Sorry it took so long! While I was writing my computer kept shutting down on me and I lost my work 3 times! Very Annoying. And the chapter is short. I'll try to make the next one longer to make up for that.

"Well dears," Jack said cheerfully, hauling to his feet from his slouched position on his recliner, "it's past my bed time. I'm off." He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders before giving each of them a small wave and heading into his bedroom, closing his door quietly behind him.

Rose, her mouth full of popcorn, pulled her mobile out of her pocket and chocked on her mouthful when she saw the time. Patting her chest while she swallowed and letting out a dry cough. "I'm so sorry, John. I hadn't realized how late it had gotten."

"It's no problem," John said honestly, smiling widely at her and rising from his position on the couch when she got to her feet.

"No, I've kept you up, I'm sorry," she said, her voice becoming nervous and her fingers flying to the seam of her sleeves in a movement John realized was a habit, one she probably wasn't even aware she was doing. He wondered how she'd developed the tick – it wasn't one he usually saw.

"Don't be ridiculous, Rose, I was at yours until nearly three in the morning last night." He rebuffed with a smirk, glad to see her lips curl into a small smile. "Anyway, it's past one now, you'll stay here tonight." He told her decisively, decidedly against the idea of sending her out on her own to walk the barely lit path back to her building.

Alarm crossed her face, and she shook her head, moving towards the door where she'd left her bag and shoes. "That's very kind, John, but not necessary. I'll walk home, it's not that far."

John moved so he was blocking her path, trying to meet her eyes, though she seemed to be purposefully avoiding his gaze. "Rose. It's late." He told her quietly. "Please stay."

She lifted her eyes for a moment, guarded hazel meeting warm brown, and her teeth sunk into nervously into her full bottom lip. She ran her hand through her blonde hair, exposing the darker brown roots. "I don't want to be in the way," she said quietly, still sounding unsure.

John shook his head. "Not at all," he reassured, reaching out to place his hand on her shoulder, blinking in surprise when she flinched and stepped back so that she was out of his reach. "You can take my bed."

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head quickly. "I'll sleep on the couch."

He frowned. "Are you sure? My bed is much – "

"I'm sure," she cut him off with a wan smile.

He regarded her for a long moment before letting out a deep breath and nodding. "Alright, if you're sure. I'll get you a blanket and a pillow." He told her with a smile, turning to fetch the mentioned items from the linen closet near the bathroom.

She smiled thankfully, returning to her spot on the couch and sitting gingerly on the edge of the cushion, suddenly very uncomfortable in the very homey flat. She let out a heavy breath and closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing and keeping her heart calm. She hadn't spent a night in a flat that wasn't her own since Jimmy. Her fingers curled into tight fists, and she let her attention be pulled to the sharp sting of her fingernails digging into the skin on her palm rather than let thoughts of Jimmy invade her mind. It was too recent, too fresh.

"Rose?" John's voice snapped her out of her reverie. Her eyes opened to meet his. He was on his knee in front of her, his eyes level with hers, and watching her with concern. There was a wool blanket and a pillow to her to her right, and Rose suddenly realized she had no idea how long she'd been sitting, nor how long John had been in front of her. "Are you alright?" He asked her worriedly, obviously wanting to reach out and touch her arm in comfort. She felt a small rush of relief when he didn't touch her.

"I'm fine," she said quietly, feeing a tinge of frustration when her voice shook. She let out another breath and smiled weakly at him. "I'm fine," she said again, her voice steadier.

He clearly didn't believe her, but she sighed in relief when he didn't press for more information, getting to his feet instead. "Alright," he said quietly, and she thought she could hear disappointment in his tone. "Here are the things, then," he patted the pillow. "I'm going to head to bed myself. Are you sure you're alright?"

She nodded, a grateful smile on her lips. He regarded her for a few more minutes before nodding to her with a small smile and heading into his own bedroom, closing the door without a look back.

