Disclaimer: Everything belongs to their rightful owner(s).
Pairing: Sherlock/Rose, side-John/Mary.
Genre: Drama, Romance, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Adventure.
World/Story Setting: Post Season 3 [BBC Sherlock], post-Doomsday & in Pete's world (parallel universe) [Doctor Who]
Rating: PG-13/T.
Summary: What do you know? Sherlock Holmes is real. And Rose Tyler is determined to meet him.
Musical Inspiration: "Learn Me Right" from Brave soundtracks, sung by Birdy ft. Mumford & Sons. When in doubt, turn to Disney soundtracks? Pretty much.
Crime Plot Inspiration: "Red-Headed League Man" in the original Sherlock Holmes series by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Author's Note: 5, 915 words. Gonna say, I've struggled a little bit with this chapter. But I wanted to tackle my worst fear, so here I am. Still standing (though now I think I'm only half standing because it's 3:30AM where I am and I swear to you I could just fall right now and sleep and yes it's bad because I HAVE SCHOOL TOMORROW like what am I even doing here?). I love the probability of Sherlock/Rose so much though, and can I just have them right now? Like, please? And Benedict Cumberbatch and Billie Piper are like one of the most flawless people ever and I'm just, like, a full-on fangirl right now okay.
In any case, the reviews I've gotten are such dear to me. Thank you. And EMMA: LOOK, I UPDATED. HECK YEAH CHEERS FOR ME. But seriously though, I appreciate it so much of your time and effort to give this fiction a chance. It makes my RoseLock heart swells in joy. It really does. You guys are such lovely people.
SECOND. SHERLOCK.
Rose watched over her shoulders while she walked into the apartment, the landlady towed behind closely.
"You could just wait here, dear. I'm sure Sherlock will be home any moment now. He already texted me to make him some tea, that unbelievable young man." Muttered the landlady more, frustration lines covered her ageing face. Rose wasn't really sure what was the most appropriate way to act considering she's just met the old lady approximate a minute ago― she couldn't just say that she was willing to assist her on preparing the tea, or perhaps offer her a company, considering by the looks on her face that this wasn't the first time Holmes pulled a trick like this and Rose really took pity― but she gave out her best smile nevertheless, hoping that it wouldn't sour the mood.
The landlady smiled back― wide and comforting― nodding in acknowledgement, as though she detected her uneasiness and understood her awkward position. "Well, if you'll need anything in the meantime, I'll be downstairs. Making tea."
"Of course." Rose nodded her head, her eyes kind. "Thank you, um—"
"It's Mrs. Hudson, dear." She called back, a kind of motherly warmth flickered in her eyes, and Rose found herself smiling just a tad wider, this time more sincere.
"Mrs. Hudson." She repeated under her breath, as though testing the name, and confirming the information to herself. Mrs. Hudson. A nice old woman, but too gullible, perhaps. With just a few quick knocks and polite smiles, the older woman had already granted her access to the ever so great Sherlock Holmes' apartment, under the assumption that Rose was another desperate client, though she never said anything of such, just a simple — "I'd like to see Sherlock Holmes, please."
She wondered if she should mention this to Holmes.
Rose let her eyes wandered about, but only that. She didn't move — didn't want to — but she re-adjusted the sling bag she had across her chest, flicking away a few strain of stubborn blonde hair out of her sight. Holmes. That name thudded in her skull as she tried to recap anything at all of the Holmes that the Doctor usually went on about, the fictional one. It's weird, she thought in between, feeling all of her limbs and muscles all free from any sort of duty forcing her to act on the spot.
It was weird shedding all of her work away from her body — all of Torchwood — and just stood there, like a girl without any solid purpose whatsoever...
Wait.
Dammit, Rose gritted her teeth, displaying her fingers across her forehead as realisation dawned over her: she didn't have any solid purpose whatsoever, coming here. She remembered spending nights studying all of the reports Tosh had gotten her over Moriarty, the hours remained spent with Tosh's comment of "you should meet him" eating away on her rational thoughts until she decided that she finally needed a trip to Baker Street. Now that she was here, she had no idea what she's truly doing.
Rose Tyler blinked, the cruel reality at long last seeped in.
She should go, she decided, turning on her heels, trying not to let panic coloured every passing thoughts which were crossing her mind. At least, not yet. Rose took a deep breath and stepped forward, until—
The main door to the whole flat opened with a loud thud, and an undoubtedly male voice intoned, worry laced in his words:
"—still has nothing on Moriarty."
