==Chapter 8==

The Doctor's Wife

"Everywhere we go and move on and change, something's lost – something's left behind. You can't ever quite repeat anything..."

– F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Beautiful and Damned

Sally drew a deep, blissful breath as she and Beth walked through the doors of Westminster Library – the very smell and feel of the place greeted her like an old friend, even if she'd never had the chance to visit this particular library in her own... in her old life. She glanced sideways at Beth and had to smile on seeing that the taller girl was just as starry-eyed. Beth had told her about her visit to the TARDIS library with Sherlock, and Sally had resisted the impulse to raise an eyebrow at what sounded more than a little like a first date, however awkwardly it had ended... Sherlock and John seemed to have that in common, too... She blinked hard, sternly forcing herself to focus; there was no excuse at all for zoning out here.

A slight cough behind the girls told them that Charlie and Nat were now moving off and losing themselves among the shelves. Sally knew better than to look around for them – she'd learned the hard way that most of the Irregulars could hide in the shadow of a railing, which was a very comforting thought right now. If danger approached from any direction in here, the boys would be way ahead of it. Of course, they still needed a way to smuggle any reference books past the armoured Templars on guard out front!

The library, like everywhere else in the city, was a complete melting-pot of classes and centuries, although Sally was glad to see that most of the people here seemed properly respectful of their surroundings. In less perilous circumstances, she would have loved the chance to simply wander around and try to guess the identities of the different readers from their clothing and book choice. She didn't have to wonder long about the identity of one patron, though – a fair-haired, bearded man in tunic and breeches was standing at the front desk, his angry gestures making up for the hushed tone as he argued with the Victorian librarian.

The librarian sighed, weariness audible in his own low voice. "For the love of heaven, Master Shakespeare, how many more times? The Board of Directors has already given their answer: the Library paid good money for those manuscripts, and we do not intend to part with them."

William Shakespeare sounded just as exasperated. "But they are mine, and I have the right to retrieve them! They're no good, they need rewriting!"

The librarian shook his head, answering with acid politeness through clenched teeth, "As has already been explained to you, sir, several times... their not being the final draft makes them collector's editions, and even more valuable! We wish you all the best with the reworking, of course."

The girls stood watching the exchange unnoticed, wide-eyed as Shakespeare threw up his hands in despair. "For God's sake...!"

"Oh my God..." Sally whispered in awe. Well, that was one less thing to be jealous of John for! Was the original Globe Theatre back in Southwark?

"He's so cute..."

Sally couldn't argue with that, but this was hardly the time to start mooning! She sighed, swatting Beth lightly on the shoulder. "Come on, you."

The librarian gave Shakespeare a strained smile. "Not even for His sake, sir. Now, if you will excuse me, there are other patrons here in genuine need of assistance." He turned to the girls as they approached the desk, looking decidedly relieved at the distraction. "Good day, ladies, how may I help you?"

Sally glanced apologetically at Shakespeare, noting in resignation that the man's disgruntled expression had eased slightly at the sight of the new arrivals. Hmph, genius or not, he'd better have the good sense to keep his wandering hands to himself on this occasion. "Hello," she smiled at the librarian. "We're looking for the geography section, please."

"Certainly, madam. You'll want the 910s, upstairs and to the left. Would you like me to show you?"

Sally nodded, taking pity on the man's faintly hopeful expression. "Yes, please." It was very clear from Shakespeare's face that none of the staff here had heard the last of him – and Beth's barely-hidden smirk wasn't helping, either.

The librarian gave her a look of pure gratitude, then inclined his head politely to Shakespeare with a bland smile. "Good day, Master Shakespeare, do come again." He glided out from behind the desk, beckoning an underling over, then led the girls towards the central staircase. Beth's shoulders were shaking by now, only biting back her wide grin when Sally dug a surreptitious elbow into her side with a glare.

Once out of sight of the front desk, the librarian let his regal air slip a fraction, each step up the stairs a good deal more forceful than necessary, for all the world as if he were treading on a certain playwright's foot.

"Regular, is he?" Beth asked sympathetically.

The librarian heaved a deep sigh, an accent much like the Doctor's becoming audible beneath the cultured tones. "I swear, I'm at my wits' end with the fellow! What does he expect me to do, exactly: browbeat the Directors and the rest of the Authors' Guild into submission on his behalf?"

