A/N: It really means a lot that so many of you are (still) reading/following/liking this story. THANK YOU! And now, on with the show!

And Person (and others who might care) - spoilers for DW S6 in this one. Be warned.

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Chapter 9

John took the stairs two at a time, but stopped short at the door to the sitting room. Thinking back on what Jackie had said, he decided it would probably be wise to announce himself.

"Rose? Sherlock? I'm coming in, so just... Be warned," he called out. "And dressed," he added quickly. "Please be dressed this time." Taking a deep breath and preparing for the worst - something he had witnessed more often than he'd care to admit - John entered the sitting room.

"Good morning John," Rose smiled from her position in the kitchen. "Coffee?"

"Yes, thanks," he replied, somewhat bemused by the scene before him. Before he could ask what the Doctor and River were doing there though, a text alert chimed from Sherlock's mobile.

Glancing at the phone on the table beside him, Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his newspaper. "Evidence," he said, managing to answer John's unasked question.

"What evidence?"

"Evidence that Jackie stole, apparently," River chimed in.

"Borrowed," the Doctor corrected, causing Rose to smile.

"Why would Jackie steal evidence?"

"Apparently she needed some money," Sherlock replied, once again frowning at his mobile. "Shouldn't get too far on 3 quid though."

John shook his head and gave up on trying to figure out exactly what was going on. Smiling his thanks to Rose for the coffee, he reached into his pocket when he felt his own mobile vibrate. Pulling out the phone, he saw that it was a text from Lestrade. Crossing the room in two very determined strides, John grabbed Sherlock's mobile from its spot on the table. "Didn't bother to read your messages, did you?"

"I'm already on a case."

"Sherlock!" Rose admonished.

"What?" he replied, genuinely confused. "You asked me to take this ridiculous case, so I did. Therefore I am not available to Lestrade."

"There's been another murder, Sherlock," John explained.

"Whitechapel," Sherlock breathed, suddenly more alert. It had been so long since the last victim was found - he had almost given up hope. Without warning, he jumped up and snatched his mobile back from John, scrolling through his messages as he reached for his coat.

"Sherlock," Rose trilled. "Forgetting something?" She smiled innocently, her tongue peeking from between her teeth, as she watched her husband narrow his eyes and scrutinize her. It took a moment, but she could tell when the answer finally clicked into place for him.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock dropped his arm and stalked toward their bedroom. Both Rose and John stifled their laughter as he muttered something under his breath, although the only words they might have caught were "Not a child."

"At least he had trousers on this time," John smirked causing Rose to laugh outright. Noting the puzzled looks coming from both the Doctor and River, he shook his head. "We once had a case that took us to Buckingham Palace. He arrived in only a bedsheet."

"Still sorry I missed that one," Rose grinned.

"Well, Mycroft was less than pleased, that's for sure."

"My dear brother is usually less than pleased," Sherlock answered, re-entering the room as he fixed the collar of his shirt. "But I did manage to walk out with an ashtray, as requested. Which you conveniently left off the blog, as I recall. Now, are you coming?"

The Doctor, for his part, had remained silent since his defence of Jackie's taking the change from the table. Just because he didn't speak though, didn't mean that his mind wasn't working in overtime. Now that it seemed Sherlock and John were leaving to consult with Lestrade (Lestrade!) on a murder, he found himself torn. While he didn't want to leave Rose, he wasn't sure that staying with her alone was such a good idea. And Sherlock had mentioned Whitechapel… the name was familiar, and it took only a moment to realize why. Whitechapel. The part of London made famous, at least in his universe, by the serial killer known as Jack the Ripper.

"Could I come?" the Doctor asked, his eyes alight with excitement.

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Sherlock's head was reeling from the fact that the Doctor had, once again, been foisted upon him. It was frustrating enough that the man (despite everything, he refused to use the term alien) had appeared in this world requesting help. But for Rose to insist that Sherlock allow him to accompany John and himself to a crime scene was nothing short of negligent. So instead, he did what he did best. Ignored everyone around him and focused on the task at hand.

"You travelled with Rose?" Lestrade asked, trying to wrap his head around the strange man that had accompanied Sherlock and John to the crime scene. Not that he didn't understand her appeal, but this 'Doctor' couldn't be more than 30, and he had known Rose for nearly twenty years now himself. There was no way she would have travelled with a kid.