Rose felt her heart leaped to her throat, her step stopped with one foot forward, barely touching the floor as her lips opened in a small gap, her mind reeled, unconsciously waiting for a reply though there was none. It wasn't until she heard Mrs. Hudson's hushed voice interrupting the men about a "client waiting upstairs" that Rose finally gathered herself and straightened down on her leather jacket, swallowing any bits of courage she must have left sprawling when she realised how stupid she's been.
There's no use of it now, she ran her tongue over her upper lips: she's here, and there's nothing she could do to change it.
Inhaling deeply, Rose almost missed the heavy footsteps climbing up the stairs, straight to where she was ― and when she looked up, there he was, staring intently back at her. He tipped his chin back, his bright eyes never left her figure, when Dr. Watson came up behind, finally now taking her in.
Almost out of habit, Rose smiled. "You must be Sherlock Holmes." Her eyes landed on the wandering eyes of Dr. Watson, dipping her head once, "And Dr. John Watson." She finally returned her stare on the famous consulting detective, her smile somehow stretched just a little wider. "It's nice to meet you."
It was Dr. Watson who first stumbled into the apartment and shook her hand, a kind smile graced his worn face. "It's nice to meet you too, uh, Miss...?"
Rose lets a few beats passed, the hanging sentence barely registered, when: "It's Rose." She blinked. "Rose Tyler."
"Rose," the doctor contemplated it, her name sounded gentle ― friendly ― when it rolled off his tongue, and he smiled again, while all the time Holmes had moved passed from his initial spot to hang his scarf as well as his coat, approaching an armchair sat near the fireplace, passing them as he went on. "Take a seat, please."
"Uh, actually―"
"Can I borrow a phone?" A deep voice cut in, sharp and clear. Rose turned to Holmes, who had his back mostly on her, while he pretended to fold a blanket on his armchair.
"What?" Watson muttered, confused.
"Phone. Can I borrow it?" He finally faced them, generally looking at the two of them expectantly.
"Where's yours?"
"I've misplaced it." Holmes answered easily, as though it was everyday's routine to lose a mobile phone― and then: it probably was, Rose pondered, just briefly. He put the folded blanket at the head of the armchair, all neatly and warm-looking, before turning back to them once again, a kind of polite smile itched on his pale though handsome face. Rose watched on carefully. "Phone?"
Watson finally sighed next to her, mumbling incoherently under his breath while his hands searched for the device. Rose unconsciously pressed harder on where her phone was, tucked safely within her pocket ― when the doctor finally exclaimed, "I don't― I swear I had it with me a second ago―" Watson sighed out, humming softly, his brows furrowed. "Maybe I've left it―" He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose frustratingly and forced out a smile towards Rose, "Excuse me."
Rose nodded, just when he turned on his heel and left.
Sherlock watched on, and from the corner of Rose's eyes, she couldn't detect any obvious emotions beating across his face.
"So, Miss Tyler, was it?" He'd turned to take a sit on his armchair, and Rose awkwardly stepped forward, now shifting from foot to foot, her senses perked with the knowledge that she was now alone with Holmes. He squinted his eyes up at her, almost dangerously, before he drawled it out: "You're not here for a case."
She blinked, mouth slightly agape.
"You're not a client." He concluded again, his tone harsh and aggressively direct.
Just when Rose was about to open her mouth, came Dr. Watson barging in, anger spreading over his features when he stared up at Holmes, eyebrows raised. "It's with you, isn't it?"
Holmes feigned innocence, tapping his index finger on the arms on his chair once, dragging his gaze away. "It might have been in the pocket of my coat."
"I suppose you won't be explaining to me how it got there?" Dr. Watson grumbled, now going through the coat.
Sherlock didn't answer, as he only leaned back against his chair, looking somewhat tensed yet calm all at the same time, ignoring his friend's question completely. Dr. Watson murmured quiet apologies under his breath when he walked over after safely retrieving the phone, readying himself to take a seat across from the consulting detective; Holmes kept a firm gaze on her from the corner of his eyes, Watson cleared his throat. "So, what seems to be the problem?"
"She's not a client," quipped Holmes coolly, joining his hands on the middle and tapping his fingers together.
