The dissolution of Pete and Jackie Tyler's marriage makes the front page of every tabloid in London. Jackie and their son Anthony take up residence in a small, exclusive flat in one of the city's pricier districts, but there's no formal separation. John isn't surprised. He saw anger when she confronted Pete, but he saw love as well. She stops by sometimes for tea, and perhaps to talk with someone who knew Rose as her daughter truly was.

John publishes Rose's story on his blog. Sherlock reads over John's shoulder but refrains from making his usual snide comments (why do you need a title? What does the bellhop's name matter? Oh, you've missed the entire point of it!). The title elicits a smile from the standoffish genius, although John's readers react ambiguously to his entry titled 'The Woman.' Most of them seem to think that it's an attempt at science fiction and he doesn't bother correcting them. Whatever they choose to believe, he and Sherlock know the truth. Perhaps it will come out later that Pete Tyler was behind an attempt to adapt alien technology for mid control and maybe it won't—but he kept his promise and that is what matters.

Sherlock rarely speaks of Rose, and when he does it's with a small smile and a grudging respect for the woman who beat him. He keeps her phone; it's incompatible with the other universe's technology (or at least that's the reason she gave for leaving it in her note) and John catches him studying it once in a while. Ultimately life returns to normal at 211 b Baker Street. Moriarty is still at large and Sherlock returns to his search for the elusive criminal mastermind. If he hunts with greater determination, well, John doesn't ask.

Thirty-three years later and a whole universe away, there is a house at the end of a street in Cardiff, Wales. It's a depressingly normal house, at least on the outside, but its occupants (two women and one fat, orange tabby cat) have a secret. They also have a kitchen, a sitting room, two studies (although one looks a bit like the lair of a rather mad rocket scientist), a cellar, a spacious bathroom, and two bedrooms (one of which has been converted into a library).

The bedroom that is actually used as a bedroom is large enough to comfortably fit the long dresser, wardrobe, and full length mirror that line the walls and the queen sized bed which sits in the precise center of the floor. The walls are a deep blue and a detailed mural of the night sky decorates the ceiling. Light filters through the branches and silver-green leave of the will trees that sway in a gentle breeze outside the large windows and cast dappled shadows on the cream colored carpet. Picture frames adorn the walls and the top of the dresser. A laughing woman with brilliant red hair and a serious looking man with kind brown eyes feature prominently in several. Three diplomas (bachelor's, master's, and Ph.D.) hang in a place of honor, along with a picture of a woman with smiling brown eyes and blonde hair and an awkward young man with ageless green eyes and a tweed jacket, standing in front of a battered blue box.

A slinky black evening gown lies in a pool on the floor next to a pair of dangerously high, strappy red heels. On the end of the dresser the contents of a red clutch spill out haphazardly: red lipstick, an ID card, a thin pen with a strange cap and blue light where the tip should be, a slim mobile, and a fifty-first century sonic blaster from the weapons factory on Villenguard (pre-banana grove, of course). The wardrobe stands open, revealing a row of neatly hung suits and another gown in a deep forest green. A line of shoes—running pumps from the thirty-seventh century—are neatly organized on one side of the wardrobe floor. The other side is a riot of color: sturdy, practical shirts interspersed with low-cut dresses and sophisticated trousers alongside jeans. Shoes sit in a pile: boots and pumps and heels jumbled together in a fantastic display of entropy. Two dressing gowns hang on adjoining hooks on the wardrobe door.

A long, pale arm hangs off the side of the expansive bed. The fingers twitch slightly, crimson nails grasping at empty air. A smattering of freckles cross a delicate nose which wrinkles as the woman frowns, eyes scrunching more tightly shut. Fine lines crease around the corners of her eyes and mouth. Unruly chestnut hair tickles her nose and she shifts restlessly on the edge of sleep.

