Rose Tyler sighed and shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She wasn't sure why she remained there, but she did; it wasn't as if she had anything better to do. They'd made her take the day off work; a welcome break, though she wouldn't admit it. At any rate, Rose didn't know what to do with spare time. She had no friends to speak of, and her family was in Spain for some important ceremony. She stared at the people walking by, attempting to guess who they were, where they were going, anything really. Ironic, it was, given her rapt attention to her surroundings, that she completely missed the man that slid onto the bench a few feet from her. He had that effect, though, when he wanted to. So when he greeted her with a light, "Hello," Rose jumped nearly three feet from her perch.

"Oi!" she yelled. "Sorry, didn't see you there, mate."

The man glanced at all of the people who'd stopped to glance at her outburst and raised an eyebrow. "Interesting," he drawled. "You observe, yet you do not see."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You are an enigma to me, Rose Tyler."

"How do you know me?" Rose began to panic. She could fight her way out of this, yes, but she didn't want to, and this raven-haired man elicited a feeling in her she wasn't used to: curiosity. Once upon a time, Rose had devoured knowledge; she wanted to know everything. Now, however, she was solely focused on getting back, and she had no questions about anything else.

"It's obvious," the porcelain skinned man replied, "One year ago, a young woman by the name of Rose Tyler was introduced to the world as Peter Tyler's long-lost daughter. She was absolutely distraught over the loss of a dearly loved one. For a while, the media left her alone, until, that is, she took an impromptu trip to Norway, after which she came back, steadier, but still with a haunted look in her eyes. A look you share. Also, you look like her." The man smiled at this. A small smile, Rose noted. A lonely one.

"Obvious, is it?" Rose asked wryly.

"Of course."

He seemed inclined to say nothing else and leaned back, studying his surroundings.

"Is that it then?"

The man didn't reply. Instead he placed his hand before his face, fingertips touching, and closed his eyes.

"Who are you?"

After a moment he replied with a frown, "Who indeed?"

Rose shook her head slightly and braced her hands on her knees, preparing to stand.

"Wait, don't leave," the man said without opening his eyes. If asked later, Rose couldn't have explained what it was that compelled her to stay at that moment. She supposed it was the almost imperceptible note of desperation in his voice, but she couldn't be sure.

"My name," he paused, presumably for dramatic effect; he seemed the type, "Is Sherlock Holmes."

"Like the books?"

"Books?" he questioned, furrowing his eyebrows, lids remaining firmly shut.

"Yeah, uh," Rose backpedaled, unsure of what to say. She hadn't made a slip like that in months. "There was a children's book series about an S. Holmes when I used to like. Guess I always thought of the 'S' as being for 'Sherlock'. Sorry." Rose laughed nervously, unconvincingly.

"You, Rose Tyler, are an impossible thing," Sherlock said, finally opening his eyes and turning towards her.

"Sorry?"

"You give the impression of being incredibly well traveled, yet you haven't left the city since Norway. You've fought many battles, are clearly a courageous person, yet you don't attempt to find a source of adventure. You've lost something, no, someone, and you can't get him back, but... but you can. It's impossible, but you can do it anyway. You don't like my reading you like a book, but you accept it, as if it's relatively common place, wait, no, it isn't common place, you're just used to strange things. Who are you?"

"You've said it yourself: Rose Tyler," she shrugged noncommittally.

"Oh, yes, you're definitely Rose Tyler, but you don't make sense!" Sherlock stood suddenly and grasped at his dark curls. He began pacing wildly.

A look of surprised crossed Rose's face, but she managed to Smooth her features with relative ease. You're talking to a madman, she thought.

"Shut up!" the man cried, looking around restlessly.

"I didn't say anything!" Rose protested.

He waved his hand dismissively in her general direction, "Yes, but you're thinking rather loudly."

She threw her hands up in defeat and glanced around at the crowd they- no, he,was attracting.

Finally, Sherlock stopped pacing and dropped himself back to his seat. "Where are you from?" he asked.

"London, born and raised."

"Nononononononononononono. I mean where? Where really? Where is your home?"

A blue box in a different dimension, Rose thought to herself before deciding it best not to mention that. Rose gave Sherlock her best isn't it obvious look and hoped it'd be enough to convince him. It wouldn't be.

Okay! I hope you like that first chapter! In case you were wondering, this is set post- Reichenbach for Sherlock and post- Doomsday for Rose. It doesn't in particularly matter when the Doctor is at this point... if it does become important, I'll either make it really obvious or explain. Otherwise... yeah. So- questions, comments, concerns, or, my favorite, suggestions! I know where this is going to end up, but I have no idea how I'm going to get there. So here's what I need help with: how do I get out of this conversation and to the interesting part? I would be immensely grateful if anyone had anything to say :D