#finding color

Dragging on her jacket, she snagged several items, tucked them into her pockets, and headed for the door.  Rose paused before opening it, listening for a moment.  She wanted to make sure no one would see her leave.  Satisfied with the silence, she opened the door, and when she shut it behind her, used the sonic to lock it.  There.  Let anyone try to pick that lock now!  Satisfied, Rose practically bounced out the front door, closing it just as another door at the top of the stairs opened.

Sherlock prided himself on his observational skills, so when a sound he could not identify drifted up from the stairwell, it caught his attention.  His curiosity was piqued; he wanted to know what had made the sound.  He quickly made his way to the door, intent on locating and identifying it.  Odds are it had something to do with Rose Tyler, as she had access to a great deal of unknown technology.   

Upon opening his door, he heard the sound of the front door closing, but no further movement in the house.  That meant someone had just departed.  It could not have been John, and Mrs. Hudson was currently in the thralls of one of her shows, making it unlikely for her to be the culprit, which left Ms. Tyler—an individual he distinctly remembered advising not to leave the building independent of himself or John.  With a long suffering sigh, he rolled his eyes and reached for his coat, intent on following.

Once on the street, Sherlock quickly recalled her previous patterns of travel and turned right.  Keeping to a fast walk, it didn’t take long for him to spot the blonde ahead of him.  He allowed a small smile of triumph to momentarily curve the ends of his lips before smoothing his expression out, not bothering to announce his presence until he had caught up with her.  “Ms. Tyler, I thought we had agreed you would not be leaving the building alone.”

She neither started, nor turned to look at him.  “No, you all decided I shouldn’t.  I never said I agreed to it.”

“You did, however, agree that you came to me for help, which includes obeying my advice.  This is quite the opposite of my advice.”  His tone dry, Sherlock shaped each word with utter precision.  

Rose finally flicked a glance at him.  “Sherlock, I’m not especially good at staying in one place for long.  I like having a home base, yes.  However, staying there day in and day out is out of the question.  I need to move around, explore—be able to be independent.”  Before he could comment, she plowed on, “Besides, if I give in and stay locked up all the time or constantly waiting around, he wins.  He gets to take away my life, and I can’t live like that.”

Sherlock let silence fall between them.  He couldn’t refute that statement, even if a part of him wanted to just keep her safe.  She potentially represented his key to Moriarty, after all.  So instead he stayed silent as she deliberately took her time visiting a shop, chatting up the sales girl.  He simply waited, unwilling to either abandon her or show any sign her actions bothered him.  “What new device made that noise?”

“What noise?”  Momentarily thrown off guard, she shot him a puzzled look.

“In the hallway.  There was something different that you used prior to your departure.”  

“Oh, that,” Rose grinned and started wandering again, Sherlock falling into step next to her.  “It’s a sonic screwdriver.”

“A sonic . . . screwdriver,” Sherlock replied, his voice flat.  “Why would someone need a sonic screwdriver?”

“Oh, it’s pretty handy for a number of things—including unlocking doors, or locking them so no one else can open them back up.”  

Her grin grew bigger, and he detected a hint of her tongue sticking out between her teeth.  It took his mind a moment to snap away from that tiny bit of pink and re-engage into thought.  “Is that so?”  In all likelihood, she knew he would find that a challenge.  The expression on her face indicated the accuracy of his deduction.  

“Yep!  Of course, you could try . . . but you might end up breaking your lock picks.”

Offended, Sherlock drew himself up slightly.  “I would never be so clumsy as to break my lock picks, and your door can hardly be a challenge.”

“Oh, yeah?  Twenty quid says you can’t open my door after I’ve used the sonic on it,” Rose taunted.

“Why should I bother to participate in your little challenge?” he sniffed.

