Howdy y'all. It's me, writing a WhoLock fanfiction. The shipping is Sherose or whatever you call it, though it's not exactly a shipping, it's more of a -well, you'll see. I do not own.
Enjoy.
. . .
"Like most misery, it started with apparent happiness."
― Markus Zusak.
. . .
if fate is anything (it's stupid).
. . .
white light is bright against his eyes and Sherlock decides that if fate is anything, it's stupid. But still he trudges on, his head in an intense battle to remember what Mrs Hudson wanted because it's such a pain to remember but she'll murder him if he doesn't and sure he loves murder, but it's not the same if he's the dead one (though when he puts it to thought murder isn't a super bad way to die; you leave one mystery in your wake).
When he reaches the store, it's crowded with bodies that have had too much time in the city. "Move it," someone says, and soon everyone's shouting something and Sherlock's calculating the quickest route when all of a sudden he hears a voice behind him, an annoying, sweet, sugary, "sorry. Oh, so sorry. Um, excuse me." So Sherlock, being Sherlock, makes a mistake made out of curiosity.
He turns.
And he sees her, the way she crosses her arms, intimate and not quite intimate with the heart beat of the crowd. Sherlock realizes she's trying to adjust back to city life. He sends a quick text to John.
There's a girl who knows nothing about city life and a man with no wife is about to yell at her.
The reply came in less than a minute.
Help her you idiot.
Sherlock stood there for a moment, but his curiosity to find out why the girl was so isolated got the better of him. He trudges through the crowd, stands in front of the angry man, and says, "That girl over there is making eyes at you."
When the man turns, Sherlock, grabs the girl's hand and they run.
. . .
221b Baker Street is empty except for Mrs Hudson when they arrive. Sherlock turns to look at the girl for the first time. His eyes become full of her but it hurts to look at her, it really does.
"Excuse me," the girl says, and her voice is strong and confident. "I, well, thank you for helping me, but I really should be getting back to my, um, my..." she trails off, flinging her blonde hair behind her.
Sherlock decides her hair is unnaturally blonde. "Well," says he, "I'll walk you back." His curiosity is alive and besides, he thinks, I still need to get that stuff for Mrs Hudson.
The girl gulps down air, but nods. She's trying to seem normal, Sherlock decides. They begin to walk, and Sherlock's mind spins.
The only thing he can see about her, besides the hair, is that she's in love.
Everything else is gone.
. . .
"So," he says after a while, for it's becoming clear to him and if anyone's to engage conversation, it's him. She's too lost in her own world to care (and yet, so alive, Sherlock concludes). "What's your name?"
The girl snaps out of her day dream.
"Rose." She says with a sharp intake of breath. "Rose Tyler."
Later on Sherlock decides that name is a name to undo the world.
. . .
"My name is Sherlock." He says, prepared for at least a recognition of what he does.
Rose Tyler is silent, only turning to smile and nod at him, her eyes bright with happiness at where they were approaching.
"Sherlock... Holmes?" He asks, his modesty failing him (not that he had any. That was just something he thought up to pass the time).
Still nothing.
So, instead, he decides to change the subject. "Who's this man we're going to meet?"
Rose Tyler gives him a sideways look, her eyes ringing with adventure. "You'll see."
And he did.
It's a blue box, is what he sees, but his mind takes control and he sees lots of other things, too.
sings of wear and tear. The way Rose Tyler looks at the thing, like it's amongst the most magical things on earth. It seems almost... insane, to look at something that way.
But one just needs to look at her once, to know she's far from insane.
"What now?" Sherlock asks.
For a moment it looks like Rose is going to tell him the secret, the big secret behind those big blue doors.
Instead, she yells. "Doctor!"
The door opens almost immediately and a man in a suit walks out. He's wearing what looks like converse, but Sherlock decides to ignore that about him.
He's a pretty boy in love with the pretty girl and the pretty girl is most obviously in love with him, too.
