Title: Then and Now (3/6)

Author: Emma

Characters: Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, others

Rating: Starts PG, but hey, it’s got Jack and Ianto in it!

Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?

Summary: Jack meets the greatest detective of all time – twice.

Author’s Note: After reading Invincible Summer, someone sent me an anonymous email asking me how Jack and Ianto ended up with Sherlock Holmes’s house in Sussex. Here’s the story.

Author’s Note: God knows how this is going to turn out. Dear God, Arthur Conan Doyle is spinning in his grave hard enough to be able to sell electricity back to the grid.

           Captain Harkness looked deeply into Holmes’s eyes, as if trying to lay bare his innermost thoughts. My friend withstood the scrutiny with his usual self-assurance. After a long period, Harkness seemed satisfied with what he found, and he looked away as he answered Holmes’s question.

            “He’s asleep under one of old Smithson’s apple trees, comfortably covered with his own coat and clearly visible from the road.”

            “How much will be remember?”

            Holmes’s question was met with silence. It was then that I witnessed something so astonishing, so remarkable, that I knew I would remember it and ponder on it for many a long year afterwards.

            Sherlock Holmes grasped Captain Harkness’s chin between his fingers, caressing the man’s lips with his thumb, and turned him so their eyes could meet again. When they spoke again their voices were low and intimate. They had forgotten I was there.

            “Jack, believe me, I am your friend.”

            “I feel as if I should remember you.”

            “A memory of things yet to come.” Holmes said whimsically. “I can’t tell you more. It’s one of those timey-wimey things.”

            The effect of the nonsensical words on the Captain was remarkable. Blood drained from his face, and his eyes blazed, then went dull. He looked like a man who had been dealt a mortal blow.

            “You know him?”

            “Oh, Jack… no! How stupid of me.” Holmes took the Captain’s hands in his. “You yourself told me about him, when you were explaining… what happened to me. No more about that. We can’t run the risk. Come back into the parlor. Please. Watson, you too.”

            Harkness took a deep breath and followed Holmes. I trailed behind, torn between curiosity and reticence. In spite of the public aspect of this matter, whatever was occurring between Holmes and the Captain was of a much different nature, one into which I would be most reluctant to inquire. But I had been invited, and it was impossible to break the habit of complying with Holmes’s wishes.

            “Parrington won’t remember much about last night.” Harkness took his favored spot by the window. “Or anything else for that matter.”

            I couldn’t contain myself any longer. “Holmes, for Heaven’s sake, what in the world is going on here?”

            “The Parrington family is of the oldest nobility of England.” Holmes addressed himself to me, but kept his eyes on the Captain. “Often these ancient families have secrets. Mr. Harkness belongs to an organization called Torchwood, established by the late Queen to protect the Empire against threats that cannot be defeated using traditional methods. It seems as if the Parringtons have come under their scrutiny.”

            “Not Torchwood, Mr. Holmes. Mine.” Captain Harkness smiled grimly. “You seem to know a great deal about me, sir. Some of the things you allude to I would have believed to be known only to myself in this time and place. But since you do, and you call yourself my friend, I will tell you the story.”

            I sank back into my armchair, eager to learn the meaning of the odd events that had transpired. The story I heard that day still remains the most fantastical of my experience. If not for the fact that Holmes seemed to accept it without a qualm I would have consigned the teller to a mental hospital for treatment.

            “As you say, the Parringtons are one of the oldest families in England, but until a few hundred years ago they were of little renown. They farmed their acres and lived in genteel poverty.  Then everything changed from one day to the next. The Parringtons’ fortunes flourished. Title followed title, until Queen Anne bestowed on them the Earldom of Chancton. As you can imagine, rumours flew. Most of them were centered around a small meteor which the Parringtons displayed prominently in their library at Chancton Close.”

            “Ah, yes. The Luck of the Parringtons.” Holmes snorted. “And the truth, Jack?”

            “The Honourable Percival Parrington was returning home from the local tavern after a night of debauchery when he encountered a spectacular meteor display. One of the pieces landed in a field nearby. Being of a scientific bent, he decided to investigate. Imagine his surprise when he found, not a piece of half-melted iron but a ship.”