Rose sunk into the couch with a heavy sigh. She could sneak out in about half an hour, when John and Jack would likely be asleep, she told her self as she ran her hand through her hair. She could, but she felt a pang of sadness when she thought of John's hurt in the morning and found she really did not want John to be sad, or angry, or even worse, disappointed in her. She let out a frustrated moan, and closed her eyes. She wasn't meant to do this. She wasn't meant to become attached to someone. Not now. She leaned back against the couch and let her head roll back, taking several deep breaths.

Once she'd calmed her heart, she stood from the couch. She took the pillow and tossed it to one end of the couch then spread out the blanket, settling underneath it and adjusting the pillow. Hesitantly, she leaned back so that her head rested on the pillow. It was plush, which surprised her, and much more comfortable than the pillow she had back at her own flat. She snorted at herself. Of course she was more comfortable on a bleeding couch than her own cheap mattress and pillow. She rolled onto her side. She wouldn't be sleeping tonight.

If she wouldn't be sleeping, she might as well have a cuppa. She stood from the couch and took a few steps towards the small kitchen before stopping. She certainly couldn't go rummaging through their cupboards. She turned to look at the doors the men had gone through, wondering on whose door she should knock, or if she should bother either of them at all. Uncomfortably, she tugged at her sleeves.

"Grow up, Rose." She muttered to herself before taking a few steps and knocking on the door she'd seen John go through.

"Yeah?" came the response.

She opened the door a crack and poked her head in, biting her lip uncomfortably.

The room was dark, and she heard John rustle the sheets of the bed before a light flicked on and he came into few, blinking against the sudden brightness. "Rose?" He said curiously, frowning at her. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, um," she ran her hand through her hair, "I'm sorry, if I woke you – "

"You didn't." he told her quickly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied. "Nothing, I just…" She trailed off and bit her lip again, looking down at her feet, suddenly feeling very foolish.

John raised his eyebrows. "You just?" He prompted her gently.

"I was wondering if you had any tea," the words tumbled from her lips quickly. "I, um, I usually like to have tea…before I sleep." She admitted.

"Oh," John blinked. "Yeah, of course." He threw off the blankets and made his way towards her, his eyes on hers. He stopped at the door when she didn't move, simply meeting his gaze. He stood close to her, closer than she let anyone stand, looking down at her and meeting her gaze. They gazed at each other for several minutes in silence before Rose jumped and stepped out of the way, looking back down at her feet.

John let out a huff of air and moved passed her, walking quickly to the kitchen and opening up a cupboard. He reached in and pulled out a tin of tea. "I don't have any decaf." He told her unsurely, offering the tin.

She took the tin and opened it, pulling out a small pouch and handing the tin back. He put it back in its place and filled up an old looking kettle. Rose smiled at it fondly, and John caught the look, frowning in confusion. "What?" He asked her self-consciously.

She pointed to the kettle. "My mum, she had the same one when I was a kid." She told him quietly, the smile still on her lips. John watched the expression carefully, liking the way her lips tugged upwards and her normally guarded eyes sparkling with fondness. He placed the kettle on the stove and turned on the burner, then leaned back against the counter, regarding Rose with curiosity in his eyes. She was strange, this Rose Tyler. She stood in front of him, not meeting his eyes and tugging on her sleeves again. "Thanks for this," she said suddenly, quietly.

He blinked. "What?"

"Just," she paused, biting her lip. "Thanks." She said again, not meeting his intent gaze.

John didn't respond for several moments, looking at her curiously. "Sure," he said quietly after a few minutes of silence. "Any time."

More silence.

"John?" Rose spoke up again.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you…sorry, it's kind of strange…" she murmured, tugging on her sleeves.

John frowned. "You can ask me anything, Rose." He told her quietly, honestly.

