Sherlock was walking back to Baker Street when he caught sight of her. She was sitting on one of the cement barricades. They were approximately a meter high, used to separate the park from the street, but she wasn't gazing at the park. She sat hunched over, writing in a notebook.

Curiosity got the better of him. He, silently, walked around the barricade and sat down next to her. She appeared to be too lost in writing to notice his presence. He glanced down, trying to get a look at what she was doing, but she paused.

"Anyone ever tell you curiosity's what got the cat?" she asked, in that voice she used for teasing.

Rose sat the notebook and pencil on her other side where he couldn't see the diagram. She heard him sit down, caught sight of the long coat she recognized from the other times she'd seen him.

Sherlock ignored her remark, though the smile she turned on him when she met his gaze was more difficult to ignore, but he kept his face impassive, taking in the dark patches of skin under her eyes that spoke of sleepless nights. He recalled what she said during their previous meeting.

"Still working on the same problem?" he inquired.

"I'll get there," she replied with stubborn determination.

"Might help to have another set of eyes look it over," he suggested.

Although he hadn't been looking for her, he knew the fact that he kept walking more often than taking cabs was because he thought he might run into her. Something he would, of course, never admit to.

There was something about her that puzzled him. Not only the way she understood why he was allowing John to work on that case alone, but also the way she looked at him. That puzzle didn't begin until last month, after Belgravia, after The Woman.

Irene had brought about feelings he usually repressed, but then she manipulated people for her livelihood. She knew exactly how to read people, pick out their weaknesses, and use them, not that he faulted her for that. It was something he was inclined to do, but the woman sitting next to him was different. She seemed to be Ms. Adler's opposite, judging from what he knew, which, in fact, wasn't much.

From the handful of meetings he could deduce very little because she had given him very little. Though, she hadn't asked anything from him. In fact she helped him on that banker case, albeit slight help.

"Might do," she replied. He repressed the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. "I've had the people who're helping me look it over, but, you're right, I should probably bring someone else down to give it a go."

The smile that wanted to form vanished as his brows drew together. He expected her to let him see the diagram, but she was talking about having someone else look at it. People who are helping her? So, whatever she was working on she wasn't doing it alone. He thought back to their last meeting. She said whatever she was working on was meant to help her friend.

"I would be willing to take a look at it," he said, deciding on the direct approach, believing that she might've misunderstood his previous suggestion.

She grinned. He returned it, thinking she was about to reward him with her diagram.

"It's not really your area, Sherlock."

He paused both at the use of his name, though that wore off a moment later when he remembered John's blog, which had gotten him more publicity than he liked, and at her implication.

"And what exactly do you know about my area?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion because she knew who he was, but she didn't want his help, which probably meant she formed an opinion of him, as others had and he was about to find out exactly what her opinion was.

She bit her lip in a way that somehow managed to expel his anger and confuse him at the same time. Then she bumped his shoulder, which only managed to confuse him further as a feeling settled in his stomach, one he associated with flying insects.

"I'm not knocking you, yeah? You're brilliant, you are." She was right, he was brilliant. That strange feeling died down as his ego sprang to the front. A smug smile played over his lips. "You're a genius at solving murders and finding serial killers, but this," she glanced at her notebook briefly before returning her gaze to him, "'s different."

His eyes traveled to her notebook. That need to prove himself rose up.

"I think you'll find," he replied, snatching her notebook and leaping off the barricade in one swift movement, "I'm brilliant in other areas as well."

"Hey!" she exclaimed, jumping off the barricade, intent on getting her notebook back, not that he would likely understand what it was, but if he had even the slightest idea that could be very dangerous.

Sherlock looked over the diagram while dodging her. A device of some sort. The entire drawing done in pencil, bits erased and then new areas created. Had she done this herself? He lifted it up as she made a jump for it. She must have. It was impressive, the detail, meticulous. When he was sure he had the full diagram in his mind he stopped the game and allowed her to take her notebook back.

"You can't just-" she snapped.

"Shut up. Let me think," he interrupted.

Rose paused, quirking her brow. Let him think? Did he actually understand her diagram of the dimension cannon? That would be bad, really really bad, but then what if he could help? No, he was Sherlock Holmes. The world's only consulting detective. She still couldn't believe the man she'd run into three time, well, four counting today, was Sherlock Holmes and not a fictional character, but actually real.

She'd been having breakfast a few weeks back when she found out. Sitting at a table in Torchwood with Jake. He sat the paper down he'd been reading and she glanced at the picture. Then she paused, turning the paper around to get a better look and there was the bloke she'd seen rummaging through a skip, inspecting graffiti, and stalking his friend. Internet Phenomenon. She asked Jake who the bloke was and he replied, haven't you heard of Sherlock Holmes? Once she stopped laughing she found out that it wasn't a joke. The famous detective was real along with Dr. John Watson. Real and, at the moment, quite rude.

His eyes shot to hers with enough force to surprise her.

"You need a connector," he said.

Her brow hiked back up.

"A what?" she asked, not entirely sure what he was talking about.

"Here," he replied, stepping over to her and reaching for her notebook. She kept her hand on it as he raised it and indicated the diagram. "This is the power source." He glanced at her and she nodded, not sure how he worked that out. "You've got wires connecting it to these two areas, but you're missing one connecting those areas together."

Her eyes widened.

"Oh, my god! You're right. You're absolutely right!"

A smug smile appeared, but froze when she turned her gaze on him, a smile unlike any she'd graced him with and unlike any he'd ever seen lit up her eyes. Yes, that was exactly what it did. Wide and full of light and…beautiful. Before he could banish that thought to a very dark unused part of his mind palace she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him…tightly, resting her chin on his shoulder and still smiling. Neither his hands nor his arms had any idea what to do and he was fairly sure his entire mind short circuited because there wasn't a single thought.

"You're gorgeous!" she exclaimed and that, for some reason he couldn't explain, brought his hands to rest on her waist, though his mind, for the first time in a very long time, since childhood most likely, was completely and utterly useless. A moment later she pulled out of the embrace. "I have to get back, but thank you! Really! I'm just…" she beamed. "Thank you!"

Then she was dashing across the street, disappearing from view before his mind began to function again. He stood there, and anyone who looked at him might've thought he was scowling, but really he was completely and utterly confused.


Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)