The Doctor climbed out of the cab and followed the trio across the street and into an alley. He called Amy and Rory to let them know where he was after Rose mentioned that they might be worried if they came out of the TARDIS and couldn't find him. She was always good at that sort of thing. The domestic thing. She was the only woman, human or otherwise, that he'd ever considering doing that sort of thing with, but then there was the battle and the meta-crisis and, if he was honest with himself, it had a lot to do with his cowardice, but now, well, now he'd found her.
There was, of course, the detective. Under any other circumstances the Doctor would be excited to meet the fictitious Sherlock Holmes. The consulting detective. The most imaginative, ingenious man ever put to pen, but, at the moment, he was the only thing standing between the Doctor and Rose and that put him in a completely different position. On the wrong side.
There was also Amy and her loyalty to River. Yes, River was his wife…technically and he cared for her, but what his friend didn't know, and couldn't find out, was that he'd already seen her die. River died the day he met her. A day that would be coming soon. Yes, there was a chance that Rose would change things, alter his timeline a bit, but he couldn't let her go again. Besides, the TARDIS obviously wanted him to bring her back otherwise she wouldn't have brought him there in the first place.
The Doctor watched Sherlock begin his examination of the woman's body. He didn't at all like the way Rose hovered near the detective or the way he signaled for her to bend down so he could show her something. They were much too close. The Doctor found himself inching his way over to them, but in the next moment he was waylaid by another man.
"And who're you?" the man asked.
The Time Lord turned around, took in the official looking uniform and the way the man eyed him as if he wasn't sure if he belonged there.
"Oh, Hello," the Doctor said, giving the silver haired man a smile while offering his hand. "I'm the Doctor and you are?"
"Detective Inspector Lestrade," the man said, a bit confused, but shaking the Doctor's hand.
Lestrade. Yes, the inspector who called Sherlock Holmes in on cases.
"Are you really?"
"Yes."
"It's a pleasure to meet you," The Doctor beamed. "A real pleasure."
"Um…thank you," Lestrade replied, returning the Doctor's smile. "Are you with him then?" the inspector nodded toward the detective.
"No, actually I'm with her."
"Rose?" Lestrade glanced at her. "A friend of hers then?"
"Yes, old friends."
"Oh, well, she's great isn't she?"
The Doctor smiled. Better than great.
"One of a kind."
"Yes, that's exactly how I'd put it. Been a huge help, not that Sherlock couldn't have worked things out on his own, but she sees things differently."
"Yes, she's always been good at that."
"And she's good for him."
The Doctor glanced from Lestrade to Sherlock and Rose. He knew what the inspector was saying, but he didn't want to think about that. Maybe she was good for the detective, but she wasn't Sherlock's Rose. She was his, had been from the moment he took her hand in the basement of that department store and he wasn't about to give her up…again.
"Yes, well…"
An officer motioned for Lestrade.
"It was nice meeting you," the inspector said as he walked away.
The Doctor turned back to the detective and noticed Sherlock examining something on the woman's wrist. A brand? It was burned into her skin. He inched closer. Yes, definitely a brand.
"Some kind of flower?" the Doctor asked.
The detective gave him a dismissive glance, which was particularly irritating.
"Yes, but we're not sure what sort," Rose said.
The Time Lord gave her a smile that she returned. It wasn't the cheeky grin she used to give him, but after that slap, he rubbed his cheek at the thought, he didn't really expect it. She was smiling though and that was a start.
"I'll check once she's in the morgue. Compare the two," Sherlock replied, more to Rose than anyone else.
"Or," the Doctor said, pulling out his sonic as he bent down, "I could use this."
"I'm perfectly capable of-" Sherlock protested.
"I'm sure," the Doctor replied, taking the woman's wrist and scanning the brand. He looked at the reading. "A rose? That's a bit odd then."
"It obviously holds some meaning for the killer," Sherlock replied, as if the Doctor should've figured that out, which he had, but he ignored the detective because now he was studying the body.
"What did the other woman look like?" he asked.
The detective eyed him for a moment, as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to tell the Time Lord anything and then decided to, grudgingly, share the information.
"Similar. Blonde hair, same build, the previous victim was two inches shorter, but their facial features are quite similar. The killer has a particular type, but it's nothing I haven't seen before."
"And the manner of death?"
"Strangulation. Same pink fibers that were on the last victim's neck."
"Pink fibers?"
