==Chapter 6==

If It Can Be Broken

Civil report – Torchwood

- Food shortage temporarily abated by population explosion in animal kingdom. Species include many previously extinct and/or dangerous breeds, see attached file for details.

- Rumours of unicorn sightings in Scottish highlands, no confirmations to date. Pterodactyls thriving along coastline, recommend cull if fish numbers decline significantly.

URGENT: APPEARANCE OF SNAKES IN IRELAND SPURRING CATHOLIC INQUISITION TO NEW HEIGHTS. HUMAN POPULATION RAPIDLY DECREASING, REQUEST IMMEDIATE INTERVENTION.

Holmes had to admit, the Torchwood laboratories were impressive: hundreds of feet below the mews that housed the head offices, and apparently stretching for miles. He still hadn't been given the chance to learn his way around the complex, but it was clear that the Institute had spent decades preparing for Moriarty's grand design – although Holmes doubted that more than a trusted few had known what the end result was to be!

The main focus now, of course, was food. Strangely, no one seemed to have taken into account until quite recently that, with Time at a standstill, almost all biological growth had come to a complete halt. Food wouldn't spoil, but it also wouldn't replenish, and it wasn't only the plant life; milk-giving animals were dry, birds had ceased to lay eggs, and without yeast, fresh leavened bread had also become a thing of the... well, the past.

Inspired by the steadily worsening situation, some bright young apprentice had conducted his own unauthorised tests with the infamous Rift energy, and was excited to discover that the energy's effects on biological matter remained unhindered by this new temporal phenomenon. Holmes dearly hoped the apprentice had gained a great deal more than technical knowledge from the incident – the sight of that young man's newly-withered right hand made the detective's flesh crawl in sympathy... Nikola Tesla had been incredibly fortunate.

Since that breakthrough, however, the Institute's resident scientists had been working non-stop, conducting tests on the energy in much more strictly controlled conditions – for whatever that was worth, Holmes mused. Since he was only down here as an observer, he and his armed escorts were separated from the main laboratory by several layers of plate glass, most likely of the sort that had been used for the original fuel cells. Although trying to appear uninterested, the detective couldn't take his gaze from the activity before him, torn between hoping that the energy would still be too volatile and begin wreaking havoc, and the increasing desire to conduct a few tests of his own – there was so much to be learned here...

"What do you think of it?" At the sound of Moriarty's voice from behind, the guards silently turned and departed.

Holmes shrugged – he was hardly about to share his true sentiments on the subject. "Interesting... and you disparage my sense of self-preservation, my dear sir? I really hadn't thought of you as the suicidal type –" his lips suddenly twitched; "before Switzerland, at any rate."

Moriarty's eyes were narrowed slightly as he came forward into Holmes's line of vision, but his tone remained even. "Nothing worthwhile was ever accomplished without great risk." His gaze wandered over the work going on in front of them. "Time frozen over carries with it tremendous consequences, some of them potentially devastating, and if nothing is done about it, the human race will eventually cease to exist."

Holmes nodded. He might not possess Mycroft's genius – or Moriarty's – for handling international affairs, but he could still appreciate the countless issues that would need to be addressed. "A fitting challenge, indeed," lip curling slightly, "for a man of your talents."

Moriarty arched an eyebrow. "And what of a man of yours? Where should you like best to fit into this new world?"

Holmes echoed the eyebrow. "Forgive my scepticism, Professor, but I should not have thought that my wishes would ever be of serious consideration to you." Except in terms of leverage, of course... was this why the man had finally deigned to pay him a second visit?

"Well, heaven help us all if you remain as bored as this for the rest of eternity," Moriarty responded dryly.

Suppressing a shudder at the thought, Holmes drawled back, "And no doubt I am about to discover what you consider to be a suitable diversion."

"A transitory one, yes." Moriarty inclined his head towards the door, his faint smile making the detective's hair stand up on the back of his neck. The Professor smiling had never signified anything pleasant in the past and he didn't expect any different now. "Shall we?"

Moriarty gestured at the chair beside his desk as they entered the study. "Our appointment should arrive in a minute or so."