"Mm. I'm sure it must be difficult for him as well, though." Having written a few pieces herself, Sally could easily understand Shakespeare's frustration!

The librarian nodded wearily. "If it were up to me alone, I'd be sorely tempted just to let him have them! Sadly, that's far more trouble than my job is worth." He slowed as they reached the top of the stairs, checking the signs at the end of each bookcase. "Speaking of which..." He turned the corner into the 910 shelves. "Here we are: geography. Will there be anything else?"

"Ah, no, actually," Sally smiled gratefully. "Thank you for the help... and good luck to you." She would have been glad to give the poor man a longer break from debating intellectual property rights, but they just couldn't afford to have any of the library staff know exactly what they were looking for. They'd have to be very careful to put everything back when they'd finished.

"And to you, ladies." The librarian bowed and left them alone, looking a lot better for having let off some steam.

Sally sighed and turned to Beth. "Well... let's get to work."

Beth closed her latest volume and dropped it on the teetering piles of already-skimmed books, grimacing. "Sally, I don't know how we're supposed to find it here. Atlases and travel guides and travel journals and not a single mention of the zedding estate!"

"Well, I don't know where else it could be!" It wasn't Sally's fault the Doctor rarely bothered to tell anyone anything useful about his past! Maybe they should try looking in the history shelves... God, who was she kidding, what history? It was all current events now, an entire subsection of the Dewey Decimal system had been made obsolete...

"Hello?" A different female voice interrupted Sally's thoughts, and a respectably dressed blonde woman appeared around the corner, only a few years older than Sally herself, cradling an armful of books. "Forgive the intrusion, ladies," she smiled politely. "Perhaps I can be of assistance?"

Sally stood up hastily, blushing at being discovered sitting on the floor – drat, she'd thought it would take her a lot longer to go native. "Ah, yes, please..." At this point, she would have seriously considered help from William Wallace, as long as he knew how to read! "I'm so sorry, we didn't mean to disturb you."

"Not at all, I'd be happy to help." The woman came nearer and set her own books aside, kneeling to inspect the stacks of books they'd been looking through, her smile turning fond. "Oh, this takes me back. What exactly were you looking for?"

"A Scottish estate." Who was this woman? Sally could suddenly have sworn she had seen her before, but she couldn't think where... She certainly wasn't one of the librarians, she was dressed just a little too finely, and even female staff members wouldn't carry a reticule while working. "We'd heard about it and we were curious to learn more."

"But we are having rather a difficult time of it," Beth put in ruefully.

The woman looked thoughtful. "Well, it might help your search if you were in the right section – any estate records would probably be in the land registries, rather than general geography."

Sally and Beth looked at each other, then Beth looked away, laughing silently. Sally shook her head, sighing. "Of course. Thank you."

The woman smiled kindly. "Don't mention it, my dear, I know how it can be. And I believe there's a directory not too far away..." She gathered her books again, and led the girls through the maze of shelves to where a list of the 900s was nailed to the wall with a map. "Here we are."

Sally couldn't help a relieved laugh. "Oh, you've saved us so much frustration. Thank you very much, Miss, ah..."

The woman echoed the laugh, obviously flattered. "Oh, it seems an age since I was last called that!" She held out her free hand to Sally. "Mrs. Mary Sholto; it's a pleasure to meet you both. It isn't often I meet other women interested in reading anything but poetry and romance novels!"

Both girls were frozen, staring at their new acquaintance, white-faced. Sally finally succeeded in lifting a trembling hand and took Mary's for a moment – oh God... she could feel the warmth through the glove... why couldn't the woman at least have had cold hands, like her? "Oh, I really love hist... geography," she murmured as she let go again, hoping desperately she didn't look as sick as she felt – smiling was definitely not an option right now. "And Lizzie here loves adventure stories."

Beth nodded slowly, wide eyes still fixed on Mary's face. "They're the best."

"I'm Sally, Sally Sparrow, and this is my cousin." Was that really her voice? It sounded so weird...

Mary nodded to Beth. "Delighted, my dear." Suddenly, she hesitated and glanced back over her shoulder, apparently speaking to the empty air. "Yes, Sundar, I know." She turned back to the puzzled girls, smiling apologetically. "And I really must be going, my husband will be starting to fret. But please..." She juggled her books for a moment and took a visiting card from her reticule, offering it to Sally. "If you're ever in Norwood, do drop in and see us. Thaddeus and I have so few visitors."

