==Chapter 2==

The Devil's Advocate

O my soul's joy!
If after every tempest come such calms,
May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!

- Othello

Watson had made his way to the medbay straight after breakfast, feeling the pressing need to take his mind off his troubles for a short time by catching up a little on his neglected studies; that hadn't been his fault, of course, but still... He was deep in perusal of a datapad on mongolism - which he was glad to see would be reclassified in future as Down's Syndrome, much less stigmatic - when he heard Sally's murmur coming from the doorway: "Hey."

He looked up, smiling. How was it possible that she looked more beautiful every time he saw her? "Sally... " He rose at once, setting the pad down. "I'm sorry, were you looking for me?"

"Not for that long - I think the TARDIS led me here." She paused, smile faltering slightly.

He nodded. "I'd imagine so." His brow wrinkled as he noticed her hesitation, his own lurking insecurities starting to creep back in. "Is anything wrong?"

"No, everything's fine, it's just..." Sally sighed. "Oh, how do I even ask this? It's just that I've been wondering..." She grimaced in frustration. "This is ridiculously awkward!" Watson's heart sank as she gave him a helpless look - was she already homesick for her own time? "I'm sorry, John, but I can't help wondering about... about Mary."

Ohhh. Watson closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a load lift from his heart as understanding dawned. "It's all right, Sally," he said gently. "Truth be told, I've been expecting you to ask about her for some time." He drew her across the room and sat down with her on one of the beds, squeezing her hand encouragingly. "Was there anything you wanted to know in particular?"

She sighed again, looking down at the floor in thought, then answered softly, "I was skimming through your earliest stories again in the library... Mary is only mentioned a handful of times after The Sign of the Four." She looked up then, frowning. "Nobody in the future is even sure what happened - all we know is that you got married, and then you were back to having adventures with Sherlock Holmes all the time..."

'All the time'? Was that really the impression he'd given his audience? Choosing not to address that point for the moment, Watson merely nodded, expression grave. "There is a very good reason for that, my dear. Holmes has made many enemies in the course of his work, some of whom are still at large, who would gladly exploit any perceived chink in his armour. As his friend and colleague, I could accept the dangers to myself, but not to Mary. So I did what I could to keep her safe, short of omitting her from the stories entirely -" He couldn't have kept the note of tenderness from his voice if he'd wanted to. "Which I must confess, I could never quite bring myself to do." It was a relief to him to know that, should Sally choose to accept a proposal from him, he would be able to protect her in much the same way.

Sally nodded slowly, looking more than a little subdued. "That makes sense..."

Watson's heart ached to see her distress returning. There was clearly a great deal more that was worrying her, but what could he do when she was reluctant to confide in him...? Oh, for God's sake, he was a damned fool - what had Holmes been saying to him only this morning? His friend was absolutely right: if Watson couldn't bring himself to talk openly and honestly with the woman he loved, then he didn't deserve her. "Sally, love..." he ventured softly, taking her hand in both of his, "what's troubling you?"

She took a deep breath, and murmured, "I just... I can't help wondering... where would I even fit? Not just in Victorian... early twentieth century conventions, but also... in your life?" She looked up again, her deep amber eyes filled with doubt. "Where would I be? Waiting for you to come home... praying that you would?"

His brow furrowed, dismayed that she'd obviously been fretting over the issue for some time. Deciding to start at the beginning, he answered slowly, taking the time to choose his words carefully. "Sally, I do understand how the women of your time must view the lot of most women when I come from: as little more than domestic slaves, chained to the hearth, with nothing expected of them except to bear children and wait hand and foot on their husbands." He shook his head sadly. "And, I'm sorry to say, they'd largely be right. Is that how you've imagined Mary's existence, too?"

"Not exactly!" she blurted out hastily, then quieter, "But sort of... I mean, I know there's more to it than that—history major, you know? But... still..."

Watson regarded her solemnly. "Sally... I think it's time that I told you something about Mary – something which no other soul knows, not even Holmes..." He waited a moment longer to heighten the tension, then said mock-gravely, eyes twinkling, "She couldn't cook."

She was startled into a high, disbelieving laugh. "What? She couldn't... what?"

