==Chapter 1==

Falling Through Space

We would have to run away, we would have to leave behind everything but each other.

– Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated

After a long trek through mixed-and-matched London, Beth Lestrade was relieved to reach one of the Irregulars' boltholes scattered across the city. Most of them were at or near the locations of Sherlock Holmes's original boltholes, all of which had disappeared when Time froze—the sense of familiarity comforted the boys. Beth drew the key out of hiding and unlocked the door, opening it into a small attic room in a disused house.

She moved forward to prepare for a trip across the Channel, not pausing to rest on the threadbare but enticing sofa and not looking at Sherlock Holmes, who all but stumbled into the room after her. She didn't know what to make of him, if she even felt safe around him—he might have been willing to run with her and talk their way out of Moriarty killing them both, but she couldn't forget how he had acted when she first found him. How cold he'd been. Cruel, almost. Moriarty had a lot to answer for.

Holmes made his way to the battered sofa and sank down onto it gratefully. Their long walk had forcibly brought home to him how woefully unfit he'd become, and he was still feeling rather chilled from the fog and damp, having forgotten to don his overcoat before leaving his quarters. He'd only managed to steal... borrow an old coat from someone's clothesline shortly before arriving here, which was probably just a few washes away from becoming dusters, anyhow. He was also still in something of a daze over recent events... even now, he could hardly believe they'd actually made it out of Torchwood alive!

Beth pulled out clothes and packed supplies with practised ease, having helped set up this bolthole herself. Just finish the bags, and then you can sit for a minute. Well, maybe more than a minute, but not much more. She was good by now at forcing herself to keep moving when she didn't want to.

He sat numbly watching her work at first, vaguely wondering after a while if he ought to assist, although he was finding it hard enough just to remain upright on the sofa and not curl up into a ball. He couldn't remember the last time he'd willingly closed his eyes...

At last she gathered up the courage to glance his way—then closed her eyes for a moment in pity and concern. She could almost imagine what it was like to lose a brother, and she didn't want to. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

Holmes flinched, insides crawling at the sympathy in her voice, staring red-faced at the floor. It was bad enough having her see him like this in the first place, but of all the inappropriate moments to zone out, this had to be one of the worst. He nodded stiffly without looking up, gaze falling on the loose board she'd just taken up, revealing a makeshift larder. "Have you, er... eaten lately?"

Beth felt herself colouring—she wasn't sure why. "Ah, earlier, yes…" She'd had one chunk of unleavened bread hours ago and she hadn't been planning on trying to eat anything more for the 'day', long since used to going without as much as two meals a day. In any case, she was too nervous about the coming challenge to even think about eating right now.

He levered himself off the sofa and came forward to see what they had in the way of provisions. It was little enough: pilot bread, dried fruit, and a small wedge of cheese. Well, at least they wouldn't have to worry about any of it going mouldy. He frowned as the smell made his stomach growl treacherously, sternly controlling his first impulse and offering the box to Beth. She was alarmingly thin now, almost to the point of gauntness; besides, he'd eaten himself not long before her arrival at Torchwood.

Oh, why did he do that? Now she was tempted... but she closed her eyes, bit her lip, and wrenched her thoughts away from her hunger. She shook her head. "That'll have to be for the road. Just in case—you never know when something'll go wrong."

Conceding the point, he wrapped up the food in a clean cloth and added it to the rest of the gear. "Speaking of which..." It was starting to dawn on him that he didn't even have any idea of where they were to go next – he'd been unconsciously assuming all this time that Beth must have some kind of plan for eluding their pursuers... didn't she?

Beth finished her packing and sank onto the sofa with a soft groan. "Well, we can't stay here in Britain—we have to get to the Continent." There was no way the two of them could stay together in the British Isles without Torchwood finding them—Beth on her own or with the boys could disappear and become a boy herself, but now Torchwood had a pair to look for. "A smugglers' ship is our best bet, and it shouldn't be too difficult to find one that will take us." Hopefully one in particular would be willing; she had had a couple of dealings with Tom Johnstone by now. "Smuggling is huge business nowadays—even smuggling people."

"I see..." Holmes hesitated a moment before sitting down again beside Beth, only slightly less tense than a coiled spring – but it was the only seat in the room and they both needed what rest they could get. "You have some means of funding our passage, I presume."

Beth nodded and withdrew the somewhat-reduced gem pouch from the inside of her jacket, handing it over to Sherlock. She'd been using its contents only when very, very necessary, keeping it as the emergency reserve. "This will see us quite a ways," she murmured.

He could tell by the feel that the bag held precious stones, but tipped a few onto his palm anyhow, lips pursing in a silent whistle at their obvious quality. "Right around the globe, I should think." Deciding not to ask where she'd gotten them from – if they were stolen, he was probably better off not knowing – he put the gems back in the pouch and handed it back to Beth. "So what now?"

