*Just to clarify, at this point the Doctor is Eleven. He's married to River Song, but the Ponds are still traveling with him. He and Rose have never met. When John was a boy, the Doctor saved him from an invasion, and they haven't seen each other since. Sherlock and John live together, and have solved a few crimes, but this is before Reichenbach. The Great Game ended differently, without John there, and Moriarty offered Sherlock a deal and he agreed to it. The Doctor thinks the Master died, but he escaped a second time. The Master and Moriarty have met before; Jim used one of his "Rich Brook" tricks to make the Master into Harold Saxon.*
Prologue
She slid behind the crumbled wall, cowering in the shadow of the bricks. The footsteps echoed off the patches of stone all around her, thundering toward her hiding spot. She glanced at the watch on her wrist. Fifteen minutes. She still had to wait fifteen minutes to get out of here.
As the footsteps passed, she held her breath, praying as hard as she could that they wouldn't find her. Only when they faded from her ears did she let herself exhale.
Is this all really worth it? She asked herself, breathing deeply. The answer, she knew, was no. Of course not.
But she had no choice now.
She was different. She had changed. And she could never go back. Now, all she could do was run.
Run, and learn how to make the running easier.
Peering around the corner, she looked to see if the coast was clear. Suddenly a hand shot out and wrapped around her throat, cutting off her air.
"There she is." A rough voice hissed. "The golden girl. You're supposed to be dead, little lady. Now why aren't you?"
She stared down into the face of her captor, a man not too much older than her, with stubble dotting his chin. A wicked smile was plastered on his face. He squeezed harder and harder. Her nails scraped feebly at the backs of his hands, desperate for freedom. He would kill her. In just a few moments, she'd be dead.
No. Not like this. After all I've survived, NOT LIKE THIS.
Slowly, she reached out one hand and put it near his neck. He laughed, convinced she was failing at fighting against him.
But soon, that laugh turned into a choking gasp, and one of the man's hands released her to fly to his own chest. She sucked in more air, steadying her own breathing as his became more harried by the second. Concentrating, she focused the energy coursing through her hand into a pinpoint, assuring that it would all enter his body at the most lethal capacity possible.
I have to do this. She told herself as his grip on her released, and she dropped to the ground, fumbling for just a moment to stay on her feet. If I let him live, he'll tell them about me. That I'm still alive and about what I can do. There's no other option. This is the only way.
The man sank to his knees, clutching his chest with a vice grip. She didn't know how, or what was really happening, but soon he would be dead. She wasn't a killer. Not before. But things were different now; people were out to get her. Out to destroy her.
She had to defend herself.
But as much as it turned her stomach, she couldn't look away as he fell onto his back. She kept watching as he choked and sputtered. Still as stone she stood, even when he reached out to her with one feeble hand, his lips forming a single "Please…"
She couldn't look away, because she had to know how it felt. She had to see his death, and remember that she caused it. She had to remember so she wouldn't make it a habit.
The man's eyes glazed over and his hand fell to the ground. His chest rose and fell one last time, then went still. A tear rolled down her face, landing only a few feet from his body. She could hear the footsteps returning. She knew she had to move.
Her watch beeped softly. Turning her hand over and over, she inspected the blue and violet waves of light emanating from it. The fifteen minutes were up.
She closed her eyes; she concentrated.
And just like that, Rose Tyler disappeared.