Holmes seated himself, trying to at least appear at ease and quiet his thoughts. Conjecture was useless at this point, he didn't have enough data, which was doubtless what Moriarty had intended. "One of the advantages of a benevolent autocracy, I imagine: one is seldom kept waiting."

Moriarty shook his head as he sat down, any reply he might have made forestalled by a knock at the door. "Come."

A middle-aged brunette entered, beaming. "Bonjour, Director."

Moriarty tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Welcome back, Madame."

The strange female then nodded graciously at Holmes, although seeming more than a little surprised at his being there. "Bonjour, Monsieur Holmes."

"Madame." Was it Holmes's imagination, or was there a note of familiarity in the agent's voice? He certainly couldn't recall ever meeting her.

The woman turned back to Moriarty, withdrawing a brown paper packet from her coat pocket, which looked strangely charred along one edge, and handing it over. "The missing Bruce-Partington plans, monsieur, as promised."

The announcement fell on a horrified Holmes's ears like a thunderbolt. The plans... dear God, Torchwood had found Oberstein!

Moriarty accepted the packet with the briefest glance at Holmes, opened it with care, and unfolded the papers. After a moment's pause, he said calmly, "It would seem that an error was made, Madame. Have you any notion of what that error may be?"

Madame shook her head warily, now looking as tense as Holmes felt.

Moriarty slowly crumpled the top sheet, knuckles white, although his face and voice remained impassive. "These are not the plans, Madame. Would you be so kind as to explain yourself?"

Madame had by now turned equally pale. "There was a struggle – the boy was threatening to destroy..."

Moriarty's eyes flashed with anger. "You allowed yourself to be outwitted by children?" Madame took an involuntary step backwards, eyes wide and opening her mouth in protest, but the Professor cut her off sharply. "Enough. We will discuss this later. You are dismissed."

Madame bowed her head, then turned and all but fled from the room, while Holmes sat in stunned silence, heart and mind racing as he digested what he'd heard. If Beth and one of the Irregulars (Will, perhaps?) had bested this agent, gotten hold of the real plans... then the case could well be solved! Beth knew who the thief really was, of course, and the plans being returned to Woolwich would be proof enough to clear West's name...

"Whatever has happened, Holmes..." Moriarty's quiet voice cut through the detective's whirling thoughts like a knife; "it was not enough." Holmes turned to see the Professor sitting with his fingers steepled, eyes closed. "I cannot sense even the faintest stirring in Time."

Not enough... Holmes would have given anything at that moment to believe that Moriarty was lying; but the Professor's serene expression made it horribly clear that of all his present concerns, a restored Fixed Point wasn't one of them... and at that moment, the last remaining spark of hope in the detective's breast flickered and died. Blind, arrogant fool that he was – solving the case had truly been too little, too late.

Moriarty had won.

"I gather, sir," he said flatly, in a voice that felt strangely detached, "that our business here is concluded?"

The triumphant glint in Moriarty's eye belied his innocent tone. "For the moment – unless you wish to remain whilst I read reports."

"Hardly," Holmes answered, in as bored a voice as he could manage, and rose with a cursory nod. "My thanks for the diversion, Professor, such as it was." There would be few enough of those in future...

Halfway down the passage, Holmes tensed as a figure stepped from the shadows, then relaxed a fraction when he saw it was the female agent from earlier. She bobbed a curtsey, which might well have looked elegant, had she been suitably attired. "Monsieur Holmes, it is a pleasure to see you again." Her tone became wistful as she drew nearer. "I only wish the circumstances were kinder."

Holmes bowed stiffly, brow furrowed – she did seem faintly familiar, he simply couldn't think why. "Forgive me, Madame, but I cannot immediately recall our being introduced." Perhaps the film première, there had been a great many guests.

Madame smiled. "Then allow me to remind you..." Her hand rose to touch his face.

Startled, Holmes automatically caught the woman's wrist as she reached out... and his grip unconsciously tightened in shock as her form began to blur and shift. In a few moments, a very different, very familiar female was standing before him, in the same clothes she had worn when they'd first met.

"Now do you recall?" she purred, smile brightening.