“Twenty quid.  And if you get the door open in under thirty minutes, I’ll show you how to use the sonic to lock and unlock doors.”

~~~~~

Two hours and twenty-three minutes after he had started, the front door of 221B Baker Street opened to John returning home from the surgery.  He found Rose sitting on the stairwell looking entertained, with a rather determined-looking Sherlock trying to pick the lock on her door.  “Lose your keys, Rose?”

“Nope,” came her amused reply.  “M’just winning twenty quid off Sherlock.”

Sherlock ignored them both, continuing to manipulate his lock picks.

John lifted an eyebrow.  “You found a way to foil the mighty Sherlock Holmes with a lock he can’t pick?”  

Rose’s grin widened.  “More like, I have a tool that can lock it in a way that he can’t open.”

“That’s impressive.”  John stuck his hands in his pockets.  “You do realize he either will refuse to give up, or when he finally does, he’ll be sulking for days.”

“I do not sulk,” Sherlock protested in an affronted tone.

“Yes, you do.”  John’s instant response prompted a snort from Rose.

“Yeah, but he’ll owe me twenty quid, and it will keep him out of trouble for a bit,” Rose laughed.

With a shrug, John sat down next to her. “I suppose there is that.  Though he gets rather difficult when he’s sulking.  It’s not your wall he’ll be shooting at with a pistol.”

“I only do that when I am bored.”  Sherlock’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he hastily fished it out and checked his texts.

Have you been following the stories about the Bad Wolf? Lestrade

His attention caught, Sherlock tapped out a quick response.

I have, why? SH

There has been a murder, and the victim was dressed in a red cloak with a hood. Lestrade

Give me the address. I’ll be right there. SH

His expression wiped clean, Sherlock looked up from his phone to the expectant faces of John and Rose.  “Moriarty may have made his next move.”

John’s face immediately shifted to something between his concerned and his soldier’s look.  At least, that is what Sherlock called it—that combination of seriousness and absolute attentiveness.  Everything unessential to the task at hand simply fell away, unimportant—his focus zeroed in and hardened like steel.  But Sherlock found himself even more fascinated by Rose’s expression—nearly identical to John’s.  Fear had no place there; room for it didn’t exist.  

Pushing himself upright, John reflexively offered his hand to Rose.  “Should we all go, or would it be better if I stayed behind with Rose?”

“Oh no, you aren’t leaving me behind.  I’m coming with you.  You can stay, of course, John, if that is what you want,” Rose interjected before Sherlock could answer.

The phone buzzed in Sherlock’s hand, Lestrade had texted him the address.  It gave him distraction enough to consider which alternative provided him with the best advantage.  He briefly entertained the notion of leaving her behind, but he couldn’t escape the theory that her outing earlier that day most likely triggered the murder Lestrade had contacted him about.  Further exposure could escalate Moriarty’s plans.  Whether or not that would be for the best could not be deduced with the limited information he had.  

But Sherlock wanted to see how Rose would handle the crime scene. That was the clincher to his decision.  How would she react?  Would she continue to remain calm and objective, or would an emotional response be evoked?  In a way, bringing her would also be beneficial to her.  It would help Rose understand the danger that existed from Moriarty’s interest.  “You both are coming.”

Whirling around, he adjusted his coat and headed for the door, leaving John and Rose to follow in his wake.  It didn’t take them long to catch a taxi, and the trio managed to fit inside.  Sherlock sat slightly apart as he listened to John and Rose banter back and forth.  They didn’t exclude him; if anything, they tried to draw him in.  However, one corner of his mind remained latched on to observing Ms. Tyler’s behavior—to see her reactions, not to him, but to the bits and pieces that made up his world, which she was being drawn into.  As to why he needed that information—well, he did need to understand how she fit in this game he and Moriarty played.  The potential that something more to it existed . . . his logic-driven mind rejected that notion outright.  This kept him silent on the drive.

When they arrived, Sherlock quickly exited the taxi, leaving John to offer his hand to Rose to help her out.  She gave him a grin as she accepted the chivalrous offer.  The grin faded when she heard a woman’s derisive voice greet Sherlock.  “Hello, freak.  The Detective Inspector’s inside.  He’s expecting you.  For the life of me, I don’t know why he allows you to come to these things.”