The Doctor examined the woman's neck. Yes, he could see them now. He scanned her neck. Cotton blend. Pink dye.
"The killer obviously used a scarf to strangle her. I assumed it was a weapon of convenience with the first victim, but it appears to be favored by the murderer. It most likely holds a particular meaning."
There was something gnawing at the back of the Doctor's mind, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was. He, absentmindedly, scratched the back of his head with his sonic. It was right there. He could feel it.
The detective stood up, but the Doctor continued to try to work out what was nagging him. There was something…
"What is it?" Rose asked.
He glanced up. She was giving him that look that told him she knew he was on to something. He hadn't seen that look in a long time. A very long time. He stood up, giving her a smile.
"Not sure, but it'll come to me," he replied. "Always does, eventually."
"Something about that brand on her wrist?"
"The brand?"
"Well, you seemed pretty interested in it."
"Oh, well, I wanted to know what it was."
She glanced at the woman's wrist and something crossed her eyes, not fear, but something else.
"Strange though, don't you think?"
"Strange?"
"A rose? I mean, honestly it's a bit creepy."
"Yes, well…" he glanced at the brand and that's when it hit him. The thing tugging at the back of his mind. His eyes darted over the woman's body, taking in her physical details and then to the woman standing in front of him. Blonde hair, same build, the eyes were different, Rose's hazel and the dead woman's blue, but other than that they were very similar, eerily similar. And the scarf. Pink. Her favorite color.
He glanced at the detective who had been talking to Lestrade, but was now looking at Rose as if he'd figured something out. He must have come to the same conclusion. It was too much of a coincidence to believe that Rose just happened to match the killer's victims, especially with that pink scarf in the mix. Someone was targeting her, killing women who looked like her and eventually he would come for her. Well, the Doctor knew exactly whose fault that was. He stalked toward the Sherlock as the detective made his way toward the doctor both men's eyes locked on each other.
"This is all your fault," the both yelled.
"Me?" again at the same time.
"I wasn't even here," the Doctor defended.
"I'm the one who's been protecting her," Sherlock shouted.
"Protecting her?" the Doctor asked, pausing in his anger. "Protecting her from what?"
"From that psychopath you left her with!"
"Psychopath?" What the hell was Sherlock talking about? He wouldn't leave Rose with a psychopath. Unless… "The meta-crisis?" Could he have snapped? He wouldn't have. No, not with Rose. He would never…guilt welled up inside of him. Could that have happened? Could he have been more dangerous than the Doctor predicted?
"He's not a psychopath!" Rose snapped. "He didn't do this!"
"He's the only one," Sherlock insisted.
"No, I won't believe that! He's not capable of…of this," she said, indicating the dead woman.
"Maybe not before, but he is now."
Before? Before what?
"It's not him!"
"You said it yourself when he killed Moriarty and almost killed us, he's not the man you knew."
Wait. What? The Doctor knew who Moriarty was, Sherlock's rival, but the meta-crisis killed him?
"The meta-crisis killed Moriarty?" the Doctor asked.
"And tried to kill us," Sherlock snapped.
Rose? He tried to kill Rose? No, that…that didn't make any sense. He would never…the Doctor would never so he would never…It just wasn't possible.
"Both of you?"
"Yes, both of us," Sherlock confirmed.
"It wasn't his fault!" Rose insisted. "It's that bloody doctor!"
"Doctor? What doctor?" the Time Lord asked.
"Dr. Hastings. He did something to James. Some behavior modification experiment."
"Behavior Modification?" That was bad. Really not good. "Do you know what was done to him?"
"Not yet," Rose said. "I asked Mycroft to find Dr. Hastings research, but I haven't heard anything yet."
"Mycroft?"
"My brother," Sherlock replied.
"Well, then, let's just pay a little visit to this Mycroft, shall we?" the Doctor said, turning to walk out of the alley, but at that moment Sherlock's phone rang.
The Time Lord paused while the detective answered.
"Yes?" Sherlock asked.
A moment's pause and then the detective smile, giving Rose a sideways glance, something the Doctor didn't like in the least.
"Very good."
Sherlock hung up, pocketing his mobile.
"Mycroft's at his office," he said, walking out of the alley. "He's expecting us."
Well, he might be expecting them, but he certainly wasn't expecting the Doctor. The Time Lord followed the trio into a cab.
Standard Disclaimer.
Thank you to all my brilliant readers!
If you have time reviews are always welcome. :)
