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New Year's Eve. It was bloody New Year's Eve, and Molly was going to spend it alone, in a morgue.
"Well, I suppose I'm not quite alone if I'm with the corpses…" She sighed and shook her head. "No, I- I'm spending too much time down here if I'm making jokes like that."
"Jokes like what?"
"Oh!" Molly exclaimed and whirled around. "Mike! What're you doing here?"
"Just closing up. Go on home, Molly," he said. "It's not like these fellas are going anywhere."
She snorted at the joke, then pursed her lips. "Alright. Alright, I suppose. You have a good night, Mike."
"Have a good rest of the year," he replied, giving her a wave and departing.
Molly packed away everything on her desk, stacking it as neatly as she could and switching off the desk lamp. She grabbed her purse and coat and switched off the main lights as she left the room, heading back to her nearly empty flat to finish out the year far lonelier than she'd started it.
Her fiancé, Tom, had broken off the engagement – because 'all she ever talked about was dead bodies and Glee and Sherlock,' as his accusation went – she'd had nothing to do after work. Most of her friends were out having fun at parties that she'd declined the invitations to because she'd wanted to avoid the awkward conversations that would inevitably follow the break-up. She supposed she could shoot Anthea a call, but she and Mycroft were probably enjoying one of the few nights a year they actually got off, and she didn't want to bother them if she could help it. She had Toby. She'd be just fine on her own.
The route she took home didn't take her past any heavily frequented streets. Overhead, she heard the occasional party from an open window. Some couples stumbled down the street, leaning on each other as they went. She did have to dart out of the way of a handful of large friend groups, heading to or from a party. They all wished her a happy new year, and she wished them one in return, but she was left largely to her own musings, a terrible position for poor Molly to be in.
The northern wind cut through her and she pulled the coat closer, buttoning it up. She had just finished that task when she heard a thud down the alley to her left. Curious, she stopped and looked toward the source of the noise. She could just walk away, chalking it up to unstably stacked things or an alley cat. Her instincts told her it was much more than that, and that it was likely dangerous to go in after whatever it was alone. She knew what might happen to her; she was, after all the pathologist at St. Barts, she'd seen quite enough of those bodies.
But somewhere along the way of associating with Sherlock Holmes, her inner 10-year-old detective had been awoken, and the mystery bugged her. Pulling out her flashlight, she decided one quick peek wouldn't hurt. She slowly walked down the alley, shining her flashlight on the painted walls. Some of the symbols she recognized as that of graffiti she'd seen often while walking down backstreets. A lot of it, however, wasn't anything she'd ever seen before. It didn't even look human. Another clang was followed by heavy footsteps headed her way. She took her stun gun out – Lord knows when she started carrying it – and got ready to face who or whatever was coming her way.
The shadow of some kind of large monster covered in what appeared to be suckers appeared, silhouetted against the wall. Molly's heart leapt into her throat and she turned on the stun gun with trembling fingers and shaky breaths. Whatever it was quickly shrunk down to the size of a human male as he came around the corner. There was no trace of the strange creature she thought she'd seen in this rather normal looking businessman walking toward her. Maybe she was imagining things? He stopped saw her confused expression.
"You alright, miss?" he asked.
She quickly categorized his appearance and behavior, best as she could. British accent, normal clothes, human face. 5' 8", crew cut black hair, clean shaven. Carrying a suitcase in his left hand and gripping it tightly – he both was left-handed and nervous. Breathing looked normal, blinking and slightly weaving too. If this really was a monster, he did a good job of hiding it.
"Fine, thanks," she replied, playing this one safe. After all, if she was seeing things, the last thing she wanted was for someone else to know that. If she wasn't, well, who knew what he was or would do to her. "Just a bit tired, is all."
"D'you need someone to help you get home?" he asked, a note of genuine concern in his voice. Good acting?
"No, no," she answered quickly. Maybe too quickly. "I'm quite alright, thanks. Happy New Year," she ended as she walked out of the alley, leaving the confused man behind.
She walked a block before stopping and leaning against a wall, trying to calm herself down. She pinched her eyes closed and took a couple deep breaths. "You're just seeing things, Molly," she told herself. "Ignore it and move on."
