“There was no time,” said the Doctor after a while. “I am sorry.”
The method to fixing the universe turned out to have been simpler and more elegant than I could’ve imagined, though at this point it felt like the entire universe no longer mattered.
The Doctor had transported myself and both versions of Sherlock Holmes (the two of whom chattered on subjects too numerous to list without pause or tiring) to year 1891, Switzerland, Reichenbach Falls.
The Doctor had left Watson in year 1903. I couldn’t say I blamed him.
The older Holmes looked at the path leading from the TARDIS and down to the waterfall, where his deadliest foe Professor Moriarity awaited… a foe whom he had bested once, and whom he knew he wouldn’t be besting again. Not so completely at any rate.
“If Sherlock Holmes has to die,” he said, lighting up his pipe, “then so be it. As long as the world has at least one Holmes. I believe I already wrote my letter…” He winked at his younger self.
The two said no more, and the older man headed down the path. He stopped mid-way, turned, raised his deerstalker cap, and continued on, never to look back again.
“Good luck… my colleague,” said the young Sherlock Holmes when the other disappeared behind a cliff. “And thank you.”
He also took out his pipe, but his hands trembled so much he only lit it on the third strike.
“What happens now?” I asked .
Holmes took a puff from his pipe, then handed me an envelope. “This is for you Mr. Smith.”
“What is it?”
“Open it, would you?”
I did so. Inside was a letter.
Dear Mr. Smith,
It is with great disdain that I have to inform you that if you are reading this, I must be dead. If our plan had worked (a plan for which I take full responsibility should The Doctor feel bad about the events that had to transpire), my death should have restored balance to the world. It should have also erased Jane Moriarty out of existence, unless she was in a time before my unfortunate paradox with Professor Moriarty had taken place, somewhere so far away that no ripples in our universe (were I to use The Doctor’s terminology) could have possibly reached her. Having had the pleasure of spending some time in The Doctor’s company, I assume this is the case.
Nothing lasts, Mr. Smith… but nothing is lost.
In my young age life had taught me that in matters of love and war, there was no second best. The Impossible Girl, I thought. The only girl worth being with.
I showed the letter to The Doctor and asked him if he could bring me back to her. His eyes gleamed. “Maybe,” he said, “perhaps… probably! But no guarantees. We can be transported to year three thousand nine hundred fifty six Before the Battle of Yavin… or fifty four. Or even fifty five. It’s not exactly a precise science.”
“If… if she’s there, what would have Revan done to her?”
“She might not be there at all.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
The Doctor frowned and looked away. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “What matters is if she’s still herself… and if so, perhaps there are more adventures for the girl with the scarab necklace.”
“Does it matter when we depart?” I asked.
“Not really. With time travel, arrival time is where it’s at.”
As I’m finishing writing these pages, sitting on the grass with my back (my poor back) against the TARDIS wall, I wonder if perhaps I’d misread the signs. It is already after dark, but The Doctor kindly lent me his sonic screwdriver which doubled very well as the best portable lamp I’d ever seen. Whether the many circumstances leading to the events I’d recorded here were all coincidental or if there was a divine plan in place, I do not know. But I choose to think that The Impossible Girl had left a footprint in the universe so powerful that no mystical Force can ever hope to compare.
She hadn’t shot Darth Revan in the face so she could escape. She knew what would happen if she’d come with us. My clever, clever, Impossible Girl.
“You sure you want to leave these notes behind?” The Doctor asked.
I was. I am.
And so I must put the final dot in this manuscript, step inside the TARDIS, and tell The Doctor that we are all stories in the end.
Thank you for reading! If you liked this book, tell a friend. If you didn’t, tell an enemy.
You can find more of my work at www.tyrovogel.com or on my Google+ stream at http://google.com/+TyroVogel.
Copyright
Published by Beginner Bird
Tyro Vogel Copyright 2014
Smashwords Edition
Dedicated to Teodora Grigorova. Without you this book would have never been the same.
With special thanks to Jon’C for his helpful comments and to Tobias DJ TB Bassline for all the music.
Cover art by S.A. Hunt.
This is a FAN-MADE story inspired by the SHERLOCK HOLMES, DOCTOR WHO and STAR WARS franchises. It is INTENDED TO CELEBRATE these franchises and is in no way affiliated with the copyright holders or the official works.