"She's not answering my texts," Sherlock said, stalking back and forth across the sitting room.
"Sherlock, sit down. She's with Mycroft, it's not as though he's going to murder her in a restaurant. Or anywhere for that matter," John responded. "You can't hold her hand all her life."
Sherlock scowled. "We should have gone with to make sure everything went alright. It's been two hours; she should be back by now."
John shook his head. "No, we made the right choice Sherlock and you know that, even if you are worried. I'm sure she'll be back soon and tell you all about how it went. If it had gone badly, she would have returned long ago," he pointed out.
"Who would have returned long ago?" Rose asked, entering the flat.
"You're back!" Sherlock exclaimed. He looked Rose up and down, searching for signs of distress.
"Yes, I am and I'm fine," Rose confirmed. "Just fine."
"Was Mycroft an idiot?"
"Mycroft tried very hard to make things right," she assured him. "Very hard. I won't forget what he said, not for a long while, but I think he and I understand each other a little better though. Still couldn't convince him that dancing was a profession." She sighed as she said that. "But at least we're talking about it rather than dismissing that. Baby steps."
"See? We didn't need to worry after all," John told Sherlock, giving his friend a smile.
"You were worried too?" Rose asked.
John nodded. "Yeah, I suppose I was." He laughed when she hurried over to him and gave him a hug. He returned it, squeezing her close before letting her go. "Tell us all about it, yeah?"
"Let me change first. I made it all through dinner, all three courses in fact, and didn't get anything on Molly's dress! I want to keep it that way," Rose said with a smile. She disappeared into Sherlock's bedroom and changed back into her casual clothing.
"You'll have to tell us later," Sherlock told her when she reemerged. "We're off to Albert Court. We've got a case!" He held up his phone. "Man stabbed to death, cryptic message written on the wall in blood. Brilliant!"
"Sounds seriously gross. Good luck with that," Rose replied. She watched the two men bundle up a bit against the chill in the air and followed them out onto the steps. "Be safe out there, alright? I expect you both to come home in one piece!"
Sherlock merely waved her off and hurried down the stairs, nearly running into Mrs. Hudson.
"Oh, Sherlock, I-"
"Not now, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock replied, rushing out the door. John followed suit, leaving the elderly landlady standing in the entry way.
"Oh, Rose, hello dear. I'll have that lease ready for you in a few days," Mrs. Hudson stated, looking up at Rose.
"Sounds good," Rose responded. "I heard you trying to catch Sherlock. Is everything alright?" She headed down the steps, intending to make certain Mrs. Hudson was ok.
"Well, I had a package come for him earlier. He wasn't here and it just slipped my mind until I heard him on the stairs," Mrs. Hudson explained. "Would you take it up?"
Rose accepted the package from the landlady, looking it over. "This is rather creepy," she murmured, examining the address, written neatly in pen but bearing no name, and then the Baker Street address. It was clearly meant for Sherlock, but his name and address were cut out letters from magazines. "Looks sort of serial killer creepy. And it smells funny," Rose commented. "Does Sherlock get a lot of strange packages?"
"Oh a few here and there, usually connected to whatever he's working on at the moment," Mrs. Hudson confided. "That's why I tried to catch him; might be important."
"I think you're right. Albert Court is in Kensington, right?" When Mrs. Hudson confirmed it, Rose used her phone to look up the sender's address. "That's right across the street from where Sherlock was going. I bet it's related!" Rose gave the woman a smile. "I'm going to rush over and make sure he has it."
Heading back into the apartment, Rose threw on her coat, grabbed her wallet and haphazardly laced up her sneakers before running out of the building, frantically waving at the first cab she spotted. "Albert Court, Kensington. Please hurry," she instructed, sliding into the back seat.
Ten minutes later, Rose stopped the cab a block away from where several police cars were parked. "You probably won't be able to get closer, this is fine," she assured the driver. Exiting, she paid the fare and headed towards the building in question. It was surrounded by squad cars, crime scene tape, and part of the street was blocked off.
Rose carefully made her way towards the building, side-stepping any tape and watching to make sure she didn't disturb anything that could be evidence on the lawn. Strangely enough, none of the officers around their cars seemed to notice her at all. She was just about to the front door of the building, which was slightly ajar, and Rose could even see Sherlock through one of the windows. She grimaced, realizing that blood was spattered all over said window. "Gross."