It was then that she saw a strange man looking down an alley just across the street. He was wearing a long brown coat, white converses, and had on a blue suit. In his hand, he held some kind of strange device that he was pointing down each alley. She watched him scan two or three alleys, getting more and more frustrated as he went. She tilted her head as she watched him, trying to discern what he was doing. When he glanced at her, she quickly looked away. She continued walking down the street, hoping the strange man wouldn't follow her. She'd had enough weird for one night. She just wanted to go home, have some red wine, and watch the ball drop and ring in the new year.
He didn't acquiesce to her wish, and he caught up with her a moment or two later. "Excuse me, miss, but have you seen any alleys with unexplainable lights at the end?" She blinked at him a few times. "No, wait, that wasn't what I wanted to say. Well, it was, but not the way I wanted to say it. Erm..." he struggled to find the right words.
She found his unusual behavior to be highly amusing. Something about it was…calming, almost, and her apprehension slowly dissipated. He placed a nervous hand on the back of his neck. His odd behavior, initially making her wary, now seemed like something different altogether. He was looking for something or someone, but to say what or who he was looking for would make him look crazy. Thank God she was slowly learning from Sherlock, even if he hadn't meant to be teaching her anything.
"What are you looking for, exactly?" she asked, crossing her arms and sizing him up.
He was much taller than her, standing at 6'1". His face looked young, but his eyes looked old. His hair was brown and spiky, ruffled as if he'd run his hands across it like Sherlock did with his curls when frustrated and thinking. His posture seemed outgoing, but she could tell he was hiding something.
"Honestly?" he asked. She nodded. "The entrance to a hideout of alien species passing through, living, or taking refuge in London. It's in an alley somewhere, but so far, I've not been able to find it. Go ahead; call me crazy."
She gasped quietly as the world shrunk to this tiny space, with just the two of them. Her, Molly, the most uninteresting person in the world, and him, this…absolute legend, a myth she couldn't believe she was seeing with her own two eyes. But there they were, and it was really happening, and she couldn't quite stop herself from blurting it out.
"Dear God, you're him," she breathed. "You're the Doctor." His eyes went wide at this statement, but he didn't deny it. Rapidly, she scrambled to explain how she knew it was him. "I heard Mycroft on the phone, talking with the Queen – at least, I think it was her – and she said something, and he replied with 'Good Lord, the Doctor's at it again.' So I did some research and you're...real," she finished her jumbled explanation with a statement of almost disbelief.
"Hold on, did you say you're the pathologist at St. Barts?" he asked, as if he'd not registered the explanation. It didn't faze her. She was used to being ignored when she spoke. "You're Molly Holmes?"
"Hooper," she corrected.
She was sure it was a mistake of some kind; no-one would mistake her for a Holmes and she was just talking about Mycroft. Besides, she'd been trying to give up the fantasy of ever having that as a surname. He looked confused for a moment, then realization seemed to dawn.
"Oh, right, sorry. Hooper, not Holmes." He then muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'Not yet, anyway,' before turning back to her. "Well, Ms. Hooper, it's my honor. I've heard lots of good things about you from Mycroft and Lestrade both." Really? They talked about her?
"Erm, I know where the hideout is," she cut in. "At least, I think I do. Come on."
She led him back to the alley where she'd seen the shapeshifting man, now sure she'd actually seen it. The winter wind didn't bite as deeply, now that she had a mission in mind. Upon arriving at the alleyway with the strange graffiti and signs, the Doctor scanned it with his Sonic Screwdriver, then turned to her, beaming.
"Molly Hooper, you're brilliant!" he exclaimed. Brilliant? Her? Well… She smiled brightly; she almost never heard that statement. "Come on," he urged.
He took her hand, as though it was a natural movement, and caught up in the thrill of the moment, she let him keep it and lead her in-between buildings, around a tiny, cramped, blind corner.
She was immediately hit by the warmth. She'd no idea how cold she'd been till she stepped inside this strange place that seemed to be much bigger than possible. It was a whole other town smushed between a dingy apartment and a coffee shop, comprised of all kinds of strange buildings. There were things that looked like they were from 50 years ago, and things that looked like they were from 50 years into the future. Vintage and cutting-edge mixed and melded, contending for space. There were so many different alien species wandering about that she didn't know who to look at first. Dull blues and vibrant reds and normal skin tones, some several feet tall and some not reaching past her knee. They conversed in English, French, and their own native tongues, some of which involved clicks, buzzing, and growls. They pressed against her and each other, vying for space in the crowded alley. Everywhere she looked, there were streamers and balloons, confetti and party hats. Here, too, it was New Year's, and what a celebration it was!