As if Holmes could have forgotten! He hastily let go of her wrist and started backing away, only to collide with the wall behind him.

"As I said, monsieur, a pleasure to see you again."

Holmes couldn't quite think how to respond to that – he felt strangely short of breath, pulse thundering... He did his best to pull himself together, straightening and clearing his throat. "Pardon my hasty reaction, mam'zelle. I truly had not expected to encounter you again." Except perhaps as a corpse... "Especially not in such a setting as this."

She ran her gaze over him briefly, shrugging. "The Director found my... talent... of shape shifting quite useful." Her voice softened. "I have security here, a purpose... I need not live alone..."

Holmes's lip curled slightly, wishing he could trust this creature enough to break eye contact. "Congratulations, mam'zelle. And take heart: as you say, I don't imagine Moriarty considers you quite as expendable as your predecessor."

She shook her head and took a slow step nearer, murmuring, "Monsieur Holmes, really. That was not so subtle by half..."

Holmes watched her narrowly, suspicion warring with his growing intrigue. "And pray, mam'zelle, what exactly were you expecting? If you wish for playful repartée, you ought to know I am hardly the man to approach." The woman had read Watson's stories, after all.

She moved nearer still, extending her hand slowly towards him. "Yet it was my understanding that you made a... fascinating... conversationalist..."

His head was starting to feel strangely light... his cheeks were warm… "But what do you imagine, mam'zelle..." he managed to murmur, "that the damned would have to say to each other?"

Her soft giggle was almost musical. "So melodramatic... and you, of all people, with so many stories to tell... you wonder what you have to say?" She was holding his gaze effortlessly, limpid eyes so clear and untroubled, no tears... he found himself wondering dreamily if Beth would cry, when she discovered that solving the case was futile... "Why are you here?"

The woman's hand was tentatively rising to his cheek once more... but her tearless eyes were green, not blue... and as Holmes blinked in confusion, he realised that that was a very good question: why was he here? Stepping aside smoothly before she could touch him, he gave her a coldly polite smile. "Another time, perhaps, mam'zelle."

She tilted her head, alluring smile never faltering – she didn't seem the least surprised or even disappointed at his sudden turnaround. "I should like that. Au revoir." Blowing him a kiss, she melted back into the shadows.

The detective didn't even bother answering, he was too busy trying to work out what the devil had just happened! Allowing an alien predator – and an agent of Moriarty's, at that! – to get anywhere near him, what had he been thinking?! Good God, was he really that desperate for company? He must remember: no one here was to be trusted, every Torchwood employee would be beholden to the Professor in some manner, preventing their defection – and in the plasmavore's case, Moriarty's leverage over her was only too easy to deduce.

Shaking his head, he strode swiftly away to the elevator, only allowing himself to relax once he was safely below ground again. He might as well head back to the laboratories – there was little point in going to his own quarters... not until he was exhausted enough to sleep without dreaming.

Beth hadn't been sure what she thought would have happened if Time had restarted, but it had been over an hour now since she and Will had returned the plans to Woolwich. There was no sign that things were any better. The sky was still dark, and people from other times still walked the streets of a significantly changed London.

It didn't matter then. Solving the case hadn't fixed Frozen Time. They were stuck with reality like this.

She didn't say a word to Will on their way back to Camden House. She wanted to tell him that she was sorry for having put him through all of this for nothing, but the words wouldn't come. He needed to concentrate anyway—the streets had changed in the time that they'd been gone, though the main thoroughfares appeared to be all there. He looked anxious, too, no doubt to make sure that the other boys were all right.

They slowed to a snail's pace as they approached the back of Camden House. Will let out a sigh of relief at the sound of a familiar signal. "Nat?"

Nat emerged from the shadows, grinning. "'Ow do?"

Will sighed and shook his head. "Not s' good. 'Ow's everybody?"

The younger boy's grin began to fade. "Still in one piece, just about. Charlie 'ad a run-in wiv one o' them Terry-wotsits, but 'e's doin' all roight now."

Beth frowned. "Terry-what…" Her eyes widened as comprehension dawned. "Pterosaur?" Or pterodactyl? The latter might have been the term that Sally was more familiar with—Beth didn't know.