"Ah, Rose!" The doctor says. His voice is loud. "I was just fixing the metro calibrator. It seems to be having technical difficulties so I took a look and guess what was inside... a Jeenick! So I take it out, and well, allons-y! And so... who are you?" The man notices Sherlock standing there.
Sherlock does the smart thing. "Doctor?" He asks. "Doctor who?"
The man before him gives him a smile so very reckless, Sherlock almost cringes. But he stays standing straight up, in his long jacket and his curly hair flying.
"Just Doctor," the man states.
"That's not possible." Sherlock says, frustration flying. "No one can be called just 'Doctor'. Every human has a name and every human is stuck with that name."
But the Doctor?
He laughs.
And Rose Tyler?
She laughs with him.
. . .
When Sherlock tells John about the Blue Box Incident, his best friend gives him a funny look. "You were dreaming, Sherlock," he tells him; "nothing more."
"Dreaming while standing up, in real time?" Sherlock guffaws. "I don't believe that."
But he never speaks of it again.
2 Years Later.
When he sees her again there is no blue box, no man in a suit. It is just her, her unnaturally blonde hair curling at her shoulders. But her hair has grown, and Sherlock decides she needs a haircut.
She sees him first.
Her shoulders lift when she sees him, and Sherlock, seeing her as well, nods in acknowledgement. He strolls over to her and says, "Where've you been?" Holding his demeanour to look like a normal person (which he knows he's not, he's Sherlock Holmes).
Rose Tyler gives him a sly look and pokes his belly. Sherlock raises and eyebrow, not knowing how to react (personal touch isn't his strong suit). "Sherlock Holmes!" Rose Tyler says.
"Yes, that's me, though you say it like you're... surprised...," He trails off, looking at the grime under her fingernails, the way her makeup is hastily applied to hide the obvious bags under her eyes.
One word rings in Sherlock's mind: unhappy.
The next ones pile in after that: dreaming, secretive, hiding something, actress.
Companion.
Companion.
Companion.
It's that word that rings out from the way she twists a ring around her finger, the pulse of her heartbeat, ready and waiting.
Rose Tyler holds up a paper. "I finally caught up on the local news."
Sherlock tilts his head but says nothing. He stores away the memory for later.
"Well," he speaks, "You seem a little lost. Why don't you come over to my flat for tea and music?" He asks, but Lord knows Sherlock isn't being polite. He's curious, nosy, if you well, and he wants to know more about this girl. "My best friend should be over for a visit."
Rose Tyler gives him a weary glance but Sherlock gives her his best smile (and it is a good smile).
She stares at him one more time.
"Good tea?" She asks.
Sherlock gives her a laugh. "Good tea."
So she links her arm through his and when he looks back on it, Sherlock decides that was his first mistake.
Never link arms with a golden girl who's loved Fate.
. . .
He plays for her, that evening and Sherlock finds that he is the one being enchanted (but he can't believe it, no, it isn't until later that he notices). The music is sweet and alluring but then, so is Rose Tyler.
John is fond of her at once. Not in a oh-I-think-she-is-cute kind of way, but in a oh-maybe-she-can-calm-Sherlock-down kind of way.
It's really quite funny.
Sherlock holds his breath as John tells Rose about the time Sherlock thought (not really) that monsters were real (not really).
Rose Tyler glances at them. She laughs but there's a seriousness in her voice. "What," she says, taking a bite of her cookie (she hasn't touched her tea and Sherlock wonders why), "makes you think that monsters aren't real?"
Arguments later, Sherlock finds he's lost every debate with this Rose Tyler.
He still doesn't know who she is.
And John is smiling.
. . .
"It's my job, mum." Rose shouts. Her head is throbbing from the fight.
"But... but you can't just go hurting the man like that!" Jackie argues.
Rose gives her a sorrowful glance. "I can if it means helpin' England and gettin' back to 'im."
Jackie gives her a look, "but he wouldn't want it, sweetheart."
There's a sigh.