Sally took the card mechanically, barely keeping from dropping it – the harmless little slip of cardboard was like a burning coal on her fingertips.

"We'd love to," Beth said quickly, mercifully saving Sally from having to answer. "It was nice meeting you."

"Likewise," Mary smiled sincerely. "I hope to see you again soon. Good day, ladies."

"Bye..." Sally just managed to murmur as Mary turned away. Anything more might have come out as a scream... but then both girls did a double-take. A slim, dark-skinned man in a Victorian suit and a turban had just silently emerged from further down the shelves. He waited courteously for Mary to pass, who gave him a nod of thanks, then he glided after her, treading as noiselessly as a cat.

Beth turned slowly to Sally, who was still staring at the corner Mary and her... bodyguard? had disappeared around. "Well... should we just get it over with?"

Sally shivered, tears finally spilling over as she blinked dazedly. She'd known that Frozen Time was bringing the dead back... but she'd never imagined... "...married to Sholto..." she whispered miserably. The lump in her throat was almost choking her – she'd just been granted her fondest, most private wish... and it had been the very worst moment of her life.

Beth wrapped her arms around Sally, her own eyes moist. "I know, honey... I know..." And she really did know, Sally realised with a pang – seeing Mycroft murdered... and then finding Arthur West alive at Woolwich, the very person whose murder had started all this craziness in the first place, would have been just as horrible. And John... oh God... no, she could never tell him about Mary, never, that would be too cruel! He was going to get enough of a shock when he came back as it was...

"So Missus Watson goes back up to the feller at the desk, lookin' loike she's about to lose it all over the place." Charlie grinned at his riveted audience, putting on a shaky falsetto. "An' she sez 'Pardon me, sir, but can yew tell me the way to the Ladies' Room?' Then afore 'e can open 'is gob, rolls 'er eyes back in 'er 'ead an' crumples like an 'ouse o' cards!" He and Nat snickered. "Cor, the bloke wen' whoite as a sheet!"

Nat reached into his bag and took out a large leather-bound reference book with gold lettering on the cover and held it up for everyone in the kitchen to see: 'The Complete Reference Guide to Medicine and Health' by Richard Babcock. "Easiest job we ever done!" he announced smugly.

There were grins and backslaps all round from the other boys, Sally receiving her share of praise with a faint rueful smile. "I wasn't exactly feeling the best..." She still wasn't sure she entirely approved, even if it was in a good cause.

Beth had been giving Sally a look of sympathy, understanding how, yes, it felt wrong to steal books from a library. But now she was studying the older girl more closely—they might not know each other very well yet, but Beth had a feeling that Sally wouldn't make an admission like that unless something was wrong. She'd wondered at the time, in the library, if Sally's sudden sickness hadn't completely been because of who they'd run into...

George's frown of concern deepened on seeing that Nikola was wearing his old familiar 'I told you so' look, but closed his mouth at his friend's warning thought: Not now. "So, did you manage to find anything about the Scottish Torchwood?"

Thanks to Mary... Shaking off that thought, Sally pulled out a notebook, flipped it open to her notes, and started to read them off. "The Torchwood Estate is located on Rannoch Moor in Perthshire. Many of the MacLeishes, the family who owned it, came to a bad end… The house was extensively rebuilt and then further revised… The Estate was deserted by the widow of the last MacLeish and the Queen bought it… It's also said to be haunted by ghosts, werewolves, and… seems to be a variety of supposedly supernatural goings-on…"

"Which is perfect for the organisation," Beth murmured.

Sally hummed in agreement. "There is more, but those are the highlights."

George nodded. "They're good, I'll grant them that. Hiding in plain sight..."

"Yeah," Nat frowned, "but wot if some tripper or ghost 'unter wanders through the wrong door? They carn't make everyone disappear!"

"They don' 'ave to," Will put in. "Retcon, remember? Someb'dy sees somethin' they shouldn't, they wake up back at the lusher with a sore 'ead an' blame it on the beer."

