There was a time, a moment one might say, when Rose Tyler knew everything. When she saw the universe and time in its entirety, and though the Doctor took its source, the remnants of Bad Wolf remained. When Sherlock encounters Rose Tyler by chance, he will be astonished by just how much she knows. In honor of TheWheelWeaves's birthday! Spoilers for Season 3, but nothing major.
Roselock only if you want to be, like all my other works. A warning, however-there's quite a bit of flirting in this particular fic. Whether or not Season 3 or Journey's End happened is also up to you (although I did steal a line from the episode The Sign of Three and the concept of Redbeard), and this is under the assumption that Sherlock exists in Pete's World. Takes place Post-Reichenbach and post-return, though how long after the return is less certain.
One last note-read this with a bit of a critical eye, if you'd be so kind. It's not by best and I'd love advice on how to improve it.
"May I speak to the person in charge of this investigation, please?" Sherlock asked impatiently. Working outside of Lestrade's jurisdiction was quite annoying, really, and in more ways than one. For starters, John wouldn't allow him to be his usual impolite self and immediately storm the crime scene. His doctor had warned him against any impolite behavior before heading off to find the nearest facilities and buy some food, as it had been a long cab ride out to this crime scene.
"Certainly," a short brunette squeaked, obviously intimidated by Sherlock's towering figure. She motioned for him to follow, presumably to lead him to the person in charge. Sherlock huffed and complied with his back straight and his hands clasped behind his back. They made their way through halls filled with incompetent, bumbling officers before they finally reached their destination.
"-no, no, that's not good enough. We can't have anyone in here who doesn't know what they're doing; I want them out of here now."
"But Ms. Tyler-"
"Now."
Two angry, shame-faced men stormed past Sherlock and John in the doorway. Local policemen, best in their division, pissed off by the fact that they were told off by someone higher in rank than them...a woman, no less. Sherlock deduced all of this in half a second, then turned to face the woman in charge.
"Ms. Tyler, I'm Sherlock Holmes," he said, striding over to her.
"Mr. Holmes," she greeted without looking up from a paper she was studying. "Did I request you on this scene?" Sherlock's eyes widened marginally at the statement. Blunt. She was working and cross and didn't want to be interrupted. She can be manipulated.
"I'm sorry?" he asked, keeping a tone of polite confusion. Gaining some sort of sympathy might work. Women tended to be more empathetic than men in general, and tended to fall for the sympathy card more often. It was definitely worth a shot, but Sherlock grew frustrated when she looked up and he saw plainly that she wasn't having it. The hard lines of her wide mouth were evidence enough without deducing further.
"I asked if I requested you, Sherlock Holmes," she said bluntly. "Considering I am in charge of this investigation and civilians are not allowed on crime scenes without my express permission."
"I'm not a civilian," Sherlock countered, more than a little put off by her attitude.
"You're not official law enforcement either."
"Neither are you." It was Ms. Tyler's turn to blink in question. Encouraged and clawing his way back to the high ground, Sherlock started in on a barrage of deductions.
"You're military, special services perhaps. You only get called in on the worst cases-"
"I'm well aware of who I am, and I have full confidence in what you do," she interrupted coldly. "What I also know that you don't seem to is that you were not called here in an official capacity. Unlike me. I was requested by one Mycroft Holmes." She cocked an eyebrow at him, daring him to question her. Sherlock, meanwhile, spluttered.
"Mycroft? Mycroft asked you?"
"Before he asked you, yes. Shocking for you, I imagine, but then this case really isn't your area."
"Cases are my area, Miss Tyler."
"Not this one."
"And why would that be?"
"Classified."
"That being said, I know what I'm doing when it comes to crime scenes, unlike those men whom you threw out unceremoniously-good call, by the way, as they were imbeciles."
"Flattery will get you nowhere."
"Worth a try."
"You're not getting on to the crime scene," Rose said, dropping the slight playful smile that had somehow made its way onto her face, replacing it with a serious, steely glare. Sherlock arranged his own face in a similar manner. Before he could say anything, however, Rose started speaking again. "Without my permission, that is. Let's call it an experiment, Mr. Holmes." It was only then that he noticed that she had moved from her spot behind a desk and was standing directly in front of him. Tantalizingly close, in fact, if he was inclined to be affected by such things-wait, how had he missed her moving so close to him in the first place? Internally shaking this off, he stared into her soulful doe eyes and hardened his own. He could play along with this.
"Oh?" he asked slowly, almost in a lazy hiss. Her lips twitched slightly, but otherwise she gave no indication of attraction or other weaknesses to use to his advantage, unfortunately.
"Yes," she said, her mouth still parted slightly. "Instead of you telling someone else about themselves, I'm going to tell you about yourself."
