It took Sherlock twenty minutes to realize she wasn't coming. It was the longest twenty minutes of his life. She was late. Why would she be late? She'd always been on time before. Did she change her mind? Would she text him if she had? Did she lie to him? Tell him she was coming to give herself more time to escape?
His emotions, emotions he usually kept at bay overwhelmed him. Making it nearly impossible for him to think. Worry that something delayed her, Mycroft perhaps. Fear that she was gone and there was no way for him to find her, to bring her back. Loss that he would never again see her.
When he was able to find all of those horrid emotions, to set them aside, to look at things with the cold reasoning that allowed him to solve cases, to catch the serial killer he realized there was only one answer. No.
No, she wasn't late. She had never been late and if she were she would've sent him a message. No, she didn't change her mind. If she had, again, she would've sent him a message. Possibly from her blocked phone, but there would've been a text. No, she didn't lie to him. Even when she was evading him she hadn't lied. She didn't do that. Which only left one possible scenario. Something happened.
He pulled up her address, threw on his coat, and headed to her flat. If Mycroft had her then his brother was about to find out that his threat hadn't been idle.
Rose opened her eyes. She felt groggy, but the effects were beginning to wear off. The first thing she noticed was that she was sitting. In a chair. Hands bound behind her back.
The lighting in the room was strange. She glanced around. Candles. Everywhere. They were on the table in front of her, the counters, even the floor. Where the hell was she?
"There she is," he said, crossing the room toward her.
Her eyes snapped to him. Trevor. What the hell did he think he was doing? Why?
"What is this?" she asked.
"Dinner," he said, setting the takeout cartons on the table and then proceeding to fill both plates.
"Trevor, look," she replied, trying to reason with him. "I…I don't know what you think you're doing, but-"
"We're having dinner. That's what we're doing."
He continued to dish up the plates as if everything was normal. As if she weren't tied to a chair in his flat. As if he hadn't killed…she pushed that thought aside. She could morn Frank later, right now she had to find a way to get the hell out of there.
"I thought we were friends."
His entire demeanor changed as he glared at her.
"Friends? You think I want to be your friend? You know how I feel about you, but you couldn't even give me a chance could you?"
Wait. He killed Frank and kidnapped her because he loved her? That was completely mental. They were friends. Had been friends for a few months. They met in Norway when he was on vacation. He found out about Jax by accident and she almost erased his memory, but he'd taken it well, even offered to let Jax work for him, to keep her friend hidden.
"I'm sorry, Trevor, really. It's-"
He slammed the takeout carton down.
"It's not me it's you, right? And who would you rather be with? That psychopath? I won't let you put yourself in danger by hanging around him."
Yeah, and breaking into my flat, killing my friend, tranqing me and tying me to a chair's sane?
"Just untie me, yeah? We can talk about this," she tired.
If she could get her hands free she could get out of there. That's all she needed. A chance. One chance to escape.
"I'm not an idiot, Rose. You don't see me like that, but you will. Might take a week or a month, but eventually you'll see."
Wait. What? He was planning on keeping her there until she cared about him? Well, that wasn't going to happen.
"You can't keep me here that long," she protested.
"Why? Because someone might come looking for you?" Her eyes widened as the realization sunk in. "There isn't anyone else." She kept her true self a secret to protect her friends, but that left her vulnerable. "I'm the only one who knows who you are, which is why I'm the one you should be with. I already know everything about you and I still love you. Once you understand that you'll see things differently."
He pulled out a bottle of wine and poured them each a glass. Trevor didn't know Sherlock knew, but would the detective come looking for her or would he think she stood him up? That she ran.
The first thing Sherlock noticed upon entering her flat was Frank. The alien. He was lying on the floor in a pool of what must have been blood, but the coloring was off. Other than that there appeared to be no signs of a struggle. There was an open kitchen on the side with a bar separating the two rooms. Empty.
He walked down the hall. There was an open door to his right. Her bedroom. He could see some sort of syringe on the floor. He walked over and picked it up. Tranquilizer. From a tranquilizer gun. Someone took her.
