Summary: Everything changed when a blonde haired girl took his hand in the basement of Henrick's; telling him to RUN. Sherlock/Rose ONE-SHOT

A/N: Well I'm still writing the novel on here called Things Left Unsaid through I'm going to edit it into a huge one-shot that has around 30k at most. When a huge plot-bunny attacked me XD So here's a short one-shot on how a stranger grabbed Sherlock's hand and told him to run, saving his life.

I do not and will not own Sherlock or Doctor Who. They both belong to BBC. Not me.

Hand in Hand

The case that he was on was a rank five at most. It was something to do to make John happy. Something to get him out of his flat and stop lazing around shooting his wall at the odd hour of the day, well odd either way. So the case brought him to a small store downtown of London. Well south of London by Tube to be expected, a long way from Baker Street.

Sherlock solved the case of the missing mannequins that just walk out of the store of their own for some reason. A flash mob. Was his logical reason, when those said mannequins arrived outside the door, away from their designed standing areas. People dressed as mannequins to scare the public. The lights flickered in the department store when he arrived. He should just call Lestrade and finish this case completely before heading back to his flat.

He almost sulk to himself. This case was dull, but what do you expect for a rank 5? The disappearance was interesting, but after breaking down on how they move left not much to his taste.

Sherlock glanced up at the lights and it flickered once more. It was not that common for lights to flicker every once and then, but doing it twice? That caught his attention. It was very uncommon for it to do so and the lights didn't go completely out.

Power outage? He mused. Heading pass a security guard who was nervously looking down at his watch ready for his shift to end at any moment so he can go home. The store was absent of any dummies. He couldn't see one at all.

He felt a shiver ran up his spine. When he overheard a cashier talking to her colleague about the weird sounds down in the storage room that been there for a few passing nights that she closed up. That she was too scared to go down to have a check.

"Excuse me, I overheard your conservation about the storage room and I would like to check it out for the two of you if you don't mind." Sherlock stated to the two women suddenly. They both stared at them for a few moments with obvious mistrust in their eyes and this annoyed him. Just give him the bloody key and let him investigate it's not like he was going down to the said room to steal everything in sight.

The cashier finally made up her mind and gave Sherlock a smile before fishing out the key from her pockets.

"Thank you, sir. You're a life saver." She replied handing him the key. He took the key, "I'll be back." And with that he stroll to the lift. When he got to the lift the lights flickered once more. Maybe he can start looking in the bleeding breaker room to see what's going on with the electricity first. Pressing the last button on the panel, the door to the lift closed with a screech.

The lift jerked. The power went out for a few moments before turning back on making the lift move once more down. The door opened with a loud ding and soon Sherlock was standing in the hallway down below. He looked both ways and there was no one in sight. No sounds of movement other than his own footsteps. Something tickled in the back of his head. The mic over the lift started to static and soon the voice of management filled the air.

"Attention costumers we be closing in five minutes. Please head to the check out at this time. Thank you and have a very good evening."

When Sherlock reached the Breaker Room at first he opened the door surprised to find it unlocked. The room was very dim. Searching around, he found the panel of the breaker. Opening the panel, all the switches and wires seemed to be in the right order. Nothing seemed wrong. The lights flickered once more and he thought for just a moment he heard someone else. It was a very faint noise, it was like a whisper.

Closing the panel back in place, Sherlock started to step back only to knock into something. That was strange. He was always aware of where he was at and there was NOTHING behind him the last time he checked. He jerked away suddenly a few steps away from whatever it was that blocked his path from behind. Looking at the thing, he was surprised to find one of the stores dummies.

It was perfectly stilled. Straightened and not an ounce of a flinch not blinking of the eyes to interceded there was someone living. Sherlock found himself poking at the forehead. Feeling something tugging in the back of his mind of something wrong. Something awful wrong. That this object…was alive. The dummy didn't move. It stared blankly at Sherlock for long moments holding his calculating stare.

He didn't just poke the dummy's head. He quickly took temperature of the body at the end of his fingertips. Then he saw a small twitch of the neck. That was all it took for Sherlock to know it was alive, someone is currently in this costume staring at him waiting, trying to make him believe that it was just a normal dummy.

Sherlock walked around the dummy, and out of the breaker room expecting the said dummy to at least follow him, but it didn't. He decided to take this time to finally inspect the storage room, where all the complaints came from.

The storage room wasn't that far from the Breaker Room and even through the hall was very dim and the lights that was flickering, he made the outline of a body on the floor. Just right outside the storage room door. Knelling down beside the body, his eyes wash over the victim. There was no blood. The skin was growing pale. He placed two of his fingers over the man's wrist feeling for a pulse. Noting the name tag on the shirt that he wore, 'Wilson'. There was none. No pulse. No life. But the body is still warm. Meaning who ever done this was still here and cannot gotten far.

