#bringing this back in honour of my favourite platonic soulmates going to the 1920s

[laiqualaurelote]

“Welcome,” cries Donna Noble, “to the Sad Time Lords Drinking Society!”

The beach stretches as far as the eye can see. There seems to be nobody else on it. The sand is black; Jack has discovered it is rough beneath the toes, like gravel. The sea is a rich and iridescent blue; the sky above it clear and serene. A breeze ruffles the thatched roof of the bar at which they are all seated. From the radio behind the counter issue the tinny strains of a zither.

“I move to rename the society,” says the Doctor. He’s a tall, skinny man in a pin-striped suit and an outlandish pair of shoes, who looks like he stuck his fingers in a plug socket and still hasn’t burned off the energy. He and Donna emerged from a blue edifice labelled POLICE BOX, which is now sitting modestly on the beach next to Miss Fisher’s TARDIS, once more a Hispano-Suiza. Miss Fisher has introduced the Doctor as “my oldest friend, literally, he’s got a century or so on me”. 

“Quite,” says Miss Fisher, “we are hardly sad - I am always merry, for one - and only one of us identifies as a Time Lord at present.”

“And he is not sad,” puts in the Doctor.

“Rubbish,” says Donna. “Get a couple of drinks in you and you’ll be all mopey again.” 

“Anyway,” says the Doctor. He is sipping a complex cocktail out of a coconut, too violently coloured to actually be from the coconut, through a twisty straw. “To business. Present: the Doctor, tenth incarnation; the Fisher, third - honestly, how are you only on your third one?”

“Clean and virtuous living,” says Miss Fisher demurely over her sidecar.

Mac snorts into her glass. “Hallelujah.”

“Companions,” the Doctor continues dictating minutes to an invisible secretary, “Donna Noble - ” Donna makes a mock-bow “ - Dr MacMillan, good-looking, ginger and an actual doctor, I hope my future regenerations are taking note - ”

“I’m flattered,” says Mac. “I think.”

“ - and Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, whose first time it is at the Drinking Society of Time Persons of Various Moods and Genders.” The Doctor beams at him. “When did she pick you up from, then?”

“The 1920s,” says Jack.

“Oh, we just went, didn’t we, Donna? Lovely time.”

“I mean, there was a murder,” says Donna. “Quite a few murders, actually. Also, a giant wasp. Oh, and the Doctor got poisoned.”

“And we met Agatha Christie!” exclaims the Doctor. “Great stuff.”

“Yes,” says Jack. “That sounds exactly like what goes on in the 1920s.”

- from World Enough and Time, a Doctor Who/Miss Fisher crossover