Beth hid the pouch again and sighed. She just wanted to go home, back to Sally and the gang, but the developments in Sherlock as a person had certainly sent that option flying out the window. "Well, we've got to get down to Sussex, and I prefer going on horseback, so we need to buy us some rides. It's probably been an hour since we left Torchwood... I think we ought to be able to make it to Brittany within twenty-four hours."

Holmes's lips twitched mirthlessly – he'd never dreamed he would ever have to go on a second hiatus. "Well, as to horses, I may yet know of a discreet dealer or two..." He couldn't imagine that Frozen Time had disrupted business in the least for the people he was thinking of. "I don't suppose you know if Jack Hawkins is still operating in Blackheath?" Hawkins had run a stable which specialised in finding new owners for 'lost' horses.

She tilted her head, thinking. "I've heard of him, yeah—just never been there." Oh—she realised that she probably needed to tell him about his own unique status in this version of Reality. She didn't want to, but if they met up with anyone else who knew him... "Did you know him?"

"Fairly well, although I doubt he'd recognise me. He hired me unawares as a temporary stablehand every so often." He looked at her inquringly, she seemed suddenly hesitant. "What is it?"

Sighing, she pressed her lips together as she mulled over how to say it. "Sherlock," she began gently, "the way this world works... you and Watson aren't strictly a part of it. When everything first hit the fan, Sally made it back to Baker Street—Mrs. Hudson didn't know her... didn't have lodgers."

Holmes stared, his vanished keys on returning to 221B taking on a whole new significance. "Dear God..." But then... if Mrs. Hudson didn't remember any of them, how could the Irregulars...? He shook his head, giving up – it was all too much to take in at present, and they couldn't afford to linger.

Beth hesitated, then reached over and gave his hand a brief, comforting squeeze. She was starting to wonder if Sherlock's initial coldness had been a mask—he was as vulnerable now as he'd ever been before everything had gone wrong. She really wanted simply to hug him, but that would probably be too great a liberty. Releasing his hand, she forced herself to rise to her feet, slung one packed bag over her shoulder, and handed the other to Sherlock. "Wanna try for Blackheath, then?"

Taken by surprise when she took his hand, he was unable to think of how to respond before she let go again. Masking his inner confusion, he rose after her, shouldered the bag she handed him and started heading for the door... then remembered with chagrin that she now knew the streets of London far better than he did, and sighed. "Lead on."

She smiled ruefully and stepped out, waiting for him before she closed the door, only to pause. Was this the last time she'd ever see this place? She sighed and closed the door, turning back to Sherlock. Oh, zed boundaries, just this once: she reached for his hand again and gripped it firmly, her gaze daring him to pull away. They were about to set off on a dangerous journey, there was no telling if they'd survive, and they were all each other had now—so she really needed some physical contact to hold her emotionally steady. In all fairness, Beth might still love Sherlock, but she'd much rather have Sally with her right now.

He looked at her a trifle warily, but didn't let go, feeling strangely relieved at the physical reminder that this hiatus would not be a solo journey. He was a free man again, true, but his exhilaration at the fact had long since given way to the old flutter of panic that had kept him company during his long flight from Switzerland, the constant fear of being run to ground... and there was no knowing whether having a companion this time would help more than it would hinder.

As they left, his gaze fell on their joined hands, and a memory stirred, unbidden... Beth's hand in his as they ran through the forest, laser fire exploding around them... her voice as she took the Doctor's trembling hand in hers... "We're falling through space, you and me, clinging to the skin of this tiny little world... and you mustn't let go..." He shook his head slightly to dislodge the thought, this was hardly the time to be daydreaming – but to his consternation and annoyance, it remained stubbornly in place.

Beth and Sherlock were en route to Blackheath when Beth startled to a halt, gasping, feeling something she hadn't felt since Kathy's birth. Nikola's voice in her head. Beth, he said anxiously. Beth, can you hear me?

"Nikola?" Beth said aloud. "Ah..." She darted a glance at Sherlock. "It's Nikola." Finding them both shelter in a nearby doorway, she then focused on what she was actually thinking. Nikola? Hello?

Startled himself by her reaction, Sherlock tried to tune in, but to his combined relief and disappointment, he could 'hear' nothing. Sighing at Beth's faraway expression, he shifted his attention back to their surroundings, keeping watch.

Nikola sighed in relief. Thank God. Are you all right? I couldn't sense you once you entered Torchwood, Moriarty's psychic field was completely blocking me.

Zed. Yeah, I'm... all right. It's complicated. Sherlock's with me—that's complicated, too.

She felt Nikola frown. How is he?

