"Ooh, smell that air!" The Doctor declares as she steps out of the TARDIS. She stretches her arms, feeling refreshed and new. "Grass and lemonade, and a hint of mint! I'd say…the 1920's!"
"You can tell what year it is by smelling?" John asks, skeptical but not entirely disbelieving.
"That and there's a vintage car coming up the drive," the Doctor points. She's not sure by which she's more chuffed—that John was willing to believe she could tell the year by smell or that she was able to out herself of it. As they approach there seems to be a party in the making.
"Never mind bizarro world, a party in the 1920's is more like it!" John grins at the Doctor.
"What's bizzaro world?" she asks.
"It's a superhero…comic book…thing, never mind, let's go!" John taps the Doctor's arm. He's about to walk out plain as day but the Doctor drags him towards the TARDIS.
"Hold on, Johnny-Boy, you've gotta be properly dressed for an event like this." The Doctor sends him to his room while she goes to hers (wherever that mysterious place may be).
John finds a brown pinstripe suit on his bed. "Ooh, you really know what suits me, eh, old girl?"
I do imagine the Doctor will be most pleased.
John smirks as he adjusts the shirt collar and tie. He takes care to swiff his hair back, although it only ends up standing on all ends. Never minding it, he goes back out to the console room. The Doctor is strangely absent, and he pouts a little. 'We'll be late for cocktails.'
Patience, John, you'll be rewarded for the wait.
"Here we are," the Doctor emerges. She has given up tying her hair entirely up on her head. Instead she lets half of it be wound into a knot while the rest flows down, freely falling about her shoulders in sproingy curls. She's clad in a soft sleek navy dress with shimmering gold design, truly iconic of the age. She continues to fiddle with her hair, if nothing else to distract her from how intensely John stares. "What do you think; flapper or slapper?"
John smiles, lips pulled thin. She does look stunning, radiant, positively breath taking. "Flapper, you look lovely."
The Doctor takes John's arm and the two make their way to the garden. It is positively lovely outside, and easy jazz oozes from a gramophone on the lawn. A butler approaches, offering drinks. The Doctor puts in for a side car (saying something about Time Lords being less affected by alcohol) and John puts in for a lime soda. The Doctor spies grapes - she really loves those things, but detests pears of all things - and snatches a few for herself.
"May I announce Lady Clemency Eddison," another, more elderly gentleman call out. Beside him is an older woman, proper and pristine, with hanky in hand and walking tall.
"Lady Eddison," the Doctor greets, kissing the air around the woman's cheeks for show of familiarity. "Why it has been ages since we met at the Ambassador's reception; I'm the Doctor, and this is John Smith, of the Chiswick Smiths."
"Spiffng day Milady," John bows to the woman, kissing her hand rightly.
"Ooh, my, and a pleasure it is," Lady Eddison becomes a fluster as John winks at her devilishly. "You must look out for this one, Doctor."
"Yes, I must," the Doctor nods at the Lady before glancing towards John. The initial expression of amusement transitions into one of questioning irritation. 'Where the hell did that come from?'
"You never can be too careful," Lady Eddison continues, oblivious to the domestic static between the two. "What with the Unicorn on the loose."
"Oh, a Unicorn, that's brilliant!" John declares but quiets as the Doctor shakes her head.
"The Unicorn—a jewel thief, nobody knows who he is, but he has just struck, snatching Lady Babington's pearls right out from under her."
"Funny place to wear pearls," John offers facetiously as he and the Doctor are handed their drinks. He takes the lime soda with a nod to the waiter while the Doctor is handed a martini glass with an orange wedge on the rim. The two share a look before turning again. The Doctor takes a perfectly elegant sip while John struggles to find liquid, finding the damned lime wedge in the way.
"May I announce Colonel Hugh Curbishley and the Honourable Roger Curbishley."
"Forgive me for not standing," the man in the wheelchair nods to them both, particularly the Doctor. "I haven't been the same since that flu epidemic back in '18."
John watches carefully as Roger comes to the Doctor, eyeing her up and down appreciatively.
"My word, you are a super lady," he schmoozes, shaking her hand.
"Oh, I like the cut of your jib," she quirks an eyebrow at him coyly, betraying no real flattery. Her arms cross as she brings her drinks to her lips, glancing up at him through thick lashes; "chin-chin."
"Hello, I'm John," he greets Roger, though his periphery is still focused on the Doctor's odd display.
"Your usual, sir?" A boy cuts in with drinks.
"Thank you Davenport," Roger looks the boy deep in the eyes, "just the way I like it."
"Why is she an Eddison while her husband and son are Curbishley's?" John asks, still finding it rather hard to get to the lime soda in his tall glass.
"The Eddison title descends through her. One day Roger will be a Lord," the Doctor's gaze returns to the man who eyed her similarly moments past. She seems to be examining him, like most subjects, but with a little more intrigue than John would like to see.
"Miss Robina Redmond," is announced.
"She's the absolute hit of the social scene: a must," the Lady greets first a young lady, then a Reverend. He tells her of a break in, but how the Christian Fathers taught him forgiveness and the like.
"Some of these boys could use a decent thrashing," Roger puts in.
"Couldn't agree more, sir," the boy from earlier concurs, again, with the blinding hot eye contact of a lover.
"Of course," the Doctor sighs the way she does when finding a disappointing result. "All the decent men are on the other bus…that's what they say, right?"
"Or right under your nose," John disputes. The Doctor looks at him sharply in surprise. "They…say that too…you know."
"Now, who is this special guest you promised us?"
All the attention is brought to a new face walking in. Lady Eddison holds out a hospitable hand to the woman. She walks with a subdued loveliness about her. Her hair, short and swooping blonde, contrasts with her strikingly pale blue eyes. It's like the brightest sunlight in the lightest of skies. Everyone claps as she bows her head graciously.
John offers his hand to the woman.
"Agatha Christie," she mentions quietly.
"What about her?" John asks.
"That's me," the woman turns more self-conscious.