She followed the Doctor through the crowded streets of the hidden town, looking everywhere that she could, nearly overwhelmed. She remained firmly anchored to him by their joined hands, and she was careful not to let go of him, lets she be lost and crushed in the packed street.
"Bit much to take in," he remarked as he weaved through a group of small, childlike, blue skinned aliens walking in the opposite direction. "I'd give a proper tour, but I'm afraid I'm running short on time."
"Yeah, this is... Wow!" she exclaimed.
She looked up toward the ceiling and saw the artwork. Intricate carvings of many different kinds decorated it. Some mimicked Earth styles, some were a blend of Earth and alien, and some were just outright unrecognizable. All of it was painted in bright, vivid colors, and each painting and carving told a piece of the story of the place; the construction bit kinda gave that away.
"Who built this place?" she asked in wonder.
"Coalition of aliens who found themselves in London with no other place to go and a desire to not stay hidden all the time," he answered. "Rather ingenious, actually, though one has to wonder where they got the technology, what with it belonging to the Time Lords and all. I was looking for this place because I'm hunting down a thief – well, kind of a thief – who has no idea what he has."
It was probably nothing, but a gut feeling told her to tell him. "Was he, like, a…" She snapped her fingers, searching for the right word. "A shapeshifter?"
"A Zygon, yeah," he answered. He stopped and turned to face her. "Did you see him?"
"Does he look like a businessman, holding a silver suitcase? Black hair, cut short, clean shaven, about 5'8"?" she described. He nodded quickly. "I caught him leaving about 5 minutes before I saw you; it's how I found this place."
"He'll be trying to leave the planet. We've got to stop him. Come on!" the Doctor shouted as he began to run back to the exit.
She'd let go of his hands to snap her fingers as she scrambled for the words, and now she was adrift in a tumultuous sea of bodies. Molly followed as closely as she could, but the street was crowded, and she was constantly bumping into people while trying to keep her eyes on the rapidly moving figure. She had no idea how anyone managed to follow anyone though a crowd, let alone quickly and efficiently. She tamped down her anxiety of getting lost in the over-stuffed street and fought her way through with shoving and weaving and many apologies.
She finally made it through the throng, but the Doctor was already at the end of the alleyway. She was sure he was about to slip away, tireless in his pursuit, so she slowed her pace to catch her breath. To her utter surprise, he stopped and turned back toward her, waving her on. He…waited for her? He waited for her. Why would he wait for her?
Well, no matter, he was waiting and she wasn't going to keep him. She sucked in a huge, deep breath of the crisp night air and and picked up her pace, following the Doctor as he ran up and down sidewalks, turning left and right, until she realized they were approaching...Baker Street? Oh, if Sherlock saw her, she'd die from embarrassment trying to explain this, not to mention the calculating look she'd get. She hated that look. Luckily, he turned just before they hit the street, then stopped in front of a coffee shop. He walked in, and she wearily followed.
While she leaned against the doorframe, trying to catch her breath properly, he walked up to the desk and spoke with the owner in a strange language. He was an alien too? Was there anyone in London that wasn't?
Maybe that's what Sherlock is. An alien.
She giggled at the ridiculous thought, then dismissed it, as he did have a family, and she was sure they were human. Well, Mycroft certainly was.
Just as she fully recovered, the Doctor thanked the owner and they were off again. She was definitely not a runner, but she was doing an okay job of keeping up. They stopped again, this time on the curb. The Doctor tried to hail a taxi several times, but failed as they were all full or passed by. Molly took the lead here, and whistled really loudly. He gave her a rather impressed look, and she smirked as the cab stopped by them. He opened the door for her, like a gentleman, complete with a small bow, and she giggled as she hopped in and slid across the seat.
"The airport, fast as you can," the Doctor instructed, and the cabbie nodded before driving toward the airport.
Once they got there, and Molly paid the cabbie, they strode in at a fast walk.
"Which terminal is he going to be at?" she asked, looking for the man.