"On what grounds?" Sherlock asked, somewhat irritated at such a presumption. She clearly was nothing special intellectually. Combat training, extensive traveling, works in some kind of top secret...something. While he internally made deductions, she had stepped away from him slightly, eyeing him up and down in a clinical fashion, and was now moving in a slight semicircle. He had not taken his eyes off of hers, and felt an odd thrill down his spine when his gaze was again met. There had been a change, a subtle one, in her eyes. A golden light, almost.
"Well, I'd like you to get to have an idea of who you're dealing with, instead of just assuming. You have no respect for others. Sherlock Holmes," she tasted his name, rolling her tongue around it like it were a mystery, like saying it would give her information. Sherlock found himself fascinated somehow, though a part of his mind remained extremely skeptical of...whatever it was she was doing. Her scrutiny was unnerving. "You have never been interested in space," she began in a conversational tone. "A pity, really. No doubt there are planets out there that would fascinate you endlessly. But this is about you, not me." She leaned up against the desk. Sherlock was entirely unsure of what she was doing as her eyes flicked back in forth in what was a classic indication of remembering something long forgotten, perhaps a list. She took a deep breath with closed eyes and then exhaled through her nose as her eyes moved behind their lids in a search for information. When she opened them again, they were alight with secret knowledge.
Sherlock honestly had no idea what to expect when she finally opened her mouth.
"An Irish setter," she said abruptly. They both blinked in confusion. "Sorry, it's all a bit blurry," she apologized, reaching up a hand to her temple. Her head shook in an effort to clear it. "Pirates, chemistry...you learned early that the formula for love is simple. Seratonin, oxytocin, dopamine. In an effort to quell the loneliness, you liberally self-medicated those three chemicals along with cocaine. People claimed you were insane anyway, so you didn't care that an excess of any of the three could cause schizophrenia, depression, and any number of other diseases...but I could have learned all that from Mycroft. Let's go into something that only you would know." She straightened up. Her eyes flicked back and forth again, not seeing the room in front of her. Sherlock noticed that she tended to squint in concentration. "Let's go back to the Irish setter," she decided, whirling around to stare Sherlock in the eye. "Redbeard, was it? Cute. He was so much easier to get along with than people, wasn't he? Just as complicated, but easier to be with. You considered running away with him several times. You wanted to work with dogs at one point but then decided against it after Redbeard was put down."
Sherlock saw red.
"Why did Mycroft tell you all of this?" Sherlock snarled, cornering her against the desk. She didn't look frightened, oddly, but Sherlock was far too enraged to care. "What is his purpose in tormenting me?"
"Mycroft didn't tell me anything," she insisted. Sherlock looked into her eyes and found that there were no indications of her lying. The implications were staggering. Rose Tyler sighed and looked away from his gaze, choosing instead to allow her eyes to wander over Sherlock's torso and hands clinically, almost sadly.
"It's a lonely life, isn't it?" she murmured. "Being the only one who seems to see everything for how it is, isolated from the only person who understands you, no matter how hard you try to reach them...do you know where you are from, Sherlock Homes? The atoms in your body originated in the heart of a faraway star. This star was so very special, because it had a partner, and they danced a unique and beautiful dance for thousands and millions and billions of years, until a passing black hole disrupted their gravitation. The star's partner was flung away, and soon after, both stars died. Some say it was from loneliness. And all the atoms that make up John Watson came from the star that was flung away. Isn't it remarkable?" She closed her eyes. "And what do we say about coincidences?" she asked softly.
"The universe is rarely so lazy," Sherlock answered in shocked quiet, reeling internally as he screamed at himself think, think, think. None of this made sense. How could any of this be happening?
"Neither this one nor the next." Rose looked up as Sherlock gripped her forearms with his long, graceful fingers, his eyes desperately searching hers for some kind of answers.
"Who...are you?" he asked uncertainly. His voice was uncharacteristically quiet. She smiled without showing her teeth.
"My name is Rose Tyler," she said. "And I've seen just as much as you ever will, Sherlock Holmes."
She extricated herself from his grasp gently and walked toward the door. Once she stood in the doorway, she looked back.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'll meet you at the crime scene when you're ready." She exited, leaving Sherlock to his thoughts. She nodded at John Watson as she left, who looked puzzled at her expression. This puzzlement changed to outright concern as he saw Sherlock's state.
"Who was she?" he asked.
"Rose Tyler." John noted how he framed the words with his mouth, like it was the name of a puzzle he was trying to solve, or a game he was trying to win.
"What happened?"
"She gave me permission to go on to the crime scene." John laughed.
"You? Permission?"
"Yes, John. She was in charge of the investigation."
"I'd have loved to have seen her put you in your place," John said with a smile. He gestured to the door. "Well, are you coming?"
"Of course," Sherlock said, striding out the door and locking his hands behind his back. "She didn't even say hello. Proper introductions are important, John."
Okay, I'm going to end it here. Finally. It's a bit of an awkward ending, I know. If I get sufficient response, I might do a second chapter, but it'll definitely end after that. I really just wanted to get this posted. What do you all think? Does it need more work?