She spotted movement out of the corner of her eye and froze for a moment. Was it the killer? Slowly Rose turned around, only to spot a smartly dressed women in a pair of impractical high heels. Must be a reporter, she thought. Then the woman began speaking in an obnoxious tone. "Excuse me! Hello? Excuse me!"
"Yes?" Rose answered. "I'm a bit busy now, and reporters probably shouldn't be this close to the building."
"This is a crime scene, you need to leave," Sally Donovan ordered. She didn't bother to identify herself to the young woman. "Leave immediately."
Rose frowned at her. "I'll be in and out real fast, not trying to steal your story or disturb anything, but I have something that might be relevant that I need to give to someone."
"This isn't a debate, get moving. Right now, off the property." Sally's tone was demanding, clearly expecting to be obeyed.
"I'm sorry, I can't. I'm with them," Rose responded, gesturing to the window. "And I need to give them something. I'll be on my way, I swear, but this could be important.
Sally let out an undignified snort. "Really, and just who are you with? The medical examiner or the detective inspector?"
"No, no, no. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson," Rose corrected.
"And what are you to them, some kind of assistant?"
Rose shrugged. "Sorta."
"The freak doesn't have an assistant," Sally stated firmly.
Rose scowled darkly. "His name is Sherlock Holmes, and I'll thank you to use that name."
"What's it to you what I call him? He is a freak."
"He's my brother," Rose ground out, her temper rising.
"Sister? He's got a sister? Who in their right mind let that freak around children?" Sally asked.
Rose answered, by punching her in the gut. The woman doubled over and gasped for breath. "Don't say things like that about my brother," she told the woman sternly. "If you're done with your hissy now, I'll go inside." She turned to start up the front steps towards the entrance but was stopped in her tracks when the woman spoke again.
"And… you're… under arrest," Sally finally managed to get out.
"Under arrest?!" Rose exclaimed and turned around once more. Instead of receiving an answer, the other woman began manhandling her, attempting to get Rose's arms behind her back.
Having no idea at all who this woman was, Rose wasn't going to let some stranger decide to handcuff her! Having no intention to go along quietly with someone who might be the killer for all she knew, Rose fought to get away and the situation quickly spiraled out of control as Sally fought to subdue her and Rose fought to get away.
"I may be mistaken-" Anderson commented as he looked out the window from inside the crime scene.
"Aren't you always mistaken?" Sherlock asked.
Anderson rolled his eyes, but ignored him. "I believe Sally is being assaulted."
"What?" Lestrade asked, crossing the room towards the window. "Anderson, what are you on about?"
Before Anderson could repeat himself, he jumped away from the window, pulling Lestrade along with him. Seconds later, two people fell through it, shattering glass all over the crime scene.
Seeing an opportunity to get Sally off of her, Rose had slammed against her with all of her might, and ended up putting Sally right through the window. Unfortunately, the woman had pulled her with equal momentum and both of them went through the window, hit the thick smears of blood on the floor below them and slid a few feet across the floor where they continued to struggle.
For a long moment, no one moved, including Lestrade who could only stare as he watched Sally essentially cat-fight a random teenager, proceeding to get the blood evidence all over themselves. Uncertain at first whether to attempt to save the crime scene or separate the women, he decided to separate them before they could ruin anymore evidence.
"Enough, that's enough!" Lestrade shouted. John hurried after him, finally hauling Sally away and onto her feet as Lestrade pulled Rose onto hers. Lestrade took one look at her and said, "I know you!" He turned to Sherlock and said, "This is your sister, isn't it? The one we were looking for that time and you led me to that big drug bust in a warehouse, right?"
"Oh my gosh, let's not talk about that," Rose snapped. "Sherlock, I have…" Her voice died out as she spotted the look on her brother's face. His mouth had become a grim line and his eyes were full of anger. She just knew he was struggling to keep from shouting at her in front of all these people and Rose suddenly wished very desperately that she could take back the last two or three minutes of her life. Sherlock was going to make her regret them very, very much, she could tell.
"She assaulted me, she's being arrested!" Sally shouted.
"Who is this lady?" Rose asked, gesturing with her head in Sally's direction. "I have something important I need to give Sherlock, it might be related to the case! She wouldn't let me in and then tried to arrest me and I never saw a badge or anything," she pointed out. "Lestrade, let go of me."
