Sherlock was still sitting in his chair when John entered the flat to check on Rose on his way home from work. The moment his friend stepped in the door Sherlock stood up and slid into his coat, wrapping his scarf around his neck.

"Um…hello…where are you going?" John asked.

"I'm off to get chips," the detective replied, not a lie, but not the real reason he wanted to leave.

"I'm not staying long, Sherlock. I only came by to check on her."

"I won't be long."

"You could send Mrs. Hudson. The chip shop's just round the corner."

"Aren't you the one always telling me to think about what other people want?"

"Yes, but you never listened to me before."

"Well, I wanted to do something nice for my guest."

All the gears in John's mind snapped to a halt. Had Sherlock just used the word nice to indicate something he wanted to do? John opened his mouth, but he couldn't form a coherent thought. Sherlock opened the door, gave him a smile and then stepped out, leaving John staring at the closed door wondering if he'd just crossed over into a parallel universe. One where Sherlock wanted to do nice things for people.

"Hello," Rose said from behind.

He turned around and found her descending the stairs from her room carrying sleep ware. The gears began to turn again as he returned the smile she offered.

"Hello," he replied. "Came by to check on you."

"Was that Sherlock heading out?"

"Yes, he…said he wanted to make a run to the chip shop."

"I hope he brings me back some."

"I'm fairly sure he will."

She smiled, stopping in front of him.

"So…" he glanced over her. She seemed well, not at all like she'd been last night, which wasn't what he expected after Sherlock's deductions. "Everything all right?"

"Bit of a long day, but yeah, everything's fine. Why?"

"I…uh…" he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He didn't want to bring up bad memories, but he wasn't sure how to explain his concern otherwise. "I was worried after…you know."

"Oh," she said, sobering as some of the light dimmed from her eyes, making him wish he hadn't said anything. "Last night you mean."

"Right. I, uh, I'm sorry," he said, feeling like that was so far from enough he probably shouldn't have even said it.

"Thanks. I…wanted to thank you, you know, for helping. I'm fine though, really."

Which she wasn't. He could see that, but he didn't want to pry.

"Great. I'm glad. Really."

"Well…I was going to take a bath. So…"

"Yeah, no, go ahead. I'm going to make a cuppa and wait for Sherlock. He dashed off before we had a chance to talk…" he said, trying to come up with a reason for his presence.

"John," she said, resting her hand on his arm. "I know you want to wait around for Sherlock. I can work it out, yeah? He waited until you got here before he left, you're waiting until he gets back before you leave. I know I was nearly hysterical last night and I know you both know that…" she averted her gaze. "…that I lost my family." She returned her gaze, but her eyes were damp. "I understand. I'd do the same. I'm fine, really, but if it makes you feel better I don't mind the company. Though I'll be in the bath and I do mind company in there."

She laughed, but it seemed a bit forced. He chuckled.

"Yeah, don't worry about that. I'll stay on this side of the door."

She turned then and walked into the bath.

-0-

Rose climbed into the bath and lay down. She was trying, really trying, but that emptiness was still there and it felt as if it might never leave. She'd lost people before. Her dad when she was little, but that was a far away feeling. She hadn't understood at the time and as she grew up his memory faded and it was his presence she missed. Things daughters did with their fathers. Sunday dinners and him interrogating the boys she wanted to date, which you don't miss when it's happening, but you do when it's absent.

Then there were the people who died during her travels and she'd felt grief for them, but not the same sort because, although she cared about them, she wasn't close to them. They weren't family. She sighed. Sliding down so her head was under the water.

She lost Jack or thought she had back on the Crucible, but that was short lived because he came back. During that short time she grieved, but she wasn't alone. She still had the Doctor and her mum and Mickey. It wasn't like this. She wasn't alone. Completely alone.

She opened her eyes, staring up through the water. Wondering how…how the universe, any universe could continue. How the clocks could continue counting off the time, the earth turn, people could get up, eat chips, and go about their day as if nothing happened when in fact her entire world had been shattered.