"No!" John's jaw drops and he breaks out into a near manic grin. Lady Eddison looks satisfied in his admiration of her, and Agatha blushes a bit at his response.
"Agatha Christie, I adore your books!" The Doctor takes Agatha's hand warmly in both of hers. "I was just saying the other day, I said I bet she's brilliant!—I'm the Doctor, this is John."
"You make a rather unusual couple," Agatha smiles fondly at them despite the oddly ecstatic greeting.
"Oh, we're not," the two begin gesturing between themselves, eyes dismayed. In slow motion they seek out each other's gazes. It's the kind of situation in which there is only one right answer and a million wrong ones. They've been mistaken for a couple before, but they either didn't correct it or didn't have to. How to correct this? There is a kind of unspoken ambivalence hanging in the air. No, they are not a couple, but would saying so aloud tear too deep a wound?—on or between them? "We're not married."
"Obviously not," Agatha goes on smiling just as slyly as she was, "no wedding ring." No wedding ring: not married, but she never said she doubted they were a couple, the two of them. She leaves that mystery to them, though.
John glances at his hand briefly, making a rumbling sound of approval at Agatha's ability of deduction. The Doctor does the same, though he feels slightly saddened by how bare her left hand is. "You don't miss a trick."
"I'd stay that way, if I were you. The thrill is in the chase, never in the capture," Agatha speaks fluidly, though the significant fluttering of her eyes shutting is sign enough of the word meanings.
The Lady Eddison leads Mrs. Christie away but the Doctor's gears are beginning to grind. John stays where he is, though he can smell the smoke coming through her ears. She wanders to the Colonel, snatching the paper with sleight of hand before anyone but John can notice. The groups shares a laugh over something but she doesn't listen.
"What's up?" John asks, sliding from the crowd to the Doctor's side. She taps the date while gazing around, hoping everyone is still occupied. They are engaged in conversation, though mercifully not still interrogating poor Agatha about her husband.
"This date," the Doctor returns in hushed susserating, "it's the day Agatha Christie disappeared. She just discovered her husband was having an affair."
"You'd never think, looking at her, smiling away," John frowns. It's a shame when men don't treasure the women they're with, he thinks.
"She's British, moneyed, unfortunately so: they carry on." The Doctor measures Agatha and the lawn crowd in her gaze. "Except for this time. No one knows what exactly happened. She vanishes tonight; her car will be found tomorrow, by the side of a lake, and ten days later Agatha will turn up at a hotel in Harrogate with no memory of it. Whatever it was… "
"It's about to happen," John finishes on edge. Sure enough, Lady Eddison's Indian right-hand-woman rushes out of the house screaming of murder. John rushes in with the Doctor's hand in his, though her heels make running harder than normal. They, swiftly followed by everyone else, flood up the stairs, into the library.
The Doctor pulls her glasses out of John's inside breast pocket - when the bloody hell did she put those in there?! - and bends to the body. She glances over the man, noting the damage to his balding head and how the watch on his wrist is cracked. "Blow to the head with a blunt instrument; watch broke when he fell; time of death is a quarter past four."
She moves to the desk as John finds a bit of pipe on the ground. Her eyes find Agatha's reflection in the bookcase, where the blond has picked up a charred bit of paper and slipped it into her sache. "There's nothing worth killing for in here."
"Professor Peach in the library with a lead piping? What, is this the birth of the game 'Clue'?" John levels his gaze over the Doctor's shoulder.
"Someone should call the police," Agatha declares before the crowd can become too overwrought with the commotion.
"No need!" the Doctor slips her hand into John's suit pocket again - when did she put all that in there?! - and fishes out the Psychic Paper. "This is Junior Inspector Smith from Scotland Yard, I'm the Doctor and Coroner who accompanies him in the field and oversees his training."
"I say," Lady Eddison is aghast.
"Agatha was right, please proceed to the sitting room, I will talk with each of you." The Doctor glances at John, who tries not to look too caught off guard by the developments. She then looks at Agatha, who seems at least willing to roll with the punches.
"The Doctor is right, let's keep the room clear and do as she says," Agatha ushers the other guests away.
"Why am I the Inspector?" John asks in a flurry of hand waving.
"There weren't police women in this age," the Doctor rolls her eyes as she scrapes some goo off the floor. "This…is morphic residue. It holds a species's genetic immune code."
"So the murderer is an alien in human form?" John asks, though he dreads the answer to that.
"Yep, it's a murder, a mystery, and Agatha Christie," the Doctor bounces her brows a bit excitedly. She rushes downstairs, holding her dress properly although it doesn't hinder her movements any.
"Someone call me?" Agatha reveals herself from the little alcove of a hall at the bottom of the stairs. She scares the living daylights out of John although the Doctor simply smiles at her.
"Agatha, yes, if you would accompany me in questioning the suspects, John is going to investigate upstairs." The Doctor goes over to John and puts a hand to his chest briefly. Both he and Agatha look surprised and anticipatory at the motion but are disappointed when she pulls a magnifying glass out of his inside pocket. "Go on, then, you'll need that."
"When did you…" John simply takes it from her slender hand with a bewildered look on his face. He continues up the stairs, muttering about how he doesn't even want to know what she stuffed into his trouser pockets.
"Shall we, then, Agatha?" the Doctor tucks a curl behind her ear. Agatha nods formally and leads her way in, where the Reverend is already seated. He seems fidgety, and nervous. The Doctor supposes that is just natural human behavior, though. Agatha takes a seat and the Doctor paces, to put the pressure on. "Reverend, where were you at a quarter past four?"
"Why, yes, I was unpacking in my room."
"Were you alone?" asks Agatha.
"With the Lord one is never truly alone," the Reverend looks away from Agatha and to the Doctor. "Doctor?"
She shakes her head and sends him out. "Who should we question next?"
Agatha sits thoughtful. "I think Roger would be a good choice. He'll be on edge, but determined to one up whatever he thinks the Reverend has said."
"Ooh, good choice," the Doctor tips to Agatha. "You noticed Roger and Davenport, then?"
