Sherlock sat in his chair, impatiently waiting for John to join him. His friend arrived thirty-two minutes ago to check on Rose before heading home for the evening only to find Sherlock awkwardly holding the sobbing woman who hadn't stopped crying long enough to speak a single word since her revelation that everyone was dead and it hadn't been a dream. John took over after that, switching into doctor mode and gently coaxed Rose into releasing the detective, which Sherlock was both grateful and not grateful for, which confused him.

He hovered in the doorway until John ordered him out of the room. After that he retreated to his chair awaiting his friend's presence and any accompanying assessment of her condition. They're dead. They're all dead. The words haunted him. He wondered who, who could she be referring to, but he knew. Knew because he heard the emotions behind her words. The same ones he'd felt when he realized Moriarty was going to kill everyone he cared about. They were people she cared about. Everyone she cared about, which was why no one came looking for her. There wasn't anyone left to look for her.

It made him wonder where he would be, what he would be if instead of giving him a choice Moriarty had killed them. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade…John. Had someone killed the people she cared about? And how did that have anything to do with her sudden appearance in Mycroft's flat? What did that have to do with his brother's interest in her? There were far too many questions and far too few answers.

John crossed the kitchen and stepped into the room, sitting down in his chair. His friend sighed.

"I've given her something to help her sleep," John explained. "She wouldn't say anything to me. Mind telling me what the hell happened?"

"Her amnesia's gone," Sherlock replied.

John eyed him in shocked confusion.

"Sorry…what?" His friend sat forward. "How?"

"If I were to hazard a guess I'd say my actions earlier triggered a memory, one traumatic enough to break her amnesia resulting in her unconscious state at which point the rest of her memories were restored."

"Wait, but how do you know that? I mean, you're good, but how can you know she's got her memory back? She hasn't said a word to me."

So, she hadn't spoken to John, even after the doctor calmed her down. Odd. Why was that odd? Because she was friendly. Not speaking when she was upset was one thing, but not speaking when she was calm meant whatever happened hadn't occurred that long ago. Then again it could also seem fresh because her memory was just restored.

"She woke screaming they were all dead," Sherlock replied, a bit dismissively as his mind was focused on other things. "I assumed she had a nightmare and tried to explain that at which point she insisted it wasn't a dream."

"They're all dead?" his friend asked, eyeing him. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It's fairly obvious, John , if you think about it," he replied, trying to work out which it was, whether the event happened recently or only seemed recent to her.

"We've talked about the showing off thing, Sherlock."

He rolled his eyes and then sat forward, focusing on John.

"Mycroft has held her for three months, during that time no one has come looking for her. No missing person reports filed, no fliers, nothing."

"Wait. What are you saying?"

Why did John always insist on ignoring the obvious?

"I'm saying no one has come looking because there is no one to look." He could see comprehension dawning in his friend's eyes. "No family. No friends. No one."

"Jesus, Sherlock," John exclaimed, glancing back toward the detective's room before turning his gaze back to Sherlock. "You think they're all dead? Everyone who cared about her?"

Which was exactly why they needed to be careful.

"Which means there isn't anyone to stop Mycroft from taking her," he explained.

"Wait. What?" John asked in confusion.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, sighing.

"He said he wanted to know who she is, but was lying. He wanted her memory to return because there's something about her that interests him." He glanced back at the kitchen, recalling his brother's words. "He said she's not a goldfish, which means there something about her that's different."

"Sherlock, what the hell are you talking about?" John demanded, drawing the detective's attention.

"You can't discuss her. Not with Mary, not with anyone."

"Look just…just shut up a minute, would you?" Sherlock glared at him, but John ignored that trying to work through everything his friend revealed. He drew in a breath. "Okay, so, what you're saying is when you grabbed her arm that brought back her memory-"

"Triggered one specific memory traumatic enough to-"

John held up his hand. "Yeah, yeah, okay…the point is her memory returned and you found out everyone she cares about is dead and your first thought is about Mycroft?" John glared at the detective. "Jesus, Sherlock, do you even realize what she must be going through? Do you know what that could do to her? What she might try to do?"

Sherlock sighed in exasperation.

"She's not suicidal."

She was strong. He'd seen that. John was acting as if she was ordinary, which she wasn't otherwise Mycroft wouldn't have been interested in her.

"We don't know that," John insisted. "She needs to be watched, at least for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

His friend couldn't see what he could and he knew John wouldn't let this go until Sherlock agreed. If she needed looking after he could do that. He was already planning on finding out who she was and what happened, why Mycroft was interested in her and now that her memory was restored she had the answers he sought.

"I'll watch her," Sherlock said.

John raised his brow, shooting him a concerned look. Wait. What?

"And you think you're the best candidate for that post?" his friend asked.

What the hell did he mean by that?

"Why wouldn't I be?" Sherlock inquired.

"I'm just…saying," John began, choosing not to address that question, "that Mary might be a better option-"

"No," Sherlock dismissed.

The last thing he needed was John dragging Mary into this. Sherlock liked her, she wasn't entirely ordinary, but bringing her into this would complicate matters. She typically took John's side on things and, although she was intelligent she allowed her emotions to control her thinking.

"Why not?" John asked.

"You can't tell Mary, you can't tell anyone. If Mycroft finds out Rose's memory has returned she'll disappear," which was true, but not the reason he had for keeping Mary out of this.

"Mary isn't going to say anything."

"How do I know he hasn't bugged your flat? What if she says something in the cab on the way over? No, it's too risky."

John eyed him.

"What's this really about?"

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm not an idiot, Sherlock. I know you're not that paranoid."

"I told you what this is about," he insisted, refusing to reveal his true motivation.

"Nope, not buying it," John replied shaking his head.

Sherlock sighed.

"There's something about her that interests Mycroft and I refuse to let him get his hands on her."

"You want to know."

"Sorry?"

"That's what it is. You want to know what it is about her that interests Mycroft. You're willing to keep an eye on her so you're the first one to find out."

"If she reveals anything while I'm monitoring her then, yes, I suppose I would be the first one to find out."

"Christ, Sherlock! Is that all you think about? Beating Mycroft, getting to the finish line first!" John growled jumping to his feet. "You know…" he growled flinging his arms around as his face began to take on an angry red tint. "Every time…every time…" He growled again, facing the detective and pulled himself into an angry calm as he drew in a breath. "Every time I think you've made some sort of progress this…this is what happens."

Sherlock raised his brow.

"Progress?"

"Acting like a human being."

"I got her away from Mycroft. I've been watching over her. What else do you expect from me?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe a little humanity for once." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You know what?" John stood up and grabbed his jacket. "Never mind. I don't know why I even bother." He crossed the room toward the door. "I'm going home and don't worry I won't tell Mary about Rose's memory." He opened the door. "I'll stop by tomorrow to check on her, until then try not to make her life anymore traumatic."

John stepped out and closed the door, leaving Sherlock to his thoughts. What did it matter what his motivation was? It wasn't as if he planned on interrogating her. A few well placed questions when she woke wouldn't hurt. John was overreacting, as usual.


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