"You just completely contaminated this crime scene, destroyed evidence, and assaulted Sergeant Donovan," Lestrade told her. "Right now, you're under arrest. We'll sort this out in a bit when we're done here. Which sadly isn't likely to be all that long, thanks to you." He handcuffed Rose, who began looking frantically at both Sherlock and John, the color draining from her face.
"I didn't do anything! I didn't know! I was trying to help!" she shouted. "Sherlock, don't let him arrest me! Sherlock! John! Do something!"
It was John who spoke first. "Lestrade, I'm sure we can sort this out. Do you have to do that?"
Lestrade nodded. "I do. Like I said, we'll sort it all out later. For now, I'm having an officer take her in." He waved at one of the uniformed officers on the street, beckoning him inside. "Take her in, put her in my office. She doesn't have to stay handcuffed as long as you keep her in my office. Make certain her clothing is bagged. She's got evidence all over her," he instructed.
"John, go with her," Sherlock said quietly. "I'll be along shortly."
Rose kept quiet as she was escorted from the building and put into the back of a squad car. She may have been silent, but she was trembling and tears were running down her face.
"No, don't cry," John said as he got in beside her. "We'll sort it out. Lestrade's a good man, we'll sort it out. Are you scared?"
She nodded, beginning to sob, though she attempted to hide it from him.
"No need to be scared. I'm right here with you, I'll stay with you, and Sherlock will follow us soon." Now really wasn't the time to be scared, John thought to himself. She'd probably be better off saving the tears for when Sherlock got hold of her!
"Promise you'll stay?" Rose asked pitifully. "I don't want to go to jail, I wasn't trying to disturb anything I swear!"
"Promise. Come on, deep breaths. Try to relax," John urged. "Deep breaths. There you go. Again. One more. Good girl. We're almost there and I'll make sure someone helps you clean up, too." He was certain that having all that blood in her hair, on her clothing, and even smeared on her hands and face, wasn't helping matters.
John stayed by her side as promised while the officer led her to Lestrade's office. "I know you'll need to get the evidence, but can we get a female officer to help her and get the process moving?" he asked the officer. "I'm not interfering, I promise, but she's scared. My best friend's sister," John explained.
The officer agreed to find someone and left Rose and John standing in the office for a few moments before returning with a blanket and evidence bags. "This is Officer Gaines. She's going to take you to the ladies room to get out of your clothes. We need to collect them because you have evidence on you," the male officer explained to Rose. "I brought a blanket for you. She'll take you to get the rest of the stuff on you collected and cleaned off, then bring you back here."
Rose nodded, sighing in relief when the male office removed her handcuffs. "Are you coming?" she asked John. "Please?"
"Well, not in the ladies room," John said, looking a bit embarrassed. "But I could wait right outside and go with you to get your face and everything cleaned up. That alright?"
"Yeah, that's good. That's what I meant," she clarified.
"Try to walk very carefully, we don't want to lose any evidence," Officer Gaines instructed. "It's this way." She led Rose to the ladies room and helped her out of the clothing. Rose's jacket, jeans and sneakers were bagged one by one. "Your shirt too," the officer instructed. "I'll try to find you something better than the blanket when we're done."
With a sigh, Rose surrendered her shirt and even her socks, standing there in just her bra and panties before wrapping herself up in the blanket. "Good job," Gaines said encouragingly. "You're doing alright. Not the first person to come in covered in evidence," she admitted. "Let's get you cleaned off."
John gave Rose an encouraging smile when she emerged from the bathroom. "Good work love," he praised, trying to reassure her. "Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"
He followed Rose and the officer and stood off to the side as Gaines and a forensic specialist worked to collect the blood evidence from her face, hands and hair. Once they had collected what they could, Rose was able to get washed up. It was such a relief to not have blood on her body anymore!
By the time Rose and John returned to Lestrade's office, both Sherlock and the detective inspector were waiting for them. "Guys, you couldn't find her something to put on?" Lestrade complained.
Sherlock immediately took off his coat, handing it to his sister. "Go put that on instead and come straight back."
Rose disappeared with the coat and returned a moment later, snuggly buttoned up tight. She was glad to have the coat, rather than the blanket, which had made her feel more exposed, even though everything was covered up. There was just something not right about running around in a blanket in public!
"Sit down," Lestrade instructed her, indicating a chair in front of his desk. He sat as well and watched her as she fidgeted in the chair, feeling quite sure the squirming under his stern gaze would do her some good. When three full minutes of silence had uncomfortably passed, he began talking.