“Perhaps, Sergeant, it’s because he need someone with a bit more than your vague glimmer of intelligence in order to actually solve the crime.  That is what you are supposed to do, correct?” Sherlock responded, a bit of bite in his tone.

The woman opened her mouth to give a retort, only to widen her eyes.  “You two have a woman with you?”

Sherlock didn’t bother to look back as Rose and John approached.  “Sergeant Donovan, Rose Tyler.  Ms. Tyler has a special insight on this case.”

Sally Donovan rolled her eyes, the bit of shock fading into annoyance.  “I should have known that would be the only way a woman would be hanging around you, Sherlock.  Did you tell the Detective Inspector you were bringing her?”

“I fail to see why you need to know what we discussed.  You are busy, after all, playing traffic cop.”  Sounding bored now, Sherlock brushed passed her, leading the way into the house.  The Sergeant scowled but allowed them to pass her.  

John nudged Rose as they followed.  “Don’t worry about that.  They are always like that.  If Anderson is here, you’ll see more of that.”  Rose shot him a strange look but held her tongue for the moment.

They headed up the stairs towards an open door, stopping only to place some protective covering over their shoes.  Rose’s gaze flicked around, taking in little details as they stepped through the doorway.  Dotted throughout the flat, she noted a large number of red balloons—mostly the remains of popped ones scattered about, but an additional few bobbed along the ceiling or had been tied to furniture.  In the middle of the living room a sprawled body lay, covered with a hooded red cloak.

An inspector with graying hair straightened up and turned at their entrance.  “Ah, there you are, Sherlock.” His eyebrows shot up as he took in Rose.  “And who’s this?”

Rose stepped forward and offered her hand as well as a warm smile to him.  “Rose Tyler.  You must be Detective Inspector Lestrade.  I’ve heard so much about you.  I take it the murderer must have tripped the alarm on their way out of the apartment?”

“Have you now.” He shot a look at Sherlock before Lestrade turned his attention back to Rose.  “What makes you think the alarm was tripped deliberately?”

Her slight smile widened.  “If this is a test, it’s a pretty simple one.  The most obvious hints are the alarm pad by the door, and how orderly the flat seems to be with the exception of the balloons: they are out of place.  The entire tone of the flat seems to be serious scholar, so the balloons had to be deliberate placed, including the pieces.  That would have taken time.  Additionally, I can see from here depressions in the carpet which indicate furniture that had been sitting there long-term has been moved, again pointing to a scene being set.  Third, the red streaks are still wet, fresh.  I’m presuming it’s blood that hasn’t had time to set yet.  So it didn’t happen that long ago.  Combined with the fact you would have to have arrived here and made the decision to contact Sherlock, causing more time to elapse.  That says the murderer tripped the alarm on the way out to bring someone here quickly.  It wasn’t done before, because they needed time to set this all up.”

“Well, sure, if you want to go for the obvious,” Sherlock interrupted, Rose turning towards him at his reply.

“Sorry, not all of us were born geniuses; we need to do the best we can to make our funny little brains work.  I’m just a trained observer.”  She caught the momentary flicker of surprise on his face before he banished it.  

“Two of them?”  Lestrade glanced past the pair to John, who looked like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or not.

“Not quite, but it has started to get a bit more entertaining,” John replied.

“Oi, it’s your own fault for taking pity on a stranger,” Rose grinned at him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “If you are all done, we do happen to have a murder here to investigate.”

“Don’t let me stop you.  Go on then.”  Her words were playful, but Rose sobered as Sherlock moved over to the body.  

He carefully pulled the hooded cape back, examining both it and the body.  “Fabric is expensive, rather well made but no labels—mostly likely custom made just for this.”  With a detached tone, he continued to catalog the information.  “There is still the faint smell of peroxide, and her eyebrows are dark.  Not a natural blonde—possibly he did this to the victim.  The wounds indicate she didn’t fight back; the pattern of them says the killer was left-handed.”  He fished out a tranquilizer dart that had been partially hidden by the cloak.  “She was sedated, most likely.”