"Yea'," she says, "I know."
She slips out the door.
He's awaiting her.
. . .
"Mr Holmes," she says. Snowflakes fall on the ground and as they walk their footprints remain, implanted like Neal Armstrong's on the moon.
It doesn't occur to Sherlock for a long time that the girl next to him has probably seen those very footprints.
"Ms Tyler," Sherlock gives her a smile. He slides his hand into hers, and the night sky flings itself across all England. The streets of London are ready for them, and as they lay in a park, Sherlock suddenly wonders what happened to that man with the box.
"Rose?" He asks. They're lying side by side, arms touching, and Rose has her eyes trained steadily on the sky. It's the first time he's called her that, Rose, not 'Ms Tyler' or 'Rose Tyler' but Rose.
It breaks the girl's heart.
"Yea'?" She says.
Sherlock knows it's his chance and no matter how much he enjoys this new girl, his old habits remain loyal. "Who was he?"
"Who was who?" Rose asks (but she knows very well what he's asking).
"The man with the box?" Sherlock asks. "Doctor who?"
It's quite a while before she answers.
"Oh," she whispers, "he's just the stuff of legends."
October.
For halloween Rose forces Sherlock to dress up. He gives in but on one condition: He gets to pick the costume. She says okay and he picks the era of poodle skirts and men in suits.
When he tells her, he can tell her smile is forced. "O-okay." She stumbles.
He doesn't want to harm her, he realizes.
But she's his newest, most interesting case and he has too.
Sherlock doesn't know that's exactly what she's thinking, too.
. . .
She's dressed in a purple poodle skirt. Her hair is in a pony tail and Sherlock refrains from asking why she didn't choose pink.
He rides up to her house in a motorcycle he's rented. John and Mary are in a cab. They're dressed like Smurfs and Sherlock can't help thinking that's the best costume for them.
Rose is sitting on her front steps, and when she sees Sherlock her smile fades. But Sherlock being Sherlock doesn't see her obvious sorrow. "Feel like a spin around town, sweet doll?"
Rose winces. "Let's go, daddy-o," She says weakly.
Sherlock gives her a large smile and in his heart (or whatever that thing is), he feels his liking for her grow. She's able to try and make him happy when she's not. Like John.
And everyone likes John.
Rose's mother steps out, her father in tow. The great Pete Tyler, Sherlock thinks. And it strikes him.
Rose is rich.
Very rich.
But Pete and Jackie give him such sad glances Sherlock looks confused. "Hello!" He says, "I'm-"
"Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft's brother." Pete says, shaking the man's hand.
"You know my brother?"
"Who doesn't?"
"Everyone not involved in government."
Jackie gives him a smile, and Rose waltzes up to Sherlock. She kisses his cheek and Sherlock's eyes widen in surprise. She's not done that before. "We'll be back sometime tomorrow, mum!" She chirps. She pinches Sherlock and he takes the hint.
He races off, John and Mary right behind them.
Into his ear, Rose whispers something that's lost in the wind.
. . .
Funny how one AM can teach a person honesty.
"I remember when I first met you." Sherlock says quietly. Rose is in his lap, asleep. He's talking to thin air. "You were standing there, all sweet and kind. You bumped into that big man and I realized you were lost in the city life. Knew nothing. I sent a text to John asking him what to do and he said to help you. So I did. Mind you, I kind of wanted to know who you were. I mean, I could barely get anything on you, like you were some sort of... I don't know... alien, you and that man in the suit. Now I think you're more human than anyone I've ever met.
"I've never been much for emotions. It's strange and stupid, giving yourself up so purely and honestly. To hate, or love, or like or maybe's. I gave a little bit of myself to John, and Lestrade and Molly and Mrs Hudson. Maybe even Mary, but only enough to satisfy them and me. But with you, Rose Tyler, I keep wanting to... I don't know... give myself up? It's confusing.