"I have no idea what happened tonight," Lestrade began. "Other than I have a compromised crime scene and contaminated evidence, which makes my job of finding the killer much more difficult."
"Don't exaggerate, you contacted me after all. If you had been able to figure it out on your own, you wouldn't need me," Sherlock pointed out in an exasperated tone.
"Alright, alright. It makes the eventual court case much more difficult then," Lestrade amended. "And you're facing several charges of your own right now, for that whole debacle. So why don't you start explaining what happened."
Rose took a deep breath and began to recount the events. "Mrs. Hudson had a package for Sherlock, but he rushed out to come help you tonight and didn't get it from her. It was a really weird looking package and the return address on it was from right across the street. We thought it might be important, related to the case. Mrs. Hudson says that's happened before, Sherlock getting strange mail related to cases."
"And where is this package?" Lestrade asked.
"The inner pocket of my jacket, which is currently in a bag."
Lestrade called in an officer to go retrieve the envelope from the jacket and bring it back to him. In the meantime, Rose continued.
"So I got a cab and came right over. I was just going to go inside and give it to Sherlock and leave. Trust me, I want nothing to do with that nasty messy… stuff Sherlock helps you with," Rose assured them. "But when I was trying to go in, this woman stopped me before I could get up to the front door. She didn't tell me who she was, she wasn't dressed like an officer, she was just a bossy lady who wouldn't listen to what I was trying to tell her. I actually though she was reporter or something."
Lestrade sighed heavily. He really needed to talk to Sally about remembering to ID herself at crime scenes, particularly before she tried to arrest someone. "That was directed at Sally, not you," he admitted to Rose. "Go on."
"I told her I was with Sherlock and she said some very nasty things about him that I couldn't ignore. Just couldn't. He's my brother and I love him," Rose said firmly.
"I can imagine what she said," Lestrade admitted.
"So I punched her in the gut. And then she tried to get my hands behind my back and cuff me and I was all 'What the hell?' because I still didn't know who she was. I don't let just anyone handcuff me," she pointed out.
"Does that mean you allow some people to handcuff you?" Sherlock asked in a dangerous tone.
"Well, yes. If a police officer, that was properly identified or in uniform, tried to handcuff me, I wouldn't fight him or her. I didn't fight Lestrade, even though I didn't think I'd done anything wrong," Rose retorted. "I was scared, there's this strange woman trying to wrestle me and handcuff me, so I fought back! Then we fell in the window and you all know the rest." She shuddered, remembering all the blood she'd been covered in.
Lestrade ran a hand over his face and sighed as he attempted to find a way to sort this mess out. Just then the male officer returned with the package Rose had brought with her to the crime scene. "Does look a bit off," Lestrade admitted.
"Looks serial killer," Rose contradicted. "Not just a bit off."
"Well, let's get this open then." Lestrade put on a pair of gloves and carefully opened the package. Inside the envelope was an overabundance of pink glitter and a letter, also written with the cut out magazine letters like Sherlock's address had been. He scanned the letter quickly and then passed it to Sherlock. "This belongs to you. And is unrelated to the case."
"It is?" Rose asked, her eyes wide. Had she seriously just gone through all this mess and gotten herself into a world of trouble over something not related to the case? "But it's from a criminal, it has to be."
"No," Sherlock said dully. "It's a fan letter."
"Seriously?"
"Unfortunately," he assured her.
"You get fan letters with… glitter. Why?" Rose asked.
Lestrade supplied the answer while Sherlock mumbled something. "Your brother is quite famous these days. Mostly through helping us with some high profile cases and from John's blog about the investigations as well." He chuckled when she looked completely confused.
"You're some sort of celebrity now, and get fan letters? Like actors and everything?" she questioned.
"Unfortunately, yes," Sherlock confirmed. He hastily put the letter through the shredder in Lestrade's office.
"But it looked like a serial killer letter," Rose protested. "I can't believe you get fan mail that looks like it came from serial killers!"
An eyebrow quirked. "The words "serial killer" and "fan" are not linguistically exclusive of one another," Sherlock pointed out.
"And even when they don't look like something a murderer would send, there are still some very strange letters and packages that show up at Baker Street," John added. "You should read the fantasies in some of them about Sherlock and that hat."
Lestrade laughed so hard he made a snorting noise. "That I'd love to see!"
"Unfortunately for you, I shred the more pornographic ones," Sherlock muttered.