She sat up abruptly, coughing a bit from holding her breath too long. She wiped the wet hair from her eyes as the tears trailed down her cheeks, blending with the bath water. There was one universe that had stopped, the universe that had claimed them. The new beginning the Doctor had given her had become their grave.

-0-

Sherlock trudged down the sidewalk, oblivious to the chill in the evening air. His mind far too busy for anything as tedious as the weather. Rose Tyler knew things. She wasn't a genius. Intelligent, yes, but somehow her mind worked on a much higher level. He could see that, could sense it.

There were questions that begged answers. Questions that he'd somehow been stilled from asking. How could she manage that? Why did he hesitate? These were the questions that begged immediate answers. Without the answers he couldn't continue. Couldn't find answers to the other questions.

He couldn't understand it, couldn't fathom how it was even possible for anyone to cause him hesitation like she did. He climbed the stairs to his flat and opened the door. John was sitting in the chair that Sherlock still considered John's chair. The detective sat the chips on the side table and then removed his coat and scarf, hanging them up.

"Huh," John mused, glancing at the bag of chips. Sherlock eyed his friend, wondering what he was referring to. "Must have been a long line."

"Sorry?" Sherlock asked, sitting down across from his friend.

"Forty-five minutes, Sherlock. That's how long you've been gone. Chip shop's just round the corner."

"As you surmised there was a line."

John glanced from Sherlock to the chips and then back. There was something else going on. His friend hadn't wanted to do something nice. That wasn't like him. No there was something else.

"What's really going on?" John asked.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're referring to," Sherlock insisted, busying himself with a cup of tea.

There was definitely something going on.

"I don't know why you're playing nice," John began, earning an annoyed look from Sherlock, "but so help me if you have some ulterior motive I'll-"

"You'll what, John?" Sherlock asked, sitting back with his cup as he eyed his friend.

"I'll-"

"Yes?" he asked, quirking his brow.

John sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. Somehow he had to get through to his friend. Had to make him understand, only she had something Sherlock wanted and until his friend got it he only saw the end game. The result he was after. He caught Sherlock's gaze and sat forward.

"Look, you have to be careful with her." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm being serious, Sherlock. She's…delicate right now."

Another eye roll.

"She's fine," the detective dismissed.

"No, she's not. She's putting on a good act, but that's all it is, an act. You know about acting, you're very good at that…remember Janine? Rose has lost her whole family, everyone she cared about. I can't imagine what she's going through…no, I can." He caught Sherlock's eye. "When you…died," Sherlock's demeanor changed. Good, maybe this'll get through to the sod. "It took me two years to begin to get over it and only then because I had Mary…"

Sherlock grinned, giving John pause. Why was he smiling?

"Oh. You're right. That's brilliant! Why didn't I think of that?"

"Sorry…what?" John asked, trying to work out what Sherlock was talking about.

Sherlock stood up, abruptly and pulled John out of the chair, handing the man's jacket over as he hurried to the door, opening it.

"I'm sure you have things to do. Mary's likely waiting with dinner. Sorry about taking so long, you'll give her my love, won't you?" the detective said, shoving John out the door and closing it before his friend could protest.

He turned around, smiling to himself as he steepled his fingers. John had always been very good at illuminating things. Janine. It was perfect.

-0-

After her bath Rose returned to the living room to find Sherlock sitting in his chair. John's was empty which meant he must have gone home. The detective smiled, in that way that made him seem younger and she couldn't help returning his smile as she crossed the room and sat down.

"I brought you some chips, but you were in the bath so I put them in the refrigerator. I could heat them up if you like," he said, standing up.

For the first time she didn't feel much like chips or much of anything for that matter, except company and keeping her mind off thoughts better left alone.

"No, 's all right, but I appreciate the offer," she replied, catching the look he wore that seemed a bit let down. "But I'll take a cuppa, if there's tea."

His smiled returned.

"Of course," he said, turning around to the tea tray and making a cup for her.

A moment later he handed her a cuppa. She smiled.

"Thanks."

He resumed his seat, but his eyes seemed different. Not as if he was dissecting her, which was a look he wore a lot. She would've called it concern, but it was different from the concern she noticed in his eyes earlier. She sipped her tea.