"Oh, painfully transparent, those two," Agatha smiles at the amiable woman. She can't help but think of the Doctor herself and Mister John Smith when she says this. Then, of course, she remembers with whom she is now in league and retreats into herself. "Unless you think otherwise, Doctor."
"Why, not at all, Agatha," the Doctor walks past the back of Agatha's chair and dances a friendly hand across her shoulder. "You're brilliant."
Roger strides in, all gentlemanly pomp. When asked where he was he sits a little straighter, makes his chest a little higher. "Oh, yes, I was taking a constitutional in the fields behind the house."
"Were you alone?" the Doctor scrutinizes him.
"Just taking a stroll, alone—all alone, totally alone. Alone as the proverbial cloud, one might say, always…alone."
The Doctor drifts off as Roger blabbers on. 'Probably in the farmhouse with your beloved having a good old romp around in the hay…wouldn't mind one of those-'
"That'll be all," Agatha waves Roger out. She scribbles something down on a pad and has him send in the next person in line. In comes the young lady Redmond and both women grow edgier. The younger woman looks at them with a kind of audacity about her brightly painted lips and smoky dusted eyes.
"And where were you?" the Doctor questions without a drop of warmth.
"At a quarter past four?—I went to the toilet," the lady begins.
The Doctor notes the wording of it as Robina goes on, but finds nothing else of use. "We've only got your word on it."
"That's your problem, Doctor, not mine." Oh, this Robina Redmond is surely a smug little thing.
The Doctor waits until she has shut the door before smiling at Agatha secretively. "She could stand to ease up on the lip coloring, eh?"
Agatha smiles in genuine ease at the comment, and even offers a small chuckle of amusement. This Doctor is in a good humor for one of her business. Quite an accomplished woman, she seems, in their age, making her own way in the world, and with the dashing John Smith at her side! Agatha decides to reserve judgement on the Doctor for later. "Shall we question the Colonel?"
"I don't know if there's any need. You may, if you like, but I won't pay attention, in all honesty, either way. When I first met him he had fresh ink smattered along his thumb, so I'd guess he was in his study. Just to be fair we might as well have him in with his wife, to save time. If Lady Eddison is going to reveal anything it's that she was preparing for the party. If she withholds anything it's that she tends to slip the old Irish charm into her afternoon tea. I could smell it on her breath when I greeted her earlier today."
Agatha finds the Doctor correct on all deductions. She takes notes as she interviews each of them, while the Doctor pretends to do something medical. Agatha sees the reflection of the Doctor's book in the mirror on the wall. It is not a copy of Grey's Anatomy but rather she is doodling what looks to be a stick figure speaking French with a magnifying glass. The woman was also right in saying she wouldn't pay any attention to those she wouldn't find as helpful. Finally, Agatha speaks up to recapture her attention. "No alibis for any of them, but they were doing just as you had theorized, Doctor. We must look for a motive."
"Yes, the reason a human being does what they do," the Doctor murmurs to herself as she and Agatha pace together in solidarity.
Agatha continues to be bemused by the Doctor. The red haired woman is most odd, but not unlikable in being so. On the contrary, her special kind of exuberance is sort of…uplifting to Agatha. It's certainly a balm to her soul to be working the little grey cells again. "If I may, Doctor, how is it a doctor of Scotland Yard has such deductive power?"
"Oh," the Doctor bounces on her heels, trying to think of a reasonable explanation. "You know…well, I work with so many…detectives I suppose I sort of just…pick it up."
"Well, you could be the genuine article as far as I'm concerned," Agatha smiles at her new found comrade. "I don't know why you have me working with you on this, I'll be of no help so long as you're in capacity."
"Oh, don't say that, Agatha, you're brilliant," the Doctor smiles. Her voice takes on a breathy, honey-like tone. It's friendly, and warms Agatha from her toes to the tips of her fingers and comes out in her smile. Then, the Doctor changes a little, and her face becomes less than pitying, but sympathetic. "I know you don't feel it, right now…I'm sorry…about your husband."
"Oh," Agatha sighs in dismay. Of course her humiliation is the stuff of social gossip. Then again, it might just be the Doctor noticing the most microscopic of clues yet again. "Yes, well…what's a woman to do? He found a younger, prettier thing… "
"Yeah, easy to predict, blokes," the Doctor concurs with Agatha. She takes a seat and the blond woman follows suit, leaning in to match her body language. "I can relate, actually. You see, I had a husband…a long, long, time ago. I was in love with him once upon a time, but it…seems like a thousand years ago. Anyway, I uncovered how rubbish he was as time went on. One day I discovered he was having an affair, and I would have left that second if…well, I would have if I could have."
"No, we can never just leave, can we?" Agatha asks and agrees in the same utterance. She wishes she could just leave, and not be questioned, or gossiped about. She wishes she could just…disappear—get away from it all, even if just for a little while. To get off the subject she turns back to sly grinning at the Doctor."I can't imagine Mister Smith would ever."
"No, he'd never," the Doctor mumbles to herself before thinking. When she does catch what has crossed her mind and from her mouth she jumps, spooked by herself and her own words. "Not that he, or I—we're not-"
"I know you're not married, Doctor, and whether you're connected, or intended, I don't judge," Agatha shakes her head. "I daresay your camaraderie extended to me must be returned. Mister Smith seems a prime example of a gentleman and you are nothing short of a model woman."
"John is sweet," the Doctor allows herself to say as if it were the most incriminating statement to be said.
"Although, there is one clue unaccounted for."
"That little bit of paper you picked up?" the Doctor rebuffs easily. Agatha looks surprised and she shrugs. "I saw your reflection in the glass of the bookcase."
Agatha concedes that yet again the Doctor has proved a most on-par adversary in detection. Who is this woman? She now knows that she was married, and that she is definitely smitten with Mister Smith. Agatha both rejoices in the affirmation of her deduction and is disappointed that yet another handsome chap is besotted by a gorgeous woman such as the Doctor. Although if any woman would capture attention, it would be the Doctor, with her vibrant hair and intellect that would easily overtake your own and dance a minuet with it like you were a puppet. "Well played, Doctor."
