And I'm back after a huge stint of loads of work. I will be getting on with updates of my other stories within the next couple of days - in case anyone's wondering. :)

This, my dears, is another Roselock - in case you haven't guessed. It's at a higher T rating for crime descriptions and maybe some Rose/Sherlock stuffs later. Anyway - Enjoy! :)

Sherlock stared out the window as the cab barreled down the road toward the crime scene. He'd been back for nearly a week during which he'd taken up residence in his old flat at 221 Baker Street, had all of his things moved from storage, reacquainted himself with John, and gone over the city, taking in the new details and committing them to memory. Knowing London had always proved invaluable when solving crimes.

Then he waited for the inevitable ring of his mobile that told him Lestrade had found out about his reappearance. He knew as soon as the inspector was informed Sherlock Holmes had returned to London he'd be overwhelmed by calls to help out on cases, after all before his disappearance he'd solved nearly all of London's crimes. Only, the phone didn't ring. Not the first day, nor the second, and by the fourth…well, he though perhaps word hadn't spread as fast as he hoped. So, he placed a call, only Lestrade wasn't in. There had been a murder and the inspector was at the crime scene.

Sherlock hopped into the first cab he found and now…the cab pulled up next to the police barricade. He paid the fare and then climbed out, smiling as he breathed in the late evening London air. Police lights, crime scene tape, a murder, all was right with the world.

Sergeant Donovan manned the barricade that separated him from the row of flats. He gave her a smile as he walked toward her, waiting for her shocked surprise at seeing he wasn't dead.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped.

So, she knew he was alive, which meant Lestrade knew. If the inspector knew then why hadn't he called? Must have been an oversight.

"I heard Lestrade was down here. Thought I'd pop by to lend a hand," he replied.

"We don't need your help."

"Why don't you get Lestrade on the line and check with him first? I'd hate to have him drive across town to find me only to realize I was here and you turned me away."

"Don't you think one consulting detective per crime scene is enough?"

One consulting detective? What did she mean by that?

"Sorry?"

"We already have…"

Lestrade stepped out of the flat. Sherlock ducked under the tape and hurried over before Donovan could stop him.

"Lestrade," he called as he raced toward the inspector.

Lestrade looked up as Sherlock hurried over. The inspector smiled.

"Sherlock," Lestrade greeted. "What're you doing here?"

"I called for you at the station and they told me you were down here. So, I thought I'd come down and led you a hand."

"Ah, well," the inspector fidgeted with his ear, a clear indication that he was uncomfortable. "I would've called you, but-"

"Oh, well, don't worry about it. I'm here now. I'll just…"

"Inspector," a woman said as she stepped out of the flat and walked toward them. Blonde. Petite. Hair pulled back and clipped up. Lipstick. Make-up. A detective? He hadn't seen her before. He glanced over her clothing. Blue shirt, cut a bit low, white jacket, jeans, trainers. No, she wasn't dressed like a detective. Lab tech? No, that didn't fit either. She glanced from him to the inspector. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."

South London accent.

"You're not interrupting. I was just explaining to Sherlock," Lestrade began.

The woman seemed to light up at his name, giving him a smile.

"Sherlock Holmes?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. "And you are?"

Not that it really mattered, but depending on her job he'd likely see her again, as long as she wasn't an idiot, like Anderson.

"Rose Tyler," she said, offering her hand. He took her offering. "I've read…" her eyes shifted as if she said something she hadn't meant to, making him wonder. "…heard so much about you. You're brilliant."

"Yes, well…" he gave her a bit of a smile.

"More than brilliant. All those cases you've solved. You're just…" She glanced at her hand, which was still holding his. She released him, giving him a sheepish grin. He really did want to get on with solving the murder, but he could give her a moment or two. "Sorry, I'm going on, aren't I? It's just…it's not every day you meet…well…you."

"Quite all right. I understand," he replied, straightening his back and giving her a smile.

Lestrade cleared his throat, giving Sherlock a quizzical glance.

"Yes. Right. Sorry, inspector," Ms. Tyler replied.

No wedding ring, he noted. Good. Wait. Why was that good? He shook his head. Murder. Yes. He needed to get on with solving the murder.

"What did you find?" Lestrade asked.

Find? Sherlock glanced from the inspector to the woman.

"He wasn't killed here," she said.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. There are traces of salt water in his system, but none in tub."

"Salt water? He was drown in salt water?"

Was she a detective? She couldn't be…could she?

"Yes," she said.

"So, he was killed in the ocean?" Lestrade asked.

Killed in the ocean and then returned to his flat? That didn't make any sense.

"No. It wasn't sea salt."

"Why would someone drown him in salt water?"

That was a very good question.

"Salt water conducts electricity much better than fresh."

Oh, and that was a very good answer, but how could she knew why the killer used salt water?

"What? He was electrocuted?"