The discussion continued for a long time, thrashing out different ideas, until they finally broke for food and rest. Nikola and George had already changed their usual suits for 18th century clothing, and with a reluctant shave for both men and a little help from some makeup that the boys had swiped from a local theatre, Sally and Beth had to admit they would have had trouble picking the two out in a crowd. Hopefully, any Torchwood agents would, too, because as far as the advance scouts could tell, the layout of 'Old' London had settled; serious reconnaissance could finally begin.

Full of impatience and nervous energy, Beth bounded into the room she shared with Sally, who hastily set down the stolen medical book she'd been reading. "All right, number one: if I don't have something to do—really do—soon, I'll go crazy. Number two: why don't I have anything to do?" It had already been almost two weeks since she'd returned the Bruce-Partington plans to Woolwich, and it felt as though they'd been sitting on their hands ever since! They needed to be doing something—Sherlock and Watson were in the clutches of a monster, and they were doing nothing to help them! "Number three: why the zed are we sitting around doing nothing?!"

Sally grinned nervously. "That sounded like three ways of saying the same thing…"

A lump began to rise in the American girl's throat. "Well, we'd better figure something out soon, because… I need to be out there."

Sally nodded, sympathetic but distracted, fingers tapping unconsciously on the book's cover.

Feeling a bit better for having let off some steam, Beth sighed. "All right, what's up?"

The older girl hesitated, looking decidedly awkward. "Beth, you know how I was feeling sick at the library?"

Oh no, I knew it, what's wrong?! Beth nodded apprehensively.

Sally took a deep breath. "Well, it's not the first time, and… there's been other stuff as well. I've been really tired, but I haven't been able to sleep—which I thought was just because of all the stress of Time freezing…"

Beth's eyes went wide—she was the second oldest of her mother's five kids; she should have seen this coming. "Oh my gosh," she breathed. "Sally… are you…?"

Sally looked down, blushing. "He said I was—Nikola, I mean—I just didn't want… I mean, I hoped he was wrong… oh God, that sounds awful!"

Beth blushed a little herself. What am I supposed to say? None of my other friends ever got pregnant! Mama was always happy… and never in the kind of circumstances we're in right now. She took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully. "Ho-kay. Wow. All right."

Sally drew her knees up, hugging herself. She looked small and young and scared—Beth couldn't even imagine. "I can't have a baby now," she said miserably, "we've already got enough to worry about! And John…" Her voice broke, tears starting to fall. "John doesn't even know!"

Heart breaking for her, Beth sat on the bed and moved to wrap her arms around Sally. "I'm sorry," she breathed. She couldn't imagine being pregnant alone and for the first time like this, and so soon after being married, too.

Sally hugged her back, breath hitching, voice small: "I'm scared, Beth..."

Beth tightened her hold. "It'll be okay," she murmured. Her voice broke just a little—she was scared, too. Terrified, more like. "It has to be."

"And what's going to happen when… when the baby comes?" Sally whispered. "We can't call a doctor—and I don't know about you, but I couldn't even watch that sort of thing on TV…"

Beth shook her head slowly. "Me neither, but…" She grimaced; the labour and birth in a roughly nineteenth century setting, without epidurals and a million other things that would make it safer and easier, was not going to be fun. And there was the very real possibility that something could go wrong… "We'll read up on it, and just… well, we're going to have to make it work."

"I just… never thought it'd be like this…"

Beth rubbed Sally's arms comfortingly, trying to infuse them with some warmth. "I don't think anybody did," she murmured.

Sally took a deep, shaky breath. "So... what are we going to do?"

Beth made no move to get up. "Well, we needed to get you and the little boys out to the country, anyway. Find somewhere safe, a better home base for us all, and then you stay put."

Sally winced. Beth could tell that she didn't like the idea one bit, and she didn't blame her. But the older girl nodded reluctantly. "I guess I won't be much of a help here for much longer—won't even be able to run."

Beth bit her lip. The last thing either of them needed to deal with was pregnancy-induced depression. "Heeey." She rested her head on Sally's shoulder, grateful that they were already close-enough friends that such gestures of affection were no longer awkward. "Don't think it'll be a picnic for me, either, being the only girl in a pack of teenage boys on the move."

Sighing, Sally rested her head on Beth's. "That was the one… vaguely good thing in all this… no one was telling me I couldn't do anything to help because I'm a female! And now I'm going to be stuck on the bloody sidelines because of this stupid body…" She gave a despairing laugh. "I feel like the ditzy blondes in all those old movies who can't do anything in a crisis except faint and sprain their ankles!"