"Well, technically she travelled with me, but yes. It's all the same," the Doctor rambled. "Two years, give or take? But that was a very long time ago."

"Yeah, I would say so…"

Sherlock did his best to block out the drivel that was passing between the Doctor and Lestrade. He and Rose had never informed Lestrade of her true past and her origins in a parallel world, so hopefully the Doctor wouldn't say anything too strange. It still surprised him that Mycroft knew, but after all these years he had come to understand that Mycroft was a necessary evil and Rose had accepted it upon her arrival. The same could be said of Mary, while John and Abigail simply knew because she considered them family.

He couldn't help but smile at that thought - they were all her family, Mycroft included. Somehow she made them whole. And he'd be damned before he let the Doctor ruin that.

"Dammit," Sherlock cursed under his breath, stepping up and away from the corpse that was splayed on the floor.

"What?" Lestrade asked. "Did we miss something?"

"Of course you did. It's not right, not the serial killer," the consulting detective sighed.

John rolled his eyes. Even after all of these years, he still couldn't fully understand what went through his best friend's mind at times. "You always say that like its a bad thing, not being a serial killer. A copycat is just as-" He cut himself off at the unfamiliar look of near despair on Sherlock's face. "What?"

"Look at the body, the markings," he quietly instructed. "She was pregnant, and now isn't. It's been staged to cover the... procedure." Without another word, Sherlock walked outside. Normally he was able to keep a cool head, separate his emotions from his work. Every once in a while though, something made it through his carefully constructed armour.

"It changes you," an unwelcome voice said. "Being a father, losing a child. No matter how much time passes... And then history is always doomed to repeat itself in some way."

"But you pulled that trigger yourself, Doctor," Sherlock hissed.

"And you didn't. But you still wonder if you could have prevented it, saved them. It takes time, but you recover. You make each other better. Such a human thing to do," he paused, smiling sadly. "My companions... My friends, Amelia and Rory. They had their baby taken from them because of me. In the end we got her back, but it wasn't the same. Their daughter was grown, her whole life a paradox."

"And what did you do, Doctor? How did you save them?"

"I didn't. But I married her to save them all. To save the universe," he answered, his tone almost impossible to read, even for Sherlock.

"River Song. Does she know?"

Of course the Doctor knew that Sherlock was clever. Perceptive. A genius. In all of the stories he had read, and in the little time that he had spent with the man himself, it took little more than a sidelong glance for him to know everything about a person. For some reason though, the Doctor had hoped that he would be different, harder to read. But then again, under "normal" circumstances he wouldn't have factored Rose Tyler into the equation.

"Yes, and no."

"And her parents?"

The Doctor sighed. "They're still trying to wrap their heads around the fact that the baby they lost is the woman they've known for almost as long as they've travelled with me. Time travel is a very complicated beast."

"That's not what I meant." Eyeing the man carefully, Sherlock allowed his curiosity to get the better of him. "How long has it been since you left her on that beach?"

"Does it matter?" he asked, unable to meet the detective's eyes as the silence between the two men stretched into what felt like oblivion although it was barely more than a few seconds. Wringing his hands as he often did when nervous or uncomfortable, the Doctor decided it was in his best interest to be honest. After all, Rose obviously trusted this man so why shouldn't he? "It does matter, I know. It's been just over 300 years for me, and it still matters very much."

"You regret it." It wasn't a question, and the Doctor understood that. Sherlock, however, was still confused. There was still something missing. "The way you looked at her... But she didn't recognize you when you arrived." And then it hit him. Everything that Rose had told him about the Doctor, everything that hadn't yet been said by the man himself, suddenly clicked into place. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper but he knew he held the Doctor's complete attention. "You changed your face again. You travel with new... companions, with your wife. And yet you still pine for what you left, what you discarded that day. What right do you have?"

He glared at the Doctor, watching as the man opened and closed his mouth repeatedly although no sound escaped his lips. "Right," Sherlock clipped. "Coward. Well, you shan't be stuck here much longer. I'm sure that my wife has nearly resolved your... issue, and then you and yours can be on your way again. Without further damage to my family."

"I wouldn't-"

"Don't even pretend that the thought didn't cross your mind the moment you heard her voice again, Doctor. Just know this: I will not lose my daughter, and I will most certainly not lose my wife, to the likes of you."

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A/N: Typical plea for reviews. Come on then, make me smile?