"I normally wouldn't tell you this but you're asleep and I'm pretty sure I'm drunk. It's nothing, I suppose. My thinking's just something gone wrong. I wanted to solve you, Rose Tyler. Now sometimes I think you're solving me. I have... I have one request, though. Don't leave me. I gave a lot of myself to you and I don't have many friends and I've never had a real true girlfriend but I do want you.
"Please don't leave me." He ends.
On his lap, Rose Tyler mumbles, "I won't."
He smiles and Rose holds back tears.
. . .
"Here's my monthly report." Rose says, dropping on Mycroft's desk.
He looks at it smugly.
"Why'd you ask me to do this?"
He looks up at her, confused. "I thought you knew?" He asks.
"Tell me."
"We need his mind, Rose. We need his information. We need his mind to help us out, to find him. I can't extract it. John would never hurt him. But you, oh, you'd do anything to get back to your madman." He takes a sip of tea.
"Wouldn't you?"
Rose doesn't answered.
. . .
"You're girlfriend?" She asks.
"Um, well, if you want to." Sherlocks says. John and Mary glance at each other in amazement. The man's being honest. This hasn't happened in a while.
He's a different person. Not all edges anymore. Dulled over. Happier. Proven. It makes John glad and it makes Mary happy, too.
Rose puts a finger to her chin and Sherlock bumps his shoulder against hers, laughing. "Mm, okay." She says.
She kisses him smack on the lips and Sherlock's so surprised he doesn't react.
John got the whole thing on camera.
Later on it was put in a box marked Middle of the End.
. . .
"He was my first love." Rose says one night. It's late, around two AM.
Sherlock doesn't ask; he knows who she's talking about. She's curled up in his arms, and his grip tightens around her.
"He had really great hair -or has, if he hasn't regenerated- and an amazing smile. He made me feel like I was on top of the world, he told me I was on top of the world, and... well, one time, he even showed me the top of the world."
"An astronaut?" Sherlock asks.
Rose gives a little laugh. "Maybe. He took me around the universe and back again. We were to be together forever. We were... um... together, I think."
Sherlock raises a brow but says nothing.
"One day something happened. He got... he got stuck... during a war and...," she starts crying, "and now I'm scared I'll never see him again."
Sherlock grasps her, hugs his girlfriend tight.
But he's scared too.
Because if that man comes back, he knows who Rose Tyler will pick.
A Year Later.
"The universe is ripping itself apart, Rose," Mycroft said. "We need him. Soon."
"It'll kill 'im." Rose whispers. Her eyes are fire.
Mycroft gulps.
"It doesn't matter."
"He's your brother."
Mycroft flicks his hand. "Does it look like I care?"
Rose huffs, taking a step backwards. "Yes." She says. "It does."
Mycroft gets the last word.
"Likewise."
. . .
Rose unlocks the apartment, putting on a smile she's not exactly prepared to give. "Honey?" She asks. There's no reply. "Sherlock?" She says, louder.
"SHERLOCK?"
There's a thump in his bedroom and Rose pulls out her sonic screwdriver (something she managed to make herself, thankyouverymuch). Her other hand grips what looks like a banana. She makes her way to the bedroom and, with great difficulty, she opens the door.
Sherlock's standing, staring at a crack in the wall. He's peering through it. A hand is sticking out.
"Help me," the hand whispers. A girl's voice fills the room.
Rose's voice.
"H-how?" Sherlock stammers. He doesn't notice her.
"Open the crack." The voice murmurs gently. Sinisterly.
Rose watches Sherlock begin to pull at the crack. She jumps forward pushes the man out of the way and points with the screwdriver. She slams the knife into the wall, twisting it, and the crack closes with a cream from UnRose.
She turns, looking at Sherlock.
That's it.
It's over.
Cover blown.
Sherlock tilts his head, a hurt expression on his face. When he speaks, it's a loud yell.
"WHAT?"
. . .
"I work for Torchwood." Rose whispers.
Sherlock's face clears. He sits down. Numbly, he mumbles, "Doctor Who."
