Rose arrives, gasping, squeezing between the gathering crowd to make her way to the front. The Camera crew hadn't yet had a good look at the alien species that had arrived when Rose had taken off running, so she could only hope nothing had escalated since.
Her lab coat had landed on the ground somewhere near the start of her run as it kept interfering and slowing her down, so Rose was just clad in her normal black trousers and blouse when she finally made her way to the front, not as recognisable or eye-catching as a bright-white labcoat might have been.
With any luck it's a peaceful species and Rose can stay out of this and remain unknown. Daleks and Cybermen would be the top of the list for worst alien visitors and she isn't sure how many of them she can deal with before the remnants of the timestream in her are used up; luckily, it's not them.
It's the fly people. The Doctor had said they had a different name… Trite- No, Tritovore, Rose thinks. Her heartbeat finally calms down, realising the potential danger has passed. It's likely just a trade envoy – the Doctor had always been all-too happy to extoll the peaceful races in the Universe given how often they landed in trouble; the Tritovores were one of them.
Amusingly enough, rather than the MP, Queen or representatives of other states – it's Mycroft, Sherlock and John as well as a contingent of soldiers there. Fair enough though, you'd need clever people to get over the language communication barrier.
In a funny twist of fate, they're also probably the ones hardest to communicate with. At least with others the Tritovore can engage in telepathic communication; with how organised their mind 'palaces' are, the front door is likely shut tightly and completely and no friendly species would even consider knocking or attempting such communication when such a clear 'keep out' sign is given.
They will potentially attempt for another few hours, maybe even days – but the situation could easily go sour – with the Tritovore being held captive or his actions being taken as hostile rather than benign. Still, Rose could allow them to muddle their own way through their first contact with alien species. She's sure between Mycroft and Sherlock they would at some point decipher enough of the language to communicate or invent an entirely new one.
But would they have that time?
Even her short stint at Torchwood with Mickey and her dad had taught her lot – her time with the Doctor beforehand even more. She can see the shakiness of some the soldiers, the blown eyes, pale faces, the fear of the unknown. The likelihood of them shooting, accidentally or intentionally, without a command being given.
She doesn't know enough about the Tritovore people to know if they will be able to track them down to Earth or their culture to know if they will take revenge. That's not even including the possibility of the Judoon getting involved.
The police officers holding back the crowd are, themselves, distracted by the alien human-fly-like person standing beside their spacecraft and Rose easily abuses one such moment to slip between them.
Sherlock's eyes snap to her.
"Ms. Hooper, now is not the time-"
Her eyes, indifferent now that she doesn't have to feign her over-emphatic crush on the man anymore (Rose has experience behaving professionally around men she has crushes on, thank you very much), slide over the man and back to the Tritovore.
She manages her way through three different alien languages for saying she comes in peace and is open to communication before she manages the right clicking sounds and the Tritovore turns fully to her, becoming more animated.
Forcefully relaxing herself despite the numerous eyes on her, Rose forces herself to relax her mind, opening it, welcoming the other by thinking of welcome and friendly exchanges, focussing on emotions rather than words to ensure the Tritovore understands.
Their throat is not made for human sounds, unfortunately, otherwise she'd teach them human language, but this should be sufficient for rudimentary communication.
The Doctor had taught her how to say she comes in peace and wants to just talk in many of the more commonly available languages after they had been separated from the Tardis the first time and stuck with some communication issues (her, not him, of course).
She's just lucky the Tritovore, by virtue of their vast trade network, had a rather universal language worthwhile teaching her a few simple phrases in.
Yes, as expected, from what she gleaned.
Rose is amused as she turns back to Mycroft, whose eyes are cold and analysing and focussed on both of them.
"This young Tritovore is a new trade envoy," she tells Mycroft, smile still pulling at her lips. "They're a peaceful race and basically spread out to garner trade. Unfortunately, he got a bit turned around in a magnetic field and his ship landed him, oh, about 110,000 lightyears in the wrong direction by turning left after the magnetic storm instead of right."
It's actually fairly common situation Jack had told her about, where every 492 earth years a magnetic storm by one of the planets at the edge of solar system confuses ships' navigational system; apparently, a constant between universes. And this time their landing took them to Earth rather than the planet they'd been intended for.
"We're actually classed as a Level 5 planet under the Shadow proclamation and shouldn't have outside contact until we have sufficiently developed in that direction, but we can take them up on their trade offer."
"And what, exactly, is that trade offer?" John asks when Sherlock still looks surprised at her all-but ignoring him.
She grins wickedly.
"They're fly-people. What do you think they're after?" She laughs when understanding dawns on their faces and elaborates. "Yes, exactly. Tritovore build spacecraft and fly around the universe to trade for, well, shit." At Mycroft's grimace she rolls her eyes. "Pardon me, good sir, I meant excrement of course," she corrects in her best posh-voice (which, according to the Victorian Queen of England hadn't been very good. But then, she'd been a werewolf, so what did she know?).
