==Chapter 2: Retiring==

"But I at last with weary feet
Will turn towards the lighted inn,
My evening-rest and sleep to meet."
– J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

Watson was pleasantly surprised to find that his bedroom was furnished in an elegant Anglo-Indian style, not overly large or opulent, but spacious and comfortable enough to feel luxurious. His feet sank into the thick carpet as he crossed the room to discover what lay behind the second door in the far wall, which slid open at a touch to reveal a most welcome sight: he had his own bathroom.

A huge, circular tub dominated one corner, already full of gently steaming water. Watson lost no time in climbing in, sinking back with a long sigh of pure bliss as the heat soaked into his aching muscles, breathing a heartfelt thanks to the TARDIS for the splendid service. The stench and grime of Bedlam and New New York already felt half a lifetime away...

He realised with a start that he was beginning to nod off and stirred himself to wash. The TARDIS might not allow him to drown, but certain conduct simply wasn't appropriate when one was a guest. Rising from the bath, he wrapped himself in a linen robe that had been hanging beside the door and collected his stained and somewhat tattered garments from the floor.

There was a small hatch in one wall marked 'Laundry', opening onto a chute that dropped out of sight. Watson gladly sent the bundle of clothes on its way, meaning to ask the Doctor later if the TARDIS took sole care of such things, or if he would at least need to push a button or two.

A long benchtop with a washbasin set into it was home to a bewildering array of tubes, bottles and jars, and Watson had to wonder if most of them were actually meant for his use – why would he need hair thickener? Whoever had used this room before him must have been a hopeless dandy. At least he was able to identify the toothpaste. The shaving stand was well-equipped, too, which he fully intended to make use of next day... or whatever... it was... good Lord, he was almost asleep on his feet.

He shuffled back into the bedroom, then blinked – he was fairly certain there hadn't been a fireplace in here before – but he wasn't about to complain, the dancing flames were very soothing. The four poster bed effortlessly lured him over, and he sank gratefully into the warm embrace of eiderdown and pillows. Good thing he didn't need to... put out... the lights...

Holmes surveyed his room with approval – the space was about the size of the Baker Street sitting room, with a bare wood floor and plain walls, containing only the essential furniture. He knew the TARDIS could provide whatever he asked for, but he didn't see the need for more; ultimately, a bedroom was for sleeping and storing one's clothes.

He ventured into the next room and found an ensuite, which featured, to his delight, a shower stall. He had first encountered this innovation while in Montpellier, just prior to returning to London. Sadly, Mrs. Hudson had refused point blank to have one installed at 221B, despite his pointing out that such a fixture would save her a great deal of time and trouble, besides being more hygienic than a bathtub.

He stood under the cascade a long time, turning up the water pressure so that the driving jet could massage his complaining shoulders; all that swinging from car hatches on the motorway was starting to catch up with him. As his muscles unknotted, so did his mind, old thoughts draining away to make room for the new.

What a day... heaven only knew how much linear time had passed since they'd escaped Queen Elizabeth's guards. Would it always be like this with the Doctor? For Watson's sake, Holmes would have to ensure they paused whenever feasible to allow his friend to eat and rest, or the poor fellow would burn out in a matter of days.

Exiting the shower, he found a robe and nightshirt, then dropped into the wingback armchair beside the fire. Watson was no doubt fast asleep by now – he supposed he should turn in as well, but he was just wasn't ready to settle yet... then he smiled as Wagner's slow, stately measures fell on his ears.

"Thank you, my dear," he murmured, leaning back and closing his eyes. The Doctor had mentioned the TARDIS had a music room, he ought to seek it out later...

The Doctor had meant to return to the control room once he'd seen the boys off to bed, but the TARDIS seemed to have other ideas. No matter which way he turned, he kept ending up in front of his bedroom. The one he scarcely ever used anymore.

"Honey," he wheedled, "come on! I've got stuff I want to do."

She blooped back.

He groaned and put his fists on his hips. "I'm not going to let you mother-hen me!" Not that he'd ever stopped her before in the last few centuries, but still! He didn't like sleeping anymore.

Her only response was to open the bedroom door.

He glared at it.

Soft music seeped into his mind, a song he'd last heard while taking the Vortex out of Rose. "I sang a song, and the Daleks ran away." The TARDIS had sung Rose to sleep then, allowing her body to deal with the trauma while unconscious.

It was a Gallifreyan lullaby.

He didn't... he didn't want to... didn't want to sleep. To remember.

Tears pricked at his eyes. "Why?"

Because she wasn't about to let him kill himself, that was why.

Memories of Rose flooded his mind, good memories, her smile with her tongue peeking out between her teeth... The images began to intertwine with images of Holmes and Watson.

His new Companions.

He wasn't alone.

We take only the best.

He stepped into the bedroom. The TARDIS continued to croon sweetly in his mind as he pulled off his converses and jacket. The moment he climbed into the large, soft bed, the exhaustion caught up with him and pulled him under. He hadn't slept in so very long...

He swiftly drifted off in the TARDIS's music, and she kept the monsters at bay.

Authors' note:

Sleep well, boys – you've got another big day coming. Shhh, spoilers...

See you in Episode 4, everyone! =)