==Chapter 3==

At Skyfall

Civil report – Torchwood

- Most English royalty now at Buckingham Palace, uneasy truce resides, thanks to leadership of William I.

- Guy Fawkes arrested in second attempt to blow up Houses of Parliament. Conspirators under guard at Windsor until sentence decided, ongoing debate as to whether act was treason.

- British Authors' Guild founded by Charles Dickens, has garnered enthusiastic support from writing community, preventing further destruction of valuable manuscripts by Oliver Cromwell and associates.

"Good evening, Dr. Watson."

"Moriarty." Watson couldn't quite disguise the flicker of loathing that crossed his face at the appearance of his visitor, the first one he'd had in God only knew how long, besides the guards. Despite his best efforts, he'd been drugged somehow – most likely his food – and awoken in these new quarters. The single room was comfortable, if plain, with adequate facilities, but there were no windows in the bare walls, and what little could be seen of the outside corridor when the door was unbolted gave him no clue as to where he was now – not that he'd known to begin with. "Forgive me if I don't shake hands."

Moriarty's genial smile became sympathetic, nodding at Watson's shoulder. "I am informed that it should heal well enough. There was nothing personal about it, you understand – merely business."

Watson nodded back grimly from his seat at the table. He'd pushed himself to get back on his feet as soon as he could – remaining in bed would fool no one, and he meant to at least try to keep in a positive frame of mind. "And what purpose do you have with me on this occasion: business or pleasure?"

Moriarty's voice became a purr. "Oh, I expect the pleasure to be all yours, my dear Doctor. You see, I cannot allow Holmes to visit you any more, but I can at least allow you to hear from him... quite literally." He reached into his coat pocket and Watson's eyes widened in horrified recognition – he should have known Sally's phone would be found on him eventually, why hadn't he tried to get rid of it earlier?

"Ah, the wonders of future technology..." The Professor pressed a button, and a recording began to play, two very familiar voices:

"I freely confess that I thought him to be a loyal friend... and yet he seems to have washed his hands of you entirely. You are the genius pupil, Holmes. Tell me what that says of the nature of friendship."

"I suppose the nature of friendship depends on the nature of one's friends..." The bitterness in Holmes's voice sent a chill down Watson's spine; "...who are, after all, only human."

A moment's pause, then:

"Rule One: the Doctor lies."

"He told me... his world was gone, destroyed – but he would not say how... or who..."

A paling Watson set his jaw, free fist clenched tight. "You have made your point, sir. Feel free to leave at any time."

Moriarty didn't respond, a slow smile spreading as the recording continued:

"Unsurprising. He wanted you to stay with him – he would never have told you. He once told the Time Lord Council that it took thousands of years for a society to become truly corrupt. How ironic that such a process should have happened to him. The Doctor's attempts to avoid that Point could well have broken Time without your own efforts in that area. At least within the Cardiff Rift, the effects would be… blanketed."

"And yet you wished for Time to broken... but on your own terms... with the Doctor powerless to intervene. I suppose congratulations are in order, my dear sir."

"I could not have done so without you, my dear Holmes."

"You're too kind, Professor. Think nothing of it."

Watson's hand flew to his mouth, starting to feel sick. "No..." he whispered. Surely Holmes would never... but the glitter in Moriarty's eyes said otherwise...

"I'm afraid that is rather beyond me at present. The very idea of it, let alone the reality, is simply magnificent. The Doctor's interference in your life rendered you unable to fulfill that Fixed Point. As I said before, he always ensures his own destruction… and that of those around him. Of course, you yourself must share the blame in the girl's case: she came with the Doctor because of you, after all… And then her concern for you overrode all thought of self-preservation – had she not done so, I should not have sensed her so strongly."

"That is no fault of mine." Watson almost started at the sharpness of Holmes's reply. "The foolish child disobeyed my orders."

"Oh, it is every bit your fault, Sherlock Holmes. By the simple fact of who you are, you drew her to you, and she could not stay away, no matter how strict the order. Moreover, you allowed her to stay with you up until that point – you obviously did not even atttempt to drive her away before then."

"Lack of discouragement is not the same as encouragement. I never asked for her… admiration."

"'Admiration'..." Moriarty's smile was audible. "Lack of discouragement does indeed equal encouragement, I'm afraid, especially in... admirers. Time is a cruel mistress, but love must be the cruelest of all."

"Stop..." Watson could hardly choke out the words. "Stop it!"

"As you say, sir… I am afraid my knowledge of such matters is decidedly lacking."

"Shall you insist upon hiding behind that excuse forever, Holmes? I may have no experience in matters of the heart myself, but I have made it a point to understand how they work. Your ostensible lack of understanding is to your own detriment."