She bit her lip and met his earnest gaze before taking a deep breath. "Can I…" she paused again and shook her head at her own folly, letting out a huff of air before shrugging and looking at John with a pleading look that shocked him. "John, will you hug me?" She finally said, feeling like a fool.

He blinked in surprise and opened his arms to her. She hesitantly stepped into them and wrapped his arms lightly around his torso, and he let his arms fall around her waist, holding her loosely. She was warm, and very small, unnaturally small. He could feel her rib cage as she pressed herself to him. Her head rested on his chest, and he pressed his cheek to the top of her head, feeling the softness of her hair against his skin. "You alright?" He asked her quietly.

Her arms tightened slightly. "Yeah," she murmured, and her voice vibrated through his core.

The kettle began to squeal and Rose jumped and stepped away from John quickly, smiling at him gratefully. He returned the smile tentatively, reaching into another cupboard and grabbing her a mug. She dropped the pouch in the mug and grinned at him, and he smiled back at her as he poured in the steaming water. "Thank you," Rose murmured to him.

"'Course." John replied gently. Her answering smile met her eyes.

Rose took the mug in both hands, letting it warm her palms, and moved back to the couch, sliding under the blanket John had offered. She held the mug to her chest and let her warm her core. She was grateful to John for the hug. It had been months since Rose had allowed anyone to touch her, and it had felt nice to have contact with someone, kindly contact. "Will you be alright?" John's quiet voice pulled her attention back to him.

She looked up at him, meeting his warm brown eyes, and smiled, blinking slowly. "Yeah," she said, a new warmth in her voice. "Thank you, John," she told her earnestly.

John smiled affectionately. "Sure," he responded. With a final nod, he returned to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Rose let out a small sigh and took a sip of her tea, humming in pleasure when the scalding drink hit her tongue.

She pulled out her mobile, fiddling with it aimlessly even though there was nothing she could do with the thing. There were no games, no source of entertainment. She had no friends to text, no one to talk to. She groaned. It would be a long night. She couldn't sleep, she couldn't go home, she couldn't talk to any one. There was nothing for her to do.

If she slept, the nightmares would come back, like they did every night, and she would scream. She would scream and thrash and cry, like she did every night, and they would know, they would call her weak, they would judge her. She liked Jack and John. They were kind to her, they were friendly and she really liked them. She wouldn't subject her new friends to her troubles. She could deal with her troubles on her own, just like she always had.

She waited a few minutes before standing again, setting the tea on the coffee table in front of the couch and pacing around the small flat. Her eyes fell on a very full-looking bookshelf, and Rose smiled, pleased at having found something to do. She pulled her mobile from her pocket and turn on the flash from the camera so that she could browse the titles. She found several texts on astrophysics, which she assumed were John's because as brilliant as Jack was, that didn't seem to be his style. There were also a great deal of fiction books, though Rose was amused to see they were organized alphabetically and separate from the non-fiction. Again, the meticulous organization hinted towards John. Her gaze finally landed on an old looking book. Its red hardcover lacked the usual dust jacket, and the worn-looking spine bore no title, but she squinted to make out the words that were written in terribly small font along the edge.

A. Conan Doyle

Rose grinned and pulled the book from the shelf. On the top left corner of the cover, there were words in larger print.

Sherlock Holmes
Short Stories

Satisfied, Rose brought the large book back to her spot on the sofa and settled in to read, the book open on her lap and her mobile in the other to light the pages.

"To Sherlock Holmes she is always the woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise, but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has ever seen: but, as a lover, he would have placed himself in a false position..."

Rose lost herself in the familiar stories. Though she'd not been a particularly good student in high school, during her time with Jimmy Stone, she'd often been left alone for days and nights on end while he was at his gigs and...keeping himself entertained in other ways. At a loss for things to do - they hadn't owned a telly in their tiny flat, nor a computer - Rose had visited a used book store and found and bought a few books, once of which had been a very similar copy of the book she was currently reading. It had been older, and had suffered from a spill, no doubt, as some of the pages had been wrinkly and crisp, some stuck together, but they were more of the same stories, and Rose had found comfort in the well-spun tales of the sociopathic detective and his friend.

