Because 1st chapters get lonely. :)
Rose had been trying to work a way out of the white hospital-type room she'd been banished too for the last two months. Ever since she offended His Majesty by assaulting him with the only weapon she possessed, hot tea. It wasn't even that hot, what with the milk and all. Even though she'd been banished she thought it was worth it, but now, two months gone and she hadn't even managed to get into the hallway.
She hadn't liked him from the moment she laid eyes on him. That wasn't like her, at least she didn't think it was, not that she actually knew who she was. She knew her name, well, her first name. Rose. At least, she thought it was her name. It felt right. Other than that she had no clue.
Her past was a complete blank. She knew things, physical things like talking and walking and throwing tea. She couldn't help grinning at the memory. She also knew stuff. Words and what they meant, well, mostly what they meant. There were words like TARDIS, which wasn't a word. She knew it wasn't, but it was there, in her mind. And Doctor. Not a doctor, but Doctor as in a name, but there was no face, no history to go along with it.
She also knew she should have other faces, other names. Like her mum and dad, and brothers and sisters, but there were no faces, no names. No friends. No home. No job. Nothing. Just the name Rose and a feeling that it was hers. She kept it because she liked it and it was the only thing she had.
Most of the time though she was torn between crying and murdering someone, but she didn't think she'd actually do the later. Then again she didn't know who she was. For all she knew she could be some crazed serial killer. Maybe that's who she really was. Maybe that's why no one had come for her. Maybe that's why they locked her up. Hell, she didn't even know where she was. It seemed like a hospital, all white and sterile like, but what sort of a hospital? The kind for sick people or the kind for people who'd gone round the bend? She felt like she'd gone round the bend.
And if it was a normal hospital why wouldn't they let her leave? Why had they paraded doctor after doctor through the door, poking and prodding and asking questions? Of course she knew what a lamp looked like, though it had been hard after the fifth one not to shout out something completely off the wall like elephant, or oh, uncle Henry, that's where you got to. But she knew that'd only make her stay longer.
The door slid open and His Majesty entered with that same look of someone who thinks their better than everyone else. Stupid apes. The words came in a flash. Spoken not by her, but by a man, a man whose face she couldn't see.
"All right there?" His Majesty asked.
Did he know? Had he seen her face? She didn't think so, but she couldn't be sure.
"For someone whose been held prisoner going on three months? Yeah, I'm brilliant," she retorted.
"You're hardly a prisoner."
"White room, bed," she gestured behind her, "toilet over there," she gestured at the far wall, "hospital gown, socks, no shoes, can't leave, am I missing anything?"
"You haven't been held here. You've been cared for."
"Cared for?" she asked, eyeing him.
She believed him about as far as she could throw him.
"You've had the best medical care-"
"You mean that parade of quacks you've been sending through my door?"
"They are the best in their field I assure you."
"You might consider getting your money back."
He shifted in a way that told her he'd rather be anywhere else, but there, which was fine with her since she'd rather he was anywhere else.
"Yes. Right," he replied, eyeing her distastefully. "Well, as lovely as this has been I've come to inform you that you're being released."
"Released?" she asked, slowly, not at all buying what he was selling.
"With supervision, of course."
Oh, of course, she rolled her eyes, which meant she was swapping one cell for another, and if she was lucky she'd get a window.
"Supervision?" she asked, wondering what he meant by that.
Armed guards, doctors, an officer at her door.
"Since we don't know who you are we can't locate your family and with your illness-"
She rolled her eyes.
"I've got amnesia. It's not an illness. Means I can't remember anything."
Another distasteful look and he almost seemed to want to roll his eyes, which made her grin. Annoying him was more fun than she'd had in…well, that she could remember, since she couldn't remember anything from before.
"I know what it means. The point is Ms...Rose," He said her name as if there was something wrong with it, earning a bit of a glare from her. "…you can't very well be left on your own."
Which wasn't true at all. He didn't want to leave her on her own. Only, she wasn't sure why. He'd asked her questions, loads of questions, and everyone he sent in asked them. What was her name? Where had she come from? What did she do for a living? Who did she know? How had she gotten in his study?
"I'm sure I could make do," she replied.
"There are legality issues to consider-"
"I'm more than willing to sign something for legality purposes."
"Which I would be more than willing to do if it not for your state of mind."
What he was actually saying was that she really was a prisoner, but he couldn't actually hold her so he was making something up.
"My mind's fine. Just can't remember anything."
"Not according to the doctors."
"The ones you paid you mean."
"You can always remain here if you prefer," he offered, which was more of a warning for her to keep her opinions to herself. She could tell.
Her choice, in fact, wasn't a choice at all.
"So, supervised release. What's that mean?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
"It means you'll have your own room in a flat in London."
"And the supervisor would be?"
"My brother."
There was more than one of them?
"Your brother?"
"Yes. You'll be sharing the flat with him."
So, her options were seventh circle of hell or seventh circle of hell. Brilliant.
"So, it's a co-ed flat then?" she teased.
He gave her a not at all amused look, or maybe that was his normal look.
"Yes. Well, I'll of course provide you with clothing, amenities, and a modest allowance."
And he was doing that why? If there's one thing she knew, even if she didn't know how she knew, nothing was free. There was a reason, but she decided to cross that bridge later.
"What about my things?"
"Are you referring to the clothes you were wearing when we found you?"
Found? Was that the word used when referring to someone who woke up in a room surrounded by six blokes pointing guns at them? Somehow that didn't seem to fit, but she let it slide.
"Yes," she replied.
"I had them burned," he said.
She'd hoped getting her clothes back, what she was wearing the night he found her, would give her some clue as to who she was or jog her memory. She knew, and again she didn't know how she knew, that amnesia patients could gain their memories back by being in familiar surrounds. It didn't always work, but it was a chance. She didn't have familiar surroundings, but her clothes might help. She felt that hope die and she thought it was the worst thing she'd ever felt.
"Why would you do that?" she demanded.
He gazed at her as if she was about as threatening as a beetle scurrying across the floor. She felt compelled to slap him, hard, but she resisted the urge…barely.
"They were far too badly damaged to be saved. I did, however, manage to salvage your…trainers, are they called?" Well, that was something at least. "I'll have them brought to Sherlock's flat if you like."
"Sherlock?" she asked, the name seemed familiar.
"Yes. He's my brother. Do you know him?"
He seemed…suspicious and maybe a bit…worried? She couldn't be sure.
"No, just seems a bit…odd, but then again Mycroft sounds a bit strange too," she replied, hoping to throw him off by irritating him.
His eyes narrowed, which told her it worked.
"Well, then," he replied turning toward the door. "I'll send someone in with a change of clothes."
"Shoes would be nice too," she replied wiggling her toes, inside the socks.
He glanced at her feet, not at all amused.
"Yes," he replied before turning back to the door.
It slid open and he stepped out. A flat, which meant a door. Would there be a guard? She wasn't sure, but she could figure that out once she got there. And there were always windows. She didn't think she was afraid of heights.
Sherlock, the name still seemed familiar, well, whoever he was he had to sleep and that's when she'd escape. She had no idea where she'd go. Only that wherever it was it'd be as far away from Mycroft as she could get.
Standard Disclaimer.
Thank you to all my brilliant readers!
If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)