A thrill of excitement ran up his body. Finally this just gotten interesting. A murder without any trace of anything that could kill. There were no marks on the body. Nothing, but somehow he's dead. Most likely, a heart attack due of his age from shock. Something shock this man into one. Something scary, and awful and Sherlock wanted to find out what. The answer seem to be pointing to the storage room.

Turning the door knob slowly, he found it unlock just like the breaker room. Someone already unlocked the door. Which ruled out the dummies and then he stepped into the room. The door closed behind him. The lights finally gave out. It was darkness that greeted Sherlock. Nothing new.

If John was here he would have insisted on calling Lestrade for backup, but he wasn't like his sandy haired friend. What's the fun in that? Where's the excitement? Taking out the lighter from his pocket of his coat, he flickered the switch and soon the flame appeared on the tip shining some light in the area. He started to look and to observe. There meet him was about a dozen shop dummies, standing frozen for some reason. Something in his blood started to race. The sense of danger. He walked passed a few only when he saw one of the dummies reached out to him from the corner of his eye, that he managed to ducked under it's arm and then he ran into one of the other dummies, and with that he dropped the lighter. No more light.

He swore to himself pulling away from the dummy, using his sense of hearing. Step. Step. Step. He dodged his head below feeling something went passed his head from above. He searched down on the floor for his lighter. Trying to stay quiet. He couldn't see, meaning they shouldn't either, but they can still have hearing. Finding the lighter, he flickered the switch once more. Finding himself surrounded by shop dummies.

Well, Sherlock was always the sort to attract danger. There movements was stiffed, too stiff to get the right reading from. Then he felt something grabbed his hand. He looked up meeting that person in surprised. How did he not heard this person? The person was a blonde girl with long-haired. Her eyes twinkled with myth.

She didn't seem to look much older than 23.

"RUN!" She shouted at him and soon he felt himself being dragged behind her. The dummies closed in and they barely escaped being trapped. Hand in Hand she led him to the lift. But he could hear running behind them. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw about over five shop dummies running after them and they were just about seconds of reaching them. Rushing into the lift, the girl forcefully slammed down a button and then the doors started to close, but soon one of the dummies arm got stuck in the cracks reaching out for them backing them up to against the back of the lift. The lift jerked up a bit and the girl, the young girl left go of his hand, he felt the warmth disappearing away, and then she lurged himself on the arm that holding them in place. She snapped the arm apart within a minute before the other dummies get the idea to do the same. The lift jerked up once more and then they left them. Left the dummies down below. The girl holding the dummy arm in her hand with an amazing look on her face. Like this always happened to her.

That was when he caught it. The arm. The plastic arm in her hand that was proof that wasn't a person dressed or disguised themselves as shop dummies for some prank.

This was real and the world that Sherlock Holmes had known was on the edge of tearing. The reason. The logic was slipping away. This distracted him enough not to ask the person her name, not to demand who the hell she was.

"Autons," The woman spoke looking down at the arm in her hand catching his attention. The arm twitched and she took out something from her pocket. It was thin and metal like. She pointed the tip to the arm and soon static echoed throughout the lift disabling the arm. The arm froze and she let it go.

Sherlock took it upon himself to observe this woman. This woman who grabbed his hand and told him to run, saving him. She wore a black shirt and long black army trousers. Her blonde haired was pinned up in a pony-tail. She wore a golden chain around her neck.

Early Twenties

South London Accent.

Some Military training.

Engaged.

Works with hands a lot.

Used to this kind of work.

Oldest Child.

Lost.

Traveler.

TROUBLE

The words that he read just from her appearance swirl against his mind. The lack of winkles around her forehead means she was young, maybe around her early twenties. The roundness of her cheeks, meaning that she haven't loss her baby fat. Her accent showed that she was a local. Different from his own. The way that she stood, her stance, so much like John, saying she has some sort of Military training. The faded line of a wedding ring or engagement on her ring finger told him that she was once engage, and the golden chain around her neck looked to heavy to be anything other than a ring. The ring that she used to wore, meaning loss. She loss that special someone in her life. He flinched at the word sentiment appeared in his brain. The way she felt excitement in this sort of danger points toward more of a traveler and likes getting in trouble. Realizing, that she was talking to him, "Excuse me?" He asked, realizing something else was in her hand. Something pocket size and it was beeping red. An explosive. The lift opened to the first floor.

"Run, Mr. Holmes. Run for your life and forget about this. Forget about me." She grinned at the consulting detective. He was pretty famous. She pushed him out of the lift before he could ever reply, and then she pressed another button on the panel closing the lift doors leaving him there. Alone.

Glancing around, there was no one here…and then he realized what she was going to do. This stranger. She's going to blow this place up! So he ran.

He ran out of the department store. Ran across the street and soon not even five minutes later the sound of an explosion echoed throughout South London. Henrick's was no more and so was the girl.