Melody Williams wakes slowly. Echoes of a dream—something with golden light and a song that resonates—clings to her and for a moment she doesn't know where she is. The TARDIS, she was standing on the TARDIS and Rose was there but she wasn't Rose: she was starfire and Time and the universe shoved into a human shell—but the memories return like the sun burns through early-morning mist and the dream fades away. She was in the TARDIS last night, celebrating. At thirty-seven years old she is the first archeologist to be employed by UNIT. And she was dreaming of Rose because her mum and dad's mad friends were there.

She rolls over and encounters an empty bed; the left side is cold and there's no sign of her lover. Melody is used to waking up alone. Jenny is sincere and thoughtful but trying to keep a Time Lord still is like trying to stop the tide. She contemplates going back to sleep; it is Saturday, after all, and the day is just beginning. A string of curses drifts through the open door and she rolls her eyes. Life is never boring, not living with an alien genius who hardly ever sleeps. She pulls herself out of bed reluctantly and wraps the silver dressing gown around herself.

Cat is waiting for her in his usual place (the patch of sun from the window just outside the bedroom door). Melody ruffles his ears and he purrs contentedly. Cat is easy to please: he enjoys sleeping in the sun, cuddling, being petted, and eating. He also puts up with their hectic schedules and occasionally long absences (a Vortex Manipulator, after all, isn't even as accurate as the TARDIS). Generally speaking, Cat is an idea pet for a Time Lord and her human lover.

"There you are!" Speaking of Time Lords—the resident alien pokes her head through the doorway of her lab.

Melody bursts out laughing. Jenny's hair is cut short (they had to, after that last explosion nearly singed it all off) and her blue eyes are huge, courtesy of a pair of ridiculously oversized goggles she has on. A tan leather apron protects her clothes from sparks and flying shards of metal and she's holding—something with flashing lights and a thousand miniscule moving parts. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, right." Jenny shoves the goggles up on top of her head. "Better?"

Melody brushes a few errant strands of hair back behind her lover's ear. "Much. What helpless bit of tech have you assaulted this time?"

Jenny shrugs. "Just something for Dad. He and Mum are visiting later."

"Your parents are mental," Melody calls back over her shoulder as she sashays towards the kitchen. Cat follows her. He is, after all, smart enough to know where the food is kept.

"Says the time traveling archeologist who's married to an alien!" Jenny shoots back.

Melody laughs. "Says the alien who married her!"

Jenny shrugs. "Dad forgot to mention that it's illegal to hold hands on Sevtrimus for unmarried couples, and I didn't fancy spending a night in one of their jails."

"And that's the only reason." Melody gives the Time Lord an arch look but Jenny simply returns it.

"Well," she drawls, and saunters into the kitchen. "The sex is pretty good too, and you clean up rather nicely—when you want to—and you can say raxicoricophallapatorious without stuttering."

Melody twines her fingers with Jenny's. "You know," she begins coquettishly. "Your parents aren't supposed to be here until later, and I think I've recovered from all that—dancing—we did last night."

Jenny gives her a wicked smile; she's good at it in this incarnation. "Is that a hint, Ms. Williams?"

She makes her eyes go wide in that innocent way she knows drives Jenny and the Doctor insane, but for decidedly different reasons. "You know," she replies with exaggerated innocence, "I think it is!"

"I'll race you," Jenny proposes, and Melody never could resist a challenge. She gets that from her father. Rory Williams isn't the sort of man you'd expect to be married to Amelia Williams, former model turned children's book author, but there's more to him than meets the eye. There's more to Melody as well. One upon a time she made a choice, because everyone should get one. This is hers.

The phone rings, but they are halfway back to the bedroom and it's Saturday after all, so they let it go. Cat curls up in the pale April sun, and life continues on as it has for the past decade. In a small house in Scotland Amy and Rory have breakfast together as they have done since they stopped traveling with the Doctor, and somewhen, in a dimensionally transcendent, sentient space-and-time ship the Doctor and Rose are off to save the universe and maybe each other.

And that is how it should be.