"What did it say?" the Doctor leans over in her seat and sees the charred bit in Agatha's fingers. "What's that letter there?"
"It's an 'm', and the word is Maiden," says Agatha. She can practically hear the gears in the Doctor's mind turning, or perhaps that's her grinding her teeth.
The Doctor quirks her lips as she thinks with the steady progress of a train on its tracks. What could that paper be? Would would have the word Maiden in it? It was a singular word, as she saw, but capitalized, which leaves few options. Maybe it was an official document, or a title page of something? Maiden, as in Maiden name, on a marriage or birth certificate?
"Doctor!"
The Doctor springs in response to the voice before she even realizes it's John's. This makes her rush all the more, with Agatha hot on her heels. There's a great clamoring upstairs and they make it just in time to see John jump out of a room. He still holds the magnifying glass but looks even more harried than before. "There is a giant wasp."
"What do you mean a giant wasp?" asks Agatha.
"I mean a wasp," John holds his arms at length, "that's giant! Look at its sting!"
The Doctor immediately bends to the stinger - the length of a rapier - sticking through the door. She collects the goo dripping from it, same as the goo from before she can smell. So, it's an amorphic vespiform with genetically shifting its chamelic code? "What's a transmorphic vespiform doing in this galactic sector?"
"I think I understood some of those words," Agatha reasons aloud.
"Oh, good, because I understood almost none of them," John partly jokes for Agatha's peace of mind and partly admits for his own sake.
"But this is just outrageous, I mean, there is no such thing as a giant wasp," Agatha is proven wrong by a frightful buzzing noise. The three companions rush to see what the source is but only find poor Miss Chandrakala, laid dead on the gravel.
"There!" the Doctor points to a gargantuan wasp, flying above them. It flees back into the house and they follow it. It flees down a hallway, out of sight. "Come on, ya beast, show yourself!"
All the inhabitants of the estate come out of their rooms, looking perplexed and put off by the Doctor's shouting.
"Oh," she stumbles back a bit, beside John, "well that's just cheating."
"Everyone please, to the conservatory," Agatha takes a leader's stance yet again. She finds Lady Eddison and, with the Doctor gently on the other side of her, breaks the news. "Milady, I'm afraid Miss Chandrakala is dead."
"Oh, my faithful companion, this is terrible," Lady Eddison weeps for her loss. "Mrs. Christie, surely you've twigged something."
"Tell us, what would Poirot do?" the Reverand asks, also gently, but still putting Agatha on the spot.
"Heaven's sake, cards on the table, woman. You should be helping us."
"All right, that's enough, the Doctor frowns around the room. She takes a protective stance next to Agatha. Both women are chuffed when John does the same, daring anyone to continue in their brashness.
"I'm just a writer," Agatha sits in distress, at the mercy of the room.
"Surely you can crack it, though," says Redmond. "These happenings, they're exactly like the plots of your books."
"I thought the same thing," John bends to Agatha and pats her hand comfortingly. "Agatha that has to mean something. You are the greatest detective novelist of all time."
Agatha feels the clenching in her chest acutely. She has never liked having eyes on her against her will, but surely they're there, measuring her every move. "I'm sorry everyone, truly I am, but if anyone can help us now, it's the Doctor, not me."
The Doctor sighs unhappily. She had hoped to lift Agatha's spirits a little, but this motley bunch seem to have undone that progress in a matter of seconds. As much as she would like to tear a strip off each of Agatha's verbal abusers there is another time and place. Instead she takes on a disgusted air and cocks her hip. "Away with all of you, I need to work with Agatha in peace."
"Off you go, then," John sees them out then closes the door behind them. Already the Doctor is leading Agatha out a porch door and towards the TARDIS.
"I just have to analyze this, but, um, I'll have my surgical kit there," the Doctor gestures vaguely to the TARDIS, "in our handy dandy…mobile…police…unit. Be back in a jiff, Agatha."
"Has she room to work in there?" Agatha asks John as he comes up beside her, adjusting his suit.
John contemplates how to answer. He can't say it's bigger on the inside, but even he would have trouble moving around if it were dimensionally true, and he's "thin as a rake" as the Doctor likes to put it. "She's…it's much roomier than it looks from the outside."
Agatha huffs in modest defeat and goes to a small gazebo's bench. John follows but she remains sullen. "You're right; these murders are like something of my own creation. It's like someone's mocking me through them. I've had enough scorn for more than one life time."
"Hm," John wiggles his nose and his toes in his shoes. He misses his trainers, though these Oxfords are most becoming, he must admit. "I had a fiance, just a short while ago. I might have wanted to love her more than what was really possible, but I did want to marry her. Turns out she was lying through her teeth. Of course I was lucky in finding the Doctor."
"I should have known you would know," Agatha laments sadly. "I found my husband with another, younger, prettier woman. Isn't that always the way with men?—no offense."
"Oh, none taken," John smiles, entirely willing to give Agatha that one. "Most of us really do deserve it. However, most of us are idiots, so it depends which way you want to see it. For what it's worth, any man who wastes your love is a fool in my books. Speaking of books, yours are my favorite! People love them, they really do! They'll read them for years to come, I guarantee you."
"Hardly great literature," Agatha blushes modestly, although John smith leans into her words, as if protecting them from the cruel light of the world. "I'm afraid my books will be forgotten…hold on."
John walks to a flowerbed with Agatha, it having captured her attention so completely. She fishes into them. "What's this, then?"
"These flowerbeds were perfectly neat, earlier, not some of the stalks are bent over." Agatha reasons as she finds something. Her thin hands clasp a leather bound box. "The Doctor should see this."
"Oh, she's gonna love you for this," John pats Agatha's arm gently before rushing to the TARDIS. He runs with his arms swaying around his beanpole figure like a child would. While he would like to rush right in he really can't with Agatha with him. Instead he halts on the gravel noisily and bangs on the door. "Doctor, I'm with Agatha; we've found something I think you'll quite like to see!"
