Even after the author's earlier display, the Doctor was excited to actually sit down and talk with William Shakespeare. He could tell Molly was excited too, but she also seemed extremely nervous as he led her into the tavern. She had been pretty reserved the whole trip so far, actually; she hadn't tried to wander off to look at something even once. That had to be some kind of record for a companion.
The maid led them into the room where Shakespeare and two other men were sitting around a table. The Doctor couldn't stop an idiot, fanboy grin creep over his face as he looked at one of the greatest geniuses of his time. "Hello! Excuse me, not interrupting, am I? Mister Shakespeare, isn't it?"
Shakespeare groaned when the Doctor introduced himself and, rather rudely the Time Lord thought, started protesting, "Oh, no. No, no, no. Who let you in? No autographs. No, you can't have yourself sketched with me. And please don't ask where I get my ideas from. Thanks for the interest. Now be a good boy and shove…"
To the Doctor's amusement, the playwright trailed off when he saw Molly, his expression quickly switching from annoyance to a charming smile. "Hey nonny, nonny."
Molly blushed uncertainly, only adding to the Doctor's amusement. He had a feeling that being flirted with by the famous William Shakespeare, as long as it didn't get out of hand, might boost his companion's confidence.
Shakespeare waved the two over. "The fair maiden may sit here," he said suavely as he gestured to the chair beside him. "You two get sewing on them costumes. Off you go."
The waitress serving them rolled her eyes and turned to Shakespeare's companions. "Come on, lads. I think our William's found his new muse." Molly blushed furiously at that, but no one called her out on it. The two men stood and headed out the door past the Doctor and his companion, soon followed by the waitress. Molly obliged the playwright's request to sit beside him, giggling a little nervously.
Shakespeare evaluated the pathologist appreciatively. "Such unusual clothes," he remarked. "I've not seen a coat like yours before."
The pathologist colored as she looked down at her white lab coat. "Er, these are just my work clothes," she laughed nervously. "I-I didn't really get a chance to change before coming here."
The Doctor chose that moment to spare his companion and cut in. He held up his psychic paper for the playwright to see. "I'm Sir Doctor of Tardis, and this is my companion, Molly Hooper."
Shakespeare looked at the leather wallet critically. "Interesting, that bit of paper. It's blank."
The Time Lord felt his grin widening, and made no attempt to hide his admiration as he gushed, "Oh, that's very clever. That proves it. Absolute genius."
Molly craned her neck to see the psychic paper, frowning a little at what she saw. "But it's got words on it, I can see it," she said with confusion.
"And I say it's blank," Shakespeare repeated with conviction.
"Psychic paper," the Doctor explained to Molly. "Er, long story." Now what to tell Shakespeare? "Oh, I hate starting from scratch."
"Psychic?" Shakespeare repeated with interest. "Never heard that before and words are my trade. Who are you exactly?" With a charming smile in Molly's direction he added, "More's the point, who is your fair companion?"
The Doctor grasped quickly at the best explanation he could find. "Er, Molly's from a far-off land. Freedonia," he added lamely.
Shakespeare looked at him with disbelief, but before he could accuse him of lies, another man walked in. He was well-dressed, but he seemed rather red in the face as he glared at Shakespeare. "Excuse me! Hold hard a moment. This is abominable behavior. A new play with no warning? I demand to see a script, Mister Shakespeare. As Master of the Revels, every new script must be registered at my office and examined by me before it can be performed."
Shakespeare sighed, seemingly slightly annoyed at the man's intrusion. "Tomorrow morning," he promised, "first thing, I'll send it round."
The man glared at the playwright and sneered, "I don't work to your schedule, you work to mine. The script, now!"
"I can't," Shakespeare told him with a slight edge to his tone.
"Then tomorrow's performance is canceled," the man growled out. "I'm returning to my office for a banning order. If it's the last thing I do, Love Labour's Won will never be played!" With an air of smugness, the man turned and swept out to the hall, leaving Shakespeare rubbing his temple.
SCENEBREAK
Molly turned to the Doctor. "I guess that's the end of it then."
"I suppose." In truth, the Doctor suspected there was more to the story. Nothing was ever that simple around him.
"But the thing I don't get is," Molly continued thoughtfully, "if the play never got performed or even finished, why was it listed among his plays?"
The Doctor grinned at the question. This was one of the reasons he'd brought Molly with him; she was smart.
Before he could answer her, a panicked scream sounded from outside, and a voice cried. "Help! Someone help him!"
Without a second thought, the Time Lord was on his feet and bolting for the door. A crowd had gathered around something on the street. The Doctor pushed through so he could see what was happening.
A man was staggering about, clutching his throat and spewing water from his mouth, eyes bugging with terror. "It's Mr. Lynley!" Molly gasped. The Doctor hadn't noticed her following him, but he was glad to realize she had jumped at the call for help as quickly as he had.
The Time Lord paused for a moment. He'd never seen someone with symptoms like that. "What's wrong with him?" When the terrified man spurted out more water, he hurried towards him. "Let me through, I'm a doctor!" Or near enough. Molly, the rightful doctor, said nothing as she followed him.