            I started to scoff at his fancifulness, but Holmes’s hand on my shoulder silenced me.

            “The being Parrington found was an Akhkarian. It was injured, but alive. Parrington took it home. I believe he saw it as a specimen at first.”

            “What changed his mind?” Holmes asked.

            “Akhkarians have two peculiar talents. One, they can lift an entire language from the mind of others. By the time they reached Chancton Close it probably spoke the King’s English as well as you or doctor Watson. The second is the ability to manipulate probabilities. They can examine an action, predict all its possible outcomes, and assign an exact percentage to the likelihood of each outcome actually happening.” He must have noticed our confusion, because he pressed on with his explanation. “Think of it this way. You have a six horse race. A man with enough reliable information could make a good prediction as to the outcome. Imagine being able to do that correctly and to the last decimal point every time. And even in some instance to infinitesimally tilt the playing field in your own favor.”

            “Good God.” I was momentarily dazzled by the possibilities until common sense reasserted itself. “And what would this being want in return?”

            “Your emotions, freely given. An Akhkarian needs emotions the same way we need water.”

            Harkness moved away from the window and sat down on the settee, gratefully accepting the whiskey glass my friend held out.

            “I find it hard to believe you can accept this without question, Mr. Holmes.”

            “I told you before, Jack. I am your friend.” Holmes seemed calm but I could detect the minute evidence of a powerful emotion tightly controlled. “Are Akhkarians dangerous?”

            “Good God, no. As long as you treat them kindly and allow free play of your emotions while in their presence they are gentle as lambs and not inclined to effort.”

            “So why is the Parrington boy so violently opposed to its existence?” They both looked at me with surprise. “Surely what the groundskeeper heard him say applies equally to this creature as to the Earl!”

            Harkness tipped his glass in my direction. “Well caught, doctor Watson. The problem is his mother. Not every Parrington wife is told the truth about the basis of her husband’s family’s fortune, but at least a few have, and some have actually befriended their guest. The current Earl confided in his countess, trusting her loyalty and common sense. However, she was raised by a mother with some very peculiar religious ideas, which the daughter inherited. When her own daughter was born ill, the countess became convinced that the Parrington line was cursed by God for harboring a demon. The reality that her son is perfectly healthy eludes her.”

            He sighed, leaning his head against the back of the settee and closing his eyes. “Unfortunately, an Akhkarian’s looks… Let’s just say your first reaction would not be to offer it tea and biscuits.”

            “What are you going to do?” Holmes asked.

            “I have already spoken to the Earl. The poor man was heartbroken by his daughter’s imminent death, and fears for his son’s sanity. The boy and his mother will be encouraged to forget the Akhkarian ever existed. I will take him somewhere safe. I fear the luck of the Parringtons has run out.”

            “But how can they forget?” I asked. “Unless you have some way of altering people’s memories…”

            “Sometimes, Watson, I forget you are a most able theorist in your own right.” Holmes smiled at me with true affection. “But I think Jack is going to have to leave it at that. Risks with time run in both directions.”

            With those cryptic words, Holmes stood up and held out a hand to the Captain. “You must be on your way, then.”

            “Yes.” Harkness set down the glass and took the offered hand. “Poor Stackhurst will be left without a science-master. What will he think?”

            “You will send him a telegram from Southampton. Tell him you did not find Parrington. Spin him a tale about your father’s solicitors asking you to return to New York immediately on an important family matter. You’re good at that.”

            Harkness laughed freely for the first time. “That I am.”

            We walked to the door once more. I waited by the stairs, letting Holmes say his goodbyes privately. There was something about these two men that forbade vulgar curiosity. They stood facing each other in silence for a long moment, then Harkness took Holmes’s hands and brought them to his lips.

            “I wish…”

            “Yes. But we are out of time, you and I. Go.”

            “Good bye, then. Good bye, Doctor Watson.”

            We waited by the open door until he had disappeared from sight. As Holmes closed the door, I thought I heard him whisper one last thing.  We never spoke of Captain Harkness and the Luck of the Parringtons again,  and I never inquired about the meaning of his words.

 Remember me to Ianto.