"Your concern for the quality of my education is truly touching, my dear Professor. Consider me a blank slate, and proceed with the lesson."

Eyes blazing, Watson surged up out of his chair and reached for Moriarty's throat... but the Professor was younger now and in much better shape than his assailant, easily bringing him to the ground by his injured arm. Watson gasped and blanched white as Moriarty gave his shoulder an extra wrench for good measure, murmuring, "That was entirely unnecessary, Doctor."

"You can talk, you sick monster..." Watson managed to grate through the pain.

"My dear Watson... Please understand: I no longer make any secret of who and what I am. If Sherlock Holmes is following me into Hell, he is doing so with both eyes wide open."

"No!"

Moriarty leaned down further, murmuring in Watson's ear, "He knows full well that I intend to have the girl killed, and yet he is willing that I should reshape him however I see fit..."

"Because of me..." Watson choked, misery and agony thick in his throat. Should he have forced Moriarty to kill him then, would that have been kinder...?

"Because of you, Doctor: his weakest point. Because without Dr. Watson... you no longer have the Great Detective..."

"No..." Watson made himself say the words – whatever happened, he would be damned if he let the Professor win this round so easily! Taking a deep breath, he continued quietly, scornfully, "Without Sherlock Holmes... there's no James Moriarty – how pathetic is that?"

Moriarty stood at last, releasing his prisoner and seating himself at the table. "We are speaking of your friendship, Doctor. Suppose you tell me."

Watson slowly, painfully raised himself to a kneeling position, lip curling. "Go to Hell…"

Moriarty chuckled. "My dear Watson… we are already there. And it is a Hell that you and Holmes made, together…"

"Perhaps," Watson answered coldly as he finally levered himself upright and back into his own chair – it might be a pyrrhic victory at best, but he would take what he could get. "However, we cannot claim all the glory, my dear Moriarty. And some day – or whatever you care to call it – this new empire of yours will fall, count on it. And I look forward to spitting on your grave when it does."

Moriarty's cruel smile widened. "You shall be waiting a very long time to do so. Shall we say... all of eternity?"

Watson's voice could have frozen lava. "I assure you, sir, it shall be worth the wait. Get out."

Moriarty continued as if he hadn't heard. "Moran will kill the girl, and is allowed to do so as viciously as he sees fit. The Sherlock Holmes you know will entirely cease to exist. And you, my dear Watson, shall remain here, unable to stop any of it, until I am certain you have fulfilled your purpose."

Watson gave him a look of pure contempt. "And then?" But he could already deduce the answer.

Moriarty's eyes gleamed. "Your... growing horror... at Holmes's development shall be most useful. And then… Holmes shall kill you, himself."

Watson stiffened, glaring daggers. "To borrow a phrase, sir: you shall be waiting a very long time… all of eternity, in fact."

"Oh, I think not." Watson felt the hair rise on the back of his neck at the unholy delight in Moriarty's expression. "In fact, I think it shall not be long, at all. Holmes no longer has you or the Doctor or anyone to whom he can anchor himself. He is drowning, Watson. I could not have asked for a more pliable protégé." The doctor couldn't keep his face from twisting in agony – Moriarty's gloating words were all too believable. "When next we meet, I expect to have nothing but good news for myself. However, I must advise you against further attacks. Better for yourself that you live out the rest of your limited time in peace."

"When next we meet, sir," Watson growled, "you had best be well-armed." If these chairs weren't bolted to the floor...

"My dear Doctor, is this appalling lack of self-preservation a side effect of heroism? I wonder that you have survived as long as you have."

Watson ignored the jibe. "Consider that your first and final warning, sir," he continued with icy sincerity. "If I must die, I intend to do so with my hands wrapped around your throat."

Moriarty's voice turned to steel. "I can easily accomplish my purposes with nearly every bone in your body broken and kept that way. I would suggest you not push me that far."

Watson just looked at him coolly. He seemed to have exhausted all guilt and terror on this occasion, leaving him with little more than a profound contempt for the bully in front of him. "Is that all you have to say?"

An enigmatic eyebrow was Moriarty's only answer as he rose and headed for the door – then he stopped and turned back. "Do remember, Watson, that I can do nothing that you and the Doctor have not allowed me to do." He executed a graciously mocking bow. "Au revoir."

Watson slumped in his chair the moment the door closed, face buried in his good hand. "Holmes..." he whispered wretchedly... then his face crumpled and he finally let the tears come, shaking with the effort of staying quiet, he still couldn't tell who might be listening. "Sally..."

