Who are you?"

His hold tightened. "You're probably not going to believe this…"

"John! I just lost my best friend, who went back to 1920 and died the year we were born. I also just met a young detective this afternoon who died an old man an hour later because he was sent back to 1969 and also lived out the rest of his life. What do you think I'm not going to believe at this point?"

He nodded, chastened. "I'm sorry…" He took a deep breath. "My real name is Dr. John Watson."

Her eyes flew open. Oh. Oh. That… well, time-travel was already involved in this mess. Looks like those stories are more real than anyone was truly willing to believe… She gave a helpless laugh. "Dr. John Watson… as in… Dr. John H. Watson, 221B Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes, oh, God…" She closed her eyes. "I'm not really surprised, I guess…"

She could hear the shaky grin in his voice. "You'd be one of the first…"

Shaking her head, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. "I'm just that good." She flashed him a mirthless smile. "Is Sherlock Holmes with the Doctor in 1969?"

His grin faded. "As far as I can tell. There's been a few mentions of a second man of Holmes's description in one of the Easter eggs—although I haven't actually seen that one yet…"

The second man with dark hair and classical features and piercing eyes. "I think I have… These Easter eggs are what you've been searching for, aren't they?"

"Yes, although I didn't know what I was looking for until about a week ago. It's taken me up until today to purchase the last few." He moved over to a portable DVD player on the table. "I haven't even had a chance to view those yet; I had to borrow the equipment from another tenant." He pushed the play button, and the screen flared to life, showing a video of the brown-haired man that had previously been on pause.

"Complicated," said the man.

Sally tilted her head as she studied him. "So that's the Doctor… Who is he, anyway?"

"Very complicated."

She did a double-take. "All right, that was good timing."

The Doctor looked as if he was considering how to say something. "People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly… timey-wimey… stuff."

"Started well, that sentence," Sally said dryly.

The Doctor frowned. "It got away from me, yeah."

"Okay, that was weird. Like you can hear me."

"Well, I can hear you."

Sally turned to John for help.

He was staring between her and the screen, open-mouthed. "Oh, my Lord," he breathed.

The segment ended and returned to the DVD menu.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, come on, you don't think that was meant for me. I mean, you're the one who knows the Doctor, not me."

He murmured something she couldn't quite make out, then said aloud: "And yet you just filled in several gaps in the conversation without even thinking about it—I suspect because you weren't thinking about it. You didn't know enough to second guess yourself, which is what I've been doing."

"But what makes me so special?" She slumped into the nearest chair, glad now for the support. "All that's been happening so far is that people I know have been getting killed, and it didn't start until I took photos of an old house that had a message on the wall from the Doctor."

His eyes widened—and she couldn't help thinking that the expression was rather adorable… "From 1969?" He pulled a notebook out of his jacket pocket. "What was the message?"

She shivered. With everything else that had happened in the interim, the events of the night before had begun to feel distant. But now, having to face the memories, they felt far too fresh. "'Duck'..."

Watson looked wistfully down at Kathy's letter on the kitchen table in front of them, hands wrapped around his cooling coffee mug as he listened to Sally relate her part of the story. Why couldn't his companions have written to him like that? It would have saved him so much time and energy... but then he and Sally would probably never have met, and despite the circumstances, Watson simply couldn't find it in him to regret that.

"I stayed until the rain stopped... and he did... he..." Sally shook her head, breath hitching, voice thick and full of distress. "Just like the Doctor told him."

Feeling increasingly ashamed of himself, Watson reached out and squeezed her hand comfortingly; his earlier jealousy of the young man who, but for the Angels, could have given Sally the life she deserved now seemed dreadfully petty. Besides, who should know better than he did what it was like to stay with a dying friend?

Sally gave him a shaky but grateful smile, taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes with her other hand. "So... what about you? What's your story in all this mess?"

Watson sighed, smiling back ruefully. "Lord, where to begin?"

"I suppose it's too much to ask how you met the Doctor?"

"No, that's a good starting point, actually." And now he knew how Holmes must have felt trying to explain the Time Lord to him. "Well, as you may already have guessed, he's a time-traveller..."

Sally nodded calmly, but Watson couldn't help grinning in anticipation of her next reaction. "And also an alien."

Sally stared at him, expressionless, blinking slowly. "All right, then. He looks like a human in his thirties, but okay."

Watson patted her hand. "Don't worry, you should have seen my first reaction when Holmes performed the introductions. I assume you're somewhat familiar with the events surrounding Professor Moriarty's demise?"

Sally smiled sadly. "It's been a little while since I've read your stories, but I have read all sixty."

Now it was Watson's turn to stare. "Ah." Sixty? Good heavens...

Sally's eyes widened. "Oh god, I'm sorry – probably only half or so have even happened yet!"

"No, no, it's fine," Watson replied slowly, then smiled reassuringly. "Just don't tell me any of the titles."

She smiled back guiltily, nodding. "So then... Professor Moriarty...?"

Watson sobered; after all this time, those memories had lost little of their sting. "Anyhow, while Holmes was away, he met the Doctor in Tibet – and from what they've told me, it was quite the adventure..." One he'd always be secretly glad not to have been present for.