"Brilliant," the Doctor's voice calls from the other side of the blue wood paneled door. She slips out, making sure to open the door as little as possible around her. Agatha only gets a glimpse of glowing lights from within whatever that thing is. "Fantastic; what have we found?"
"This," Agatha hands the box over.
"Ooh, well isn't that wizard?" the Doctor gazes at his cautiously. "Shall we into the parlor, then? I'm quite fancying a lime soda, myself."
"Molto bene," John pumps his fist before shoving it into his pocket.
Agatha marvels at the wonderful nonsense the two talk. John catches a passing butler and asks for their drinks. The Doctor snags a few grapes rather slyly, like a proper pickpocket. It would be suspicious if it weren't so characteristic of her. Once all seated, the Doctor proceeds.
"Ooh, someone came here tooled up," she murmurs as she unfolds the mysterious little box. It has levels upon levels of lock picking tools. "This is the sort of stuff a thief would use."
"The Unicorn, he's here," Agatha looks up in revelation.
"Your drinks ladies," the older butler from before bows with the silver tray. He smiles at Agatha, and the Doctor, before looking flatly at John, "sir."
"Thank you," the Doctor hops for her soda happily.
"What about the residue-y stuff, what did you find?" John asks, now with a bubbly orange drink.
"Vespiform sting, hives are found in the Silfrax Galaxy, but this one is reenacting a line of your make," the Doctor takes a sip of drink.
"Agatha, what do you think?" John turns to the woman on his right.
"John," the Doctor starts. She's frightfully still, with a pallor to her that's positively ghastly. Her freckles stand out much more against the ashen skin, although there are some pink dots around the base of her neck, as if all the blood vessels were broken there. "Something's inhibiting my enzymes."
"What?" John watches as the Doctor curls in her seat like a child. Her eyes start sparking gold like they do when she's doing something…wibbly…wobbly…timeywhimey!
"I've been poisoned," she chokes out a midst writhing in discomfort. It burns through her veins and rips through her system like the static-y feel of your leg falling asleep, but travelling all throughout your insides.
"What do we do?" John asks the Doctor, who is shifting about, every muscle in her body strained from it.
"Bitter almonds: it's cyanide—sparkling cyanide!" Agatha declares. It's all the Doctor needs to hear before she rushes out of the room. She stumbles her way down into the kitchen, where everyone is frightened by her manic thrashing about. "Doctor, there's no cure, it's fatal!"
"Not for me, it isn't!" The Doctor declares. She's still seething, braced against the counter top and breathing heavily to cope. She can stimulate the inhibited enzymes into reversal. How, though, how does she do that with nothing but a humanoid kitchen environment?! What does she do? Oh, and everyone is a tizzy because she looks like a maniac, and poor John must be worried sick. What does she need?!
"What do you need, Doctor?" John takes her face in his hands and forces her to look at him. Still shaking from the sensation she meets his eyes as evenly as ever.
What does she need? She'd need protein; have enough of that to suck from the ciliary walls of dormant cells. Sodium, she has enough of that from side cars and lime sodas as well. What does she need?! In order to stimulate the enzymes she would have to shock the flow of the meiosis into a reversal—THAT'S IT! She needs a shock, a biological shock, a big shock! What, though?!—gosh, John looks cute with his worried face. "A shock, I need a biological shock - a big ol' shock - here goes!"
John doesn't think as the Doctor grips his face in return and smashes her lips to his. Admittedly his lips are ready for it—like a magnet drawn to its attractor! He does attempt to keep his hands away from her, in case something wibbly-wobbly is going on. Her lips - super pouty, super soft, super warm - taste like lime and grapes and a tingling hint of alcohol. They hit so hard they might be bruised afterwards but John thinks it might just be worth it as the Doctor works his lips over wonderfully. There is only once, twice movement but by God is it amazing. They both stagger in each other's directions from it.
The Doctor finds her telepathy flaring as her lips hit John's. She keeps her thoughts to herself but John's emotional wall hits her like a solid punch to the jaw. Her hand moves to the back of his neck while her lips make sure he sticks to them. His lips are thin, a little chapped, but oh-so warm and delicious. It has been a long time she had a good kiss like this. A motor deep down starts up with a roar, after what feels like centuries of hibernation. Oh, that's quite lovely, that is.
John stumbles back as the Doctor releases him, bracing her head skywards. He can see where the red dots along the length of her neck recede back to a normal color. A repulsive smog comes from her mouth and releases into the air above. Once it has faded she stumbles just a bit, breathing heavily. John doesn't really know what to say.
"Detox, must do that more often!" She rumbles outright. Although looking like she has been put through the ringer the Doctor's eyes have a new brightness to them. Her pale skin is flushed with life. As she sees first Agatha, looking stunned, then John, she pauses. Her hand swipes the corner of her mouth delicately and the flush from her clavicle travels into her cheeks. "The detox…I mean."
John is also breathing heavily. His head is still kind of light and tingly feeling, but he can't forget the feeling of the Doctor's hands on his cheek and the back of his neck. He is sure he is beet red and he dares say the Doctor is also blushing a bit.
"Doctor," Agatha breaks the tense silence between the two of them. "You are impossible."
The Doctor only offers Agatha a smile and a wink before dashing back into the house, possibly for no reason than to collect herself. Agatha follows, with John at her side.
"So," Agatha begins at the man who still looks gobsmacked. "What was that?"
John lets his jaw remain hanging open for lack of actual answer. Not that he has or hasn't been thinking about kissing the Doctor but…wow. He didn't…never expected…wow! "I, uh…detox…I think?"
"I see," Agatha smiles to herself. She also finds herself a little giddy after those events. It was quite a show, and that was possibly the most passionate display she has seen in a long time. She never kissed her husband so fiercely in all their years together. It is also rather amusing, she decides, to see her new comrade in such a frazzle.
"Come on, then, the guests are taking dinner," the Doctor pops her head around the doorway just to make sure her companions are still with her. "Terribly British, this lot, all to carry on."
