You know my motto...first chaps get lonely. :)

Of all the parallel universes that bridge could've led to it just had to lead to the one where Sherlock Holmes wasn't a fictional character, but a real life person. So, of course she had to pique his interest her first week in London, well, this London. She'd spent the last seven months in Norway, that being the location of the rift in this universe, the next town over from that beach, well, a parallel version. She'd laughed, actually laughed. That was the universe, cosmically funny…or sarcastic. Depending on the angle.

There was only one thing to do. Fix this and fast. She headed out of the restaurant and down the first dark alley she could find. Then she pulled out her transporter, slapped it on her wrist, told Frank to head home, and, teleported to her flat. She could've brought him along, but she wanted to occupy him while she took care of Sherlock. She grabbed her laptop, ran a quick search, damn he was everywhere, hell, he even had his own website The Science of Deduction, how did she miss that? She located his address, then retrieved a few supplies from her safe and teleported to his flat.

It was a simple portable teleporter worn on the wrist like a vortex manipulator, but could only teleport within the same time and space. So, no off world teleporting or time travel. The human Doctor…John, she reminded herself, the name he took for Sarah, he developed it soon after the Doctor marooned them on Pete's World. She let those thoughts go, focusing on the task at hand, removing the transporter and stuffing it back in her pocketbook.

Sherlock had to get there the old fashioned way, which would take another, she glanced at her watch, five minutes or so, depending on the traffic. She stepped into the kitchen and put the kettle on while she waited. Then she opened his refrigerator…glanced at the severed hand and bag of…she poked it…toes…shook her head and pulled out the milk. He was definitely different, not at all like anyone else. She opened the milk and added the clear liquid from the small vial. She gave the milk a swirl and then set it back. She put the empty vial into her pocketbook and walked into the living room, removing her shoes as she sat down in the red pattern chair. At that moment the sound of the downstairs door opening and then closing announced his arrival. She checked the time. She had exactly one hour seven minutes to fix this.

"Sherlock, can you have a look at-" an older woman, began.

"Not now, Mrs. Hudson. In the middle of a case," he interrupted.

Rose smiled. She dropped all manner of pretence, since pretending didn't really matter anymore. She sighed. Just once. Allowing the tinge of regret, wishing things were different, but they weren't. She had to be careful and Sherlock Holmes was a complication she couldn't afford.

The door flew open as he hurried into the room, but abruptly stopped a moment later. His eyes falling on the woman sitting in John's chair, knees bent, legs tucked under her, feet to the side, red dress brushed with white roses billowing around her, looking completely comfortable as she gave him a Cheshire-like grin.

"And what sort of time do you call this?" she asked.

Dumbfounded. That was the look he wore and she couldn't help grinning.

Sherlock took in the woman sitting in John's chair. Rose Tyler, according to her credit card, but he suspected that was an alias. Government agents didn't go around flouting their actual name, but getting into Mycroft's files was something he did for fun when he was bored so he knew it'd be easy enough to find some information on her.

He knew she'd find him, but switching their cards was the quickest way to get her information. She'd been about to leave and he couldn't let her get away without something. He hadn't expected her to find him this fast. How she managed to get here before him was something his mind was unable to answer, but there she was, proof that she'd beat him…for now.

He smiled, an actual smile because she was good. He closed the door, removed his coat and scarf, hanging them near the door. He turned around, glancing at her.

"Tea?" he asked.

"I'll take a cuppa, kettle should've boiled," she replied. "I don't take milk though."

South London accent, all mannerisms and false speech patterns dropped. South London? How had he missed that? He shoved those questions aside as he stepped into the kitchen and made two cups. He returned a few minutes later and handed her a cup. She took it and then held out her hand, raising her brow. He pulled her card out and handed it over then motioned for her to do the same, which she did. He slid his card into his pocket and took a seat across from her.

"How?" he asked after a minute.

She shrugged.

"Phoned a friend."

He caught the joke and returned the smile she wore.

"Speaking of friends…"

Her friend from the restaurant seemed to be absent.

"I sent him home, at least I think he went home." Sherlock raised his brow. She grinned. "He'll turn up."

"Who is he?"

"I don't know his real name, but I call him Frank."

"Frank?" Sherlock asked, quirking a brow.

"'S the name of a bloke I used to work with, bit of an inside joke. One of those, had to be there things."

She found Frank on a Torchwood call, basement of Henrik's Department Store, only on Pete's World it was called Henry's. There were a swarm of large beetle like creatures attacking him. She saved him and he kind of stuck. Pretty much never left her side unless she told him to.

"What is he?" Sherlock asked.

"No idea. I mean, alien, obviously, but which planet, solar system, universe…" she shrugged. "I don't know and he's not talking so…"

She took a drink of tea. Her offhanded answer took him completely by surprise. Using the words alien, planet, solar system, and universe as if it were everyday. He ran back over her with his eyes, reevaluating his observations, looking for any hint of a mental disorder that he missed, but he came up empty.