A whirring noise broke his concentration and looked up to see Rose with a slim metal device in her hand.  The noise came from the instrument in her hand, and he recognized it from the photos from the cash-point.  She aimed it at the body before pulling it up to look at something.  “You are right.  There are indications of a drug in her system.”

Lestrade had crouched down by Sherlock, which distracted him from questioning Rose about the device.  He made a mental note to investigate it further later.  “You said he made her blonde for this, so you don’t think she’s this Bad Wolf person?”

“I know she’s not the Bad Wolf.  This, this is meant to be a warning for her.”  Sherlock’s eyes flicked around the room, taking in all the tiny details.  

“A warning?  What kind of warning?” Lestrade asked.

Rose’s voice answered him, “Join him, or be destroyed.”

“And how do we know this Bad Wolf person isn’t behind all this.”  

Sherlock looked over, an expression of irritation painted on his face as he caught sight of the speaker.  “Oh, you would be stupid enough to think that, Anderson.  No, the person behind this crime is Moriarty.  He’s the one who is threatening the Bad Wolf.”

The forensic specialist bristled, “And why would he be threatening her, if she wasn’t some sort of criminal herself?  The Bad Wolf could be behind this, setting it up to look like she’s being persecuted.  No one is that nice that they just go around helping people without getting anything out of it.” 

“Just because you wouldn’t do all that without getting something out of it, doesn’t mean everyone is like that,” John retorted, before looking over to Rose.  He used a softer tone for her.  “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.  M’not surprised to hear him say that.  It’s what people say all the time.  I think I’d like some fresh air . . . let you get on with it.”  Rose’s voice sounded weary, like a tired soldier fighting a battle she can never give up, even if she can’t win.

“I meant more—about all this. And I’ll come with you.”  John put a hand on her elbow.

Rose shook her head.  “I’ll be fine.  London’s finest outside, yeah?  Besides, if he wanted to kill me, he’d have done it already.  He doesn’t want to do that yet.”

“Kill you?  Who wants to kill you?”  Lestrade straightened up, a serious expression on his face.  “Has someone been threatening you and that’s why you are with these two?”

A ghost of a smile lit Rose’s lips.  “Long story, Detective.  Right now I just want some fresh air.  By myself.”

John looked over to Sherlock who gave a small nod.  The shorter man made an exasperated sound.  “Fine, but don’t wander off.”

To John’s surprise, her whole face lit up, and she laughed, “I wasn’t planning on it.”  Ignoring their bafflement, she turned and made her way out of the building.  Behind her, she could hear the Detective Inspector demanding an explanation from Sherlock.

“If I were you, I’d rethink working with Sherlock Holmes.”  Rose turned to see one of the police officers addressing her—the same officer who had greeted Sherlock when they arrived, who had called him “freak.”  Rose had let it go at the time, as Sherlock had been more intent on getting into the crime scene, but now the woman addressed Rose directly, likely due to the fact that Rose stood alone for the moment.  

Rose lifted her eyebrows and kept her smile polite.  “Now that is interesting advice coming from one of the police.  D’you mind telling me why you said that, Sergeant Donovan?”

“Because he gets off on it, that’s why.  He doesn’t care about the people involved.  To him it’s just a big game.  He’s a psychopath.  One of these days solving crimes isn’t going to be enough for him; he’s going to be the one committing them.”

Rose put her hands on her hips but kept the polite smile in place.  “Sergeant, is that what is going to happen to you someday, then?”

“What?  No!  I do this job to protect people.  I don’t get off on murders the way he does.”  The other woman’s voice turned indignant.  

“But you do solve crimes.  Can you honestly tell me you never got a thrill out of solving a crime?” Rose challenged, her smile still intact.

“That’s not the same thing, I’m trying to help people, catch the bad guy.”  A scowl graced Donovan’s face, and she folded her own arms across her chest.  Her body language shifted, and she leaned back on one leg in a defensive posture.