Beth squeezed Sally gently. "Hey, it's not your fault you got pregnant—well, actually, it is, but… I know what you mean. But you're not ditzy, Sally—you are really smart, and you'll figure out how to… I don't know, blur the sidelines. I don't know. But you'll be okay." Beth was positive that Sally was the smartest woman she'd ever known.

Sally gave her a watery smile. "Wish I was that confident…" She sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Beth said gently. "You've already been through a ton of zed, and if I was in your place, I'd be scared to death."

Sally nodded, falsely bright. "Yeah, that sums it up pretty well!"

Beth shrugged and sighed. "You have the right…"

Sally grinned ruefully. "And you have the right to tell me to shut up and stop whining."

"Shh." Beth grinned back, exhaled slowly, and closed her eyes.

"Good idea," Sally murmured.

Beth felt the other girl shift slightly, presumably so Beth could lie down properly. Her eyes snapped open. "I'm really not sleepy, trust me." Oh, zed, that had come out a lot more, well, final than she'd meant it to.

Sally held up her hands. "Okay, no problem!" She stretched out, no doubt the stress of the last expedition starting to take its toll. "More room for those who are."

Sighing, Beth stretched out beside her. "I'm sorry… I haven't been sleeping well, either," she said quietly. In her dreams, she saw Moriarty taunting and torturing Sherlock while she was helpless to act… and she saw Mycroft die, again and again.

Sally gave her a look of pure empathy. "I know," she said softly, "but you're right, Beth: it is going to be okay…"

Beth closed her eyes again and breathed, "It really has to be, doesn't it?" A tear unexpectedly escaped her.

Sally reached out and drew Beth into her arms. "Yeah, it does—because of all the things I can stand at the moment…" Her voice turned grim. "...the thought of John and I raising our daughter in this isn't one of them."

Beth shuddered. "Definitely not. It's so wrong… Everything is so wrong…" She frowned suddenly. "Hold on, you just said 'daughter.' How do you know it's a girl?!"

Sally frowned herself, blinking. "Um… I'm not sure. That's… weird."

"I wonder… if… um…" Beth blushed. Golly, awkward. "...conceiving… a baby in the TARDIS would make it… different. Special. You're sure it's a girl?"

"Yes! I've no idea why … but every time I think about the baby… I just… can't picture it as a boy, at all—I keep seeing a girl." Then it was Sally's turn to register what Beth just said. "Wait, different how?"

Beth shook her head, wide-eyed. "Dunno. But… being exposed to temporal energy like that…" She shrugged. "I should think it's bound to have some kind of effect. Doesn't have to be bad."

Sally closed her eyes and groaned. "God, I hope not! It'd be hard enough carrying an ordinary kid…" She grinned shakily. "If she's got an extra pair of feet, I'm done for."

"We'll put that on your tombstone," Beth deadpanned: "'Killed by her baby's four feet.'"

Sally giggled. "No one's ever going to believe that!"

"Then you really haven't been around. It's positively wild out there."

"Mm." Sally closed her eyes again. "Pterodactyls at the Tower," she murmured sleepily.

"And," Beth added softly, "just about every English monarch ever taking up residence in Buckingham Palace…" More softly still: "'Night, Sally."

Sally must have already been more than half asleep, because she murmured: "…night, John…"

Tears sprang to Beth's eyes, and she raised her hand to her mouth, biting it to cry silently. They had to restore Time. They had to get Dr. Watson back to his family. She didn't want to imagine what life would be like if they failed.

Watson watched the latest pair of guards who had brought his food from under his brows, trying not to look like he was staring, no easy task – unless he were dreaming, one of the guards was David Wiggins!

The chief Irregular had grown from the street urchin depicted in The Sign of the Four into a thoughtful, mature young man who'd never forgotten where he came from, or that working for Holmes had shown him that he wasn't trapped there. During Holmes's three-year absence, even while occupied with furthering his own career as a lawyer, Wiggins had taken care to keep in touch with Watson and the younger boys, partly taking on the detective's mantle of father figure and occasional employer.

Now, however, there was no sign of recognition in the young man's expression; Watson couldn't even make eye contact with him. Well, if Wiggins had managed to infiltrate Torchwood, Watson would just have to be equally patient and do his part to keep from rousing anyone else's suspicions. Perhaps picking a fight the next time he came in would be good cover for passing a message? He'd have to find something to write with first, of course...

