Child of Time: A Doctor Who Fanfiction

Noise

        The Doctor and Chelsea Briton angled down a more dimly lit alleyway, the muffled voice of someone on a megaphone resounding down the street. There was officially a warrant for their arrest; they'd seen themselves on television at the fast food place and casually exited--and ran.  

        "This is bad," the Doctor crouched behind the bin in the back of a Chinese place. "Bad. Very bad. Immensely bad. Well, sort of bad. Not that bad. Could be worse. Has been worse." 

        "For a man who knows things about science that makes my degree sound like a first-grade certificate, sometimes you can sound enormously stupid." Chelsea said in a hushed voice. "What is so terribly bad, assuming you're not talking about the milk that's gone off in the dumpster two bins over?" 

        "Ainsley obviously has connections higher than the head of some science division ought to," the Doctor answered shortly. "If he's got the police after us within thirty minutes of us snatching the briefcase." 

        "There could be something else useful in there," Chelsea suggested. "I mean, in the briefcase." 

        "I searched it." he shook his head. "It's mostly printed out copies of documents and blueprints scanned and saved to his hardrive anyway." 

        The snow, which had initially been merely a pretty dusting, was now problematic, as their footprints were clear and very easy to track. Fortunately, the police seemed so far to not have ventured off of the main streets. Whatever leverage Ainsley had, it was apparently not enough to induce a city-wide search.  

        "We need somewhere to hide." Chelsea said, anxious and wishing she wasn't. If she was to be a sidekick temporarily, then she ought to be one of the level-headed ones who didn't scream at cobras and aliens. 

        "We need the TARDIS." the Doctor said grimly. 

        "Any idea how far away it could be?" 

        "It's in the same time--I hope--and probably anywhere within a hundred to twenty-five kilometers. Which, really, isn't that far," he mused, "But in London--well, it could be anywhere. Hopefully it didn't squash anyone or do anything too dramatic." 

        Several miles away, a night watchman flicked on his torch and aimed it at the blue box behind the face of Big Ben, bewildered. Light from the huge and infamous clock face spilled onto the strange structure, marked 'Police'. "What the bloody 'eck is a police box doing 'ere?" 

        "You didn't see anything." a voice said calmly from behind him. A young woman stepped out of the shadows. "Martha Jones Smith. UNIT. And the only place a police box has been in your recent memory is in the '60s, got that?" 

        "Er, yeah," the older man swallowed. "Right. I'll...pop off...to the loo..." 

        "Good news, chaps," Martha radioed as soon as he'd gone, a grin spreading across her face. "I've found it." 

        The Doctor and Chelsea turned out to be relatively good at being on the run. That is, they weren't seen by anyone other than a skinny Siamese cat who the Doctor introduced as Simon. 

        "Are you serious?" Chelsea snorted. "Please don't tell me you can talk to cats now." 

        "Everyone talks to cats," he looked miffed, stroking the purring animal. "Simon is very intelligent, you know. She says--" 

        "She?" 

        "Yes." the Doctor answered, as if Chelsea ought to know that there could be female cats named Simon. "Anyway, she says that the search has been called off temporarily, or lowered in the sense of urgency, that is--there was a pretty large armed robbery on Bank Street, so--"