John sniggers.
"First alien contact and it's this."
"Oh," Mycroft cuts in, eyes hard and smile cold as he fixes his sight on her. "I don't believe that's our first contact with alien civilisations, is it, Ms. Hooper? If that even is your name."
Rose shrugs.
"Depends on how you define alien, really. I was born on Earth, alright, just not this one. Anyway, point is – you want to communicate with the Tritovore, either learn the language or open up the doors to your mind palaces and use those emotions you so like to pretend you don't have to communicate."
"They're telepathic?" Sherlock bursts in for the first time, looking both excited and uncertain.
"They won't read your mind, if that's what you're thinking. It's more like, well, you use the air around your mind palace or the front foyer or however you want to visualise it and put emotions in there and pictures and communicate that way. Just be aware, different culture, different pictures may mean different things to them."
"And what exactly is this shadow proclamation?" Mycroft asks, brows furrowed.
"Look, happy really to indulge both your curiosity – but maybe it could wait until, oh, I don't know, we're not in front of millions of people, being filmed by cameras and being rude to our alien guest."
To her satisfaction – and ever-so slight amusement, that is enough to bring a slight flush to Mycroft's cheeks. She'd suspected a posh and strict upbringing, but it is funny seeing the results in person. Strict mother and rudeness are the height of impropriety.
"Yes," he clears his throat, "quite correct." So Mycroft faces the alien and, presumably, tries to communicate telepathically.
Unfortunately, before the situation can get any further another spacecraft makes to land and people are hastily pushed further away, the barrier moved and Mycroft steps slightly in front of Sherlock in an unmistakably protective gesture.
"It's the equivalent of galactic police," she informs them urgently in a whisper, when she sees the first one exit their vehicle. "Judoon. Look like Rhinoceroses, I know." She exhales sharply.
"John, let them scan you," she says after a moment's hesitation. Rose is not sure she'd register as human to their scanners and the Doctor never said whether the words that occasionally pop into her head are Gallifreyan – and it's English she needs them to use.
"What?" He asks in an urgent whisper. "Scan me? How? For what?"
"It's how they learn our language. Please. Trust me."
They're advancing fast and she'd rather not put Sherlock or Mycroft at the front; the mere fact that Mycroft was willing to open his mind to a telepathic species on her say-so is enough to boggle her mind, pushing Sherlock in front of a gun-like device wielded by an aggressive species with military-bearing would not go well. For anyone.
John eyes her but then concedes with a sharp nod, pulling on his dress shirt to flatten it and stepping forward without hesitation. The commander of the platoon steps forward, holds the scanner up to John's head and after a moment nods and steps back. He then does the same to the Tritovore who submits gracefully and looks ashamed when he is told, presumably, that this is a level five planet and he'd navigated to the wrong planet.
"What is the situation?" The commander asks when he turns to them and she clams her hand around Mycroft's wrists, asking him silently to let her lead and he subsides, at least momentarily.
"We will need to discuss future trade opportunities with the Tritovore internally before continuing."
The Judoon eyes her.
"You are a level 5 planet under the Shadow Proclamation. Are you aware of the restrictions on trade and information that you are subject to?"
"No," she says, because she isn't – she's learned the phrasing from the Doctor but had never sought out further information on the classification system other than what he told her (not ready for alien contact).
The Judoon nods.
"Less than two percent of the population of the planet are permitted knowledge of the existence of pre-existing planetary travel and life forms on other planets. Trade is restricted to existing material and must not include advice, improvements or types of technology, fuel or analysis of the alien life form and its craft. An exhaustive list can be provided in your language at your request."
Rose nods firmly.
"Yes, please."
The commander nods to one of his (her?) subordinates and they march back into the space craft and use a machine to create the information on paper in English.
"The memory will be wiped now, including the recording devices. We will require a list of who is to retain their memory."
Rose nods.
"Mycroft, if you want to discuss and involve other leaders in this, country leaders – our leaders – you will need to let them retain their memory and write down their names."
Mycroft flexes his jaw, clearly considering letting them be the only ones to retain their memory.
"I would also add Greg Lestrade to that list."
"Lestrade?" Sherlock asks. "Why him?"
"Because he helps your brother keep you entertained and occupied, corralling you into acceptable habits rather than opium dens," Rose offers with a sardonic grin and Mycroft nods curtly, pen already flying across a sheet of paper. Rose notes the soldiers in the background had been ordered to lower their weapons while she hadn't been looking.