He had to make a decided effort not to let his features relax into a smile before the pair closed the door after them – seeing the face of an old friend, however briefly, had been a positive tonic to his morale – but his good humour faded rapidly as a different figure appeared in the doorway: Colonel Moran. Tensing, Watson rose to his feet, staring haughtily at the old soldier, whom he hadn't seen since the events that had led to Holmes's first return to London.

"Doctor," Moran smiled genially, closing the door behind him and looking Watson up and down. "You don't look much the worse for wear."

Watson smiled back mirthlessly. "Too kind, Colonel," he answered, doing his best to copy Holmes's old manner when dealing with unpleasant callers at Baker Street. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He knew perfectly well that the act didn't fool anyone else, but he would take whatever small comfort an old memory afforded him. Moriarty's visit to Watson's cell had been the first of many, the second to tell him of Mycroft's death... and the very worst part about it was that Watson had no way of knowing from Holmes's voice on the next 'update' as to whether or not Moriarty had informed his protégé.

"All in good time, Doctor." Moran leaned against the wall and took a flat silver case from inside his coat. "Would you care for a cigar? I don't imagine you're allowed them often these days."

Watson's lips tightened, the memory of the last time he'd seen Holmes smoking still painfully fresh. "Thank you, no, I've rather lost my taste for them."

Moran raised an amused eyebrow. "Ah, well, I hope you don't mind if I do." He proceeded to light one and took a puff. "By the by, you won't get very far with young Wiggins there. He doesn't know you. Didn't the Professor tell you?"

"It must have slipped his mind," Watson answered through clenched teeth, trying not to let his cruel disappointment show – for a moment, he'd dared to hope that no one at Torchwood knew the man's true identity.

Moran smirked slightly around his cigar. "Oh, I rather thought he would have. Well, it seems that, in this new version of reality, you and Holmes don't properly exist. Hanged if I understand why, but although you're still alive here, there are no traces of your old lives. No little brother to Mycroft Holmes, no Major Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers." He chuckled, shaking his head at Watson's paling face. "Rum business, this Frozen Time. Sure you won't have a cigar? Or at least a nip of brandy?" He held out a hip flask. "If you don't mind my saying so, you look as though you could use it."

Watson exhaled forcefully through his nose, irritation starting to eclipse his dismay. "What do you want, Moran? If you're looking for a new whist partner, I'm afraid I'll have to decline." As if he could have forgotten what had happened to Ronald Adair.

Moran chuckled again and put the flask away. "And I haven't had much time of late to play. No, Doctor, I have a... proposition, you might say. You see, I hear that Mrs. Watson is doing very well these days."

Watson's heart missed a beat. Moriarty knew... knew about Sally! How...? No, never mind that – what was he going to do about it? Torn between conflicting desires to know more and to keep his wife safe at all costs, Watson eventually reasoned that denial would accomplish nothing; he must simply take care not to volunteer any new information. "Where is she?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm and steady, bracing himself for what would most likely be an unpleasant answer.

"Well, there's the rub: she's living in Norwood, in a house you know well, I think, and she's not precisely Mrs. Watson. In this world, she's Mrs. Sholto."

Mrs. Sholto... Watson felt as if he'd been punched in the gut, mind reeling as he finally understood. Mary...

He realised with horror that he'd spoken aloud when Moran answered, "I can't imagine you wouldn't like to see her again." Thank God, it seemed the Colonel hadn't seen anything more in Watson's reaction than he ought – doubly fortunate, because he hadn't the least idea how to answer!

Thanks to the Doctor's warning, Watson's feelings about seeing Mary again would have been mixed even if there wasn't a catch to this offer, which there most undoubtedly was. All the same, the longer he hesitated, the more suspicious Moran would become; Watson pulled himself together enough to respond guardedly, "Why should you care?"

"To be frank, Doctor, I've never had anything against you. My quarrel was with—" Moran's face darkened briefly; "Holmes. You had your commanding officer, and I had mine. And I don't mind helping out a fellow army man from time to time."

Watson's lips twitched, wondering if the word 'friend' was actually in the Colonel's vocabulary at all. "And your... general? Does this generous offer meet with his approval?"