The Doctor had one hand on the man's chest and one on his shoulder, trying to steady him, but other than that he really didn't know what else to do. Molly was doing about the same, trying to figure out where the water was coming from.
Suddenly, the man gave a violent jerk, his eyes going wide, before collapsing to the ground with a final groan. Molly went to check for a pulse while the Doctor watched, puzzled. "Mr. Lynley? Can you hear me Mr. Lynley? Hold on, just try to breath, yeah? We'll get you some help."
But it was too later. Lynley spewed out one last spurt of water, then slumped to the ground, dead. Molly stared at him in shock, slowly drawing back. "He... he drowned. But there wasn't any water here! It's like it was coming from... inside him." She turned to him, looking shaken by what had happened, but there was only concern in her voice as she asked, "What happened to him, Doctor?"
The Doctor furrowed his brow, staring at the body in confusion. "I've never seen a death like it. His lungs are full of water — he drowned and then... I dunno, like a blow to the heart, an invisible blow."
He turned to look at the crowd gathered around. When he noticed the waitress from earlier standing nearby, he told her, "Good mistress, this poor fellow has died from a sudden imbalance of the humors. A natural if unfortunate demise. Call a constable and have him taken away."
The waitress looked shaken, but bowed and gave a quick, "Yes sir," before turning and walking off.
That taken care of, the Doctor turned his attention back to the body, and the girl crouched over it. "I don't understand," Molly said hesitantly. "He drowned, so why are you saying it's an imbalance of the humors?"
"This lot still have got one foot in the Dark Ages," the Time Lord explained grimly. "If I tell them the truth, they'll panic and think it was witchcraft."
"Alright," Molly agreed quietly. After a few moments, she asked nervously, "...do you know what actually happened?"
"Witchcraft."
SCENEBREAK
After the constable had come and taken care of Lynley, the Doctor and Molly headed back into the tavern, neither any clearer about what just happened. Shakespeare stayed out with them, but no one tried to make conversation. Everyone was wrapped up in their own thoughts about the death they'd just witnessed.
Several minutes after they returned, the waitress from earlier, who they'd learned was named Dolly Bailey, approached the Doctor. "I got you a room, Sir Doctor," she informed him. "You and Miss Hooper are just across the landing." He nodded, and she turned and left.
"Poor Lynley." Shakespeare was the one to finally break the silence. "So many strange events." With that, his solemnity faded, to be once again replaced by a charming grin aimed at Molly. "Not least of all, this land of Freedonia where a woman can be a doctor."
Molly looked surprised and slightly flustered. "How did you…?"
Shakespeare just smiled smugly. "You knew what you were doing with Lynley, and I've only seen hands so steady on physicians." When Molly just shrugged in reply, he turned to the Time Lord. "And you, Sir Doctor. How can a man so young have eyes so old?"
"I do a lot of reading," he replied flatly. Actually, that did remind him. He hadn't mentioned the whole really-over-900-years-old thing to Molly yet. He resolved to do that at a later date, along with a warning about regeneration. Not warning Rose had had some nasty consequences.
The playwright chuckled. "A trite reply," he observed. "Yes, that's what I'd do. And you," he added as he turned back to Molly, "You look at him like you're surprised he exists. He's as much of a puzzle to you as he is to me."
The pathologist looked at the Doctor questioningly, clearly not sure how much she was allowed to reveal. When no answer forthcoming, she instead ignored the question and settled for, "I think I'm just going to go to bed then. Er, goodnight." She started to curtsy, then seemed to realize that this wasn't the right time period for that, and turned it into a sort of awkward bobbing movement before turning and leaving.
The playwright got to his feet. "I must work. I have a play to complete." With a knowing look at the Doctor, he added, "But I'll get my answer tomorrow, Doctor, and I'll discover more about you and why this constant performance of yours."
The Time Lord smirked disbelievingly. No one ever guessed his life, and few believed it even when he laid it right out for them. But let Shakespeare try, if he would. "All the world's a stage," was all he said.
Shakespeare nodded appreciatively. "Hmm, I might use that. Goodnight, Doctor."
"Nighty night, Shakespeare," the Doctor replied with a smirk. It was sentences like that, crazy situations that led to him talking casually to long-dead people of fame, that made him love his life so much.
He turned and headed off towards the room Dolly Bailey had indicated, wondering what tomorrow would bring.
SCENEBREAK
The room they'd been sent to was fairly small, sparse furniture and one bed. Molly couldn't be too critical though. It kind of reminded her of the places she'd lived in when she first moved to London. There was, however, one detail that stood out to her. "Er, there's only one bed?" It had meant to be a statement, but her voice sort of went high at the end, turning it into a question.
The Doctor shrugged. "We'll manage." He flopped down on the bed, leaving a space for Molly. The pathologist stood awkwardly, uncomfortable with the idea of sleeping next to the Doctor. She didn't have any feelings for him, true, but there was still something awkward about the idea for her.
Instead, she settled for a bit of nervous babbling. "I guess there's not anything to change into here? I've been in my work clothes since yesterday. Wasn't really awake enough to think about that. I guess we'll have to stop at my place to get clothes then? Or something?"
