John didn't know when their relationship had started or if it was going to end, or, indeed, if it was a relationship in a romantic sense. All he knew was that Rose Tyler seemed to make Sherlock Holmes happy. And one more thing: she loved running. Oneshot from John's POV. AU Season 3 and Journey's End. Roselock.
Just so you all know-unlike the rest of my oneshots, this one is actually romance. The relationship is heavily implied here, in fact it's kind of the basis of the story. So if you don't like Roselock, stay away. However-this romance is not very explicit, because it's an emotional study, like all the things I write. Plus I suck at writing overt romance. I prefer being a bit more subtle.
The first time John sees her, they're on a case.
He and Sherlock are making their way through the streets of London toward a building that John's never heard of, where Sherlock insists there will be clues. The day is cloudy and damp, and the skies are soon threatening rain. Sherlock said that it would be prudent to take a shortcut through considering the impending weather, though the place isn't far enough away to warrant a cab.
They pass a woman sitting on a park bench. John takes no notice of her until his tall friend nods his head toward her and greets in his rumbling baritone, "Miss Tyler."
"Mr. Holmes," she greets back, glancing up from a newspaper in her hands. "Out on a case, then?"
"Looking for clues," Sherlock confirms shortly, striding toward his destination. "Make sure you get inside; it looks like it's going to rain soon," he calls back without turning his head.
"Will do," she answers. John glances back at her. She looks highly amused about something. He slows his pace unconsciously, looking back and forth between the woman on the bench and Sherlock. The only indication from his friend that something had happened is a very slight crinkling around the eyes and a twitch of the lips.
"Who was that?" John asks.
"Rose," Sherlock answers, not breaking in his stride. He opens the door to the building without another word on the subject, and any of John's other questions are stopped by the door swinging shut in his face. Cursing, he opens the door himself and runs inside after his friend. He does not look back.
The second time John sees her, they're at Angelo's. The incident two weeks previously has been all but forgotten about. John has dragged his friend out to eat after a case, since he doesn't have a girlfriend and anyway, why not? Nothing wrong with having a celebratory dinner with his flatmate.
They've been going over the finer points of the case they had just completed, laughing at the danger they have faced and risks they have put themselves in in the heat of the moment. John is laughing at a particularly amusing quip Sherlock has made when the detective's face goes passively blank. John looks behind himself in concern, only to see the young blonde woman whose name he doesn't remember enter the restaurant with an older couple who looked to be her parents and a young boy who was probably her younger brother.
"Mr. Holmes," the young woman says with a bit of surprise. She soon smiles, however, when Sherlock dips his head to her respectfully.
"Miss Tyler," he says. John does not miss the way Sherlock's lips curve upwards around the edges and his eyes sparkle, crinkling around the edges. John has never seen a shy smile on Sherlock's face, and it is beautiful.
"I assume this is John Watson?" she asks. John doesn't question how she knows his name; it is all too probable that she read his blog if she had encountered Sherlock. No one who encountered him could overcome their curiosity of the mysterious detective.
"Hello," he says politely. He was curious, but he didn't want to ruin this...whatever it was, for his flatmate. Before they can make any kind of conversation, however, the family is called away to their table. Rose waves a bit and smiles, walking quickly after her family.
Sherlock stares after her. John chooses not to say anything.
The third time John sees her, they're running.
"Miss Tyler!" Sherlock shouts in greets as they chase a criminal down an alleyway. She is seated on the stairs of a fire escape.
"Mr. Holmes!" she calls back. "Need any help?"
"I don't think so, but keep an eye out!"
"Of course!" she laughs. "Are we still on for later?"
"Obviously!" It was then that his course takes him around a corner, effectively ending the conversation. John's attention has already been mostly on the criminal, and they can't afford to lose him, so he puts the incident out of his mind. It was only after they had finally apprehended the criminal in question that John thinks to interrogate his dark-haired friend.
It is such an odd situation, John thinks. They clearly have some form of rapport, so much so that Sherlock is consistently polite to her or so it seems-there is a shyness in him when it came to her that John has never witnessed in his friend. And what she had said about "later"-what was that supposed to mean? A date?
There was only one way to find out.
"So...this Miss Tyler," he starts conversationally. They are going back to Baker Street, as Lestrade has taken over and it is late besides. The night is cool and slightly damp. Stars sparkle high above their heads in an affirmation of light even amongst the darkness, and the moon confirms that the sun is, indeed, still shining. John shakes his head with a smile; it seems writing his blog has made somewhat of a poet out of him.
"I met her a few weeks ago while out on a case; she took down the murderer with one hit." The answer is abrupt. For some reason, Sherlock doesn't really want to talk about her. John, however, is more than willing to let his curiosity slide into rudeness. Sherlock has done it often enough, after all.
"She had a gun?" John asks with a furrowed brow.
"No, not a gun. Apparently she's against them. No, she saw that I was chasing him and recognized me from the papers, and took him out with one hit to the jaw. It was fairly impressive."
"And then what happened?" John is certain that if that was it, Sherlock wouldn't be nearly so impressed. There had to be more to the story.
"Nothing. She nodded to me and then left."
"Then how do you know her name?"
"I encountered her again the same day while she was on a case. Returned the favor. I helped subdue a criminal she was chasing who had acquired illegal technology."