"Alien?" he asked.

"What'd you think he was, some kind of government experiment?" she joked, laughing, but stopped when she glanced at him. "Really?" He quirked his brow. She rolled her eyes. "They've just started human cloning, yeah? Creating something like Frank. I mean, that's at least couple centuries off."

He blinked and then realized his mouth was slightly agape. He lowered his cup, having been about to take a drink for the past few minutes.

"Who are you?" the question coming out a bit more demanding than he intended, but his mind had finally given up his initial deduction as too flawed to compute, which irritated him. He was usually wrong about something, but every sentence she uttered scratched off one more deduction.

"You had my credit card the entire ride back and you didn't even glance at my name?" she asked.

"Rose Tyler is obviously an alias."

"Why would I have an alias?"

"Covert agents don't use their real names."

She laughed so hard she nearly dropped her cup and actually did spill some of the tea on her dress, but that didn't stop her. She managed to set the cup down before she snorted.

"Shut up!" Sherlock shouted, angry at the implications of her laugh.

That he wasn't just a bit wrong, he was completely wrong.

"Don't get sore at me because you thought I was someone else. 'S not my fault," she said, still chuckling. She wiped the tears from her eyes that had leaked out during her laugh.

Sherlock reigned in his anger. It would do him no good, actually it was bound to make him slip up and he couldn't have that. He needed to focus every part of his mental process. He noted the way she glanced at her watch as she wiped her eyes, as if she were trying to hide her actions. He replayed their conversation and realized she'd glanced at her watch no less than five times during their conversation.

"Expecting someone?" he asked.

Her eyes shot to his. He smiled, standing up and walking to the door, pulled it open, hurried down the stairs, threw the bolt on the front door then hurried back up, ignoring Mrs. Hudson as she stepped into the hall, stepped back into his flat and threw that bolt as well.

"There now," he said, turning around and eyeing her. "No interruptions. Also," he pulled out his phone. "I've got Lestrade on speed dial."

Satisfied that whoever her friend or friends were they wouldn't be interrupting their chat he stepped over to the side table, sat his phone down next to his chair, within easy reach once he was sitting. Then he stepped in front of her, grabbed the sides of John's chair and pulled it over as close to his as he could manage and still have room to sit.

"What're you doing?" she demanded, seeming a bit ruffled by the experience.

"Getting to the truth," he replied, resuming his seat. "Now," he held his hand out and indicated that she should give him hers. She quirked her brow. "If you don't mind and even if you do." She allowed him to take her hand, though she didn't seem happy about it, which was fine with him. "Who are you?"

He watched her expression for any tells while keeping his thumb on her pulse.

"My name is Rose Tyler, just like on the card. It's not an alias it's my name."

It took her a moment to realize what he was doing. She could feel his thumb over her pulse. Human lie detector. She'd read about that sort of thing. She wasn't planning on lying anyway. There really wasn't any point trying, not with who he was and with her plan, well, it didn't much matter how much he knew.

"And what do you do for a living?" he asked.

"I don't think you could call what I do a job," she said.

Second question asked, second answer given, both truths. He'd seen the way she glanced at their hands, recognition of his technique passing behind her hazel eyes. She knew what he was doing, probably knew it was futile to lie, didn't mean she wouldn't try, but it meant she'd save her attempts for the more dangerous questions.

"Then what is it that you do?"

"I suppose you could say I help people."

Help people? What did that mean? What people? Covert agents, most likely, believed the same thing.

"What people?"

She grinned.

"Aliens."

He paused. It was the truth. That or she was the best liar to come out of England. He didn't want to believe it. His mind tried to refuse her answer, but he couldn't deny that there had been absolutely no change in her pulse, not flicker in her eyes that told him she was lying. He forged ahead.

"So, you help aliens?" he inquired.

If it was true it'd be the most interesting thing he'd ever heard.

"Mostly," she replied. He quirked his brow. "Some aren't what you'd call friendly."

"What do you with them?"

"I…" she averted her gaze. Her pulse didn't change, but he could feel her discomfort. "I make sure they can't hurt anyone else."

True. She hunted aliens like he hunted criminals. He pulled back the smile that wanted to surface. How had she come across this knowledge, knowledge that had eluded him until this evening?

"How did you find out about all this?"

She grinned.

"That's a much longer story than I'm willing to tell, but the short answer is I met someone who opened my eyes, showed me that the universe isn't flat."

He smiled at that.

"But you're alone now."

The light behind her eyes dimmed a bit and he found it disconcerting, then shoved that feeling aside. It would do him no good.

"I am."

She seemed so alone in that moment that he almost stopped in his inquisition, but he forced himself to forge ahead.

"What happened?"

"I made a choice. I chose to leave. I didn't know I'd wind up stuck here, but new universe, new world, new life," she replied with a shrug.

"Sorry…what?" he exclaimed, his mind grappling with the implications of her words.

