A/N: This chapter and I have been arguing for the better part of a bloody week! Where we a married couple id have filed for divorce about Friday. I've had no time to do anything and I apologize to everyone whose story updates I haven't been able to read and review this week.

I had wanted to introduce their first case together (and it's a doozy) but do you think they would co-operate? No! Sherlock threw a tantrum and Rose sulked in a corner. If they were kids I'd be taking their TV privileges away. I hope you all like this chapter despite this, feedback is greatly appreciated.

Standard Disclaimer.

Chapter 11. The Shock of His Life

Sherlock paced back towards his fireplace and stared down to it for a moment, this visitor had shed light on many things. The slightly altered behaviour of many important people that Sherlock had noticed, the slightest shift in power of the aristocracy and most importantly the person who had been watching Rose.

Sherlock had spent a good deal of time tonight perusing two lines of thought simultaneously, the revelation of John's request for him to be his best man, thus learning that he had a best friend and digging through every slight detail of his memories fof emerging from Mycroft's office to leaving in the cab a few minutes later. Every moment had been combed over and then analysed again. He had walked the frozen scene in his memory, he had not stopped to look at Rose for any other reason than to look at her expression, to read the fear in her eyes, the protective hunching of her body and the hand she had moved toward his, almost seeking his strength. He turned from this refusing to acknowledge the pull he felt to go to her protectively, and paced and searched, and had come up with only one possible option. Across and to the right of Rose had been an older man, distinguished bearing, neatly trimmed and rimless glasses, high cheek bones and receding hair, standing by a dark car. This was the direction Rose had been looking but his next visual was of hailing the cab and when his sight was drawn to the man's area again he had been gone, most likely into the car. Only when the aristocratic Lady standing in his living room had said the name of the man she was being black-mailed by had the pieces started to make sense, not the whole picture yet, but the outline.

"Charles Augustus Magnussen," he was a newspaper tycoon, and apparent blackmailer.

"You are hardly even aware of his existence until he comes to you, normally" Lady Smallwood continued, "He was brought to our attention though due to repeated visits to Downing Street, it was felt he may have undesirable influence over the Prime Minister."

"One would think any external influence was undesirable." Sherlock commented dryly.

The Lady sent him a quelling look before continuing on, "We had a record of 7 meetings with the Prime Minister this year, he was questioned on this by a committee of eleven but he denied having influence over any government policy or the Prime Ministers thinking." Lady Smallwood shuddered and halted in her retelling, Sherlock watched the distinguished woman with interest.

"It was the inquest that brought me to his attention, Magnussen came to my office to inform me had had in his possession letters that my husband wrote many years ago to a young girl. He was unaware at the time she was underage and the letters are quiet damning were they to be made public. Magnussen made it quite clear that with the ownership he has of these letters, came the ownership of me." The Lady's hand fluttered to her temple and traced down her left cheek in an odd and unconscious gesture. Sherlock had to wonder at the impression the paper owner had made to shake so severely a very powerful and confident woman.

Straitening her spine, Lady Smallwood seemed to draw her station around her like a protective shield and when she looked to Sherlock again she was every inch a member of the peerage and fully expected he would investigate the case she had brought him. To stop this man and retrieve the letters.

Sherlock instinctually rebelled at the expectation.

"This isn't a case that can be picked up and solved immediately," Sherlock stated turning away from the Lady, "I will take the case but it will be resolved in the time it will require, you cannot rush this one." Sherlock stated unequivocally, daring the Lady to try and take such a matter to anyone else. Lady Smallwood stated at Sherlock a few moments then simply nodded her head.

"I will require updates on your progress." The Lady said simply attempting to move the power back into her sphere and moved to the door way, but just before she descended the stairs she turned to Sherlock and said simply "Be careful."

Sherlock watched the straight back of the Lady walk away without really seeing it, sunken into his mind Sherlock began to plan, there was research to do but a plan was already building. It was still missing a few crucial parts that he would need to forge and place but it was certainly a case worth the effort.

-s-s-s-

Rose shifted in her sleep, her hand still laid over the edge of the bed her bag was sitting. Something was reaching into her sleep, pulling her from the veil of unconscious and into the realm of sunlight, which was currently and rather rudely shafting through the curtains and straight on to her face.

"Damn it all," she grumbled as thought began to emerge, shaking off the shackles of sleep, a face full of sun is really for people who actually enjoy mornings. Sitting up slightly and cocking her head a little Rose realised what had woken her and the morning didn't seem quite so bad.

Violin music.

Beautiful, haunting and slightly eerie the sound almost seemed to call out to her though her half open door. As if it had been written and played just for her. Rose blinked at her thoughts and decided it was time for a cup of tea, she was obviously still slightly sleep addled.