"Doctor," John near whispers to capture her attention. Agatha breezes past them, leaving her shrug on a coat rack. The Doctor goes to John's side but takes his arm to lead him in, never stopping.
"John, thank you, and I promise we'll talk, but," the Doctor's pained tone leaves things there as they enter the dining room. John pulls her seat out for her and in again before seating himself. She watches the guests carefully, absorbing every microexpression and gesture made. "So, still taking dinner after two murders?"
"We are British, Doctor," supplies Lady Eddison. "What else must we do?"
"Then, of course, someone tried to poison me," the Doctor ads as nonchalantly as possible, though a few pause to look shocked. John remembers angrily that it was a deliberate attempt on her life. He looks around with a dark, cloudy expression, searching for tells of who would try to kill his Doctor. "It rather gave me an idea though…the poison."
John chokes a bit on his soup, but only for concealing a laugh. Trust the Doctor to drop a bomb like that, he figures. It's too peppery for him anyway. "There pepper in this?"
"Yes, Inspector Smith," the Doctor slides John a sly smile before glancing to the rest of the table again. "The active ingredient in which is piperine. Cute word, isn't it? Piperine is traditionally used as an insecticide."
"Oh, that is cute," John agrees, relieved to feel the hum of excitement in him again. He was worried this adventure would less…adventure-y without it! He glances about the table as well. "Anyone got the shivers?"
The plan to out the beast is for naught when a window bursts open. The candles are doused by the force of the wind and the room is shrouded in shadow. There is a mad scramble over top a buzzing noise. The Doctor is rushed into another room by the same elderly butler as before. John ushers Agatha into the room with them.
"Got you covered Agatha, you've a life to live and books to write," John declares as he grabs a weapon hanging off the wall.
"Well, we know the butler didn't do it," the Doctor offers him a pat on the white-gloved hand gratefully. That's one cliche down but the vespiform has probably made its escape by now. As they rush into the room Roger is dead and the firestone - from around Lady Eddison's neck - is gone. The Doctor leans into John's shoulder from behind with a hand on his side. "Take care of Agatha, I'll sort this out here."
John nods and leads Agatha into the other room, where she needn't see the proceedings. The poor woman looks so frail after what has happened. She has a slight tremor to her, as John takes her by the hand. He sits her down on a chesterfield. "Agatha, this isn't your fault."
"These murders are all being played out in my writing style, how is this not my doing?" Agatha looks to John with sad, glassy eyes.
"I know it seems you are the one to blame but you've done nothing. You haven't even facilitated anything. Your books are works from your own ideas but what a person chooses to do whether by their influence or not is beyond your control." John takes Agatha's hand gently, offering what little comfort he can. "I had a friend, named Jenny. I had the idea that she could come with the Doctor and I…working. The Doctor didn't take too kindly to the idea, though. So, I figured if I could just get the Doctor to open up to Jenny everything would work out. Well, turns out the Doctor wasn't a fan of Jenny because Jenny rather…reminded her of the daughter she lost. In the end, Jenny passed away, and I had opened the Doctor's heart to Jenny only so it could be broken yet again."
"I am so sorry for your loss," Agatha looks to where John kneels before her. "But surely the Doctor doesn't blame you for that."
"No, she never does, and never would," John confesses without satisfaction. "She's just like that, you see. She gives herself to helping people, but in the end, there's nothing left for her. She never bothers to think to help herself. I worry what she would do on her own, if she would remember that she really does need sleep, or that she can't hold her breath underwater for more than five minutes no matter what she says, or that she can't save everyone."
"You love her," Agatha presses gently on John's hand with her own, interrupting his rambling stream of consciousness. "I think that's enough. I've seen the Doctor in action all through today, and I think you have more influence on her than you know."
"That poor footman," the Doctor sighs as she comes back into the room. "Roger's dead and he can't even mourn him. Never mind the 20's, it's like the dark ages. So, what have we found?"
"Every murder is committed because someone wants something," Agatha begins in reasoning. There's no reason to hide the auspicious act of John comforting her, but she feels a little guilty over how she feels about John, despite her camaraderie with both him and the Doctor.
"What does a vespiform want from this lot," the Doctor asks herself as she pops a few more grapes into her mouth from the crystal fruit bowl.
"Doctor, please, the murderer is as human as you or I," Agatha sighs.
"Well," John cringes a little but leaves it at that. When he glances at the Doctor he finds an epiphany. "You're right! We've been so caught up in giant wasps we forgot that you're the expert!"
"I'm not, though, I told you," Agatha chides John discouragingly. "I'm just a purveyor of nonsense."
"No, no, no, no, but plenty of people write detective stories but yours are the best. Why are yours so good, Agatha Christie, because you understand." The Doctor joins Agatha on the seat, leaning forward. "You've lived, you've fought, had your heart broken. You know about people, and their passions—hopes, despairs, anger, all of the tiny things that turn humans - ordinary people - into killers."
"If anyone can solve this, it's you," John takes both Agatha's hands in his, forcing her blue eyes to his brown ones.
Agatha looks between John's large brown eyes to the Doctor's pleading blue ones. These people, so brilliant and so strange, believe in her so highly. She can't understand why for the life of her. Moreover, now the Doctor is speaking as if she isn't even human! Maybe she isn't, Agatha muses; it would explain an awful lot. What is it about this mystery, though? There's the matter of Miss Redmond not being who she says she is, and the Colonel being rather odd in general, and… "John, what did you find upstairs before the giant wasp appeared?"
"It was room Lady Eddison had locked up. Apparently after coming back from India she had Malaria and locked herself up for six months." John sees Agatha and the Doctor share a look of knowing. "What does that mean?"
"A woman only locks herself away for one reason in a world like this." The Doctor purses her lips at John before noshing another grape.
"She was pregnant," Agatha states in agreement. "But Roger isn't old enough to be that child."
"So it was another, from before she met the Colonel," John hypothesizes aloud. "There was an old teddy bear in there, but it was as covered in dust as anything else. Geeves - or whatever his name is - told me the room hadn't been used in forty years."