He shoved his emotions aside. He had to find her. He couldn't call Lestrade. Not with Frank's body in the other room. There was something…he inhaled. Strawberry and Jasmine. Her scent was there, but there was something else. Cologne and body wash. Mr. Lindquest.
He pulled out his mobile and ran a search. He located the man's address and started for the door as one emotion took hold. Anger. He sent a text to John, not wanting to take any chances. Mr. Lindquest killed Frank and used a tranquilizer gun on Rose, which meant he had weapons.
Rose tried to come up with a plan. Some means of escape, but Trevor was beyond mental. Why he would think that keeping her tied up, keeping her prisoner would somehow make her fall in love with him was beyond crazy.
"There are people who depend on me, Trevor," she tried. "They need me."
She knew it was futile, trying to make him see reason, but she had to try something.
"That's one of the things I love about you. You care so much, but you don't have to worry about them," he replied.
The way he said that gave her pause.
"What do you mean?"
"I took care of the one back at your flat."
"Frank," she said.
She knew he shot Frank, something she was trying not to think about.
"And Jax."
"Jax?" Fear flooded through her heart. "Trevor, what did you do?"
"Don't worry. I took care of his body. I didn't want anyone to trace him back to you."
Jax wasn't dangerous. He was kind. He trusted her to keep him safe and now he was dead by the hand of someone she thought she could trust.
"You…you killed him? Why?" she demanded.
"To free you. You've spent the last seven months watching out for them, but you deserve more. You deserve a life," he said.
"I already have a life."
"Helping everyone else? What kind of life is that?"
It's the life she always wanted, ever since her travels with the Doctor. She worked for Torchwood so she could help. It was a better life and now she wouldn't even have the small semblance that she created. She'd have nothing.
"It's what I want," she said.
"No, it's what you think you want. There's a difference. You'll see how much better it is once you don't have to worry about everyone else," he explained.
A knock at the door drew his attention. He stood up and then eyed her.
"Now, keep quiet. Wouldn't want to have to hurt anyone else," he warned, pulling his jacket back so she could see the gun. Probably the one he used on Frank.
She watched him step through the entryway and into the kitchen. Once he was out of sight she struggled with the ropes. If her hands weren't behind the chair she could get to her sonic, but it was in her pocket. Damn!
A scuffle from the other room drew her attention, but before she could wonder what was going on the window to her right opened and the one man in all of London she'd been hoping for climbed in the room. He took in the room and then hurried over to her. Untying her hands.
"You came," she whispered, unable to keep herself from grinning.
"Of course I came," he replied, giving her a smile as he finished untying the knot.
She threw her arms around his neck and he held her, grateful that she was unharmed. The worry that he felt finally draining away.
"I thought…I thought you'd think I stood you up," her breath ghosting across his neck and it was all he could do not to kiss her right there, present danger or not.
"You wouldn't do that," he replied into her hair.
"No," she replied, pulling back and gazing into his eyes. "I wouldn't."
At that moment Trevor walked into the room followed by John who was holding a gun on him. John took in the way Sherlock was holding her as they gazed at each other. He smirked.
"If you two could spare a moment I was wondering what we're going to do with him," John asked.
"We can't call Lestrade," Sherlock replied.
"Why? He kidnapped her and held her against her will."
"He also killed two of my friends, but he won't see any prison time for that," Rose added.
"Wait. What?" John asked, glancing from her to Sherlock.
If this bloke killed two of her friends why wouldn't he go to prison?
"Could you hold him here? There's something I need to get from my flat."
She started across the room, but Sherlock grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.
"Don't be long," he said, gazing into her eyes. "We have unfinished business."
She cupped his cheek and gave him a cheeky grin.
"I know," she said.
John grinned. He couldn't help it. He'd seen Sherlock with Irene and he'd also seen his friend fake a relationship, but this was something else entirely. She stepped away and continued across the room, but he noticed the way Sherlock's eyes didn't leave her until the door closed.
That's when the detective turned to Mr. Lindquest and the look he wore told John one thing. When she returned the man wasn't going to be in the same condition he'd been in when she left.
Standard Disclaimer.
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