New universe, new world, new life. What the hell did that even mean?

"This," she said, indicating the room, but more than the room. "Isn't my universe…or it wasn't, suppose it is now."

Traveler. The word whispered through his mind. She wasn't lying. She was telling the truth. A woman, not of this universe, specially trained, living in London, hiding beneath her carefully crafted socialite shell hunting aliens among the ordinary. It was possibly…no undoubtedly the most extraordinary thing he'd ever come across. He blinked, forcing his mind to start moving again as it had paused at the realization.

"If you're from another universe then how did you get here?" he asked, wanting to make sense of her situation.

"They were working on a bride to connect the universe I was in with another," she said, shifting her legs to the floor as she sat forward, drawing herself closer to him. "Our scientists had been working on it, but it needed testing, a test run of sorts. I volunteered."

He couldn't help marveling at the way her eyes seemed to shine with an inner light as she spoke about bridges and universes. He shook himself, shoving those thoughts aside.

"And you crossed this bridge from one universe to the other," he replied.

"Sort of. I mean, it wasn't really a bridge. There's this gap, not a crack, those are dangerous, it's like a natural gap, we call it the rift. Other universes have one. It's sort of a like a natural flaw. Sometimes things fall in, sometimes people and they can wind up anywhere. Sometimes they come back, sometimes they don't. That's what gave us the idea. A way to stabilize it. Determine where it leads and it worked," she explained.

"But now you're trapped," he deduced.

"I can't get back, but I don't look at it like that," she said.

It was the truth. Most people would feel trapped in that situation…then again, most people wouldn't be in that situation, but she didn't feel that way.

"If you spend your time hunting down aliens then why the pretence?"

"You know the art of disguise as well as I do Sherlock Holmes," she replied, her lips drawing into a grin that could only be described as cheeky, the tip of her pink tongue poking out. It was Very distracting.

He hadn't seen through her disguise, but he had seen something she was trying to hide. That's why she broke into his flat, but what was she after?

"Did you come here to ask me to keep your secret?" he inquired, his eyes darting to her lips as he found his mind wondering what they felt like, what they tasted like. He prided himself on his ability to detect differences. Mercury in chocolate, whether a person used one or two types of deodorant, identifying the type of perfume that clung to a room, even after the suspect had left.

"I know of you, but I don't know you, not who you are in here," she said, reaching out with her free hand and placing it over his heart.

One touch was all it took for his body to catch up with his mind's musings. He took her arm and pulled her closer, pressing his lips against the softness of hers.

Rose's mind exploded. Shock first, she hadn't expected this, really extremely hadn't expected this. The shock only lasted for a moment and then her entire body seemed to melt at his touch. His lips were soft, caressing hers. Her hand wove around the back of his neck, tangling in his dark curls as she allowed him to deepen the kiss. Although, allow implies she had a choice and her body wasn't giving her a choice in the matter. TROUBLE. Her mind reminded her, but she told it to sod off for now. She had a plan so none of this really mattered and, god, it had been too long since she felt like this.

Sherlock catalogued the soft feel of her lips. Unlike and yet not unlike others. Familiar and yet uniquely her own. The taste though, entirely different. His mind tried to work out a word to describe it. A wild, sweet, unique word. There was one, but it was strange, yet it was the only word that fit. Stardust. Wild and raw and sweet. Something that held the makings of the cosmos, but the power to tear down a world.

DANGER, her mind screamed, mentally slapping her to get her to realize how close she was to losing control. She couldn't allow that. She pulled away, breathing hard from the kiss, the excitement, and the responses he elicited in her body. Responses she hadn't felt in years, but she couldn't allow.

She could feel his eyes on her, watching her, but she could also hear the pattern of his breathing, hear that he too had almost lost himself. She should've known she'd be drawn to him, the most extraordinary man in this universe. How could she not be?

He could see her trying to regain control, control that he, himself, had almost lost. She was so unlike anything he'd ever come across, anything he could've imagined possible. The word woman was much too ordinary to describe her. Stardust. A strange word to describe another person, but that's what she was, like stardust. Rose Tyler. Not a lie, but an extraordinary truth. A truth hidden in plain sight.

He cupped her cheek, lifting her gaze to his, watching the emotions churn behind her hazel eyes. She reached up, resting her hand over his.

"Who are you?" he asked, not asking her name or vocation, but how she could exist.

"No one," she replied, raising her other hand that appeared to have some sort of dust in it, ash perhaps.

She hated what she was about to do, but she didn't have a choice. The sedative in the milk would've been better, no after effects, but he hadn't touched his tea and with three minutes to go this was her only other option.

In one movement she lifted it between them and blew it into his face. He had enough time to reason that it wasn't normal dust, that the qualities would allow her escape, that nothing about her told him she would harm him, and that this was an act to save herself. All of that passed through his mind as he slouched back in the chair, falling into unconsciousness.

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

Reviews are always welcome. :)