Getting from Whitehall to Baker Street was not easy in the midst of a London Particular. Beth's only comfort was that she must have lost Moran by now as thoroughly as she had lost herself. She didn't know this city—knew it less now than ever, thanks to the past pouring into the present like blood from an open wound. There were ancient Britons and Roman soldiers and Saxon serfs and Norman nobility everywhere. It was only by sheer luck that she finally stumbled across Baker Street.

Her legs had long since felt detached from her body, carrying her forward of their own accord. Or perhaps not entirely—fire and ice seemed to be shooting up and down her legs at the same time, and movement numbed the pain a little. If she let herself stop for one moment, she didn't think she could make herself move again. Ever.

Her face felt numb. Most parts of her that weren't her legs, in fact, felt numb. There was a dull throbbing in her head from crying over Mycroft (over everything) as long as she had, but her tears had run out and her eyelids felt swollen and heavy, the only part of her face that still felt like it was alive.

She didn't know why she kept going. Either this was a nightmare or this truly was reality: if it was a nightmare, she wanted to wake up, and if it was reality… If it was reality, she wanted to let herself collapse and curl up and fall asleep and not wake up again. Wouldn't be a bad way to go. Gentler than a tiger hunter's bullet ripping apart her flesh.

At last, she reached a part of the Baker Street mews that looked familiar. She was close to the Irregulars' gathering place. Please let them be okay. Let them remember everything.

Sally's heart jumped into her throat at the signal whistle from the Irregular on sentry duty, but as the older boys started cautiously coming out of hiding, she dared to put her head out, too… and could have wept in relief to see Beth stumbling towards them through the fog. "Beth! Oh, thank God!" She ran forward and hugged her, heedless of how dirty and dishevelled the poor girl was. Then again, Sally was in much the same state by now, having spent the rest of the night following the gang through a maze of back alleys, most of them a sea of mud, just like Nat had warned her.

Beth had nearly sobbed at the sight of Sally, the last surviving person she really knew... and she was all right. "Sally! Oh my gosh..." Beth hugged her back as tightly as she could, ready to weep again. She wasn't completely alone. Sally was safe, and... it looked as though the Irregulars all recognised her. Will stepped out of the shadows but hung back, catching Beth's eye and giving her a nod of greeting.

Sally's eyes widened in alarm – she could feel how cold Beth was even through both their coats. "Oh my God, you're like ice!" She snapped at the group of boys, "Someone find her a blanket! Come on, honey, let's get you warm." She hurried Beth into the yard and over to where piles of boxes were stacked together in a rough cul-de-sac to keep in the heat of a makeshift brazier: a metal bucket with holes punched in the sides, half full of glowing coals.

Beth let Sally lead her, not about to argue, and sank onto one of the boxes, needing all her willpower to keep herself upright. Slowly, she lifted trembling arms and held her thinly-gloved hands over the heat. The next moment, she groaned in pain—it had been hours since her hands had been decently warm, and the sudden heat was only painful. "I think I've been outdoors for going on twenty-four hours," she murmured to the group, if only to keep herself awake. "Or whatever's passing for it right now."

"Yew disappeared after th'explosion." Will sat down opposite Beth, looking her over with a frown, and Sally's breath caught when she suddenly noticed that her friend's face and hands were covered in tiny cuts under the dirt. She would have to get Beth cleaned up as soon as possible, the last thing any of them needed was to get sick, especially since John... oh God... No, stop that, get a grip! Sally swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to concentrate on what the others were saying.

Beth looked up at Will. "So that was you."

He nodded. "Oi saw Mr. 'Olmes bein' took away; Oi saw yew go after 'im." He shrugged. "Unce we got where we did, didn't take much t' figure out where yew'd end up. Only one chimney was goin' on that 'ole block of 'ouses: that 'ad t' be it. Figured yew could use a diversion."

Beth shuddered, remembering the cold metal hard against her head, Moran's pitiless grip, Moriarty's even more merciless eyes. "It saved my life. Thank you."

Will merely shrugged as if it was a regular occurrence for him. Maybe it was; she didn't know.

Nat came trotting back with a tattered wool blanket, which Sally took from him with a grateful smile. Best not to ask where it had come from... "Thank you, Nat." She sat down beside Beth and put the blanket around them both – the little she remembered from first aid courses at college was finally coming in handy.

"No trouble, mum!" Nat gave Beth what was probably meant to be a cheering grin. "Yer all roight, Beth?"

Beth pulled her end of the blanket closer around her, grateful beyond words for the comfort. She looked up at Nat and found herself wondering just how much loss he'd already faced in his short life. How many of these boys actually had decent parents, and how many of them only had Sherlock and Watson? She shook her head. "Not really," she murmured.

