I DO NOT OWN DOCTOR WHO IN ANY WAY, SHAPE OR FORM AND AM MAKING NO MONIES FROM THE WRITING OF THIS FICTION.

AN:

Now that The Sarah Jane Adventures has begun again and for the very last time, I wanted to finally write the tribute that for months I have been simply unable to type. Sarah Jane Smith, Lis Sladen, was one of the greatest characters Doctor Who ever created and such a wonderfully kind and sweet woman who will be remembered by legions of Who fans, old and young, for years and years to come, whether for her original run, her reappearances in the new series or for SJA. We will never forget her. In the words of RTD: 'The universe was lucky to have Sarah Jane Smith, the world was lucky to have Lis.' Oh, and in this Sarah's year of birth is 1951, as per the TARDIS wiki. I know Lis was born somewhat earlier, but hey, she didn't look it did she? What a love. X

** Set after the Wedding of River Song **

The news of the Brigadier's passing had been hard-hitting for the Doctor. Amidst complications, time imploding and all that nonsense, he hadn't had time to process it. Somewhere, in some year, without him having said goodbye, the good old Brigadier had passed. Not one for tears, the Doctor had cried when he'd next had the chance, once the denial had faded away. He'd become terrified, that somehow, somewhere, in their own present time stream, some other of his companions might have left him too.

And so, in a very un-Doctor like way, he'd begun to contact people by phone. Just quickly. Sometimes he didn't even say a word. Just heard they were safe then hung up. One number perplexed him. One number confused him. One number terrified him. He had rang Sarah Jane in the middle of it all and gotten no answer, so he'd carried on and resolved to try her later. She was probably busy somewhere, saving the world. Good old Sarah. Only, when he'd tried again, someone he didn't know had answered.

'Hello,' said the unknown voice, as voices answering phones tend to do. It was a woman, a woman whose voice the Doctor didn't recognise.

'Um, hello.' He said, 'I was – wondering if you could help me. This is the number I've got for a friend of mine – a Sarah Jane Smith. Do you – is she there?'

The voice on the end of the phone was quiet.

'I've had quite a lot of these calls,' she said, and the Doctor's heart dropped. 'So many in fact I contacted the previous owners to ask. I'm sorry – if you're a friend - to do it like this. You see, the house was sold to me a few months ago, when the previous tenant died. Sarah Jane Smith died in April.'

Something was wrong with his breathing. It was erratic and gasping and stupidly he loosened his bow tie. This wasn't physical. This was emotional. Oh, no, no, no. Not Sarah. Not my Sarah Jane. He couldn't help it, he just hung up. He couldn't listen to this strange woman talking about Sarah as if she knew all the incredible things she'd done from that extraordinary attic in Ealing.

Somewhere, in the depths of the TARDIS, River was sleeping. Here, in the control room, the Doctor was weeping. The old girl began to stir, whirring, chuntering, moving of her own accord. The Doctor didn't move to stop her. Wherever she was taking him, was where he needed to be.

The TARDIS' whooshing came to a stop somewhere in Ealing. The Doctor could tell that from the road signs. River hadn't woken up. He'd leave her for now. This was something he needed to do alone…whatever it was.

He turned, this way and that, trying to see where he'd been brought, until he stopped dead at the sight of large, wrought iron gates across the road. Cemetery.

No. No, no. Old girl, I can't do this.

The doors to the TARDIS slammed shut. The message was clear.

You have to.

He hadn't been there to see her die, or to say goodbye. He couldn't abandon her now.

He trudged up the path, head bowed, woeful, but nevertheless determined. He didn't know where to find her, but the TARDIS did. Somehow he knew he'd be led straight to it. His ancient machine was good like that. A madman he might be, but his blue box was a sentient, living thing. A living thing that really loved Sarah Jane Smith. Not that you couldn't love Sarah. She was intelligent and witty and brave, oh so, so brave. She was funny and caring and so bloody human. She was…here.

It was there before him, in plain, white, marble proof.

Sarah Jane Smith

1951 – 2011

Mother

Friend

Saviour

'When it is dark enough, you can see the stars'

It didn't seem enough, for a woman like Sarah Jane. But, the Doctor supposed, would anything ever be enough. It was hard to see it, here, solid and real and oh so undeniable. He felt a shot of real hatred, self-hatred, flash through him. Why had he left her, why hadn't he known? If he'd kept in touch, if he'd visited. But to do all those things was just foreign. To do all those things was not being him. Sarah knew him. She knew he cared. Wherever he was, he cared. More than he ever could have said. It was a flimsy excuse, that to leave was in his nature. But it was one that Sarah Jane had long ago accepted. She'd moved on. She'd formed her band of kids, those bright, ingenious kids and she'd saved the world from her little attic. Albeit with the aid of a super computer. He might have thought, what happened to those children? To Rani, to Clyde…to Luke? But at that moment, he was fixated by Sarah's grave. His Sarah Jane gone. And he thought he'd gotten past denial.

Sarah Jane Smith. I used to travel with the Doctor.

She'd been the best of companions.

It's you…

He'd been thrilled to see her again. Sarah. Faithful, wonderful, brilliant Sarah, up to her old tricks.

I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

She'd been there with him through bad times and good times. She'd made him laugh, made him see sense, scolded him, wounded him…uplifted him. It was so good to know she'd loved it, their time together, as much as he had.

Time I stopped waiting for you and found a life of my own.

He'd known she'd loved him, but he'd left her anyway. In Aberdeen of all places. To hear, finally, that she was moving on was both a selfish sadness and a joyful time. She'd remember him, he knew. None of them ever forgot, to be arrogant. None of these fantastic, beautiful human people that travelled with him ever forgot of their own accord. He'd still be there somewhere. But it was nice to know she'd be happy.

Is this the last time I'm ever going to see you?

He couldn't even remember what he'd said to her. His last words, the last time they'd met. It all seemed so inconsequential. He hated that he hadn't bothered to remember the last thing he'd said to her.

The universe has to move forward. Pain and loss, they define us as much as happiness or love. Whether it's a world, or a relationship... everything has its time. And everything ends.

Her words were so bittersweet now. He couldn't stomach it anymore. This cold stone, this windy hill, this cramped little corner of the Earth. This wasn't Sarah. This wasn't Sarah Jane Smith. She was still alive. Everywhere. Her time on Earth in the present day, in her timeline, might be over, but somewhere in the past, somewhere in the future, on different planets, in other galaxies, Sarah Jane Smith, an ordinary girl from a little village, was saving the world.

She'd never be dead. She'd live on in those times and in those places, and in the hearts and minds of every person who'd ever known her. He wouldn't let the sadness of one time pollute every memory he had of her. In his memories, those rich, colourful, wonderful memories, Sarah Jane was living and breathing and well.

He turned from the grave, bowed his head, breathed in deep and walked away from the remnants of Sarah Jane Smith. It was just a place, just a stone, just a wooden box. Sarah was so much more than that.

Sarah was legend. Sarah was myth. Sarah was saviour. Sarah Jane Smith.

I'll be off then

…

Don't forget me.

…

Say it please. This time, say it.

…

Goodbye. My Sarah Jane.