Watson blinked. "What?" His brows furrowed, finally now facing her. "Y-you're not?"
Rose managed a smile, feeling sorry that she gave a false impression to the doctor, who looked so genuine to her, more so now that she's seeing him in real life, and not an image presented at the side of his blog. "No," she decided to answer. "I'm not... I'm not here for a case."
Okay. She could almost made out Dr. Watson's confused thoughts, before he nodded his head and faced her again. "Why are you here then?"
"I'm―" Shit. Rose blinked, hesitated and pursed a smile. Why was she here again? She shook her head and forced her stare away, biting the corner of her lips. She had no idea why was she here. And she couldn't just― she couldn't just leave right now. It would certainly brought unnecessary speculation over the real intention she came here, and people will begin to search more into where she came from, and Rose Tyler didn't need that. She definitely didn't need that.
"You're...?" Watson trailed off, clearly expecting some sort of an answer.
Think, Rose. Think! Rose blinked. "I'm here to become your apprentice."
"What?"
Too quick. She'd answered it too quick. Rose took a deep breath and rearranged her sentences, trying to keep her uncertainty from blurring out the weak reason she just gave out. She tried to smile, just to calm the nerves that's starting to twist from under her epidermis, "I mean―" she swallowed and exhaled, "I'm here to become Sherlock Holmes' apprentice. If that's fine."
"Sherlock's... apprentice...?" Dr. Watson seemed even more confused. "Why?"
She didn't know either.
Rose shrugged.
Holmes curiously looked up to her, his eyes taking her in, his brows pinching in a serious kind of determination, one she wouldn't fathom to interrupt but brave enough to stare back. He dragged his eyes elsewhere, portraying an image of disinterest, "I already have Billy to entertain. What makes you so special?"
Arrogant little git, isn't he? Rose clicked her tongue.
Watson frowned, "But... Billy hasn't joined us since Christmas."
"Hasn't he?" Holmes' brows quirked together, just slightly. "Then who has been making me tea?"
"Who do you think?" A foreign voice interrupted and Rose quickly spun her head to watch Mrs. Hudson making her way in, putting the tray of teas on top of the table. "Honestly Sherlock, I am not your housekeeper. And how many times have I told you to clean up this mess, oh gosh." The older woman cringed, pushing away a few of the scattered newspapers crumpled on the table.
"Are you quite certain, Mrs. Hudson?" Holmes hummed, standing up, tugging on his shirt once.
"Yes!" Mrs. Hudson hissed, her eyes glared in the typical fashion of a mother scolding her stubborn child and Rose tried to keep herself from smiling too much. The older woman eventually turned to her, her expression quickly softened, "And how are you holding up, dear? I hope the boys haven't caused you too much of a headache."
"Oh, they've been a complete gentlemen, thank you." Rose returned, smiling kindly.
"Gentlemen." Mrs. Hudson snorted, patting Rose's arm. "I hope whatever troubles you will be sorted out soon, dear."
Rose nodded her head again, too polite to correct the older woman and smiled, "Thank you."
With that, Mrs. Hudson left, and she turned her attention back to watch Watson's raising a curious eyebrow to her while Holmes was stirring his tea, his stance giving out a cool image. "I see you've made quite an impression on Mrs. Hudson." Holmes noted, and Rose fought the urge to roll her eyes then and there.
"So you were saying you wanted to be Sherlock's apprentice? Why?" Dr. Watson intervened, ignoring Holmes' statement completely, wearing a mask of someone who's outstandingly confused. "I mean... what compelled you to think that he was ever..." He gestured towards his friend, his confusion deepening while Holmes stared back, frowning, somewhat offended.
"I, well―" Rose began, knowing now she had to make up excuses to back up on her first lie. She suppressed a sigh. "Sherlock Holmes. Big name, yeah? Being a genius and all." She tried smiling without causing terrible aches to her cheekbones, gesturing lamely at Holmes. "I mean, who wouldn't want to be his apprentice? It's... always been a... dream of mine, honestly. To become Sherlock Holmes' apprentice."
Watson appeared unconvinced. "Are you sure?"
Holmes snorted. "Besides from you pathetic attempt to lie, Ms. Tyler." He smoothly intoned, his bright eyes meeting hers. "What makes you think I would easily take you under my wings?"