"Beth…" Sally was almost afraid to ask – but if Beth knew anything at all about John... "What happened in there?"

Beth gave a despairing laugh, hardly even knowing where to start. Time was broken, Sherlock had been kidnapped, and, given that Sally was here and her husband was not, Beth was willing to bet that Watson had been captured too... "Moriarty's alive."

Sally's hands flew to her mouth, the blood draining from her face. There was a collective gasp from the boys, punctuated by exclamations and fervent swearing. It looked like even the newest Irregulars had heard about Moriarty – the older ones looked nervous, the youngest of them downright scared.

"He... he never died—" Beth had overheard some of the conversation before Moran had found her—"and now he's running Torchwood... and he has Sherlock." She choked back a sob; she was not going to cry about that now.

Sally wrapped her arms tight around Beth, shaking. "Oh God, Beth..." She almost choked on the next words: "He… he's got John, too!"

Beth clung to Sally, not surprised but scared nonetheless. They were down to two girls way out of their depth and a band of street boys—what chance did they have of turning this whole mess around? Of going toe-to-toe with the Professor Moriarty? "An-and the Doctor seems to be out of commission… and Colonel Moran k-killed M-Mycroft…" She hiccuped a sob. It wasn't fair—Mycroft didn't even know and now he was just... dead...

Sally's face twisted, closing her eyes against the tears welling up. Poor Mycroft… and poor Sherlock, he was going to be devastated!

"Fixed Point… they were talking about Fixed Points… Sherlock couldn't finish the case… because John wasn't there."

Sally's eyes flew open again, tears finally spilling over, her worst fears confirmed. "John..." she whispered miserably. She'd waited too long… if she hadn't let him walk out on Sherlock...

Beth looked up at Sally, chest aching—poor girl, she and Watson were just married. "So Time started… started freezing… but if I can catch up with Oberstein in Paris … return the papers… that might fix Time."

Sally stared. Fix Time... was that possible? The Doctor hadn't said anything about that! Then again, he hadn't bothered to mention what could happen if a Fixed Point got broken, either – he might not even have known himself. "Okay... so how do we get there?" If Beth thought for a moment that she was going on her own, she could think again!

Startled, Beth stared at Sally—surely she'd heard wrong! "W-we? We aren't getting anywhere, Sally—I'm going! Alone."

"The 'ell yew are." Will's chin was jutting. "Oi'm goin' with yew."

Sally opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again as the realisation hit: if she went with Beth, that left no one in London who knew how to fix things if anything else went wrong. As much as she hated the thought, she would have to stay behind, if only for the sake of reconnaissance.

Beth shook her head. Somewhere deep inside her, her temper was trying to spark at Will's vehement insistence, but it wasn't quite working properly. "Oberstein won't be expecting a girl to come after him."

"So then 'e won't be lookin' fer a brother an' sister, neither." Will folded his arms, and Sally could easily see why this one was the leader – just trying to fill his shoes in his absence would be no picnic. "But yew ain't goin' alone."

Beth sighed—she supposed it wouldn't be so bad to have someone to watch her back... The next moment, she realised that her head was resting on Sally's shoulder and her eyelids were fluttering. Her body was still the sorest it had ever been, but she felt warm and comfortable despite it...

Sally frowned, kicking herself. "Will, Beth needs somewhere to sleep." Then she looked around at the rest of the group. "Actually, I think we could all use some rest – most of these boys look dead on their feet."

Will nodded. "Camden 'Ouse is still empty, we've checked. 'S as good as anywhere."

Sally swallowed hard, and glanced at Beth – but the poor girl was already half asleep and not about to offer her opinion. She took a deep breath. "All right… but no one's to go visiting Mrs. Hudson, understand?" Some of the boys groaned and she shot them a stern glare. "I mean it! She doesn't remember any of us, and with Moriarty back, she'll be safer that way."

Will swore under his breath, but nodded again. "'Ere, lemme take 'er." He came forward and carefully gathered Beth into his arms, who groaned in sleepy protest at being moved. "Shhh..." He waited until Sally had tucked the blanket back around Beth, then stood. "All roight, yew lot, let's go."

Ria: Watson's scene was surprisingly satisfying to roleplay – the good doctor put on a braver show with Moriarty than even I was expecting – but writing it out was awful. And this is only the beginning... =( *hugs Watson*

Sky: *makes it a Watson sandwich* And poor Beth and Sally! This is so rough for them, too! But at least they have a plan of attack now! Stay tuned, and please review!

...pretty please?