"Forty years," Agatha ads to the development. "That means Clemency would have been very young when she fell pregnant."
"She would need assistance handling a pregnancy, that young, unwed, in a foreign country," the Doctor concurs.
"Miss Chandrakala," John snaps his fingers, "she would need work to come to this country. What if she met Lady Eddison in India and the Lady brought her back here to help with the pregnancy?"
"Ooh, John, you are brilliant!" the Doctor pats his arm in excitement.
"I daresay we should assemble the suspects again." Agatha stands, smopthing her dress. Her shoulders are held high, with a renewed confidence in them. "This mystery is about to be solved."
"Then we must carry on," the Doctor stands as well, snapping her tongue on the 'r's of 'carry'. "After you, Miss Christie."
"Inspector Smith," Agatha glances at John, who straightens his pinstripes.
"Oh, just John, please," he grins and follows the ladies into the other room. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this endless night has been most foul, but it is coming a close, with the assistance of the brilliant Agatha Christie."
John takes a seat next to the Doctor, who is still eating grapes at a consistent pace. Then again, he thinks, she was poisoned earlier today. On an average day she could ten bunches of the things, he thinks, easily. She also looks noticeably thinner than earlier in the day. Did the cyanide take more of a toll on her than he thought?
"This is a crooked house, full of secrets," Agatha begins looking everyone over. Lady Eddison looks horribly guilty, and Agatha thinks it's rather good they're not playing a game of tells. Instead she turns to Miss Redmond. "The mysterious Miss Redmond, who shows up to a party, playing the belle of the ball, having never met anyone before. I would believe you to be an impostor—that the real Robina Redmond never left London."
"How silly," the young lady sits a little straighter in her chair. "What proof do you have?"
"Earlier, you said you'd been to the toilet," Agatha quirks a humorous brow at the Doctor, who shares in the little joke.
"Oh, if she were actually posh she'd say loo," John proposes with a luxurious tongue, making the Doctor look at him oddly but not without fondness.
"This was below the bathroom window, thrown into a flowerbed." Agatha holds up the lock pick's toolkit. "You must have heard Inspector Smith was searching upstairs so you disposed of the evidence. You're the Unicorn, here with the sole purpose of stealing the firestone."
"Oh, all right then, it's a fair cop," the Unicorn breaks out in a dreadfully rough accent, compared to before. "I nabbed the firestone in the dark, but I didn't bleedin' kill nobody."
"Quite; there are darker motives at work here," Agatha glances at the Colonel briefly as she puts the box down.
"Dammit woman," the Colonel huffs through his moustache, "and your perspicacity."
John's eyebrows nearly meet his hairline as the Colonel stands from his wheelchair decisively. "I did not see that coming."
"At dinner I saw him make to stand before wheeling away," the Doctor mutters into John's ear. "People who are resigned to it don't have the instinct to try and walk."
"How did you discover the truth?" the Colonel blusters at Agatha.
"Um, I didn't actually know," Agatha looks back to John and the Doctor, who shrug simultaneously. "I was going to say you were innocent."
"Oh," the old man deadpans. "Shall I sit, then?"
"I think it would be best," Agatha nods.
"So, he didn't kill 'em?" John asks as he steals one of the Doctor's grapes.
"Indeed not," Agatha looks to him before taking the firestone from where Redmond left it on the table. "This is what we must examine; for more a prize than the Unicorn's intent. A woman who holds this so closely to her heart has more of a reason than money."
"I've done nothing," the Lady tries to deny.
"I am sorry," Agatha offers, "but you had fallen pregnant in India, by the man who gave you this. Your only confidante in the matter came back to this house, a young Miss Chandrakala, and helped you through your 'malaria', isn't that right? You birthed the child in that room that has been sealed off ever since."
"It was no ordinary pregnancy, though," the Doctor finishes a final grape before handing the dish to John (she doesn't expect there to be any left afterwards). "Milady, when the buzzing at dinner began you said 'it can't be' but why?"
"You would never believe me," the Lady whispers.
"The Doctor has opened my mind to believe many impossible things," Agatha sits to hear the story.
"Six impossible things before breakfast," John quotes Lewis Carroll and pops another grape into his mouth.
The Doctor listens patiently to the story. How the Lady Eddison met the vespiform as a human and fell madly in love. They were in love, an alien and a human. And the Lady didn't care that he was a giant wasp?—well, love is blind, the Doctor thinks to herself. She can't help but slip John a sidelong glance. Could a human and galactic form really work as mates? More importantly, why is this heavy a question on her mind now?
"Just like a man. Flashes his family jewels and you end up with a bun in the oven." Miss Unicorn puts ever so eloquently.
'Just like men indeed, that sums up my marriage on Gallifrey pretty well,' The Doctor thinks dryly to herself.
"Miss Chandrakala had feared that the Professor had unearthed your secret. She was on her way to warn you."
"So she killed her?" John asks, now just horribly confused.
"No, Lady Eddison is innocent," the Doctor pats John's shoulder. "You did give us a vital clue, though, John, about how this whole thing is acted out like a murder mystery novel. Agatha wrote the books but had no hand in the doing. Who's her biggest fan, though?"
"Lady Eddison?" John looks at the woman who is just as fed up with it all as anyone else.
"Last Thursday night, what were you doing? Reading some good old Agatha Christie? Mulling over how brilliant she is, with her characters and her plots—what a mind she has! What else happened on Thursday, though?" The Doctor angles her body towards the Reverend who speaks slowly, mocking astonishment but choosing his words carefully. "You said on the lawn earlier that some boys broke into your church."
"Yes, horrible, thieves in the night," the Reverend shifts a bit. "But I apprehended them."
"Really, a man of God, against two strong lads? A man in his forties?—or, rather, a man forty years old exactly?" Lady Eddison gasps and the Doctor takes on a collected stance. "Forty years ago Lady Eddison had Miss Chandrakala take her newborn baby to an orphanage. You, Reverend, said yourself that you were taught by the Christian Fathers, i.e., raised in an orphanage. That night, when Lady Eddison, so emotionally distressed on the birthday of her long-lost child, and you, feeling such a deep anger, well that ties into this."