Things proceed smoothly from there. The world is none the wiser for its alien contact with a few, notable, exceptions – which include her and the Mycroft brothers, hence why she is now at one of Mycroft's safe houses / flats and being readied for interrogation – albeit a soft interrogation, something she is rather grateful for, and something Mycroft picks up on in an instant.
"Yes, Detective Inspector Lestrade will be required for the secondment with the government, along with Dr. Molly Hooper. They will be returned to you within the next few days and you will be alerted of any delays." Mycroft snaps the phone shut without awaiting any response, eyes fastened on her. "I see you appreciate that this is a soft approach we're taking on account of your support over the years, but do not believe you are immune or permanently protected just because of that."
"Fair," she acquiesces with a nod. He's handling alien life and dimension travel remarkably well.
"Now you will actually have to learn about the sun and the solar system," John teases Sherlock with a slight chuckle. Lestrade gives a tense laugh at the joke but Sherlock just huffs in frustration and the tense atmosphere remains.
"Explain what you mean by being born on Earth."
Rose sighs.
"Always with the hardest ones first," she complains. "Alright, so I was born on the 27th April 1987 to Jackie and Peter Tyler. My dad died when I was just a baby. I grew up in the Powell Estates."
"Ah," Mycroft says, shoulders relaxing slightly at her apparent honesty, "that's the accent you have on occasion and how you made your way home after the swimming pool."
Her eyes widen – others may just presume it means a time she went to the pool, but she knows he means the time Moriarty met with Sherlock at the pool.
"Oh. You know about that, huh?" Her face is pale and she is feeling on the backfoot – that had been the one time she'd been certain, very certain, of her ability to remain invisible and return home unseen.
"Of course. Did you really think Sherlock met Moriarty unprotected?" He scoffs as if the very idea is unthinkable and, to Mycroft, it probably is.
"I didn't see anyone."
Rose is certain that if he would lower himself to roll his eyes, this would be when Mycroft would do it. The look of affront he gives her is remarkably evocative nonetheless; perish the thought that Mycroft Holmes needed to roll his eyes to convey his thoughts.
"I don't employ people who are seen, Miss Hooper."
He looks like a disgruntled cat and the comparison, at least, makes her lips twitch into a smile.
"Sorry," she offers and he nods curtly in acknowledgment.
Sherlock looks just as disgruntled at his brother's ever-watching eye and overprotectiveness (although maybe just protectiveness considering the danger he puts himself in).
"Hold on," John interjects, "that red light on Moriarty, that was you?"
"Before you start thinking too highly of our illustrious Miss Hooper, Mr. Watson, please note that it was a laser pointer and not a sniper rifle she was pointing."
"A laser pointer?" John asks amused, whereas Sherlock echoes the words but looks disgusted instead.
"What were you hoping to do with a laser pointer?" He asks, looking disdainful and Rose feels her lips twitching.
"Deter, hopefully, and bet on you resolving the situation peacefully." She doesn't tell them that she is the gun, that there was a weapon there, that she was ready – and able – to interfere, should worst have come to wors.t
Ways other than guns but with the same effect. What would the Doctor think of her now? She sighs, a little forlorn, but focuses back on her interrogators quickly.
"Your name, then, seeing as it is unlikely to be Miss Hooper, as she was born in March of 79."
Rose breathes out, forcibly calm. If she reveals her name, then they'll know she's Sherlock's soulmate. She's not sure she wants that, is ready for it – nor that she fully understands it. People here have grown up with it, understand it, but to her it's still a mysterious, foreign thing which doesn't quite make sense.
But she also understands she doesn't really have a choice. Lying to the Holmes would be an effort in futility.
"Rose," she finally offers after another pause. "Rose Tyler."
Sherlock's eyes snap to her, wide, and Mycroft straightens.
"Well, that certainly changes things," he muses quietly. "You have a tattoo, I presume," he continues, in a more conversational tone directed at her.
She nods. "Got it the moment I arrived."
Sherlock frowns. "Not at birth?"
"No- not in my universe. Or the others I've been to."
Her words are clearly noted and shelved for later in the interrogation.
"Show me," Mycroft commands and a deep blush rushes to her cheeks.
"You can't ask someone to show their soulmark, Mycroft," John interjects, sounding horrified at the very idea – another taboo. Only the person's family and MD usually knows; well, and her as the mortician, she supposes.
"It's also rather high up on my inner thigh," Rose confesses reluctantly, blush still darkening and the men blink before several eyes fall on her legs and are quickly averted. Most are flustered but Mycroft remains calm and impassive – were it not for the red tinge on his ears, Rose might even have fallen for the façade.
"You will show the tattoo to my assistant, Athena, after the interrogation."
Rose sighs but nods acquiescently. She's worn rather short skirts on more than one occasion and showing it to a woman isn't really a problem, not for her, as she doesn't have this inherent taboo that they feel over showing their tattoo to others. She watches a hissed, quiet argument between Lestrade and John versus Mycroft. To no one's surprise, Mycroft wins.