Rose turned wide eyes on her brother. "You get pornographic letters? Some of which are more pornographic than the others? Do you keep the lesser pornographic letters?"
He shrugged. "On occasion, when I suspect the sender is likely to commit a crime in the near future."
"That's just gross. I'm sorry, no offense, but that's gross. Women send pornographic letters to you that involve your hat. Consider my mind officially blown and not in a good way," Rose decided.
"Mind blown?" Sherlock repeated. "What does that even mean? That must be some sort of figure of speech, since that would be impossible; your brain is clearly still functioning. At least to a certain extent."
"Well, as much fun and games as this is, we've got some problems to sort out about you, young lady," Lestrade stated, ushering everyone back to the business at hand. "Why don't you step out while we have a chat about what to do with you."
Rose sighed and stood up to leave. "Please just keep in mind, I really wasn't trying to do anything wrong. I thought I had something important that would help Sherlock, otherwise I would have stayed home. I'm also really sorry for all the trouble I caused."
Sherlock nodded and waved his hand towards the door and the three men waited for her to leave.
"I think she's being truthful," John said. "She was terrified on the ride over here, just shaking. I felt awful for her."
Lestrade nodded. "I agree. Sally should have identified herself properly and this whole mess would have been avoided. Not all the blame can be laid on Rose, but she's not blameless either and there's a whole list of charges that could be brought against her. But I have an idea…"
It was nerve wracking, standing out there while knowing her fate was being discussed in that office. Was she going to jail? Would she be fined? More importantly, was Sherlock going to tell Mycroft? God, Rose hoped not. Though Sherlock hadn't looked pleased either, she was forced to admit.
After ten minutes of discussion, during which Rose rocked back and forth on her feet, overwhelmed by anxiety, Lestrade waved her back into his office. "You, Rosenwyn Holmes, are a lucky young lady," he began. "Sergeant Donovan will not be pressing charges against you for assaulting her. I will also not be pressing charges against you for tampering with evidence, destruction of property, or impeding a criminal investigation." Lestrade read each charge slowly, watching her squirm even more and blush a brilliant shade of red.
"These charges, however, are not being dropped without an exchange of sorts. I could use some help around here. Nothing terrible, just filing and picking up lunches or coffee orders, little things that I don't presently have someone to do for me," he explained. "Provided you are willing to donate one hundred and fifty hours of volunteer time, we will all forget this ever happened."
The relief was overwhelming. She wouldn't be going to jail! "That's very fair," Rose agreed. "Thank you so much. I was so scared." She took a deep breath, allowing herself to relax a bit.
Lestrade nodded. "Sherlock is a friend and a great help on my investigations, so I'm willing to do this for his sake." That and he doubted Sally wanted it made a part of her official record that she had her arse kicked by a mere slip of a teenager.
"And because I quite like the idea of a personal assistant. You're smart; you don't act like it, but you are. I think you'll learn a lot while volunteering, and I promise not to torture you too much. I'll expect you here, tomorrow, at 8am."
"Make it a bit later. Rose and I still need to discuss some things and it will go late," Sherlock commented.
Rose cringed. He said 'discuss' as in 'discussion' and she knew damn well that there would be very little talking, outside of scolding, during said 'discussion.' How she hated that stupid phrase of his! Though at least he hadn't said. 'I'm going to spank Rose when we get back to Baker Street and it's already quite late.' She was absolutely certain she would have died of embarrassment then and there in Lestrade's office.
"Noon then. But just for tomorrow! After that I'll expect you at 8am," Lestrade agreed
"Yes sir, I'll be here sir," Rose rushed to assure him. "You won't be disappointed, I'll do my very best to assist you in any way I can. And again, I'm very sorry for what happened."
Lestrade nodded once more, accepting her apology. "I'm officially releasing you into Sherlock's custody. Go home, rest up, tomorrow will be a busy day."
The walk out of the building was a silent one. Rose was nervous and her gut churned in response. Sherlock was going to murder her. Either that or he would turn her over to Mycroft, which would be an awful way to end the night after having some real conversations at dinner.
"Did you tell Mycroft?" Rose finally asked in a tiny voice.
"No, but I'm certain he is aware of it, or will be. He's always aware of things," Sherlock responded. "I have no intention of handing you off to him, if that is what you're asking. I'm more than capable of handling this evening's events and I can promise you- It. Will. Be. Handled."
Rose leaned her head back against the car seat and closed her eyes. Oh yes, she was in a lot of trouble.