Rose walked through the door of her flat carrying the takeout carton. After a day of crime scenes and searching flats making dinner seemed like too much of a chore, so she was glad a fish and chip shop opened up around the corner. She took her shoes off near the sofa, setting the carton on the side table, and then walked into the kitchen to retrieve silverware. As she pulled the drawer open someone knocked on the door. The insistent sort of knock. She sighed. Should've known a quiet evening was too much to ask for.

She crossed the room and opened the door to find John standing on the other side.

"You have GOT to help me," he exclaimed, stepping inside.

There was only one reason he could be this upset.

"What'd he do this time?" she asked.

"He's driving me bloody mad!"

"John!" Sherlock called down the stairs.

"You have to occupy him."

"Occupy him?" she asked, raising her brow.

"Please?"

"JOHN!"

"He's in one of his moods and I have someone coming over."

"Where's my violin?"

She laughed.

"Please?" he asked, clasping his hands together as if he were begging, which he was.

"JOHN!" Sherlock's insistent voice carried down the stairs.

How could she resist those puppy dog eyes?

"Fine," she agreed, relaxing would just have to wait.

"Really?" John asked.

"Yeah, but you owe me."

She walked over to her sofa and slipped her shoes on as the sound of footsteps descending the stairs reached them.

"Anything. Anything you need, I'm there," John said.

"Where the hell are you?" Sherlock called.

"Go, hide in my room. I'll get him out," she said, grabbing her coat and slipping into it.

John raced into her room and closed the door. A moment later Sherlock appeared walking down the basement stairs. He noticed Rose standing in the doorway.

"Have you seen John?" Sherlock asked.

"He went out," she replied.

"Out?"

"As a matter of fact I was going to ask if you wanted to grab a bite with me."

"I'm rather busy."

He wanted his violin so he could think about the case, but that would leave him sitting in his chair plucking strings while John tried to go about his date. If she tried to explain the situation to the detective he'd have no idea what she was talking about. Probably say something along the lines of, he didn't care what John and his date did they wouldn't be bothering him. Only that wasn't the point.

She knew there was only one way to get him to go with her. She hated doing it. Really did, but it really was the only way…outside of another murder that is. She took his arm and gazed into his eyes.

"Please?" she asked.

He looked at her. His eyes widening for a moment.

"I…" he hesitated. She leaned her head on his shoulder. "What're you doing?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, acting completely innocent.

"You're trying to distract me."

He was catching on. She smiled and he returned it.

"Maybe just a little," she said.

"Why?"

"John would prefer there were only two people on his date and you're not one of them."

His brows furrowed.

"I'm working on a case, which is far more important than-"

"Sherlock!" John called from the other side of her closed bedroom door.

The detective was faster, racing across the room. Rose chased after him, and into her bedroom. John was staring at the mirror above her dresser. Three pictures of her had been taped to the glass with a letter written on each one. I.C.U. Dread crept up her spine. The pictures weren't recent. They were from her past. Her mobile. The one that was stolen when Moriarty was stalking her. There was only one person who could've done it…who would have.

"James," she said under her breath.

Both men turned to her.

"Are you sure?" John asked.

She understood his hesitation. It'd been weeks since James shot Moriarty and tried to kill them. In the first few they waited for him to make a move. To make good on his promise to come after her, but there was no sign of him. They began to believe he perished in one of the explosions or perhaps he'd been trapped by the fire, but now…

"These pictures," she said glancing at her dresser, "are from my phone. The one Moriarty stole. It has to be him."

"I.C.U.," John said. "Do you think?"

He glanced at Sherlock. The detective began looking around her room. John joined in a moment later.

"What're you doing?" Rose asked.

"The message would indicate…" Sherlock said, looking behind her mirror and then pulling something out. A camera…small. "…he's been watching you."

Violated. That was the first feeling accompanied by anger. He'd been in her flat. Not just to leave the pictures, but to watch her. Were the cameras recent or had they been there for days…weeks? She wrapped her arms around herself, subconsciously before realizing what she was doing and dropping them, clenching her fists at her sides. He was making her feel like a victim and she wouldn't allow him to do that. Make her feel like she didn't have any control.

"How long has it been there?" she snapped, masking her fear with anger.

"It's recent, but it's only for show," Sherlock replied, examining the camera.

"Only for show?" John asked.

"It's not functioning."

"Then why did he leave it?"

"For effect."

For effect. He was trying to frighten her, unbalance her. If it was James then he wasn't the man she remembered. Guilt overwhelmed her. Stronger than the fear. Stronger than the anger. If she'd known. Somehow put the pieces together. The accident and then the cracks. Maybe she could've saved him.

John pulled his mobile out and began dialing.

"What're you doing?" she asked.

"Phoning Lestrade," he replied.

She snatched his phone out of his hands.

"No."

"No? He's been in your flat."

"I'm not going to have the police traipsing all over the place," she insisted, crossing the room and pulling the pictures off her mirror.

It wasn't just having a bunch of people trampling around her flat, searching her belongings, although that didn't sit well with her, she didn't want to send the police after James. Yes, he shot Moriarty and she was pretty sure he set the explosives in the warehouse, but she and Sherlock survived. Now that she knew James was alive she had to try to help him. Maybe reverse what Dr. Hastings did to him, but she couldn't do that if the police were after him.

"You can't simply pretend this didn't happen," Sherlock said.

"Who's pretending?" Rose replied. "James broke in, taped pictures with a message to my mirror, and planted a non-functioning camera behind my mirror, but what are the police going to do? They can't look for someone who doesn't exist, can they?"

"They search for suspects who use alias' all the time. Once they have a description-"

"I'm not calling them and neither are you. Understood?" she insisted.

Sherlock eyed her and she knew he could tell there was something else going on, but she wasn't about to enlighten him. She knew how he felt about James, which was why she wasn't about to let him know what she was planning.

"If you insist, but John and I will check the rest of your flat in the chance that one of the cameras he planted does in fact function," the detective said.

"Fine."

She followed them out of the room and then sat down on the sofa, picking up her takeout. She caught the sideways glances Sherlock gave her. He was trying to work out what she was up to, but she kept her eyes averted. He'd figure it out sooner or later, but she would deal with that then. In the meantime she needed to get her hands on Dr. Hastings research and work out exactly how he changed James. Luckily there was more than one Holmes and the other still owed her a favor.


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