Will frowned. "Wot's that?"

"The creature that scared the press gang." Beth entered the house and ran to the room where they'd set up camp. "Sally?"

"Beth?!" came Sally's voice, quiet but sharp. She appeared in the doorway, looking exhausted, but her eyes were shining. "Oh, thank God!" She ran forward and hugged Beth.

Behind them, Will was coming up the stairs with Nat and a couple of the young boys. "...roostin' at the Tower now," Nat was saying—"word is they've polished orf all the ravens!"

Beth's breath hitched, and she buried her face in Sally's shoulder, clinging to her. "Sally, I'm sorry," she choked out. "I'm so sorry."

Sally rubbed her back gently, the simple gesture unlocking whatever tears Beth hadn't been able to cry yet. "What happened?" she said quietly.

Will sighed. "We got the plans an' returned 'em. Ob'vusly didn't do nuthin'."

"It should have worked," Beth whispered, looking up. "It was supposed to work. I don't know… I don't know if anything…" She stifled a sob.

Sally frowned, shaking her head. "So, maybe we missed something… What happened to Oberstein—was he arrested?"

Will shook his head and opened his mouth, but Beth beat him to it. "Of course not, it was just us! That shouldn't have mattered! What mattered was getting the plans back! What mattered was… solving the zedding case… which Sherlock couldn't do because he didn't have John with him!"

Sally's breath caught. "Oh my God," she whispered.

"So… we jus' got ter get 'em back t'gether, roight?" Nat said hopefully.

Beth stared at him, then looked slowly back at Sally. "Their friendship… that was the Fixed Point?"

"I don't know," Sally said slowly, "I mean, Mrs. Hudson's clock was going mad even before they split up, but…"

"'S more of a chance then we 'ad five minutes ago," said Will, "or wotever passes fer it roight now."

Sally nodded. "And if I remember the Doctor right, Time isn't always linear, anyway—sometimes you get the effect before the cause."

Beth nodded slowly, wanting to hope but not quite daring to, yet. "That means that we're going to have to get Sherlock and John away from Moriarty ourselves." Joy. It had taken Sherlock years to beat Moriarty the first time around, and they didn't even have anybody that brilliant among them now. "And get them back together." She sighed, recalling Sherlock's stubborn moodiness from the one day that they'd spent together in 221B. "And I don't know about John, but that'll take some serious doing with Sherlock."

Sally smiled wickedly, eyes gleaming—bit disturbing, coming from her, of all people. "Well, if a lecture's needed, I'm pretty sure we could both give Mrs. Hudson some stiff competition."

One 'week' later...

If there was one thing that Colonel Sebastian Moran could not abide, it was a mistake on his part during a hunt. He had assumed that Elizabeth Lestrade would not return to Baker Street, as it was an obvious hiding place. Now it seemed that she had done just that.

And left.

He swore as he studied the marks left behind in Camden House, of all places. There had clearly been a large group of people here, recently—Holmes's street urchins, no doubt. So the girl was running around with the Baker Street Irregulars? That could go a long way in explaining that damn explosion that saved her in the first place. Not that Moran entirely minded: shame to have to kill such a pretty little thing. And so much fire in her, as well…

Oh, and what was this? A clear imprint of a lady's boot in the dirt. Interesting—the girl had been wearing men's boots in Torchwood. The size was wrong, too; no woman as tall as Elizabeth Lestrade could possibly have a foot that would fit this particular boot.

So then, not only the Irregulars but also another woman. Moran did not look forward to reporting his failure to the Professor, but Moriarty would nonetheless be most interested in this development.

Ria: So, did anyone guess last chapter who the plasmavore was working for? For those wondering how she keeps having that interesting effect on men, let's just say that, thanks to certain salvaged alien artifacts, Torchwood already has a pretty good grasp of chemical warfare... Pheromone perfume, ladies? =D

Sky: Yipes. Looks like the gang cleared out just in time! And yeah, they lost this round, but we'll see what happens in the future! Poor Sherlock, though, and Beth. *hugs them both*