Rose got up and pulled on some of her new clothes, a soft pair of loose jeans, a thick strapped tank top and a very nice, soft, thick cotton long sleeved top, also in black. Rose had tried to pick most of her new clothes with her new profession in mind. Comfortable, easy to move in and easy to clean, it was hard to stain black. Sitting back on the bed Rose put on the new sneakers she had gotten, laces didn't seem to be a big thing in this universe, most of the sneakers had been slip on or even had zips. Rose had picked a pair that were very comfortable and had two thick Velcro straps rather than a zip. Standing back up Rose gave her appearance a cursory look over in the full length mirror that made up the central panel of a three panel wardrobe, the panels on either side were the doors with old fashioned circle iron handles. Dismissing her appearance as satisfactory, as long as she brushed the birds nest on her head sometime soon, Rose turned back to her backpack.

Kneeling down on to the floor by it Rose let the ethereal sound of the violin surround her as she considered the pack and the small pile of clean clothes next to it. Mrs Hudson must have brought them in, Rose had been too tired the night before to notice much more than the bed she fell into and that her bag was still in place. Rose's heart swelled with the music and she fought the urge to pick up the bag and hug it to her, the events in this world had moved so fast she could forget her grief for large stretches of time. Reaching a hand out and running it over the fabric Rose undid the flap on top and put the clean clothes inside, redoing the ties she stood up and turned to the wardrobe, opening the left panel she stopped, holding the bag. Her TARDIS key was at the bottom of the bag, it was so tempting to get it out to wear, one small reminder of her old life. She had put it in his bag when she lost him, unable to look at it or feel its weight resting against her heart. Rose stood for an endless moment, fighting not to give in. Finally she bent down and placed the bag in the center of the floor of the wardrobe, she wouldn't forget her past, she never could forget the man, the men, who had been the center of her whole universe. But she couldn't live in that past, couldn't dwell on what she had lost, forward was the only way to go. She would cherish the memories she had, not let them grey her future, or the people who would be a part of it. Grasping the heavy handle of the door Rose pushed it closed.

Proud of herself Rose turned to the door only to find a grave looking Sherlock watching her. Jumping slightly Rose tried to figure out when the music had stopped and how long he had been watching her. Her eyes taking in his relaxed posture against her door frame.

"Only a few minutes."

Rose's eyebrows drew together and her face tightened slightly, her moods in the mornings were mercurial at best and his apparent mind reading drawn no doubt from 'deducing' her reactions annoyed her to no end at that particular moment.

"And with that expression I'm not staying," Sherlock straitened and turned for the stairs, she was clearly wasn't a morning person, although it wasn't exactly early. While slightly slower than fleeing Sherlock made for the stairs, calling over his shoulder, "I found tea! And biscuits." It was in no way a peace offering.

Sherlock retreated back to the window he had been standing at since he had emerged from his own room not long before. He had immediately picked up his violin and played whatever notes had come to hand as he went over the events and information from the night before. He had gone to bed after only a short stint on the internet last night, this was not a quick solve case so it would have been of no benefit to stay up and do any further research than he had done after the departure of Lady Smallwood. The primary route to Magnussen's attention was easy but required a precise timing and situation that was not going to be available for some time. Sherlock had pushed aside the thought line when a whisper of noise intruded, Rose was up. How interesting, next to nothing could interrupt his focus when it was turned in-ways, except Rose it seemed.

Sherlock was still unsure if this was in any way a positive thing. Picking back up the instrument he had put down to go up and see Rose he pulled the bow along the strings in a reflection of the emotions his logical mind still could not understand but that clearly some part of him did. The music was aching and beautiful as he introverted his thoughts again, remembering the near sympathy he had felt while he had watched Rose hold her backpack tightly for a moment, almost desperately before straitening her shoulders and placing the bag in the wardrobe and closing the door with her head held high. He had watched her make decisions on where to take her life a few times since she had landed ungracefully in his flat, each time accepting a little more that her past was lost to her in all but memories. In that moment he had watched her not only put away the links that she knew would only hurt to hold on to too tightly, but smile at the thought of the future, seeming to believe it held enough to look forward to too be able to not look back. He was a part of that future she was smiling about.

The emotions that had roiled in him at that thought were brought back to the fore and his hands moved faster as the tempo in his music picked up in response.

He had wanted to believe he was a part of her reason to smile, he wanted to be in that future.

The music became more volatile as he struggled with the emotions, the thought of attachment or desire. The want to be connected with another person for the foreseeable future panicked him.