"He's not going for a terminal; he's got a ship parked in one of the hangars. I only need to find out where," he corrected, looking for a map.
Molly closed her eyes and pressed her fingers on each side of her temple, and went over what she'd seen when she'd categorized the shapeshifter, like Sherlock sometimes did.
Long black jacket, white suit beneath, silver vest – dressing fancy, as if for a wedding, but he had a crew cut; he wasn't a businessman, just trying to look like one. Black shoes, scuffed at the tips – he tripped on stairs a lot, but never bothered to shine his shoes, meaning he never noticed. His wallet was half out of his pocket – he was used to pulling it out often, either to retrieve cards or money, or show ID. She could see the gold engraving on it of... T. Greer. "Got it!" Molly quietly exclaimed as she walked toward the help desk. The Doctor followed. "You got something like a checkbook or something on you?" she asked.
"No, but I do have a key card on me from who-knows-where," he replied, pulling it out of his spacious pockets. "Why?"
She quickly took it from him and put on a good smile before walking up to the lady. The woman working at customer service was clearly frazzled, and enjoying the break in frantic people demanding a flight somewhere, and Molly hated to interrupt her, but she really had no choice. She schooled her expression and posture as she strode up, flashing her best pleasant, slightly vacant smile.
"Excuse me, miss, but could you tell me which hangar Mr. Greer's plane is in? I'm his secretary and his personal assistant," she placed a hand on the Doctor's arm, changing her pleasant smile to a slightly embarrassed and apologetic one, "forgot to give him his key card." She said no more, offered no further explanations. Short and simple.
"Of course, the woman replied," looking something up on the computer. "Number 3, miss."
"Thanks," Molly replied as they walked toward hangar 3.
"That was brilliant," he complimented as they walked.
"First rule of lying: Never overcomplicate," Molly explained.
He chuckled, and she found she actually liked the recognition. Not that she was selfish or attention-hogging; she just didn't get sincerely complimented or recognized often. She allowed him to take the lead once more as they ran for the hangar, pushing past crowds of people eager to get home – or get away from home – on their way to the private section. The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and opened the door, and off they went toward the hangar in question. It was large, and an odd-looking airplane, a mix of a small touristy type craft and something utterly alien, and the landing platform was down. Greer was boarding it as they approached.
"Oi, Greer!" he called to the young man. The shapeshifter stiffened up as they got closer. He turned around and put on a nervous smile.
"Doctor!" he exclaimed too cheerfully. "W-what are you doing here?"
"You're not supposed to have that," The Doctor said. His tone was sharp, almost cold, and Molly remained where she stood, rigid as she watched the scene play out.
Greer's expression changed a few times. He looked at the Doctor, at Molly, at the suitcase itself. He was clearly calculating if he could get away. "It's none of your business," he settled on. "Just get back in your box. This needs to happen."
"You don't get to change time-"
"And you do?"
The Doctor stuffed his hands in his pockets and swaggered up to Greer. Greer was clearly terrified of the man, evidenced by him backing away, straight into the railing of the boarding ramp. Molly couldn't see the Doctor's face, but she could read his body language, and the person standing in front of Greer was…not the same one who'd accompanied Molly in. He was dark and serious and standing on the precipice of some deep chasm that Molly could see but not identify.
"Greer, this has to happen, however it is supposed to happen. Give me the suitcase," the Doctor replied lowly.
Greer held out another few moments longer before stuffing it in the Doctor's hands. "You carry those deaths on your conscience, Doctor!" he sneered.
He then turned and fled up the ramp, almost decking himself on the overhang. The Doctor simply turned around and walked back toward Molly. She finally saw his face, and it made her want to shrink and turn away. She didn't, though. He was…kind, but his job was difficult, and it clearly requited him to not be kind sometimes, and he could command such rage. It probably scared other people. It did scare Molly, but he was…not deserving of her fear.
The walk out to the front was silent. She called another cab and they rode back and they didn't say a word the whole time. Only once they stepped back into the cold winter air did she ask.
"What did he steal?"
"Some important information pertaining a rebellion happening on another planet, a long way from here," the Doctor answered heavily. He sounded old. Far, far older than anyone who looked like him should. "He's a time traveler, like me. He wants to stop a war."