The Time Lord looked thoughtful. "Hadn't thought of that. We can drop by your place if you want, but the TARDIS wardrobe has plenty of stuff that'll fit you."
"Oh. Okay." There was an awkward silence for a few moments. "Er, Doctor? Traveling with you… am I ever going to go back home? Can I visit, or are there rules or something?"
The Doctor sobered a bit, looking at his companion seriously. "Of course you can go back home if you want," he told her quietly, "but will you be able to tell anyone there about the TARDIS without sounding mad? I don't know much about it myself, but just from watching companions go through this, I know it's not easy living a life on the TARDIS and a life at home." His expression suddenly switched to one of curiosity as he asked, "Have you got any family at home?"
Molly shook her head. "My dad died when I was still in school, and my mum passed when I was really young. I've got…" she trailed off as she really thought about it. What did she have back in London? Sherlock? Hardly. Her work? Plenty of other people were far more qualified. Friends? Sadly enough, Sherlock Holmes was probably the closest thing she had.
"Jim," she finally remembered. "I've got my boyfriend, Jim." She hadn't known him long, but she liked him, and he'd been so nice to her.
The Doctor's expression became one of distaste. "We're not bringing him on the TARDIS," he warned her.
"Alright," Molly agreed easily. Somehow she didn't see the mild-tempered Jim faring well on the time machine anyway.
The Time Lord seemed to hear something off in her tone, for he looked at her carefully. "Are you alright, Molly?"
"Yeah, of course," she said automatically. The Doctor's expression plainly told her he didn't believe her. "It's just… I should've guessed, the life you lead, but… I just wasn't expecting… I've never actually seen someone die before. I mean, I work with dead bodies all day, I'm used to death, but I've never actually seen someone die before. And I just… I couldn't help him today. I didn't know how. I'm not that kind of doctor."
"It's not your fault, Molly." The Doctor's voice carried sympathy and no short amount of understanding. "Even a top surgeon from your time wouldn't have known what to do. This is way beyond human technology. We couldn't save Lynley, but we can find out who's behind this." After a moment's silence, he asked a little reluctantly, "Do you want to go home?" It was clear he hated having to ask, that he was lonely and wanted her to stay, but he left it up to her.
Molly shook her head. "No, no, I'm good. I can still help." The Doctor didn't seem too pleased with her choice of words, but he let it go for the present. The mood had gotten pretty heavy with the way the conversation had gone. Molly scrambled for something to say to lighten the mood, finally settling with, "So, witchcraft huh? Like in Harry Potter?" That was one of her favorite book series, though she'd die before she admitted it to Sherlock Holmes.
The Doctor's sober mood vanished instantly, replaced by a knowing, excited grin. "Wait until you read book seven," he told her. "Oh, I cried."
The pathologist was puzzled. "But wait, book seven doesn't come out until… oh right, time machine." A sudden thought occurred to her, and she had to reign in her excitement as she asked, "So, does that mean we can hop into the future and buy the seventh book?"
"If you want," the Doctor said with a grin. "Now come on, are you going to stand there all night?"
Molly had almost forgotten she'd been standing in front of the bed the whole time. "Oh, right, sorry." Still feeling somewhat awkward, she settled down on the bed next to the Doctor. "So, is magic actually real?"
"Of course not," the Doctor scoffed, looking offended.
"But earlier you said witchcraft," Molly protested quietly.
"Creatures like witches," he explained. "But they're not using magic, they're using science, a really advanced form of science." He shook his head incredulously. "Blimey, you humans are all the same. Present them with something they don't understand and they all jump to 'magic' as the answer. You're such a superstitious lot."
"…right, sorry." To be honest, Molly was starting to get used to his constant insulting of the human race. It almost reminded her of how Sherlock treated everyone else like idiots all the time, but the Doctor didn't seem to mean it maliciously. He seemed more confused and awed by humans than anything, rather than the arrogant Sherlock. Indeed, Molly was very much rethinking her initial assessment that the Doctor was similar to Sherlock.
They were both geniuses, but Sherlock seemed to take it as proof of him being above other people, while the Doctor used it to help people, though he wasn't above showing off. Sherlock helped people as part of his job, but it was as a way to stave off boredom, to show off how clever he was. In the years she'd known him, he'd always been cold and analytical about his work. She'd never once heard him display sympathy for a victim.
The Doctor, on the other hand, seemed to actually care about the people he saved. He wasn't showing off, he was actually trying to save lives for their own sake. She hadn't been sure at first, in the hospital, but then he'd sacrificed himself to save everyone, and then earlier with Lynley she'd seen concern in his eyes. He actually cared.
Molly wondered briefly what was wrong with her that she fell for the self-proclaimed sociopath rather than the genius who actually cared. Then she forced herself to shake the thoughts away. Tomorrow she'd need to be awake to help figure out who killed Lynley. "Night, Doctor." She turned and blew out the candle on the nightstand beside the bed, throwing the room into darkness.
Yay, another update. I hope you like my characterization of Molly, and I started using more Doctor POV.