"Mrs. St. Clair had fainted at the sight of blood upon the window, and she was escorted home in a cab by the police, as her presence could be of no help to them in their investigations. Inspector Barton, who had charge of the case, made a very careful examination of the premises, but without finding anything which threw any light upon the matter. One mistake had been made in not arresting Boone instantly, as he was allowed some few minutes during which he might have communicated with his friend the Lascar..."

"Rose?" Rose looked up to see a bleary-eyed Jack looking at her in confusion from the doorframe of his bedroom. She hadn't heard the door open and blinked in surprise at the sight of him. He was wearing fleece trousers, for which she was grateful, because knowing Jack she suspected that he wasn't wearing anything else underneath, especially if his lack of shirt was any indication. She clicked a button on her mobile and was surprised to see it was already half six in the morning. "Did you sleep at all?" Jack asked her as he made his way to the kitchen, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Yeah," Rose lied as she carefully placed the book on the coffee table, leaving it open so she wouldn't lose her spot.

Jack frowned but shrugged. "How's your arm?" He asked her as he filled the coffee machine with water.

Rose's hand flew to where her sleeve was still covering the large bandage that John had carefully placed over the cut. "It's fine." She told him honestly.

Jack nodded. "If you stay here until John wakes up, he can change the dressing for you. It won't be long. He's an early riser, even when he isn't working." He told her as he hit a button on the machine and it sprang to life, getting to work on his coffee. "I'm gunna hit the shower. You want to drive into work with me today?"

Rose bit her lip. "I could, but, um," she looked down at her feet.

"But?" Jack prompted.

"It's my day off," Rose finished with a small chuckle. In all honesty, she'd been planning on going to work anyway, since she didn't have anything else to do, but now she wasn't so sure.

Jack looked at her in surprise, but a grin grew on his face when he saw her eyes flick over to John's closed door. "Whatever you say," he told her, a teasing note to his voice, before he turned on his heel and headed into the bathroom. Rose heard the water from the shower turn on. Her cheeks were undoubtedly a bright red at this point. She hadn't even asked John if he was free today. She had no idea if he was working, or if he'd even want to spent time with her. Shaking her head in embarrassment, she moved towards the door, ready to slip out and head home, until another voice called to her.

"You leaving?"

She turned to see John making his way into the kitchen to turn on the kettle. Unlike Jack, his eyes were clear and awake, and his voice didn't carry any hint of sleep. Jack hadn't been kidding when he'd said John was an early riser. Her cheeks flushed as she stared at him. His hair was a dishevelled mess, and his jimjams were a simple pair of cotton trousers and a black t-shirt that hugged his slim frame nicely. He was looking at her in confusion, and Rose realized she'd been staring at him instead of answering. Her cheeks burned. "I was gunna head home, have breakfast," she lied, her voice sounding embarrassingly squeaky.

John raised a single eyebrow, and she wondered if it were possible for her face to turn any more red. "If you want to stay, I could take you to breakfast." He offered hopefully. "I don't work weekends, so I've got the day off."

Rose bit her lip, her eyes lowering to where her shoes were buried under her bag in their doorway before looking back up to him. He'd grabbed the same kettle he'd used yesterday and was filling it up with water from the tap, looking at her in question. "Well?" He pressed, not unkindly. "Do I fill it up for one or two?" He indicated the kettle in his hand.

Rose was silent for another moment before she heaved a sigh. "Two," she said quietly, moving away from the doorway and into their small kitchen, sitting gingerly at their kitchen table.

She didn't see his answering grin. "Two it is, then."

The passages from Sherlock Holmes are taken directly from A Scandal in Bohemia and The Man With the Twisted Lip, two of Conan Doyle's short stories.