"And then you met the Doctor later on," Sally finished softly. "What year do you come from?"

"Eighteen-ninety-five, a year after Holmes came home. Remember that blue police box Detective Shipton showed you?" Watson was still having to fight the strong temptation to leave for the police station immediately – he'd had to sternly remind himself that without the Doctor's completed message, there was no telling what dangers he... they might be heading into unprepared.

Sally sighed. "Let me guess... time machine."

Watson nodded, impressed, smiling wistfully at the thought of the marvellous vessel. "The TARDIS." He couldn't resist adding, "And she's not only alive... but bigger on the inside."

His smile faded as Sally gave him a Look. "John, I have had... a bloody bad day. Why is the Doctor in 1969? How did you get separated?"

Watson sighed, frustration resurfacing. "That's one of the things I've been attempting to find out! The TARDIS took a detour to a warehouse outside Newbury – the Doctor said she'd detected some kind of temporal disturbance. While we were investigating, I lost sight of first Holmes, then the Doctor... and the next thing I knew..." He couldn't keep the remembered horror and panic he'd felt at the time out of his voice. "I was alone. My friends had vanished without a trace... and so had our ship."

Sally took his hand back in hers, squeezing it gently. "All right, shh... and then you found the Doctor on the Easter eggs?"

Watson nodded wearily, grateful for the comfort. "After two months – that's why I chose journalism, it gave me the time and resources to keep up the search. But yes, I was greatly relieved to see that at least one of them was alive and well somewhere..." His lips twitched. "Somewhen."

She nodded back thoughtfully. "Right. Well, let's have a look at this list of yours."

Watson opened his notebook to the right page and passed it over. "Here. If you can work it out, you'll be doing better than anyone else. None of the people I've talked to on the net have even been able to completely confirm the order of sequence."

Sally stared down at the paper. "John?" She swallowed. "What they've got in common... is me. They're all the DVDs I own."

Watson was equally wide-eyed. "I don't suppose you remember what order they're in?"

She sighed. "I organised them according to the Dewey Decimal system on a whim – I'd have to go back and see."

Watson looked out the window, frowning as he noticed for the first time just how late it had gotten. "It's dark out. How far do you have to go?"

"Not very far – I'll be okay."

After everything else that had happened? "Honestly, Sally, I'm not certain either of us should go anywhere alone at the moment... I'd be more than happy to accompany you."

Sally shook her head firmly. "John, no – you need to be here. I expect to be able to watch the entire message in order by the time I get back." Her voice softened. "Okay?"

Watson could only nod uneasily – it wasn't as though he could stop her. Taking his notebook back, he scribbled the phone number for his flat on a blank page, tore it out and handed it to her. "You'll probably be needing this, then." He smiled at her sheepishly, not quite willing to admit that he still had hers...

She smiled back, eyeing him teasingly. "Is this how you normally pick up girls?"

Disarmed by her smile, Watson replied in the same tone without thinking, "Well, if it's working..." He trailed off, eyes wide in horror as he realised what he'd just said... Cheeks flaming, he closed his eyes, managing to stammer out, "Ah... could we... possibly pretend I didn't just say something so incredibly stupid?" He opened his eyes again, forcing himself to look her in the face, expression deeply apologetic.

To his immense relief, her eyes were dancing, shoulders shaking with laughter. "We could, but it wouldn't be nearly as much fun as my teasing you about it." Thank God... "I'll call in about half an hour, okay?"

Watson nodded, still anxious, standing with Sally and walking her to the door. "Try to get a cab, all right?"

"I will, I will..." Sally opened the door, then to Watson's astonishment, leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Back in a bit."

Too stunned even to blush, Watson nodded again wordlessly, closed and locked the door after her in a daze, then leant back against it weakly, lifting a hand to his tingling cheek. "Lord help us..." he murmured sadly. If only...

A/N from Sky:

The end is getting closer! *dances* Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time and loved the Sally/Billy scenes, btw—I really appreciated that! Speaking of Sally/Billy, we found a headcanon on Tumblr not that long ago (look up the tag "Blink" on our Tumblr, wholmesproductions) that proposed an identity to Mrs. Sally Shipton. Kathy Wainwright named her daughter after her best friend—there are literally three Sallys in "Blink," and could two of them, Sally Wainwright and Sally Shipton, be the same person? Seems entirely possible!

Also, although I'm not overly fond of Larry, I do feel sad that he had to be cut out of Sally's life in our version as well. This last scene with him felt every bit as sad to me as the hospital scene with Billy.

A/N from Ria:

Me, I loved working out the scenes for our boys in '69, especially the last one – I wish they could have shown more of the Doctor and Martha in the original episode! It just seemed to make sense that Larry would go back to the house, make sure things happened the way they were supposed to, once he realised that the original painting was now in his future. Still, staying in a house where you know the monsters of your youth are going to be... *shiver*

I have a strong suspicion that qualifying as a DW scriptwriter consists of finding an ordinary, everyday object and scaring the crap out of someone with it. I used to like garden statues!

Anyway, stay tuned for the next chapter, when Sally and the Doctor get to meet officially – again! Well, sort of...