Sherlock had been sitting in the chair in Rose's flat for about an hour. As soon as he realized her motivation for not wanting the police called he headed directly for her place, but she was gone. He let himself in and resigned to wait…not something he did very well, but he had to make her see sense one way or the other.

She was covering for James because she cared about him, but what good could that possibly do? She was only putting off the inevitable. He steepled his hands, resting them against his chin. No, there was something else.

Thoughts kept invading his mind. Things he didn't want to think about. The ring on her finger. A Christmas gift from James. A man who was in essence the doctor she loved. Loved? Past or present? He closed his eyes.

James wasn't The Doctor. He was dangerous. Dangerous before and now…Sherlock wasn't sure what he was capable of. Dr. Hastings. The name Moriarty mentioned before he died. He opened his eyes and pulled out his phone.

Dr. Hastings Behavior Modification Research.

-SH

He sent the text to Mycroft. He loathed asking his brother for help, but he needed to know exactly what this clone of The Doctor was capable of and Mycroft was his best choice for gaining the research documents. His phone chimed. He glanced at the message.

Dr. Hastings is quite popular today.

-MH

What did his brother mean by that? Had someone else…his eyes widened…Rose. Would she go to Mycroft for help? Possibly. Why would she want the research? Not to find out how dangerous he was. At least, not by her actions last night. He typed a message to his brother.

Who?

-SH

He stared at his phone waiting for his brother's reply. It didn't even take a minute.

Ms. Tyler.

-MH

She'd gone to Mycroft for help and she'd purposely kept it from him. His phone rang. He answered.

"When?" he asked.

"No greeting, dear brother?" Mycroft asked.

He didn't have the patience for his brother's games.

"When did she see you?"

"She left…oh, I'd say…no more than twenty minutes ago."

She should be on her way home. Good. As soon as she walked through the door he'd…

"She didn't tell you?" Mycroft continued.

He narrowed his eyes.

"I believe you already know the answer."

"And you were getting on so well, as surprising as that is."

"Is it?" he asked, knowing his brother was baiting him, but unable to stop himself.

He heard a key in the lock and hung up on Mycroft before his brother could answer. He slid his phone back into his pocket as the door opened. He waited while she stepped inside and closed the door. When she turned around her eyes fell on him, widening for only a moment. She was used to the unexpected, something he noticed early on and now knew was from her travels with that doctor.

"I don't remember giving you a key," she said, taking off her coat and then hanging it up.

"I don't require a key," he replied.

She turned around and eyed him.

"Don't you think I have enough people breaking into my flat?"

"About that…I see you haven't changed your mind about phoning the police."

She rolled her eyes inching him closer to yelling at her. Something he was trying to resist because he knew from experience if he yelled at her, tried to force her to change her mind, she'd do the opposite of what he wanted, not necessarily to spite him, but it was a defense she used. He was sure it had something to do with her past, with what she'd gone through, but it still drove him mad.

"No. I told you I don't want them traipsing around my flat and going through my things," she said as she walked into the kitchen.

He resisted the urge to follow her because he was barely keeping himself under control and he wasn't sure if he could maintain his composure once he faced her. So, he waited while she ran the water and then started the kettle.

"I believe we both know the real reason," he said as she walked back into the room and sat down on the sofa.

"And what would that be?"

She was being purposely evasive, not wanting to give anything away.

"You don't want to send the police after him."

She looked away. A clear indication that he was right. His level of control was staring to slip, but he held it in place. She turned back and there was uncertainty in her eyes.

"I…I just want to give him some time."

"To, what? Break into your flat again?"

"It's my flat and my choice!" she snapped, the uncertainty replaced by anger.

And there went his control.

He sat forward, eyes narrowing. "He's already gotten in once, that we know of. What if you're here next time? Have you thought about that?"

"You don't know him!"

He shot out of the chair.

"And neither do you!"

She stood up, glaring at him. At that moment the kettle boiled, she turned and walked into the kitchen. He stalked after her. He wasn't going to let the matter drop.

"He's not the same man you remember, Rose! Your own words after he killed Moriarty," he continued.

"I know what I said, Sherlock," she snapped as she shut off the kettle.

"Then tell me what the hell changed?"

She leaned on the counter. Her shoulders slouching as if in resignation. It was enough to give him pause, but when she looked at him he stopped.

"It's my fault."

Guilt flooded her eyes. He crossed the room wanting to do something. To take that look out of her eyes, but he wasn't entirely sure what to do. This wasn't his area. This whole comforting thing, but in the next moment she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. His arms went around her of their own accord and he rested his cheek on her head.

"It's not your fault." The words came out to comfort her. One of those things ordinary people said, but he tried not to think about that. He felt her tears through his shirt and for a time neither of them spoke.

"If I'd known maybe I could've gotten here earlier. Found him," she said.

"It's useless to worry about what you could've done."

She pulled back. There were tears in her eyes, but anger too.

"Useless?" she snapped.

He looked into her eyes, trying to figure out what happened. Why was she upset? He was trying to make her feel better.

"You can't change events that have already happened."

"No, I can't, but maybe I can help him."

"Help him? Why would you-"

"I have to try. There has to be a way to reverse what that doctor did to him."

And that's when he realized why she wanted the research.

"You want to save him," Sherlock deduced.

"Of course I do!" she insisted, striding toward the living room, most likely to distance herself from their row, but he wasn't about to let her do that.

"He's dangerous!" he yelled, following her.

She stopped in the doorway and turned on him.

"If we can reverse-"

"You're not going anywhere near him!"

"And who the hell do you think you are?" she snapped.

He grabbed her arm.

"I won't allow it!" he yelled, glaring into her hazel eyes.

Their argument was interrupted by a strange sound. A sort of whooshing that filled the flat accompanied by a breeze that scattered the papers on her side table. Sherlock watched the blue police box materialize in her front room.

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

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