"Tortured, yes, with electricity, but I don't think the person who tortured him drown him," she said.

"Why do you say that?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes, why?" Sherlock inquired.

She caught the detective's gaze.

"I believe he was tortured, passed out, slipped under the water and drown. There's bruising on his arms and legs, which would fit with being in a confined area, like a tub of salt water, and struggling when he was electrocuted, but nothing on his neck, shoulders, or face."

Oh, she was clever. He almost smiled, but stopped himself, realizing she must be the other consulting detective. This blonde woman. She might be clever, but she was no match for him.

"Mind if I take a look?" he asked.

"I'd love for you to take a look," she said, giving him a smile and again he almost returned it. "Do you want me to…" She stepped toward the door, but he stopped her by raising his hand.

"I'd rather have a look on my own. Lestrade, if you don't mind."

"Be right back," the inspector said and then stepped in front of Sherlock and into the flat.

The detective followed Lestrade up the stairs, through an open door and across the flat of a man who obviously lived on his own. Discarded frozen dinners that had been eaten, but not thrown out littered the side tables, dishes were stacked up in the kitchen and a basket of laundered, but unfolded clothes sat on the table.

Two assistants had pulled the body from the tub and placed it on a gurney. They were about to push it into the kitchen when the inspector stopped them.

"Give us a minute," Lestrade said.

The two men stepped into the kitchen. Sherlock pulled his magnifying glass out and began inspecting the body. He noted the bruising on the sides of the man's legs and arms, as Ms. Tyler stated. No marks on the neck, shoulders, or face. There were circular burn marks on the chest, most likely from electrodes that were attached. Point of entry for the electricity, his means of torture.

"Who is she?" Sherlock asked without taking his eyes off the body.

"Sorry?" Lestrade inquired from the doorway.

"The woman. Who is she?"

He reexamined the face, neck, and shoulders.

"Rose?"

"Ms. Tyler. Yes."

No marks. Seemed Ms. Tyler was correct.

"What do you mean, who is she? You just met her."

"Yes, and I'm asking who she is."

He bent down and sniffed near the man's mouth. Salt water, as she said, but how could she be certain it wasn't sea salt? She must have been guessing.

"She's a consulting detective, been working with us-"

Sherlock sighed, snapping his magnifying glass closed as he eyed Lestrade.

"I know that," he interrupted. "You're working with her. Why? Where did you meet her?"

"You don't know?"

He narrowed his eyes. What did the inspector mean by that?

"What do you mean, I don't know? Why would I know?"

"Mrs. Hudson."

His landlady? What did she have to do with it?

"Mrs. Hudson? What about Mrs. Hudson?"

"Mrs. Hudson introduced us. Thought she might be able to help."

Sorry…what? How did Ms. Tyler know his landlady?

"Mrs. Hudson introduced you? How does Mrs. Hudson know her?"

"Rose rents the flat below yours."

Hang on. What? No, no that couldn't be true. He'd been back for four days and he hadn't seen Ms. Tyler.

"What? That…that can't be. I would've seen her."

"Maybe not. You've only been back a few days and she's been…working."

Working? What did that mean? She still had to come home if she was working, didn't she?

"Working?"

"I'm not sure. Some job for Mycroft."

Hang on…what? His brother? Mrs. Tyler was working for his brother? How did they know each other?

"Sorry…what? Mycroft? She was working for Mycroft?"

"Some assignment."

Assignment? A government assignment? She wasn't in the secret service, if she was she wouldn't be consulting on crimes with the police.

"What assignment?"

"I don't know. You'd have to ask her or your brother."

He'd spoken to Mycroft. Hell, his brother was the first one he went to when he returned. Mycroft hadn't said one word about Ms. Tyler.

"He didn't mention her."

"Does he typically mention the people who work for him?"

All right. Maybe he wouldn't have mentioned her, but it seemed strange. It was as if she'd taken over his life when he was gone. Mycroft, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Baker Street. There had to be a reason.

"No, but…she's worked for Mycroft and she works for you and she's living in the flat below mine…"

"Whatever you're thinking, just stop," the inspector said.

He caught Lestrade's eye, drawing his brow together.

"Sorry?" he asked.

"I've been working with her for seven months. She's a nice girl."

Yes, well, that's what she'd want people to think. Especially if she was planning something. She had invaded his entire life. Not just one part. All of it.

"Perhaps."

"Look, just don't get all…" Lestrade trailed off.

Sherlock eyed him.

"All what?" he asked.

"You know what I mean. Now, I'm going back out there. Come if you like, but be civil."

Oh, he was definitely coming. Murder was one thing, but Ms. Tyler, well, she was a mystery he had to solve before she enacted whatever plan she had in mind. Lestrade, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Baker Street, there were too many coincidences to ignore.

"I'm always civil," Sherlock replied as he followed the inspector back outside.

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers! :)

If you have time reviews are always welcome.