Before we get into the chapter I want to give a shout-out back to TheWheelWeaves who is writing her first RoseLock and I am a total follower and absolutely love her story, The Wolf of Baskerville. If you haven't read it you should definitely check it out!

Rose stepped through the door and up to the first sink. She grabbed a handful of paper towels, turned on the tap, and began cleaning off her dress. She wasn't sure what got into Sherlock. She could've gotten rid of that bloke on her own. She'd been doing that sort of thing for a few years now. She didn't need some cocky self absorbed detective fighting her battles.

She sighed, glancing at her reflection in the mirror. The Doctor was gone, both of them, well, one of them was and the other might as well be. This was her life. No Doctor, no TARDIS, no traveling, well, traveling off the planet, but she managed. She'd made a life for herself. She wasn't the Doctor's companion or John's…she caught her gaze and took a breath.

Thinking about John brought up memories of her family and the sobering reality that she would never see them again. She'd made peace with that as best she could, but it still hurt and probably would for a long time, but the truth was she couldn't stay there. Pete's world was a reminder, a reminder of what she'd lost. Not only John, but a life with the Doctor as well.

She knew what she was risking with the Dimension Cannon. Knew that returning to her own universe was a shot in the dark, but it was one she had to take. Of course, that's not what she told her mum because she knew her mum would've moved mountains to make her stay. And how could she tell her mum that any chance was better than staying?

She wiped the stray tear and forced the memories away before they overwhelmed her. She wasn't that girl anymore. She was Rose Tyler, consulting detective and Defender of the Innocent. She had a good life, not the one she planned when she used that Dimension Cannon all those months ago, but it was still a good life.

Sherlock wasn't something she counted on though. Oh, she knew about him. Sherlock Holmes the consulting detective who committed suicide. The first time she heard his name she thought it was a joke. How could a fictional character exist, parallel world or not? She knew the Doctor would have an explanation. Some long winded speech about parallel universes branching off into other parallel universes and probably throw in a bit of it's all timey wimey or something like that.

As soon as she realized he was real, at least, he was real there or had been before he committed suicide she became…well, not really obsessed, but yes, a bit. The Doctor had been fascinated by the fictional character, quoting him a few times, which meant John was also fascinated by him and she'd spent more than one evening watching adaptations of Conan Doyle's famous detective. So, she knew enough about the fictional character to wonder why he would take his own life. Of course that one had an addiction and there was always a possibility that, that played a role, but she didn't know how closely the real life Sherlock mirrored the fictional character.

She thought about asking Mycroft, but being Sherlock's brother she didn't want to dredge up painful memories. The elder Holmes didn't seem the type to have painful memories, but she knew a thing or two about hiding her feelings. Just because someone seemed put together didn't mean there weren't deep emotions lurking beneath the surface.

So, she did her own digging, with Lestrade's help. Slowly she began to piece together a reason. A man who died the same day Sherlock died. Moriarty. Somehow he forced the detective to take his own life. She wasn't sure how, but there was a reason. Before she could begin delving into the mystery of exactly how Moriarty talked Sherlock into it the detective returned from the dead.

Mycroft sent her a text as she was flying back from her last assignment, which probably meant he had a dental appointment, most likely another root canal; he really needed to stay away from the sweets. She'd been surprised, but after reading up on his cases via Dr. Watson's blog, she knew if anyone could pull off faking their own death it would be Sherlock Holmes.

So, when she met him she expected the genius bit, the moodiness, the rudeness, and the quirky behavior. What she hadn't expected was the way he reminded her of a certain Doctor and the way that would make her feel comfortable around him. That disarmed her and for someone like her, someone who was hiding an impossible past, that could be her undoing.

Rose glanced over her reflection. Her dress was still a bit damp. She glad she'd gone with black. She sighed. The evening was a complete bust. They hadn't found the serial killer and after that display from Sherlock she couldn't be sure they hadn't drawn the attention of the person they were seeking.

She tossed the wet paper towels in the bin on the way out. They could try again tomorrow. Or, maybe, she should try again on her own. That seemed a better option. She liked having someone else there and she enjoyed Sherlock's company, but maybe more than she ought to, at least, for someone as clever and curious as him. It was far too dangerous, especially when she let things slip.