Melody harshened as he threw all his mental strength into controlling the feelings he had no room for in his controlled world, he was a man of logic and fact, he would not be ruled by human emotions that he could not even put a name to.

The music wailed in violent and twisting passion as Sherlock forced everything he couldn't deal towards the rosewood door. He fought the twisting mass, feeling the strain across his shoulders and arms as the battle communicated to his playing. With a desperate heave Sherlock forced the emotions in to the room.

As the door slammed shut a resounding thunderclap that seemed to echo throughout his mind palace and the feeling of her aura battered his awareness and brought the music and his concentration to a shrieking halt.

Rose stood in the living room doorway staring at him with awe on her face, one hand covering her mouth Rose just gazed at him with amazement and almost reverence.

"Tea!" Sherlock said harshly, jabbing his bow in the direction of the tray on which the tea pot and biscuits sat.

He turned to the window again, having moved with his music Sherlock had ended up near his chair facing the kitchen. Taking a moment he simply looked out the window. His emotions were controlled, locked away. Sherlock refused to allow anything to happen again like that which had just occurred. Rose was to be nothing more than his partner, maybe one day his friend, he could not and would not allow her to be his weakness. Turning back to Rose watched her pour two cups of the tea that just seemed to appear there each morning. They needed a case, Sherlock needed to be able to better understand her abilities and training and their applications in his world and the cases he worked. Maybe he should go out and find something, perhaps drop in on Lestrade and make life hard until he gave him something good.

He needed a case.

Or a cigarette.

Rose stood up and brought a cup to Sherlock, she was half tempted to spike it, something stronger might calm whatever he had been in the grip of when she entered to find him playing his violin as if his world were coming to an end. His face had been contorted with the music and he had looked like he was playing the feelings he had locked in his soul. He seemed to be fighting a terrible enemy, having not realises he was fighting himself. As the music had reached its crescendo, he seemed to sense her presence and everything had come to a screaming jarring halt. The emotion in his face, his posture and his music had vanished, as if it was never existent but for the harsh word that tailed the very end. Rose moved over to the couch spot she had claimed and sat, curling her legs up under her. She sipped her tea and watched Sherlock over the rim of the cup, he had started to prowl around the room. She could see there was something going wrong with him, the very air around him vibrated with something that was almost distress.

He needed a case.

His brain needed a new focus. So much of his mind, more than he had realised, had been taken up by the emotions and feelings to do with Rose, that now that they were shut away a mass of space and brain power was freed and seeking work. Stimulus overload threatened his mind as every detail of everything around him screamed into his now unoccupied brain. The sounds of the different cars driving by the open window catalogued into his brain, the smells drifting in listed themselves over the top. His movements became even jerkier, throwing his violin bow from one hand to the other, as overwhelmed descended into overdrive.

He could feel her eyes following his movements.

She could see the tension in the line of his shoulders.

"I need a case!" Sherlock shouted.

Rose continued to watch him silently, before flicking her eyes to who had Mrs Hudson appeared in the doorway, attracted by the violin noise that had recently ceased.

"Sherlock, you know you really need to be a little quieter so early…"

Sherlock turned on the old lady, red faced and volatile in his overwhelmed state.

"Not now Mrs Hudson, unless you have a case file concealed in that second-hand dress, I don't want to hear it!" he ranted before turning from the pale woman and pacing back to the fire and leaning over to grip the mantle.

Rose got to her feet and walked calmly to the upset elderly lady, "Just go down stairs Mrs Hudson, its ok." Rose reassured the woman and leaned a hand against her elbow, nudging her in the direction of the stairs, Mrs Hudson needed little pushing and gladly fled the stairs. Rose turned to the living room again to see Sherlock bearing down on her.

"It's not ok! I need a case, your all solved your boring now! I need fresh mayhem, hasn't anyone been murdered lately?!" Sherlock shouted, Rose doubted he had even realised just how close he had gotten to her or that he was now shouting in her face, and she was just about reaching her threshold of patience.

"Wait we still have you!" Sherlock shouted turning from her

"I'm all solved remember? I've got a new identity, new past even new clothes. Nothing left about me to constitute a case." Rose stated gently, she was getting a sense of what was going on here, why he needed to work, why he needed the case. She had seen addicts go into overload similar to this when they couldn't cope with the world and couldn't get their next hit. He was an addict, just addicted to whatever kept his mind from descending into chaos.

"Your parents existed here, let's find other people! You must have had friends, colleagues, ex-boyfriends even?" Sherlock leapt back to his laptop, his frantic energy slightly more focused now. Rose did not like where this was heading, her patience slipped a little further.

"I'm sure there is no one else here…" Sherlock jumped up again and paced back towards Rose, "Who was most important to you? Your Doctor seemed to be first on your mind let's find him."