“I see.  So you are completely ignoring the fact that Sherlock Holmes uses his more-than-considerable intellect to solve crimes, and that by doing so, he helps you catch the person that committed them.  Not to mention the fact that he prides himself on his intellect, which is why he solves puzzles other people create.  It is far more difficult to figure out someone else’s rules then to create your own.  So why would he take a lesser intellectual challenge?”  Rose wasn’t actually being nasty, genuine curiosity infused her tone, and her smile stayed on her lips.  

“You’ve just seen how he reacted to the fact someone is dead in there.  He doesn’t care about the person that died; he’s happy because he has a puzzle to solve now.  He’s a bloody psychopath.  I still say one day it won’t be enough for him to solve crimes.  We’ll show up, and it will be him that did it.”   The sergeant glared at Rose, her tone defiant.

Rose remained calm, pleasant even.  “Now actually, I disagree with your diagnosis because he’s clearly capable of forming some emotional attachments.  He actually does care about a few individuals.  There is at least one that I know of.  Potentially more.  He’s uninterested in deliberately causing a crime, though he might accidentally break rules because he’s not overly fond of them.  He’s rude, but that is more because of carelessness, an inability to relate to other people’s emotions easily, or the desire to protect someone.  From my personal experience, I would say possibly a high-functioning sociopath, or possibly a high-functioning autistic.”  Wrinkling her nose a little as she thought, she used one hand to tick off her points.  “Really, if you want to see a psychopath, I’d say look at Jim Moriarty.  Now that guy exhibits classic criminal psychopathic behavior.  I got to see it first-hand.  Let me tell you—creepy and all kinds of crazy.  I’m glad I got out of there.”

Donovan’s eyes widened a touch, her voice incredulous, “You went toe-to-toe with Jim Moriarty?”

Rose’s gentle smile reformed on her face.  “Yes, and I went to Sherlock for help.”  Pursing her lips, Rose studied the sergeant, her air that of one picking her words carefully.  “Now, I know you probably didn’t intend to display the behavior of a bully.”  When Donovan started to sputter, Rose ignored it and continued.  “But . . . what would you call someone who tries to intimidate another individual by referring to them in a derogatory tone?”  Nonchalantly Rose looked off in the distance.  “There is also the fact that you, in a position of authority, actively tried to dissuade someone from associating with the same individual.”

The other woman straightened up and opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, her eyes focused on someone behind Rose.  Rose turned around to see DI Lestrade studying her with open curiosity.  Behind him, John stood looking very amused, along with Sherlock, who had an inscrutable expression on his face.  

“All done, I take it?”  She gave the three men a friendly smile.

“Yes, I’ve seen all I need to.”  Sherlock studied Rose intently, before flicking a look past her to Sergeant Donovan.  “We have a riddle to solve, and it’s best to keep you off the street.”

He turned around and started to walk away.  Rose skipped a couple of steps to catch up.  She wound an arm around both Sherlock and John and grinned up at them.  John kept his amused smile.  Sherlock didn’t pull away, but he did seem to be more or less ignoring her arm tucked around his.  “As long as there are chips in the future, I’m game.”

“There are other food choices, you know,” John playfully responded.  

“Yeah, but chips are the best.”  Rose turned to focus her grin on him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “If you two are quite finished, we do have other priorities at the moment.”

Lestrade moved over towards Sally Donovan and watched the trio walk away.  “She’s a lively one; isn’t she?”

“If I were you, I’d rethink going to Sherlock Holmes for help.”  Rose turned to see one of the police officers addressing her.  The same officer that had greeted Sherlock when they arrived, she had called him freak.  Rose had let it go at the time, as Sherlock had been more intent on getting into the crime scene, but now the woman addressed Rose directly.  Likely due to the fact Rose stood off to the side alone for the moment. 

  Rose lifted her eyebrows, and kept her smile polite.  “Now that is interesting advice coming from one of the police.  Mind telling me why Detective….?”

  “Sergeant Donovan,” the woman introduced herself.  “Because he gets off on it that’s why, he doesn’t care about the people involved.  To him it’s just a big game, he’s a psychopath.  One of these days solving crimes isn’t going to be enough for him.  He’s going to be the one committing them.”