"And he can't, because it's supposed to happen?" Molly guessed The Doctor nodded, and she nodded back, and she had no idea what to say, so she held his hand. "I'm sorry," she settled on.
He hummed. There was more silence, and then she reached her street. She opened her mouth to say 'thank you for the adventure,' to bid him good luck and a happy new year, but he cut her off by turning to her with a curious expression and saying, "This suitcase had a perception filter."
"Oh?" she asked, confused. "What's that?"
"It makes an object unnoticeable. No invisible, just…diverts the mind away form it. It's what hides the TARDIS from most people's view," he explained.
"How'd I notice it, then?" Molly asked.
"Well, the perception filter works on all but the very observant, or people who are looking for the object the filter is supposed to be hiding. In other words, you're a very hard woman to fool, Ms. Hooper," the Doctor answered. "Now, c'mon. Such good work deserves a little bit of a wowing reward."
Was…was she going to get to see it? Stars above, she was going to get to see it! The famous, mysterious, magical blue box. That would be the best New Year's gift she could possibly receive. She practically skipped alongside the Doctor after they left the cab they had to catch to get back into the city, up and down the sidewalks, and all the way to a small street corner, where it was.
The TARDIS, in all its blue, outdated, scuffed glory. Standing right there, being ignored by the people in the flats around. The universe, right there on a dingy London street, and she would get to see it fly away. He nodded at the door when she looked, in awed wonder, back to him, and she squealed with glee. She was going to touch it, to see the interior, to stand in a little piece of magic.
She wrapped her fingers around the small metal handle. Despite the weather, it didn't feel cold at all. It was slightly warm to the touch, in an inviting way. She inhaled, closed her eyes, and the opened the door. She only opened her eyes once she was inside, and oh…it was magnificent. Everything she imagined and more. But it- how?
She stepped back out, looking at the box itself. Blue and scratched and unassuming, and inside the doors, something utterly impossible. She poked her head in, looked at the doors form the opposite side, then stepped out again, not quite believing the sight.
"It's bigger on the inside!" she exclaimed, finding no better words for the strange, seemingly paradoxical size difference that was much like the alley. The Doctor only smiled in response.
She entered again, for good this time, and took in each and every wonderous detail. The room was spacious, lit in a warm yellow-orange light that contrasted nicely with the cool cyan console's glow. There were structure that reached from floor to ceiling, twisting and winding, lie pieces of dried out coral. The metal grate walkway creaked beneath her feet, clattering as she walked over it. She reverently ran her hand up one of the coral supports, as soon as she was close enough to touch it. The room hummed with the feel of something distinctly alive.
The Doctor entered, and he quietly closed the doors behind him. "Right-o!" he exclaimed. "I need to get this little box where it needs to go." He dropped it on the beat-up old couch attached to the riling that ringed the console.
"Wh-" she started, then stopped. He looked up at her and she sighed. "You usually travel with a friend. Where are they?"
The sad expression returned, a thousand-mile stare that made her heart twist. "No friend," he remarked quietly. "Just me. It's been just me for a while now."
She nodded slowly. "Well, you… I've travelled alone, and it's not… It's not good to be alone for a long time. Half the fun of seeing new things is getting to see them with someone else, so…" She inhaled and squared her shoulders, and she gave him the best smile she had. "I hope you find someone else to travel with. Everyone needs a good friend." He smiled sadly, and she nodded again. "Right, then. I'm just gonna… Happy New Years, and good luck with that ca-"
"Would you like to come with me?" he offered.
"T-To deliver the case or as…?" she asked uncertainly.
"If you want. Or you could…" He sighed as he leaned on the console. "All my old friends, they'd agree with you. And you seem the adventurous type."
"Me?!" she asked, absolutely confused. "I seem adventurous?"
"Yeah!" he said.
Well, in that case. "I'm certainly not going to turn it down!" Molly exclaimed. "But only if I can keep my other job, because I do like being a pathologist."
"Not a problem at all," the Doctor replied brightly.
Smile splitting his face, the Doctor straightened and began throwing switches, toggling levels, pressing buttons, flying around the console as the TARDIS bucked and rocked during the take-off. Molly grabbed the rim of the console and held tight, earlier loneliness forgotten. Bells rang in the new year for most of London, but for Molly, she got her own cloister, sounding in the streets of London.
Oh, what a year it would be.