Rose watches him crumble before her eyes. "That's right. How'd you know?"
"M-my brother owns the British government..."
Rose restrains from slapping herself.
"What do you want with me? You've got Mycroft."
"We need your mind. You're sharper than your brother. Everyone knows that."
Sherlock lifts his head, staring at the roof. He doesn't meet her gaze. She doesn't want him to do so.
"I-I don't get it. My mind? I thought Torchwood was an anagram of Doctor Who, made to fight 'alien forces'. It's just some scrawny organization. Aliens don't exist..." But even the great Sherlock Holmes can't deny what he's just seen.
Rose touches his hands.
He finally meets her eyes and both their hearts break.
"Monsters," Rose whispers into his ear, "are real."
. . .
"What do you need me to do?" Sherlock asks.
"You're the greatest mind in this universe," Rose says. They walk briskly through the halls of Torchwood. People stop to salute Rose. "We need you to study the Doctor, to study the holes in the universe and see if we can get through to the other ones. Any of them."
"Why?"
"Because ours is falling apart and we..." Rose's face twists into a look of complete and utter pain, "... we don't have the Doctor to stop it."
"Oh."
That's all he can say, really. The love of his life isn't who she said and she still loves a madman.
What else can he say?
Rose Tyler hands him folders and shows him into an room. "I'll be back soon."
"See you 'round, Rose."
She nods to him. "Get to work, Mr Holmes."
After that she only called him Sherlock once more.
He never called her 'Rose' again.
A Month Later.
"It's done, sir." Rose says. "The machine."
"Good. Get Sherlock."
"Sir," Rose tries, "it'll kill 'im."
Mycroft snaps. "I know, Ms Tyler. And so did you. You always knew he would die. You always knew there was only one way."
"But how... how could he accept?" Rose whispers. Her eyes are big.
Mycroft snorts. "He fell in love and you took him apart."
Rose looks at him.
The older man rolls his eyes. "In other words: Rose Tyler broke Sherlock Holmes."
. . .
"You don't have to do this." She shouts at him.
"Yes I do." He says plainly. He's cold again.
Cold, logical Sherlock Holmes.
"Why?!" Rose shouts.
"BECAUSE YOU NEED SOMEONE TO MAKE YOU GOOD AGAIN!" He thunders. People in the hallways back away. Rose flinches. "When you cried, I wiped away all your tears. When you screamed, I took your fears away but OBVIOUSLY, you can't love anyone like you love him." His voice is bitter. "And no one can captivate me the way you do. So we're both hopeless, but you've got more of a chance than I do." He remembers something that man said once. "Allons-y."
Rose's hands clench.
They walk into the warehouse in silence.
The machine is big. It's grand and beautiful. John and Mary stand in a corner. John's being restrained and Mary's being frisked.
Rose tries one more time. "I can live without him," She says.
Sherlock shakes his head. "But I can't live without you. I could go back to being arrogant and cold. Keep solving murder cases. But I've got a lot on my shoulders, Rose Tyler, and I can't keep it all up there forever. I thought you could share the load, but you don't love me."
Rose shakes her head.
"At least," he says, sitting in the machine, "not the way I love you."
He closes his eyes. Suddenly there's warmth on his face. Rose Tyler kisses him, hard and strong, and she says, "I would have settled for you. My Sherlock Holmes."
But he's cold and arrogant. He shakes his head and mouths no. "The world's falling apart. I might not be the Doctor, but I am Sherlock Holmes. Smartest mind in the universe. And I-" He nods at Mycroft "-have to help save the world."
Guards haul Rose away. Mycroft presses the button and John breaks free, a wild scream escaping his throat. "Sherlock, no!"
It's too late.
He's gone.
His mind is extracted and put into the machine and Sherlock dies. The machine zaps Rose over to the alternate universe, sobbing, crying, alone.
And as Rose Tyler stares into the blinding white light of innocent loss, she thinks if fate is anything, it's stupid.