"Complete disaster in the kitchen–" Watson chuckled, "the blessed girl could burn water. In fact, she did on our first morning at home: tried to make a pot of tea, and burnt the bottom right out of the kettle."

Sally's laugh became a fit of giggles. "Oh no!" She shook her head, still grinning. "How awful."

"Oh, it wasn't so bad," he smiled. "We managed to muddle through the first week, until we found a fulltime cook." Married life had contained so many pleasant moments that a few minor accidents hardly seemed to matter. "Sally, the point is that Mary was never a prisoner in her own home; nor did I expect her to be something she wasn't. If domestic tasks had brought her any sort of satisfaction, I would have been happy for her. But it didn't, she found it much more fulfilling to be out and about, become involved in charity work, and so on – she was on several committees. And as long as she was content with the life she led, then so was I."

She nodded slowly, her smile fading again. After a few moments, she spoke very quietly, not meeting his gaze: "...was she content with the time you spent with her?" She dared to look up then. "You're a doctor... and you're also sort of a detective..."

He met her gaze steadily, saying firmly, "But I was also a husband, first and foremost. Sally, if I hadn't wanted to spend time with Mary, to build a life with her, I wouldn't have proposed! True, we both had our own pursuits and pastimes; but I always looked forward to returning home and spending the evenings with her, talking together, sharing the day's events. However dreadful a day I was having, the thought of coming home to her never failed to help me through it – and I am certain that she cherished those times just as much.

"As for my working with Holmes..." He hesitated a moment, considering how best to explain - there was a great deal that he had been forced to omit from the beginning of his account of the Adler case... "Well, for the first few months after I left Baker Street, we saw little of each other, for obvious reasons. Even after our employment by the King of Bohemia, Holmes took care not to request my presence on his cases more than was reasonable. I know he didn't altogether approve of my marrying, but he respected Mary, at least, in his own way, and her claim on me as a wife. Neither of them ever spoke of it to me – but as far as I could discern, they did eventually manage to come to an accord."

Sally listened to his explanation with a contemplative look; when he was done, she leant forward and wrapped her arms around him gently, resting her chin on his good shoulder. "I'm not doubting you, John," she murmured. "It's just a lot to take in."

He returned the embrace gladly, murmuring back,"I understand." He pulled back a little to look her in the face, smiling proudly, although a little shyly. "And, Sally... thank you for trusting me. I know it can't have been easy to ask any of that."

She reached up tentatively and touched his cheek, then suddenly grinned. "Well, it would be a little ridiculous not to, seeing what we've already been through together..."

That grin of hers never failed to melt his heart, nor her touch on his cheek. He had to resist the growing urge to tighten his arms around her and kiss her breathless, sternly forcing his mind to stay on track. "Yes..." He cleared his throat, nervousness returning once more. "Indeed it would. Actually, regarding that... I, ah... I couldn't help wondering... given that you updated my case notes after I left – and thank you for doing that, by the way..." He trailed off, blushing crimson, took a deep breath and tried again. "How, ah, how far back in that notebook did you read, exactly?"

Sally's eyes widened, her own cheeks starting to turn red. "...I don't think I look quite angelic, but it was a sweet thought..."

Watson closed his eyes, blush deepening, head bowing unconsciously. "Every word, then - oh, Lord..." he said faintly, looking back up at her in profoundest embarassment. "Sally, if I had thought for a moment that you'd ever read any of that... I shudder to think what kind of impression it must have given you..." A grown man carrying on like a moonstruck adolescent...

But although Sally was now as red as he was, her smile was radiant. "I thought it was sweet... and kind of mind-blowing, really. I think it's the kind of thing every girl wants to hear about herself from the boy she likes..." Her eyes sparked suddenly with humour. "Besides, I certainly wouldn't have wanted you to see me grinning like an idiot and floating around for the next twenty-four hours."

He shook his head, smiling foolishly. "That describes me rather well after we parted ways at the coffee shop... Every time I thought of you, I found myself smiling -" Every other minute, in fact. "...which I hadn't done in far too long. Running into you that way, being able to talk with you - you gave me new hope, Sally, hope that I needed very badly."

Sally's eyes shone with joy as she leaned in and kissed him.