The Doctor holds the firestone up for all to see. "This is a jewel forged from Vespiform shell, giving a link from the shell's body to the bearer. It has a link between your father, and you, to your mother, Lady Eddison. Your mixed feelings from that night broke the genetic lock on your mind, as well as added a dash of good old Poirot himself, didn't it? You can't help but kill in this pattern because that's the linearity of your mind now."
"Come now, this is abzzurd," the Vicar vibrates a bit.
"Oop, having some trouble there, Rev? Bit of buzzing?" the Doctor back John and Agatha up behind her outstretched arm.
"Damn you, humans," the Reverend curses them, still buzzing like a kernel of corn waiting to pop. "And you, how do you stand them, with their sky gods, and their limited minds!"
"Doctor, what's going on?" Agatha looks towards the woman but John only brings her behind him. So…the Doctor isn't human?
"That night, the universe exploded in my mind!" the Reverend is surrounded in a foul purple gas and emerges as a wasp. His buzzing is too loud to bear, over-filling the room.
"No!—no more murder," Agatha commands as she snatches the firestone from the Doctor. "If my imagination made you kill then my imagination will find a way to stop you!"
Agatha rushes past John and the Doctor and out the door. They follow, but arrive at the main entrance only in time to see Agatha in a car. "If I started this then I must be the one to put an end to it!"
"Agatha!" the Doctor shouts but runs to a car herself. She hops in the passenger's seat while John takes the wheel reluctantly. "I can't drive—now go!"
"Spacewoman with a TARDIS and she can't drive," John grumbles as he hits the pedal. They speed off after Agatha and the vespiform. "Where is she going?"
"To the lake, she must want to drown it," says the Doctor.
Sure enough, Agatha's car turns in to Silent Pool lake and stops on the grass. She holds the jewel in her hand and backs up towards the water. "If we're linked then maybe the vespiform will die with me."
"You don't have to do this, Agatha," John pleads with her until the vespiform approaches. He stands in front of Agatha until the Doctor takes grasp of Agatha's head. With her hands on Agatha's temples she closes her eyes. "What're you-"
Agatha and the Vespiform both fall unconscious. The giant wasp falls to the grass with a disturbing crunch of exoskeleton hitting the dirt. Agatha falls limp into the Doctor's embrace, who coos, trying to comfort her. "There, there, Agatha, wherefor seek you down."
"What did you do?" John looks at the Doctor and Agatha with worry and intrigue.
"I put a memory block on her mind. She'll remember nothing of what happened today." The Doctor takes the firestone, disassembling the telepathic link between Agatha and the vespiform with her own. Once it has been broken the jewel shatters into dust in the wind.
"You can do that?" John questions, being more than a little freaked out at the idea.
"Come on, John, we've got to get Agatha out of here." The Doctor nods and is thankful John does as she says without further questions. "Tomorrow, her car will be found by the lake."
"And, let me guess, we'll be taking her to a hotel in Harrogate a few days from now," John finishes for the Doctor, carrying Agatha gingerly. "In our handy dandy mobile police unit?"
"Oh, come off it," the Doctor smiles.
"What about him?" John nods back over his shoulder to the giant wasp.
"His instincts will take over now, and he'll make his way back to his proper galactic sector."
The car ride back to the house is relatively quiet, in the wee hours of the morning. John drives steadily while the Doctor cradles Agatha's head on her lap, stroking her blond hair with care. The sun is breaching the skyline by the time they arrive, with pinks and purples and oranges swirling in the sky above.
"All right, just a few days from now," the Doctor narrates as she goes about setting the TARDIS's controls. John rests Agatha on the jumpseat, careful not to jostle her. Once they've taken off, John making sure Agatha doesn't slump over and onto the floor, he inhales. "Doctor, about the…erm, the detox… "
The Doctor bites her lip anxiously. She was worried about this. How does she go about approaching this? Does she really want to breach that delicate little line between companion and mate again? Her heart still aches for Lee, in a little, dull, throbbing kind of way. Her mind, though, is filled with thoughts of lithe arms holding her back, wild brown hair, eyes the kind of soft brown that they could lull her to sleep. These are all signs that…she is in too deep. This is a dangerous pitfall and she can't afford to surrender to it. Especially not with the newest development…
"We don't have to," John starts with difficulty, "we don't have to talk about it, if you don't want. We don't even…rather, you…I could just…we could forget it…if you prefer."
Agatha stirs as they land and the two tend to her for the moment. John lifts her into his arms and out the door. Once she is half awake the Doctor places a single hand on Agatha's temple and the blond woman snaps awake. She stumbles forward, toward the doors of the Harrogate Hotel, confused. When she looks back, all she sees is a red haired woman on the arm of a man in brown pinstripes. She carries on.
"What about Lady Eddison and all of them?" asks John.
"Shameful story, won't bother gossiping, too British for that," the Doctor mumbles as the warmth of the sun comes through the trees. She turns to John, now, fully. "John, it's not that I want to forget it."
"Is it Lee?" John asks very carefully. It's not hard to tell the Doctor's feelings for her first companion, as much as it pains him to think of it.
"No, actually," the Doctor smiles as John moves surreptitiously closer. She feels the warmth of his chest on her face (can even hear the beating of his single heart, if she concentrates). The sun spots through the tree canopy dances over the pinstripes. When she looks up at John she sees warmth, patience, anticipation but overall acceptance, which is what makes her melt into him. Her lips beckon his to them rather than taking them. He seems all too willing to oblige, as his arms find her waist. It's a simple kiss, neither dull nor passionate, nor heated nor brief. It's a sweet, plain kiss with nothing but a promise held within. When they break apart the Doctor smiles at him, hoping that what needed to be conveyed has been. His smile tells her all she needs to know. She takes his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers, "allons-y?"