Not... not good. He is nowhere remotely near ready to meet John on the terms we need him to... Moriarty's done a lot of damage. She felt her heart beat faster as she continued—what the zed had she gotten herself into?! Made a deal with Moriarty: we've got about twenty-three more hours before he unleashes Torchwood on us. She took a deep breath. We have to get out of Britain.

Nikola didn't sound happy, but he didn't argue when he replied, I suppose you know what you're doing... He winced. So what am I supposed to tell Watson?

She couldn't quite quash the voice in her head that hissed that Nikola could thank John for her for helping make such a mess, but she pushed the voice back into the dark corner of her mind where it belonged and hoped that Nikola hadn't heard it. That was horrible of her. ...I don't know. I'd imagine that he already knows what's wrong. You guys need to be more alert now than ever—I made that deal without Moriarty knowing about John, and I can't imagine that'll go down well. If you can get in touch with me every so often, too, I'd appreciate that.

Nikola smiled. Of course. And don't worry about Torchwood finding us— he sighed—I suspect the real challenge will be convincing Watson to stay at Rosewood, once he's taken it into his head that he ought to be going after you.

Oh zed. Well, make sure he knows that I don't want to give anybody the chance to find us! This is going to be scary enough without having to worry about him, too.

Nikola frowned. Beth... He grimaced, as if hating what he was about to say. Forgive me, I... I know how it is for you... but please, tell me truthfully... are you sure you can trust him?

She closed her eyes briefly, face twisting. Three years ago, she would have said yes. Even in 1988, she might have said yes. But though she loved the man walking beside her right now, she did not truly know him, and she... she couldn't...

...no. Not completely. I can trust him not to act in any way that would serve Moriarty's purposes, but... He is changed, and—oh, gosh, Nikola, this is going to take so much work!

Nikola's presence was as gentle and reassuring as her mother wrapping her up in a warm blanket on a cold winter's night. As long as he'll watch your back—that's the most important thing right now. He reached out and gave her a mental hug. And we're here, too, if you need us.

Calmer from his efforts, she smiled sadly. Thanks...

He let her go, murmuring, Godspeed, draga.

Stay safe, she murmured back. She shivered as the touch upon her mind melted away—Nikola's presence was one of warmth and safety—and looked ruefully at Sherlock. "Sorry about that."

Holmes shrugged, frown fading – he'd been keeping one eye on Beth's changing expressions with curiosity and not a little frustration, unable to read her thoughts from her face. "Well?"

She shrugged tiredly. "Basically just updating Nikola on what's going on. He's going to check in every so often to make sure we're okay." That, at least, was a comfort.

Holmes nodded, more stiffly than he'd intended – after, all what did it matter that Tesla had spoken to Beth and not to him?

"…Nikola was psychically hiding me and Sally from Moriarty for a long time—he's still doing it for Sally and Kathy." She wondered what the Professor had sensed from her once Nikola lifted his shield. Had he felt anything? "Once I entered Torchwood, though, he couldn't even reach me, thanks to Moriarty's psychic field, so he was pretty concerned."

"So that's why..." Holmes murmured unthinkingly, eyes wide, then closed his mouth again hastily.

Curious, Beth looked at him. "What? "

Holmes looked away in growing discomfort, wishing fervently he'd kept his mouth shut. "Never mind..." he muttered, and stepped back out into the street. Of all the things he would rather not think about, Watson's first meeting with Moriarty was almost at the top of the list, never mind how much worse it could have gone if the Professor had known that Watson had remarried.

Beth sighed in frustration as she followed, tired in every way possible and no longer willing to walk on eggshells around Sherlock. "The Irregulars are doing just fine, by the way, thanks for the concern," she said tartly, with every intention of provoking a reaction.

"I had surmised as much," Holmes replied primly, although he was inwardly kicking himself for not inquiring sooner.

"Of course," she said flatly. All this time that the boys had been so worried about him... had he thought about them at all?

Needled by her tone, he answered through gritted teeth. "If there had been any question of their ability to survive, I should never have employed them in the beginning –" tone turning sardonic, "although I do hope you and Mrs. Watson didn't overindulge the younger ones." It wasn't as if he'd been in any position to act on their behalf, after all!

She was surprised into laughing helplessly. How dare he? "Over... overindulge? You seriously think... Well, yes, I guess we have, if overindulgence counts as ensuring a steady roof over their heads and a stable source of affection and comfort. That doesn't mean that it's easy keeping an entire small army fed and warm and safe. We haven't been living, Sherlock—we've been surviving." Okay, so maybe that wasn't quite true, but wasn't as if it had been easy to provide and care for dozens of boys!

Dear God, yet another thing he'd forgotten: how easily that scornful laugh of hers could set his teeth on edge. "While, of course, I was living the high life as Moriarty's guest of honour, not a care in the world!"