Holmes stopped dead at the medbay door, appalled, then hastily backed away again and down the hall before the... lovers had a chance to notice his presence. He shook his head almost despairingly as he strode along the corridors - God help him, what was it going to take to get through to those two? Anxious to avoid suspicion, his campaign thus far had been as subtle as he could manage - perhaps too subtle...

He paused at an intersection, suddenly feeling uneasy. If pressed for a description, he might have said that it was as if his internal compass had abruptly been swung around without his actually turning... He continued on cautiously into the passage before him... and immediately found himself emerging into the very same intersection he'd just left. "What the devil...?!"

There was an innocent-sounding whistle from the TARDIS.

Holmes glared suspiciously upwards, then tried to turn around and head the way he'd been going previously - only to end up in exactly the same place. He exhaled forcefully through his nose, lips thin. "Is this meant to be amusing, madam?"

A definitive bloop: No.

The detective's tone became acidly polite: "Then perhaps some kind of explanation might be in order?"

A door slid open down the passage to his right, the TARDIS twittering at him encouragingly.

Holmes looked at the door a bit doubtfully, fairly certain that it hadn't been there a moment ago. His reorientation had brought home to him, for the first time in a very long time, that this was an alien ship, whose agenda wasn't just on a different plane, but in a completely different dimension.

The TARDIS gave a reassuring chirp.

The detective sighed in resignation, it wasn't as if he had much choice. "Very well, then…" He approached and entered the room cautiously, eyes widening as he looked about him. This was obviously a young lady's bedroom, and for a moment he wondered uneasily if it was Miss Sparrow's. But no, the stray garments lying around the room were a very different style to her taste in clothes; besides, a faint scent hung in the air – rose and hawthorn? – and Miss Sparrow didn't wear any kind of perfume.

A light suddenly shone onto one wall, illuminating a small collection of colour photographs. Holmes crossed the room to examine them, and his expression cleared as he saw a strange blonde woman in every picture, slightly younger than Miss Sparrow and wearing a broad, mischievous grin, standing tellingly close beside the Ninth Doctor in one of the central photographs, and the Tenth Doctor in the next. Now he knew why that perfume seemed so familiar – the same scent that had lingered on the Ninth Doctor's jacket. "This was Miss Tyler's room."

The TARDIS's affirmative twitter was distinctly mournful.

"She was with him when he regenerated?"

Another twitter.

Holmes took a closer look at the girl's face in the various pictures, seeing for the first time the difference in the photograph with the Doctor he knew: the laughter in Miss Tyler's eyes only partially concealed a lingering echo of hurt and confusion... "She was in love with him..." he said softly, " before he changed."

Sad beeps.

Holmes didn't have to ask if the Doctor had been in love with Miss Tyler, that much was obvious every time the Time Lord so much as mentioned her. "She must have been... quite remarkable." In the past, he had considered asking the Doctor what really happened at Canary Wharf, but from the few hints the Doctor had dropped, he'd thought better of it.

There was a flurry of noise and light from the ceiling - the TARDIS had clearly been fond of Miss Tyler, also. Holmes sighed faintly, the sadness of this hallowed shrine starting to impress itself upon him. He was surprised to find himself asking, "Is there no way at all...?" then fell silent, more than a little embarassed at his unexpected sentimental moment.

There was a string of enigmatic beeps, then an indecipherable mess of noises, which was resolved by the TARDIS gently nudging at Holmes's mind. He saw silent images of himself with Watson in the kitchen, then in the library with Sally... The detective tensed, feeling oddly guilty, although far more annoyed at having his activities monitored. "That's what this is about?"

...Watson and Miss Sparrow together, smiling, content in each other's presence... Miss Tyler holding hands with the Doctor...

"Exactly, and look at how that ended!" A man and woman from two different worlds, forced to part, their devotion to each other no protection against the cruelties of the Universe...

The TARDIS beeped frustratedly. ...the Ninth Doctor alone in the control room, worn and haunted... his forbidding glower becoming a grin of affection as he looked at Miss Tyler, standing in the snow in an elegant Victorian evening gown...

But Holmes was rapidly growing weary of this - the TARDIS's insistent telepathy was almost as bad as that damned Squid, Mileen. "Enough!" he snapped... and felt the ship leave his head, an instant before the room was plunged into total darkness.