She nearly rolled her eyes. Nearly. Rose scoffed though, only lightly. "I believe the right answer to that question is, Mr. Holmes―" She gave him her signature grin, that felt too old now it's carved back upon her lips, but mischievous enough that she didn't mind it as much when her reply rolled off her tongue, urging a wolfish grin to just attack and frame her expression. But she knew better. Her brows hiked up, as though she knew it would somehow challenge him― "Why not?"
A beat, before Sherlock Holmes snorted, the corner of his lips tilted into, what must be, a hint of a smirk, his eyes dangerously narrowing down to focus on her and it was only then did Rose realised of their close proximity. Sherlock Holmes hummed, and took a step back, a cup of tea in his hand.
"What time is it, John?" Holmes voiced out, as though trying to distract himself away, even is it's just briefly, from focusing on her, and Rose didn't know whether to sigh out in relief or feel offended. Mostly, she just wanted to lie down.
Suddenly, she felt so tired.
"I do believe Lestrade has gathered the company I've requested." Holmes went on when the doctor gave out the time. "Come on, then. We've got no time to waste."
"What? Now?" Watson appeared dissatisfied. "But we just got here."
Holmes only gave his friend a sharp look, a hint of annoyance lingering by in his stare.
"Oh, alright. Fine." The good doctor huffed, standing up. "Can I at least have a cup of tea?" He wondered aloud, a little sarcastically, following with movements which obviously reflected that it wasn't exactly a question he needed an answer to. He stumbled on his steps as he caught up to Rose, his expression softened, "Um, Rose, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid—"
"What do you think you're doing?" Holmes yelped from the doorway, shrugging on his coat while Watson stared back, baffled. "She's coming with us."
"She's— she's what?" Watson was ultimately confused, that was sure. The poor doctor turned to Rose, just for a second, as if he's checking if this were all a game, before he returned to stare at his best friend. "I thought—"
"You thought wrong." Holmes merely said, his eyes leering back to her. "Coming?"
It took Rose a moment to rationalise the simple question, the way he's looking expectantly at her, the whole situation of it all basically, but as soon as her brain wrapped around the idea of it, her smile grew— and she could've sworn she felt a rush of heat blossoming over her cheeks, warming up her inside. It's... enthralling. There was just something about this man who's waiting for her, the promise of unexpected adventures behind his offer. She'd been here before, didn't she? With the Doctor.
But the Doctor's not here now, Rose snapped, in a beat, realising where she really was.
No, he's not.
But Holmes was. So she nodded and passed her tongue over her teeth, dipping her head once to breathe out a quiet, amused chuckle before her eyes shifted over the famous consulting detective again, grinning: "I wouldn't miss it for the world."
And honest to God, she wouldn't.
"Here you are!" Lestrade huffed, clearly dissatisfied. "Might I remind you that this is entirely out of my division―"
"Oh, save it Lestrade. As if I haven't heard it all before," snorted Holmes, striding in with firm and quick steps ― not a moment wasted, not a second late ― and taking on a random file on the older man's desk. Rose quickly followed behind, her steps didn't oozed confidence like Holmes did, but it was steady enough that she was sure her abrupt presence wouldn't look so... out of place. It was also helpful that Watson was willing to slow down his pace to make sure she wasn't falling behind, not that she ever intended to. "Is he here?"
"The man you asked me to call?" Lestrade snatched the file right from the famous consulting detective's hands, glaring. "Yes. He's right outside," he pointed to a thin man with a gloom face, accompanied by what seemed to be a bodyguard― what, with his official black suit and shades. Rose wasn't an expert in deduction, sure, but the earpiece the man wore clearly gave his position away.
"And did he bring what I asked him to bring?" Holmes passed a glance, his voice came out monotone.
"Yes, and seriously, Sherlock, for the last time, this is not my division so you couldn't just―" His eyes fell slightly to the back and Lestrade frowned, pausing. "Wait." Rose finally took in that he was looking at her. The older man frowned even more so, turning to Sherlock. "Who is she? Honestly, Sherlock! You can't keep bringing strangers you've just met and started bringing them about on your investigations―"
"She's―" Holmes hid his irritation miserably. "She's not strangers."
"Oh? She's not?"
Holmes chanced her quick gaze, one swift glance from head to toe. "She's clearly my bodyguard."