"Did you…have a nice bath then?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"Good," he said, picking up the bit of deception in her voice, but choosing to ignore it since his interest didn't lie in the quality of her bath, but polite conversation, tedious, but necessary.

"John went home then," she assumed.

She wasn't entirely sure what to say. Sherlock was acting odd, not like himself. It was just a feeling she had that his behavior was strange. She wanted company, but not this sort.

"Yes. Mary will have dinner waiting."

"Mary's his wife, yeah?"

"Yes."

"I bet she's nice."

"Why do you assume that?"

She shrugged.

"He's nice, stands to reason that his wife would be."

"That's not a very accurate deduction," he replied, his act slipping a bit in the wake of her faulty deduction.

"What'd you mean?"

"You hardly know him, but yet you deduce that the woman he's married to is nice when, in fact, you've never met her."

"I know enough."

"Enough?" he asked, quirking his brow.

She could read people, had always been good at judging friend from foe. Something that saved her life and the Doctor's life on more than one occasion. It's what made her distrust the Gelth, what made her want to help the boy in the gas mask because she could feel how alone he was, but after years traveling with the Doctor her skills had grown, become sharper. There were tells, signs that she could spot, similarities she could draw between herself and others that told her things.

"He's kind."

"Kind?" Sherlock asked and almost scoffed, but stopped himself at the last second, realizing how far his act had dropped without his knowledge.

She caught his gaze.

"He's seen death, a lot of it and he carries himself like a soldier. He's been in war, at least one and not on the sidelines, up front and it changed him, but he hasn't lost his humanity. He had help when he returned. A friend. You. I can see it in his eyes. The way he looks at you. You're more than his friend. You're the man who saved his life, at least that's how he feels and he's probably right. People come out of war changed, different, and without someone they get…lost."

He stared at her and only realized his mouth was slightly agape when the muscle tensed. He deduced by observing, noting details, cat hair, a smudge of lipstick, the scent of deodorant, but what she did was…different. He could read people, the way they held themselves, as she mentioned the way John carried himself, the slight slouching of their shoulders, glances, but, yet, what she had done was different even from that. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

His mind tried to come up with something…anything wrong with her analysis, some way for him to regain control of the situation, which, for the first time in his life, had flipped. Him being the one grappling to understand how she knew.

"That…" he began and at that moment his mind caught up with the events, giving him a chance to recover. "Doesn't answer my question." He smiled as she quirked her brow. "Why do you assume Mary's nice?"

"Because you're his friend," she replied, not condescending, simply stating a fact.

"And?" he asked, knowing there was more to it than that.

"You save him, Sherlock, but he also saved you."

It was true. Of course it was true, but she couldn't know. He refused to believe that she could see that. He wasn't like John, he didn't wear his feelings, they were carefully tucked away.

"What makes you assume that?"

"In order to be saved John had to save someone else. That's how it works." He raised his brow. "You're the one who was running, probably been running your whole life, but the universe put you both on the same path. You gave John what he needed, excitement, adventure, that bit of extraordinary he needed to be saved."

"And what, exactly, did he give me?"

"Humanity."

"Sorry?"

"That's what you needed humanity to offset the darkness because that's what you were running from."

He knew what darkness she was referring to. The addict. That part of him that received the same high from solving a case that it received from drug use. She could see that. How could she see that? And if she did how could she sit here so calmly in his presence, as if she were chatting with anybody else? It didn't make sense. Didn't calculate.

"And that doesn't frighten you?"

She laughed, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"You think you're the first mad genius I've met with a bit of darkness running through his heart?" Before he could question her further she stood up. "It's late and I'm tired. Try to get some sleep, yeah? Now that your bed's free."

He didn't answer. Instead he watched her ascend the stairs to her room. If he had any doubts about her status before they were entirely banished by that display. She wasn't a goldfish. Nor was she like him or Mycroft. She was entirely…different. She was very good and if he had any chance of pulling off his plan he'd have to be better.

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

Reviews are always welcome. :)