"Is travel between Earths? Dimensions? Universes? Whatever the correct terminology is, is that a standard thing? Do we have more visitors?" Sherlock asks
Rose exhales sharply. Well, from one complication right into the next one.
"There used to be a planet out there called Gallifrey. The people on it are Gallifreyans and some of them, many, I suppose, become Time Lords. They look like us, sound like us – or well, I suppose we sound and look like them. As is in the name, they have a certain ability to control time and go forward and backward in time, handle paradoxes and watch over the other universes."
At least that's as much as she's put together from different comments her Doctor made here and there and some of what Sarah Jane told her.
"They were in a fight with another alien race called the Daleks. It destroyed billions of people, entire planets gone and erased, shockwaves felt through the Universe. Until… until it all ended. Both of them, Time Lords and Daleks, erased, gone forever. It meant travel between universes was impossible – until the stars were going out. Long story short, the wall between universes was about to collapse and potentially destroy entire universes only the situation was handled, and the walls came up – and I ended up here, rather than at home."
Sherlock looks intrigued.
"Did you stop the stars from going out?"
A reasonable thought, but it makes Rose laugh nonetheless – her, take the Doctor's role? Yeah, right.
"No, sorry," she says, between giggles, still amused beyond reason at the very idea. "'m not a genius like you."
She doesn't say that for all his and Mycroft's genius, neither are theirs like the Doctor.
Tough act to follow indeed, she thinks, wondering what Sarah Jane would have done, had she been in Rose's place.
"Why didn't you have them scan you?" Lestrade asks, eyebrows raised.
"The Judoon?" She hums. More complicated questions. "I'm not sure if I would register as human here – different universes, you know."
Mycroft raises and eyebrow and Sherlock leans forward, both having caught onto the evasion easily and Rose heaves a sigh.
"And I travelled for a few years with one of the Time Lords I mentioned earlier – and I looked into the time stream which is, well, lethal. The Time Lord I travelled with took the energy out of me, but it killed him instead."
Regeneration is another can of worms, really, which she'd really rather not touch upon if it could be avoided. And she still has remnants, but that's not really something she wants to discuss.
"Is there a possibility of more aliens?"
"Yes, always."
Mycroft frowns.
"Do you know how many species are out there?"
Her mouth opens and closes and she shakes her head.
"I don't think you understand – imagine each of these stars you see is a planet. Each planet has hundreds of living species – animals, insects, plants, birds, what-have-you on it. And they travel and might have sex with another species, creating another new one. There's billions and billions out there."
Rose shrugs. "I know some. Some look like animals made humans – the Tritovore, the Judoon. Some look like cats. There's a planet with dogs with no noses. Some look like ghosts. Some look human, others look nothing like us. We've met one who looked like every depiction of Satan out there. I have seen a piece of stretched skin. A huge brain. Robot armies. Really, whatever you can imagine, and many things you can't – it's out there, somewhere."
"Right," says John after a pregnant pause, voice faint and face pale. "I think this is a good spot to leave it at for tonight."
Sherlock glowers at him but, surprisingly, even Mycroft looks tired and nods curtly. It's only four in the afternoon but they all look ready for a nap.
"I have had rooms prepared. Ms Tyler, I presume I can trust you not to leave?"
Rose nods but is under no illusions that there aren't people monitoring her. She's underestimated him before, she won't do that again.
Mycroft nods back. "Athena will be with you momentarily and will show you to a guest room thereafter."
"Thank you," she tells him but he appears to have exhausted his cache for social interactions and merely leaves.
Still, Rose isn't surprised when Sherlock turns up in her room less than half an hour later, entering without so much as a by-your-leave and only acknowledging her once inside.
"Miss Tyler."
"Rose," she corrects automatically and watches him assimilate the offer before conceding.
"Rose," he amends fluidly, voice silky and movements graceful as he steps closer, crowding her against the wall next to the door. It's the first time she's close enough she can smell him, see the colouration of his eyes up close, feel his breath on her face.
When he leans forward, her eyes threaten to flutter shut but she steps away sideways, watching him blink in surprise.
"You are attracted to me," he asserts, eyebrows furrowed as he analyses her.
"Yes," she confirms easily. "But that was fairly obvious and shouldn't be a surprise," she tells him and he shakes his head.
"You were different out there- in here than as Molly Hooper."
Rose rolls her eyes.
"Your mistake is assuming I can only focus on one thing at a time," she says and leers openly at him, laughing when he shifts uncomfortably.
"You asked," she tells him and he nods but she stops.
"And if you have questions, Sherlock, you don't need to try and seduce me to get answers. You can just ask."