Even Watson snorted out a chock, surprised. Lestrade's jaw dropped. Rose raised her eyebrows, intrigued mostly. She passed a side-glance view towards Watson, perhaps trying to determine if this was truly not some kind of sham she's apart of, but knowing that somehow she should just went along with it. When she tilted her chin and dropped her eyes on Holmes, it seemed as though he was already bored of the whole conversation. "She's obviously military-trained, but not quite a military herself. A secret service? Most likely. Been in field works countless times, high probability she's a workaholic nursing to a relationship that's expectantly been broken off. Very obvious. She's currently carrying two weapons with her as we speak, a gun and a taser. And, may I add, she's extremely skilled at using those and will not hesitate on demonstrating it so Gerald―"
"Greg."
"Greg." Holmes corrected himself casually, as though he'd done nothing wrong in the first place. "May I please see the bank director, please?"
"I'll go get him." Lestrade said through gritted teeth after a few beating seconds, lines of frustration wrinkling on his face while he nodded and went pass the consulting detective. Near his way out, he paused, and gave Rose a polite nod. "Greg. Lestrade. S'nice to meet you."
"Rose. Tyler. It's nice to meet you too." Rose flashed him her best smile― and the older man looked surprised somewhat, suggesting how he didn't expect her to smile like she did, but there was the truth, and it lied on her lips and gradually, the Detective Inspector carved a half of a smile himself, his act brimmed human kindness.
Once he's out of the room, Rose caught the way Watson pursed his lips, taking a step forward. "What are we doing here again?"
"Possible robbery." Holmes announced with a clip, his eyes dragging to follow Lestrade's every move as he invited the thin, old man and watched as the man sent out some instructions to his bodyguard. It wasn't long after that, that he had his eyes back on her, his mouth set in a straight line. "Was I right?"
Rose turned to him. "What?"
"The deductions." He pointed out briskly. "Was I right? Did I get anything wrong?"
She smiled at that, some of it even as a mock towards his arrogance, but mostly she was truly impressed. "No. You got it right." She told him, her mouth stretching a little bit further, then faltered just slightly as she recalled one line from what he said. Nursing to a relationship that's expectantly been broken off. She pressed her lips together, pondering, before: "So, I'm your new bodyguard, yeah?"
"It seems so." He watched her with critical eyes, humming.
At least that's a new job. Perhaps an even easier one.
Rose shrugged her shoulders.
"Military?" Watson asked, from her side.
She raised her brows for a second, confused by the sudden question until― "Oh." She smiled, and then: "No. Not like you are, doctor. I'm just... trained as such, as Mr. Holmes pointed out."
Watson appeared nonchalant, "Yeah. He's often correct." He nodded, though he didn't look all too sincere. "It's annoying."
Rose immediately grinned at that ― wide and big ― as her eyes matched with Watson's, reflecting glee, a new type of familiarity quickly settling itself with her skin. She could get used to this, she thought, when she snuck a glance at a clearly annoyed Holmes, before he glowered out, "Did you just refer to me as the third person while I'm in the room?"
"Sherlock." Lestrade's voice caught all of their attention. "This is Peter Jones. He'll be the head of the operation."
Jones was a stocky-built man, and smelled heavily of cigar. Rose quickly scrunched up her nose, taking a step behind when he crossed over, outstretching his hands to Holmes. The consulting detective gave a once-over, blinked and responded, "How fitting."
"Sherlock." Dr. Watson warned, before he himself shook hands with Jones. Rose, naturally, found herself quickly next to Holmes, especially now since Jones looked comfortable idling near Watson. She could feel when Holmes passed her a look, perplexed at her sudden presence near him, but he didn't move. After all, it wasn't as though she was intruding into his personal space. Or at least, she didn't think so. The thin old man came next, his bodyguard lingering outside.
"This is Mr. Merryweather, the bank director." Lestrade introduced, gesturing. "Mr. Merryweather. This is Sherlock Holmes. He's the one who requested you."
"And my blueprint." Stated Mr. Merryweather critically; narrow, squinty eyes staring up at Holmes, who was so much taller than him.
"I believe you brought them."
"As you wish, sir." Mr. Merryweather held up his briefcase. "It's all in here."
"Excellent." Holmes replied, satisfied. Taking on the briefcase, Holmes thudded it against the wide table, with all the clear intention of opening it up. Everybody began to crowd around it, Rose crammed up closely next to the consulting detective, although by then he hadn't care to give a second thought, his focus zeroing on the case. She watched. "The French gold. It is safe delivered, I assume?" Holmes suddenly asked, without breaking his movement. "Mr. Merryweather?"