  Now Rose put her hands on her hips, even though she kept the polite smile in place.  “Sergeant is that what is going to happen to you someday then?”

  “What? No!  I do this job to protect people, I don’t get off on murders the way he does.” 

  “But you do solve crimes.  Can you honestly tell me you never got a thrill out of solving a crime?”  Rose challenged, her smile still intact.

  “That’s not the same thing, I’m trying to help people, catch the bad guy.”  A scowl graced Donovan’s face, and her own arms came up to fold across her chest.  Her body language shifted, she leaned back on one leg in a defensive posture.

  “I see, so you are completely ignoring the fact that Sherlock Holmes uses his more than considerable intellect to solve crimes.  By doing so, he helps you catch the person that committed them.  Not to mention the fact that he prides himself on his intellect, which is why he solves puzzles other people create.  It is far more difficult to figure out someone else’s rules then to create your own.  So why would he take a lesser intellectual challenge?”  Rose wasn’t actually being nasty, genuine curiosity infused her tone, and her smile stayed on her lips. 

  “You’ve just seen how he reacted to the fact someone is dead in there.  He doesn’t care about the person that died, he’s happy because he has a puzzle to solve now, he’s a bloody psychopath.  I still say one day it won’t be enough for him to solve crimes, we’ll show up and it will be him that did it.”  The sergeant glared at Rose, her tone defiant.

  Rose remained calm, pleasant even.  “Now actually I disagree with your diagnostic, because he’s clearly capable of forming some emotional attachments, he actually does care about a few individuals.  There is at least one that I know of.  He’s uninterested in deliberately causing a crime, though he might accidentally break rules because he’s not overly fond of them.  He’s rude, but that is more because of carelessness, an inability to relate to other people’s emotions easily, or the desire to protect someone.  From my personal experience I would say possibly a high functioning sociopath, or possibly a high functioning autistic.”  Wrinkling her nose a little as she thought, she used one hand to tick off her points.  “Really if you want to see a psychopath, I’d say look at Jim Moriarty, now that guy exhibits classic criminal psychopathic behavior.  I got to see it first-hand.  Let me tell you, creepy and all kinds of crazy.  I’m glad I got out of there.”

  Donovan’s eyes widened a touch, her voice incredulous.  “You met Jim Moriarty?”

  Rose’s gentle smile reformed on her face.  “Yes, and I went to Sherlock for help.”  Pursing her lips, Rose studied the sergeant, her air that of one that picked her words carefully.  “Now I know you probably didn’t intend to display the behavior of a bully.”  When the Donovan started to sputter, Rose ignored it and continued.  “But, what would you call someone who tries to intimidate another individual by referring to them in a derogatory tone?”  Nonchalantly Rose looked off in the distance.  “There is also the fact that you, in a position of authority, actively tried to dissuade someone from associating with the same individual.”

  The other woman straightened up and opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, her eyes focused on someone behind Rose.  Rose turned around to see Detective Lestrade studying Rose with open curiosity.  Behind him John stood looking very amused, along with Sherlock with an inscrutable expression on his face.  “All done I take it?”  She gave the three men a friendly smile.

  “Yes, I’ve seen all I need to.”  Sherlock studied Rose intently, before flicking a look past her to Sergeant Donovan.  “We have a riddle to solve, and it’s best to keep you off the street.”

  He turned around and started to walk away.  Rose skipped a couple of steps to catch up.  She wound an arm around both men’s and grinned up at them.  John kept his amused smile.  Sherlock didn’t pull away, but he did seem to be more or less ignoring her arm tucked around his.  “As long as there are chips in the future, I’m game.”

  “There are other food choices you know,”  John playfully responded. 

  “Yeah, but chips are the best.”  Rose turned her grin to focus on him.

  Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “If you two are quite finished, we do have other priorities at the moment.”

  Lestrade moved over towards Sally Donovan, and watched the trio walk away.  “She’s a lively one isn’t she?”