As she drew up to the bar she realized he wasn't there. She glanced around the club, but didn't immediately see him. Had he gone home? No, she doubted that. Maybe…no, he wouldn't, would he? But she knew the answer. If he spotted the serial killer leaving he would definitely follow her and he wouldn't give a thought to waiting around to give Rose a heads up and since he didn't have her number he wouldn't be able to text, if he even thought of that. One track mind that one.

She reached the bar, intending to grab her purse, but it wasn't there. She glanced around the stool. Nope. Glanced over the counter again. No. No, no, no. Her mobile was in there. Not the one from her old universe that could be…well, best not even think about the implications of someone getting their hands on that, but her new one had contacts like Mycroft and information that could be very damaging if it wound up in the wrong hands.

"This what you're looking for?" the barman asked, handing over her pocketbook.

Relief flooded through her.

"Yes, thank you," she said, giving the middle-aged man a smile as she took it.

He grinned back. Wait. Why did he have her pocketbook?

"Your mate asked me to hang on to it for you," he replied as if he could read her thoughts, but, most likely, he saw her confusion.

Hang on. What?

"My mate?" she asked, slowly.

He gave her a quizzical glance.

"The one you came in with."

Sherlock. Of course.

"Did he say where he was going?"

"Nope. Just handed me that and a fifty pound note, asking me to look after it until you got back." So, obviously he found a suspect to follow and ran off in his haste, leaving her behind. She sighed. The barman glanced at her, mistaking her sigh. "I wouldn't lose sleep over that one."

"Sorry?" she asked.

"I usually stay out of other people's business, but you seem like a nice girl, remind me a bit of my sister, always bringing home these good looking blokes who're no good for her." He caught her gaze. "There was a woman, seemed to catch his eye. As soon as she headed out the door he couldn't get out of here fast enough."

"What did she look like?" Rose asked.

He glanced away and she could tell he didn't want to get in the middle of it, but she had to know because she was sure the woman Sherlock was following wasn't a love interest as the barman assumed, but a serial killer.

Granted, Sherlock could handle himself, she knew that from Dr. Watson's blog posts, but if there's one thing she learned while traveling with the Doctor it was that going after the enemy on one's own could prove fatal. Not that she hadn't done that countless times, but someone had always been there to come after her and Sherlock, well, at the moment she was that someone.

She sat down on the stool, taking on a bit of a resigned look. Somehow she had to get the barman to talk.

"Can I get another cosmo?" she asked, giving him what she hoped was the half hearted smile of a woman who'd lost a battle.

He returned her smile.

"Sure thing, luv."

He mixed her another drink and sat it down. He mentioned a sister so family was important to him, but could she use that to get him to talk? Not that a description would help much, but it was a start.

"I knew he was tosser," she began. He eyed her, raising his brow. "See, thing is, he's not my boyfriend. He's my sister's. She met him on holiday, been hanging around her flat all hours. I didn't like him from the start. The way he acts like he's better than everyone else and I've seen him chatting up anything in a skirt." He gave her a nod of understanding. "Tried to tell her, but you know how younger sisters can be. Always think we've got some inside motive, think they know best." Another nod of understanding. She kept her grin from surfacing. "He might be some posh heir, flouting out his fifty pound notes every chance he gets, but he treats her like rubbish. Leaving her home and breaking dates for some business meeting when I know what he's doing. Thing is, I can't get her to see him for what he is. That's why I invited him out tonight. Thought maybe I might get a picture. Something that, you know, she can't dismiss. Some evidence, but that bloke ran into me with his drink and I wasn't here to follow him and now…well, guess the night's a bust." She sighed, catching the look of sympathy he gave her. "I'm not even sure if I can set this up again. I was lucky to get him out alone this time."

He watched her for a moment and then leaned close, resting his elbows on the counter. "Look, you didn't hear it from me, but I know where that bird lives. It's not too far. If you go out and hang a right, about three blocks down there's a flat, it's between two old buildings both abandoned." She gave him a smile. "You're looking for a brunette, long, straight hair, a bit taller than yourself, red dress, late twenties. I didn't catch her name, by my flat's two blocks past her place, seen her coming and going a few times."

"You're a life saver," she beamed, kissing his cheek and then giving him her winning smile.

He grinned in return, rubbing his cheek.

"Go on then," he said, motioning toward the door. "Get that picture for your sister."

She gave him another grin as she headed across the room. She didn't much like lying to people, but sometimes it was necessary, especially when she was dealing with a mad genius who insisted on putting himself in danger without backup.

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)