"And that's how you learned her name?"
"No. I nodded and walked away."
"So how did you learn her name, then?"
"Mycroft, obviously."
"Obviously," John says, dumbfounded. Something occurs to him. "Wait, she was on a case? She works in the police force?"
"Of course not; she's far too skilled. She works in a top secret sect of the government dealing with foreign anomalies." Without warning, they arrive at Baker Street and Sherlock veritably leaps out of the cab, leaving John, as per usual, to pay the bill.
"Huh," John says, because there honestly isn't anything else to say. After quickly paying the cabbie, John goes after Sherlock. The conversation isn't quite over, not in his eyes. "So, what did she mean about tonight?" he asks, rummaging among the cupboards for tea while Sherlock takes up his customary thinking position on the couch.
"She's coming over because she needs help on a case she's taken on."
"So she's not a detective?"
"No, more like a field officer. I've been reliably informed that she holds the rank of Brigadier."
"Seriously?"
"Yes, John. Now are you done with your barrage of senseless inquiry or are you going to continue with blocking my thought process?"
Rose has worn jeans and trainers and a warm-looking jumper, and this is the fourth time John has seen her. She walks into the flat with a big smile and a greeting to John and Sherlock both. To the army doctor's surprise, she has brought with her a package of takeout. Moreover, she has brought Sherlock's favorite Chinese food. He wonders how she knew.
"No use working on an empty stomach," she says jovially.
"On the contrary, I prefer it," Sherlock says with a hint of his normal arrogance. Rose simply sticks her tongue out at the detective in mockery. Sherlock's reaction is appropriately hilarious-he looks taken aback, complete with incomprehensive blinking and a slight parting of his lips. John can't help giving a chuckle.
"Are you hungry, Doctor Watson?" The doctor glances at his friend, whose face gives away nothing, though some would say the blankness in itself is telling.
"Yes, I am," John decides, sitting down in his chair. They eat in silence for a few minutes after distributing the food, though Sherlock makes no move to eat. He seems intent on observing Rose. His eyes, slightly narrowed in concentration, move over her in an almost clinical fashion.
"You've been running," he says abruptly. Rose glances up with an almost imperceptible smile.
"Yes, I have," she says. "And you've been playing your violin. So," she says, putting her food aside, "down to business."
They talk long into the night, and business is interrupted by Rose's quips and her hearty laughter. Her presence is warm and bright and comfortable. Sherlock's face indicates he is bemused by her somewhat, but his eyes almost never waver from her.
When she leaves, the flat seems too quiet.
John does not miss how Sherlock's eyes have lost their sparkle, or that he is unnaturally quiet now.
The fifth time John sees her, they end up running with her.
Sherlock has proved too fascinated by her case to simply advise her and leave her be. John also suspects an ulterior motive in Sherlock's frequent glances toward the blonde with soft, wide, surprised and curious eyes, crinkles softened by gentle emotions of affection. John does not know who Rose Tyler is, but he knows that she is good. Good in the way that a candle in a dark room is good, or a song in the midst of silence.
John watches as his friend stands closer to her than he would most people. He watches as he accepts her casual gestures of affection (Rose is a contact person; clearly loves to grab people's hands and arms, and likes to stand close to people. Her brightness is contagious and impossible to resist). He watches as their heads turn in tandem to questions asked of them, as they wear identical expressions of suffering while being forced to listen to a briefing. He watches as Rose's eyes shine when his meet hers and how his friend's light up in return, and finds, surprisingly, that he doesn't mind.
He watches as they run.
They run, and they catch someone, though Rose refused to divulge every detail of the case. Somehow, it doesn't seem to matter to Sherlock.
And even when Rose Tyler leaves, her after-effects are noticeable. Sherlock is calmer. His hands shake less. His violin playing is more thoughtful than frantic. And just minutely, Sherlock Holmes is kinder.
John Watson has lost track of how many times he has seen Rose Tyler.
She comes by one day and drags Sherlock out for chips. John makes up an excuse and stays behind, despite Sherlock's apparent confusion and frustration at his blogger's declination. He does not miss Rose's grateful smile.
He looks out the window, hours later, far more hours than are warranted just from going out to get chips, and sees them holding hands as they walk down the street. The army doctor feels an unexpected warmth grow in him and a smile makes its way onto his face. Hearing their footsteps on the stairs, the doctor quickly retreats to his room. He falls asleep to the sound of their laughter.
I'm calling this an experiment in writing for me because of several reasons. This particular fic demanded to be written in present tense, to the point that I was unconsciously writing it that way. At first, I kept switching it back to past tense, but then I realized that if the story wanted to be written in present tense, I should comply. Please feel free to write corrections in the reviews if you see them, as I may have messed up the tenses at times. Also, it was obvious for some reason that I needed to write it from John's POV. It's been really interesting writing from outside Sherlock's head (who is my normal narrator). I got to write about Sherlock's facial expressions and stuff. It's been really fun.
One last thing: I know I have a bad habit of making things end at what might seem like weird spots. Fear not! I liked writing this so much that I might do something in a similar format, or a sequel, or something. So be on the lookout. And for those who are waiting so very patiently for the second installment of Omniscience: it's in the works, I promise.