At the sound of her voice, he turned, and there she was, just as he'd seen her last. Just the way she'd looked when she'd left his flat, supposedly forever.
But the difference was that neither one of them was in his flat, they were somewhere else that was certainly not London, or even close to it. And they were both here.
Feeling the weight of the world lift from his shoulders, he tapped his bowler smartly, cocked his and commented, "Nice weather we're having, Mrs. Peel, don't you think? Although it might be nicer if we knew just where we were and how we arrived."
At the moment, that didn't matter, although he knew that shortly it would. But for right now he simply wished to drink in the sight of her, sans Peter Peel.