"That's not what I meant!" That's not entirely true, though, is it? a little voice whispered in her head. It had been a shock to find him doing so well, physically—was she a bit resentful of that? "This hasn't been easy for anybody!"

"My word," he replied sourly, "something we can finally agree on!" Did she really think him so completely self-absorbed that he couldn't sympathise with anyone else's circumstances?

A stony silence reigned between them for a minute or two, until something Beth had said earlier began niggling at him. "So where is this 'steady roof' of yours, anyhow?" he asked abruptly; no use attempting to deduce where it might be, far too many variables.

She bit her lip—this part she had been dreading, ever since they first discovered what Rosewood Hall had been. "An estate in Warwickshire," she murmured, "it was abandoned. We didn't even know the family until we researched the crest..." She hesitated—what would he think of their large group living in his childhood home?

He stared at her as he made the connection; Beth's hesitation was the biggest clue, if it had been anyone else's estate in those parts, she would have said so. Then Holmes started to laugh silently, greatly taken with the sheer irony of it – his ancestors in the Long Gallery must all be turning in their gilded frames! Well, with the exception of his grandfather, perhaps...

She stared back, uncertain and discomfited. "I-it was empty, an-and it was big and far from London..."

He waved a hand, cutting her off. "My dear Beth, do I truly seem at all put out at your laying claim to that draught-ridden old heap?" His airy tone couldn't quite conceal the grim undernote. "You could raze it to the ground, for all I care – although I concede that wouldn't be terribly beneficial at this point."

She winced and looked away, feeling homesick already—and sad that she apparently felt more affection for the place than he did. "I think it's beautiful," she said softly.

Holmes gave a mild snort. "But as you say: big, empty, and far from London. Of what use would that have been to me?" He felt profoundly relieved on seeing that they were approaching Hawkins's stable, effectively bringing their conversation to an end – they hadn't even left London, and already conversing with her was sorely trying his patience.

Beth didn't answer, lowering her gaze, feeling way in over her head and wishing she was running home rather than away from it.

Holmes rode through Sussex mainly in silence. His surroundings were forcibly reminding him that he had once thought of retiring here before the Doctor came – he'd even considered asking Watson to join him… Eventually, however, it dawned on him that Beth was growing increasingly tense as they approached Newhaven, and her mount was picking up on it. Anxious to prevent an accident, he quickly reined in his own horse. "Whoa."

Startled out of her own brooding, Beth reined in her horse. "Whoa, boy." She twisted around and frowned at Sherlock. "What's wrong?"

"Well, seeing as it is your horse growing ever more skittish," he frowned back sternly, "I was hoping you could enlighten me – before either of us ends up with a broken neck."

She dropped her gaze, cheeks reddening in embarrassment. "It's nothing..." Which was a blatant lie—'it' was practically everything, not least of which was the fact that they were about to leave the relatively stable Britain for a war-torn Europe, and she just wasn't ready for that. But for the sake of his question... "I just hope we don't run into the press gangs again..."

Holmes's eyes widened, impressed in spite of himself. "Well," he remarked lightly, "you obviously emerged from that encounter relatively unscathed." He wondered if Beth had any idea how fortunate she was not to have been conscripted... and how had she even managed to escape, for that matter?

She looked up slowly—his light tone sounded genuine this time. "Will's good at slipping ropes, and we had a little help from the pterosaurs here on the coast... "

Pterosaurs?! The detective's hands tightened on the reins, processing that unexpected piece of data in apprehensive silence. Something Watson had mercifully failed to mention in 'The Speckled Band': Holmes detested all reptiles, not merely snakes! If he'd known earlier that there was a chance of coming across any of the giant, flying variety...

Beth noticed his unease with surprise; Sherlock Holmes afraid of any other reptiles was not something she would have imagined. "I think they stick mostly to the cliffs. Believe me, as awesome as they are, I really don't want to have a run-in with them again!"

"...I can imagine," Holmes managed to answer wryly, although he was doing his best not to. Reluctantly, he urged his mount onwards, attention now warily divided between the road and the sky; given the choice between a press gang and a huge, winged lizard, he'd opt for the human predators every time.

Ria: Aaand here we go again, wanting to hug and slap our two heroes at the same time... *sigh* I gotta say, though: a sulking Holmes is lots of fun to write! His fear of reptiles in general is purely my own headcanon, btw.

And yes, the title of this episode is from where you BBC fans think it is – given the epic journey to come, we just couldn't resist!

Sky: And yes, we know that the proper quote is "every fairy-tale needs a good, old-fashioned villain"... yeah, that was my mistake, sorry. But it makes for a good title!

Aaaaahhhh, and I am so excited about this episode! This is probably actually my favorite of the whole season, and I can't wait to share it all with you guys.

So stay tuned, please review, and Happy Who Day tomorrow! ;)