"You knew?" The old man wondered, completely surprised.
"Of course I knew. Everybody who's able to read knew. It's all over the internet." Holmes snapped irritably. "There's always a leak. Always."
The briefcase popped.
"So, wait." Watson interrupted, "The possible robbery, are you saying―"
"They're targeting the gold, yes. In fact, they've been targeting the gold for months." Holmes began, spreading out the papers of blueprints. "John Clay." He said the name once, with a clear tone of each syllables. He tilted his chin momentarily to lock eyes with Jones, and then: "He's the one who's in charge of this. Wanted in three countries so far; five murders, nine illegal arm trades, and so many frauds in between. That's the man you'd want to catch, Jones. Tonight."
"Tonight?" Jones asked dumbly.
"No, next year. Of course tonight!" Holmes rolled his eyes, "Hah. There it is." He pointed towards a blueprint of an underground tunnels, right under the bank, and Rose slowly studied the details and the lines which ran under his finger as he brushed his skin over the paper. "This is where they will strike, and this is where your team will be. The whole perimeter should be covered, no leaks." Holmes then stayed quiet, his eyes roamed over the sketches. "But Clay will be smart... He won't stay there... He's..."
The famous consulting detective smirked, a glint of victory crossed over his pale features. "We'll catch him tonight."
"We?" Watson asked, eyebrows hiking up.
"Of course. Jones, Lestrade, you, me and Ms. Tyler."
"The girl?" Jones' deep voice dropped in. Rose eyed him.
"Yes," Holmes cut in, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Is there a problem?"
"I, uh― no. Of course not." Jones quickly covered up, shaking his head.
"It settles then." Holmes concluded, dropping his gaze back on the blueprint and began calculating the perfect time for the robbery to take place, and the approximate position they should be in. And Rose? She merely followed. For now.
Holmes took them to an entirely different place, but it was dark and it stank.
Rose cringed her nose as she settled in with her handgun, her phone still tucked in her pocket. Holmes was by her one side, Watson on his other one. Lestrade was commenting about how he shouldn't be here, and was returned with a rude retort from Holmes saying somewhere along the lines of, "As if you're here by force."
"I was!" Lestrade exclaimed, grabbing tight on his gun.
"Ladies." Watson warned, taking a brief moment to pinch the bridge of his nose. "We're tracking down a wanted man here."
"And Rose. Are you honestly Sherlock's bodyguard?" Lestrade clearly ignored Holmes hushed to stay quiet, but kept his volume low enough that it wouldn't effect the whole operation. From Lestrade's right, Jones followed quietly, his eyes on alert, though his face appeared clueless for the most part.
"I am."
"She is." Holmes hissed, eyes wide at Lestrade.
"Is she?" The Detective Inspector focused on Watson, searching for the doctor's eyes.
Rose watched as Watson sighed, seemingly to grow tired of the little banters. "She is."
"She is?" Lestrade echoed.
"I really am," Rose pressed on, trying convince the poor Detective Inspector, as well as herself. She didn't know if she was fitted to be a bodyguard to anyone, but if that's what Sherlock Holmes wanted of her on that moment, she guessed she would go along. See where it leads. It was quite enjoyable, to be honest. It was as though she was still doing her job, without actually doing her job. Wasn't that the dream?
And then, there was foreign noises.
Rose liked to describe that it happened way too quick. One moment Holmes was snapping at Jones when he stumbled on a pebble and nearly shot his own face, the next there was a hand tugging her from behind roughly, intending on bringing her down. Rose thought on her feet. Months of cooping up with... the constant madness over searching for the Doctor has led her to be extra aggressive on the fields; it was as though every punch made was another frustrated nerve untangled from her body, and every kick she swung was another hour feeling trapped and enclosed and chained released from her system. Sometimes, she needed that.
So, Rose moved.
They were near a wall, and Rose quickly took advantage of it as she ran towards it, for a moment betraying physics when her sole met the said wall and she flipped herself back, tackling the attacker down. Still had a hold of her, Rose elbowed the man right on his shoulder blades, granting her immediate release from her grip as he yelped in pain, and giving her advantage to push herself up and took his gun, using it to shoot at an on-coming attacker.