Rose stilled, Sherlock didn't notice.

"What was his name?"

"Just the Doctor." Said Rose quietly.

"Just the Doctor? That's it? You didn't even know his name? Sounds like he was playing you really, be sure to check such things before jumping into bed in the future."

CRACK

Sherlock's mind ground into utter stillness as the shock of the hit vibrated through his head, radiating out with the pain in his cheek.

Rose's mind sped up to replace the detectives' now inactive one. She had just slapped Sherlock Holmes, and not a light tap either, the hit had knocked him sideways and Rose's hand felt like it was on fire. Well, on the offence it was she supposed, he had been seemingly quiet shocked out of his downward spiral, time to take action.

"That is enough! I get you need a case, but I'm not one! Finding any old friends is not on the table, they don't exist! You don't think I looked?" Rose threw in the lie amidst the shouting in desperate hope.

"You need a case so badly go out and find one! Don't stay here wreaking the place and people! Now go out!" Rose finished her shouting and pointed towards the stairs.

Sherlock stared at Rose his mind still blank, his cheek was still pale from the hit but starting to redden rapidly. One synapse started firing and Sherlock felt that now was a good time to leave after all. Turning abruptly from Rose Sherlock strode towards the door, grabbing his coat off the hook on the way past and sweeping it across his shoulders on his way down the stairs. Reaching the front door he stepped through and closed it firmly behind him.

Rose stood in the living room, her arm still raised. She hoped she hadn't broken him he was oddly delicate in his own way.

Sherlock stopped in front of the door he looked around him, hardly noticing anything. Still in shock he supposed, like slapping someone to stop them from drowning themselves in panic. His mind was nearly quiet, something he had never felt before in his life. The world wasn't pressing on him, wasn't forcing information on him from every angle. Well he supposed it probably wasn't going to last much longer, he would go to Lestrade and find out if there was anything at all that could be interesting on the books. Throwing an arm out for a passing cab Sherlock got in, for the first time without deducing the drivers state, and gave him the police station address.

Staring out the window Sherlock hardly noticed the city pass by, the people were invisible and the conditions unimportant. He was too busy savouring the quiet of his mind. He had always fed the need of his mind with cases lately, there were times in the past when the over stimulation had been dulled with narcotics. He was too smart not to know what he was doing at the time, he had been dulling the overwhelming feeling of overdrive with the chemical high that helped shut down his senses, that had stopped the constant input. The shock Rose had given him was like nothing else though, never had he been taken out of a downward spiral like that.

As Sherlock thought through the effect of Rose's hit, she certainly didn't hit like a girl, the silence slowly started to recede, information started to filter into his brain again, but not overwhelmingly. As more information became available Sherlock dealt with it in turn, his mind didn't become swamped, no overdrive was imminent. The slow filtering rather than the stunning onslaught allowed Sherlock to cope easily.

The cab pulled up about half a block away from the police department and Sherlock pulled some money out if his coat and passed it to the driver, who he still hadn't deduced anything about, and got out. Sherlock started up the street, still regaining more of the input from his senses. He passed the homeless man at the corner of the police station and stopped. That wasn't right.

Backing up Sherlock looked at the dirty man standing where there should have been a girl in her late teens, excellent pick pocket, one of the best. Sherlock had had her lift things from people for him before, especially when he had become so high profile.

"This isn't your spot" Sherlock stated staring at the old man. There was a fairly strict code amoung the homeless. The man looked up at him blearily but shrewdly and held out his cup, shaking it slightly. Sherlock plunked a few coins from his pockets into the man's cup.

"Sammy went an got 'erself a nicer place didn' she. Over in the park she is, nice spot, good pickins there. Ol' Roger up'n died so she got his spot afor anyone else could."

Sherlock was disappointed, Roger had been an important part of his network, he had watched lots of the comings and goings in the park for Sherlock, even directed the old woman who had bumped into Rose. He had been healthy for a homeless man, not into drugs or even much alcohol.

"How did he die?"

"E' was one of them that got beaten to a pulp weren't 'e. Shame it was, normally it's the younger ones they take."

"Take?"

"Yea, someone every coupla' weeks, they just disappear like. Sometimes they come back, sometimes they don', mosl'y turn up in tha' storm drains, rats find em' afor we do."

Sherlock pulled a note from his jacket and put it in the man's cup. "Thank you"

"Most obliged sir!" called the man to Sherlock's retreating back. Sherlock moved to a street that would take him a roundabout way home, there were people to talk to on the way. Sherlock could smell and interesting case in this one. It smelled ever so slightly like the sewers.