The Reichenbach Fall

Sick Silence

Slamming the door behind her, Rose Spencer flew up the stairs of their flat, mind spinning wildly as she thought of the latest thing she'd discovered. She'd calmed down considerably since she'd left the gentleman's club, but still her hands shook as she headed for the kitchen, grabbing a large bowl as she started the first task in her short-term plan.

Step 1 – Get rid of Mycroft's bloody surveillance

Step 2 – Join the men at Bart's

Step 3 – Figure out what to do next

It was a very basic plan, but given how furious she was currently, it was all she could do not to scream aloud, if only to get some of the emotion off her chest. Of course, she knew Mycroft was capable of certain things that she's resigned herself not to think too much into – the last time they had seen The Woman had shed an uncomfortable light on that little gem of knowledge – but that had been business, or so she'd thought.

Such a fool of woman... but how could he?!

Having located all the cameras and mics within only a few minutes – even going so far as to go through Sherlock's room as well, finding two devices in there that she hadn't installed herself – the thought that she had put in the others made her sick to her stomach.

Not bothering to take them out to the garden, she simply tipped the bowl onto the sturdy table – bought specifically to withstand the experiments of her friend after the last one mysteriously acquired a large hole in the middle that they couldn't figure out how had come to be – and proceeded to take her anger out on the little devices, smashing them to pieces far smaller than necessary with the marble rolling pin that they hadn't actually ever used.

Looking at the destruction in front of her, she had hoped she'd feel a little better, but the pile of bits only served to remind her that it was in fact Rose herself who had installed the devices. It was her who had approached the reprehensible Holmes brother and asked for his help.

And in turn, it seemed she'd only helped him.

A stray thought came to her in that moment of doubt, shame, and blame, one that she hadn't considered until then and as the thought had fully formed, she felt her stomach heave at the mere notion, running to her small bathroom before it was too late, not bothering to close the door behind her as she ran.

Did he just use me to feed information to Moriarty...?

The thought alone was too much for the distraught young woman to handle as she emptied what little contents her stomach held, heaving violently when there was nothing left to bring up.

After a few minutes, she took a shaky breath, trying to calm herself, knowing that if she stayed so worked up she'd never move from this spot, but equally understanding that she had to work through her thoughts before she could go on.

To betray her like this – to have used her and thrown her aside without a care in the world – that was one thing. She could have handled that. Yes, it would have sucked, but if she was the only one hurt, then she could have lived with that. But not Sherlock, she thought.

Not her friend.

Not his own brother.

At the thought, her stomach flipped again and though she was prepared to hurl once more, nothing came up; she was well and truly empty.

And to think that he'd possibly used her against her dear friend, taking advantage of her in such a way that she actively sought him out for help; opened up to him like she hadn't done to anyone in years, asked for his help to keep Sherlock safe and it had only led to this.

The worst criminal they'd ever faced, tearing down the friend she'd sworn to protect, piece by piece until there wasn't anything left. Moriarty would truly burn the heart out of the incredible man, and anything she'd done to try and prevent any of it was for nothing.

Letting out a sob, the broken woman felt the tears start to pour down her face once more and did nothing to stop them, only letting the emotions wash over her, too shattered to do anything else.

It was a few minutes later she heard a small voice in the back on her mind, taunting and cruel as her own dark thoughts mocked her.

Pathetic... Your friends still need you and here you are, on the floor and wallowing in sorrow... bloody pitiful...

Closing her eyes against the unconscious berating of herself, she found a twisted resolve creep up on her, driving her to take a shaky breath... then another... and only when she had stopped sobbing did she sneer at herself.

"Pathetic..." She echoed quietly, pushing herself up off the cold floor.

If nothing else, I can try to make it up to them, she thought, try to do anything to fix this.

Shutting everything away, she closed her eyes and took another deep breath, settling into the cold numbness that she fell back onto in time of great stress when she didn't have the time to do anything other than push on.

First, she would brush her teeth and wash her face in an attempt to at least be presentable to another human being. Not able to bear the sight of herself in the mirror above her sink, she cleaned up, trying to draw strength from somewhere, knowing she'd have to look her friends in the eye soon.

But as she left her room, she found it was sooner than she'd expected, finding John bursting through her bedroom doorway.

"Rose?!" John questioned, face as panicked as she'd ever seen. "You're okay?!"

"Yeah, of course." She said automatically, confusion evident on her face as to why her friend would be so confused to find her in her own bedroom. "What are you doing here? Was he not at Bart's?"

"Yeah, he..." John started, however his eyes went wide with a sudden realisation before he swore loudly, turned on his heel and ran out of the flat once again.

"John?!" Rose called, following him quickly, not having expected to run around so much so soon, but more than capable of keeping up. As such, it was still a close one as she dived into the back of a cab moments before it pulled away, John already having told the driver to return him to the facility he'd just come from. "John, what's going on?"

The frazzled doctor looked over to her, equal parts grateful she was alive and unharmed, and confused as to why she was alive and unharmed. "I got a call, they said you'd been shot."

"What? No, I'm f..." She started, bewilderment morphing into a disturbing realisation. "They wanted you away from Bart's."

Nodding, John was glad he wasn't the only one to come to that conclusion and – judging by her face – he wasn't overreacting. "But why?"

"Moriarty, it has to be." She told him. "I don't know what the hell's going on over there, but it can't be good."