By the time she realised it was all over, she had five men dropped to the floor and she was finally able to register that this was not Torchwoood. She wouldn't be able to vent out her frustration over beating up creatures, human or not, and was still expected to be seen as "normal" afterwards. Her bloodied knuckles hurt when she looked up, and her stomach sank, just a little, when she caught Watson and Lestrade's shocked face, while Holmes just stared at first, until a small, knowing smirk carved on his lips ― his eyes lit up in a sneaky manner, surprisingly holding out the same amount of brightness even if the blanket of darkness fell heavy on all of them.
"I told you she's my bodyguard."
Rose couldn't resist it ― she chuckled out a breath, and grinned.
When they reached back to the apartment, it was silence. Rose was sure if a pin was dropped, she would have heard it. The whole world would have. But there was no pin. There was just the steady padded of his shoes against the pavement, and hers treading behind.
It was all Dr. Watson's idea. While bandaging up Rose's bruising knuckles, he'd asked her where she was staying and finding out that she had no idea where, he had insisted that there were only one place to be ― 221B Baker Street. Especially then when he checked the time and discovered that it was nearing three in the morning. In fact, Rose could still recall, his words had been, "Oh, no. That's it. You're going home with Sherlock. You can sleep on his bed. He rarely uses it anyway."
Surprisingly, it didn't take long to convince Holmes, which took both Watson and Rose by surprise, but since he'd already agreed, they didn't ask further questions, though Rose tried to press that she really was okay on her own. She had always been, for nine months now. What's another night?
But here she was, following Holmes up the steps. "You've been quiet, Ms. Tyler." He said, out of the blue, tone rich in that kind of smoothness that in her hazy state, sent shivers up her spine. She shuddered, but didn't bleach out her smile, throwing it his way when he looked over his shoulder, straight at her.
Her steps were lazy, she realised. And she was so, so tired. "I have? I must be getting used to being your bodyguard still." She chuckled lowly, trying to catch his bright eyes. "I'll... take the couch, yeah?"
He only hummed, his movements careful.
Rose watched, suspicion attacked her conscious, but she wouldn't let paranoia took hold of her now. That was, until at the top of the stairs, Holmes paused, just when they stepped into his living room, half of his face turned to her as he said, barely a whisper, "Duck."
Holmes swung.
There was suddenly a stick on his hand, to which he must have got a hold to when he walked in, the stick must be by the door because she could confirm that it wasn't anywhere near him before and now he's aiming it at her. Her flight or fight came and go, and her body chose fight when she ducked, took hold of his swinging and thrust her other elbow right at his ribs. Holmes was quick ― no, he anticipated the move ― so he smirked when she did it, and blocked it with a swift kick to her knee, knocking her off balance, missing her target.
But Rose caught herself quick, when she regained her balance a second later, sprang up behind him and was about to blow him with another swing of her elbow when he merely directed it away with pressing his palm against her elbow and targeting it elsewhere. Her other punch though, did touch made contact with his body, but Holmes barely grunted ― her next mission was clear though: eliminate his weapon, the damn stick.
She couldn't even bring herself to think why he was doing this, not when he just kept on attacking her.
And then, they were just... sparring. A punch after the other, a dodge after a missed kick, a quick breath between blinking. And then, somehow, he's had the stick again (she managed to make him dropped it in between it all) and he was pressing it against her throat, and his breath was hot on her jaw. His eyes went over her face, and she bravely met his stare. "I won, Rose Tyler."
She rolled her eyes, still collecting oxygen, though a tired smirk began to crawl upon her lips now. "It's a game, then?"
He lets go of the stick, breathing heavily too, taking a step back. "A test."
"A test?" She her mouth with the back of her hand, panting. "Did I pass?"
He threw the stick away dismissively, now smoothening down on his suit. "Good night, Ms. Tyler."
"Goodnight, Mr. Holmes." She collapsed on the couch, the whole weight of the day finally settling in over her body. She rubbed her sweaty face ― damn him! ― and toppled her chin over the base of her palm, tilting her head to one side, a worn smile placed over her face. "Don't let the bed bugs bite, yeah?"
He didn't respond.
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And she thought, Holmes may not be the Doctor, at all―
but she still wouldn't miss him for the world
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(and somewhere between falling asleep, and dreaming―
she saw the single thread of line she had with the Doctor shone,
then it vanished and it's just falling)
and Rose felt sick.
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The first thing she woke up to was a pair of bright, serious eyes.