Moran took his cigar out of his mouth, looking at it thoughtfully. "Well, I had to talk him around to the idea, but he seemed willing enough." He looked up again. "You lost the war, Watson. There's no shame in admitting it, or any need to make yourself a martyr for it into the bargain."

Watson looked down, shaking his head in grim amusement. A martyr... What had his sacrifice been compared to Holmes's? "But as you say, Colonel, Mary is married to Sholto this time, she's never even met me. Forgive me if I fail to see..." Then his fists clenched, eyes blazing in fury as he realised what Moran was getting at. "You bastard."

The Colonel smirked. "Well, if you don't like that option, I could always find another way to get rid of the little sod."

"In exchange for what?" Watson growled, remaining where he was with difficulty.

Moran's gaze became deadly serious. "Walk away, Watson. And stay away. There's nothing for you here. Your friend is hellbent on destroying himself – well, let him. You did your best; there's nothing more you can do."

Watson's lip curled, giving Moran a look of pure contempt. "Except to sell my own soul for the illusion of freedom?" His voice was low, dangerously soft. "Get. Out."

Moran put out his cigar and slowly shook his head. "You'd set your pride in having the moral high ground over your love for the woman you married?"

Watson shook his own head, answering quietly, "What I want doesn't matter, Moran." And what he longed for most, he would die before asking it of this black-hearted monster. "Mary has given her heart to another..." His voice became a murmur, eyes downcast; "perhaps the better man, in the end." Sholto might not be handsome, but he was kind and honourable, the first to insist that Mary should receive her share of the Agra treasure. Even in Frozen Time, his wife would have a far better quality of life at Pondicherry Lodge than she had ever known with Watson. The best he could do for her now was to wish her, if not blissfully happy, then at least contented.

Moran snorted. "I doubt that very much, but I suppose it's your funeral, after all."

Watson didn't deign to answer, just gave Moran a pointed look, waiting for him to leave.

Moran sighed, straightened and opened the door, then paused. "Very well, then – one last chance. The Lestrade girl. You can still walk away, and I shall stop hunting her." And with that parting shot, he was gone, leaving the door standing wide open.

Watson was left standing rooted to the spot, dumbfounded, as much by the sight of the open door as Moran's final offer. At last, he managed to spur himself forward and slowly approached the door, peering cautiously out into the hallway – it was deserted. For a long moment, he hesitated, fear, hope and suspicion warring in his breast... and he had all but made up his mind to put the Colonel's promise to the test, when the old soldier's last words came back to him: 'I shall stop hunting her.' Moran had never guaranteed Beth's safety, there was nothing to stop Moriarty from sending others after her... and if Watson should lead them to wherever she was hiding... This was a trap, it had to be, and Watson was the bait! He couldn't even be sure if Sally was with Beth, and he didn't dare put his wife in any more danger, either. Besides, if he left... there would be no more reports about Holmes from Moriarty... and God help him, even this slow torture was better than not knowing anything at all.

Watson bowed his head, gripping the door frame, his knuckles white... then slammed the door shut and rested his forehead on it, tears finally starting to well up. Stumbling back to the table, he sank down onto a chair and, for the first time since his capture, began to pray, harder than he ever had in his life, shoulders shaking.

Be well, my love... be safe... I'm so sorry... Dear Father in Heaven, watch over them, watch over us all...

Ria: *hugs Watson and Sally* Kudos to KIT-10, who deduced Mary's resurrection four chapters ago! *applause*

Bear in mind that by Victorian standards, Mary had already been on the shelf a long time when she met Watson at 27. Being practical as well as romantic, it made sense that, with a little encouragement from Mrs. Forrester, she would seriously consider a proposal from a wealthy, compassionate man only 10 years her senior, with whom she had a surprising amount in common, like a fondness for all things Indian. Besides, I can imagine she felt somewhat guilty at having indirectly gotten Thaddeus arrested for his brother's murder, even temporarily! As for Jonathan Small and Tonga, they also remain at liberty, living in comfort off their rightful, if ill-gotten gains.

Sky: Still hurts, though, for sure, and it's going to hurt even more later. =(

But kudos to KIT-10 for also deducing that the Watson baby would be like River! Golly, you're genre savvy! *bows*

What an emotional rollercoaster, though... and it's not going to get any better, especially with Moriarty and Holmes returning next chapter. Stay tuned, and please review!