The detective's eyes narrowed, jaw clenching. He didn't even bother trying to make his way back to the door - either it wouldn't open, or wouldn't be there at all. "So now we're down to coercion, hm?"

Low-pitched beeps: That's up to you.

Although he tried to keep his tone reasonable, it still came out mildly pleading. "It's never going to work, anyhow - all I am trying to do is hasten matters along!"

Stubborn bloops.

Holmes sighed explosively, throwing up his hands, completely out of patience. "All right, fine, have it your way!"

A questioning beep.

Oh, for God's sake... He gritted his teeth, grating out, "No more interference - satisfied?"

Subdued twitters.

Oh, she didn't like having to do this? Holmes pointedly ignored that, asking with icy politeness, "Now, if I might be on my way...?"

The lights slowly came up again, the door opening.

"Much obliged," Holmes said tersely, and stalked out in what he hoped was the direction of the control room, pretending he didn't hear the mournful croon behind him.

The Doctor had been staying out of the way as best he could, giving Watson and Sally some time to court in peace. Thus, here he was in the TARDIS's engines, doing the maintenance the old girl always needed, when a forceful set of footsteps sounded in the hall and entered the room. He pulled himself up and stared at Holmes, who looked more like a thundercloud than the Time Lord had ever seen him. "What's up?" the Doctor ventured.

The detective looked as though he wanted to say something and then thought better of it. "Nothing to be concerned about, Doctor," he said brusquely; "the matter has been resolved."

The Doctor's eyebrows hiked higher—the man certainly didn't look like the matter had been resolved. "All rightie, then." Deciding to fish around a bit, he looked down and fiddled with the console. "By the way, have you seen Watson and Sally?"

"I believe they're somewhat… preoccupied at the moment." Under his breath, Holmes added, "Please do disturb them…"

Ohhhh boy. The Doctor sighed quietly. "Oh, Holmes…" He'd hoped Mr. I-should-never-marry-myself-lest-I-bias-my-judgement would handle Sally's presence better than this, maybe even befriend her. He liked intelligent people, and she was a clever young woman. Why couldn't he just be happy for his best friend?

This called for a plan. Trouble was, what more could the Doctor do that he wasn't already doing? Watson and Sally were busy with each other, and the Doctor could hardly justify a proper adventure right at the moment, and heaven knew he was dull as a doorknob when he wasn't on one. Oh. Oh, wait. What if he brought someone else into the equation? Sally was fresh and young and had already brightened up the place considerably, but maybe someone else even younger…

He exhaled explosively. "I think… I think we need to balance things out a little." He arched a mysterious eyebrow at Holmes, eyes alight.

Holmes tilted his head, looking intrigued in spite of himself. "What did you have in mind?"

"Wayeeell, I know of a young detective-to-be who's waiting for us to come back for her." He smiled—he knew that Beth had developed a good rapport with Holmes. An energetic American girl ought to be just the thing to pull the detective out of his funk. Besides which, he'd promised her. "Whaddaya think?"

Holmes hesitated, then shrugged casually. "Well, you did promise, I suppose—I've no objection."

The Doctor studied him briefly, then shrugged himself. "Okey-dokey, then." He grinned at a sudden thought. "Betcha you'll have yourself an apprentice whether you want one or not." He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. Maybe, with any luck, Beth would thaw more than just Sherlock's attitude…

The detective groaned, closing his eyes. "I suppose it's too late now to alter my vote?"

The Doctor grinned wider. "Yup. Come on, you know you'll have fun."

"I'll wait until I'm having it to be convinced," Sherlock said dryly.

The Doctor arched an eyebrow again. "Oh, I have a feeling she could convince you—she's a persuasive talker."

Sherlock gave a quiet huff of laughter; he probably already knew that. The Doctor never had gotten the details of how exactly Beth got on-board with the conspiracy. "This trip is already promising to be far more trouble than it's worth—" He grinned suddenly, and the Doctor grinned back to see it, relieved. "Allons-y!"

A/N from Ria: See, we told you Beth would be back! Stay tuned for the next episode, in which an old enemy of the Doctor's is about to rear their ugly heads yet again... and it's the last full-length episode before the finale! *bounces*

A/N from Sky: Plus, we have a couple of very special and very real guest stars coming! Trust me, it's an episode you won't want to miss!