Rose opened her eyes, her gaze falling on the curtained window directly across from the bed she was lying in. She remembered…everything…everything and for the first time in her life all she wanted to do was forget, but she couldn't. She wanted to cry, to scream, to throw something, but what was the point?

She sat up, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. She had been saved. They were dead, all of them. Her dad, her mum, her little brother, even the Doctor. The human Doctor. The other one…he was even farther away than he had been before. Not that he needed her, but she needed someone. God…she wrapped her arms around her chest…she was alone. Alone in a new parallel universe.

Sherlock and John made that apparent. They didn't exist, at least outside of fiction, or shouldn't, but they did here, which told her two things. She wasn't home and she was further away then she'd ever been before.

She hadn't wanted to be saved, but he hadn't given her a choice and part of her hated him for that. Only, it hadn't just been him. It was her mum too. She knew that. And, although, she didn't want to be there, didn't want to survive after everyone she loved had died, she wasn't going to waste their final act because that wasn't her. So, as much as she wanted to wish everything away, she didn't.

She sighed again. A creek of wood near the doorway drew her attention. Sherlock stepped into the room, looking hesitant; as if he wasn't sure he ought to be there.

"Tea?" he asked.

She almost laughed because it reminded her of her mum and how the woman always thought tea would solve everything, but she wasn't ready. So, instead, she managed a slight smile.

"I could use a cuppa," she said, standing up.

The floor felt cold against her bare feet and she liked the feel of it. Cold was good, feeling anything was good because it countered the emptiness that was inside her chest. A feeling she had, as if someone had carved out her heart.

She followed him into the living room and sat down in the red patterned chair. He made them each a cup from the tray on the side table. Then he handed her cup over and sat down. She took a drink, it was warm.

Sherlock observed the woman sitting across from him. She remembered. He could see that. There were differences in her. A lingering sadness that hadn't been there before, which was apparent in the way she held her shoulders. The way she her eyes lit up for a brief moment when he offered tea, but she only managed a slight smile.

He had questions. Many questions, but something held them back and it confused him. Usually he didn't consider other people's emotions, the state they were in, but there was something about her that made him hesitate, made him want to tread carefully. Why? He observed her, as if he might discern the answer, but the answer eluded him.

"You remember," he said after a moment of silence.

"Yeah," she replied, keeping her eyes averted.

He had questions, questions she wasn't sure she was ready to answer, but he helped her and she owed him that much. She sighed and then caught his gaze.

"I was right about my name. It's Rose…Rose Tyler, but I'm afraid," she swallowed, glancing away as overwhelming loss inside of her threatened to take hold, "I'm afraid you won't be able to find my family."

She felt a tear begin to make its way down her cheek. She reached up and wiped it away before absentmindedly tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Sherlock observed her, feeling a strange desire to…what? Take her hand, comfort her in some way. He shoved the feeling aside, locking it in the room with the others. It would do him no good. Answers. That's what he needed.

"That's what you meant when you said they were all dead," he deduced.

Her gaze returned to his and the overwhelming sadness stilled his questions.

"Yes," she replied, a heavy weight in her voice. "They all died. Everyone, except me. I was saved. He saved me, even thought I told him not to, but that didn't matter because it doesn't matter what I want, didn't matter that I'd wind up alone." She was losing it. She knew she was losing it, but she couldn't stop. "Completely alone! Not like the first time when I was trapped, but I still had my parents, had both of them! Not like the second time when I had them and the other Doctor! No! This time I'm completely alone and they're dead! All of them! There's no coming back from that!"

The room had blurred through her tears, but in the next moment she felt strong arms wrap around her. She struggled for a moment still angry that she was there. That she survived. After a moment she stopped struggling, clinging to the only other person there because as long as he was there she wasn't alone.

An hour later Sherlock sat in his chair, his eyes staring straight ahead, but his thoughts turned inward. Rose Tyler. He still had no idea who she was, but that wasn't what bothered him. He was bothered by his hesitation. His initial hesitation to question her. Why? Why did he hesitate? He never did that, never considered other people's feeling, but he had considered hers.

When he saw that single tear trail down her cheek, heard the loss in her voice he felt…what? Compassion? Concern? He didn't do that sort of thing. Didn't feel things like that. Well, that wasn't entirely true. There were occasions, tiny slips, but nothing…nothing like he'd felt for her. Why did she make him feel anything? How could she make him feel anything? What was it about her that drew responses from him?

If not for his brother's words he might have played it off, might have fooled himself into believing he was suffering from lack of food or sleep or some other function necessary to sustain the body. In the next moment he found himself in a room, facing his brother.

"Who is she?" Sherlock demanded.

"She's not a goldfish, Sherlock," Mycroft replied, leaning on the desk, which was Mycroft's desk.

They were standing in his brother's office inside one of the rooms in Sherlock's mind palace.

"What does that means?"

Mycroft gave him a condescending smirk.

"You know what it means, dear brother."

"Tell me!"

"Come, Sherlock, you were close enough to her. At least as close as I was when she appeared in my study. What did you see?"

He went back over his conversation with Rose, everything she said, everything he observed. The tear sliding down her cheek and then she caught his gaze, their eyes locked and…Oh!

"Her eyes," he exclaimed.

"Very good, Sherlock. Now, what about them? What's so important?"

"They're different. Intelligent, yes, but you can see it, what she knows, knowledge she shouldn't have, beyond her years beyond…"

"Go on. You can admit it."

"Me," he finished, blinking as his mind returned to his flat.

"You?" Rose asked, gazing at him from the other chair, a cup in her hands as if she'd been about to take a drink. "What about you?"

"Um…" he blinked, sitting up. "Nothing."

He knew. He couldn't let on that he knew. What would she do? Run? Possibly. He couldn't chance that. Not until he found out what she knew. What she didn't want Mycroft to know.

"Where'd you go?" she asked.

"Sorry?" he inquired, not sure what she was referring to since he hadn't actually gone anywhere.

"You were here, but you weren't. Where'd you go?"

"Nowhere. I…um…I was thinking."

"For three hours?" she asked.

"I do that sometimes."

"You should really warn someone. I thought you might've slipped into a coma," she teased.

He cleared his throat and then picked up a cup of tea that Mrs. Hudson must have brought him when he was thinking. Now, he knew exactly why Mycroft wanted her. His brother must have glimpsed it in his study just before she lost her memory. One glimpse in her eyes would be enough.

Standard Disclaimer.

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