The Blonde

Proof

"You know who it is don't you?" Rose asked as they rounded the corner, leaving the police lights behind.

He ignored her as he continued to pull her along with his hand gripping her arm. If he thought she was going to stay in the dark he best think again.

"Tell me what's going on," she demanded, pulling her arm out of his grip.

"It's not important," he dismissed.

She folded her arms and gave him an I'm-not-going-anywhere-until-we-have-this-out look.

"Don't give me that. I can tell that it is," she insisted.

"It doesn't concern you."

"What do you mean, it doesn't concern me? I'm in that picture too. I'd say that makes me part of whatever this is."

He might not want to admit it, but she could see he was concerned. No, more than concerned. He had the same look in his eyes The Doctor got when he saw her aboard that Dalek ship. Whoever this enemy was he or she was dangerous. Very dangerous.

"It's just a picture."

"A picture with the word burn written across the front." She gestured toward his pocket where the picture was concealed. "What does it mean?"

"It's proof."

"Proof?"

"Proof of something I've suspected for the past three months."

"Of what?"

"That a man I believed to be dead is very much alive."

"Who?"

"Moriarty."

The name sounded familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

"Mor…" Then she remembered. Sherlock's enemy. No, his nemesis.

Sherlock grabbed her wrist and turned her to face him.

"You know him." It was statement.

"No, I don't…" His eyes narrowed. "I mean, I've heard of him. You know, read…about…him."

Not exactly what she meant to say, but his eyes demanded the truth.

"Have you met him?" Sherlock asked.

She could feel his hand gripping her wrist as his eyes searched hers.

"No."

"Spoken with him?"

"No."

"You only know what you've read about him?"

"Yes," she snapped, growing irritated with his inquisition. "Now, if you don't mind," she pulled her arm out of his grip, "you can let me go."

She rubbed her wrist. Not because it was sore, because it wasn't, but because it was either that or slap him and she knew he was only doing it because Moriarty was so dangerous.

"My apologies, but I had to check."

"Check what?"

"Your pulse. To make sure you weren't lying. He's used people against me before."

So, he'd been checking her pulse while he asked her whether or not she knew Moriarty because he didn't trust her.

"You thought I was working for him?" she accused.

"You did appear in my flat."

Her anger drained and she started to laugh. He glared at her, obviously under the impression that she was laughing at him, which, in a way, she was. What was it with genius' and thinking that everything was about them?

"And you think that was about you?" she asked.

"Wasn't it?" he asked, uncertainty flashing through his strange eyes.

"I told ya you were full of yourself," she said, giving him a playful shove.

He glanced at her hand as if he wasn't entirely sure what she was doing, which almost made her laugh again, until he pulled himself together.

"Then why did you appear in my flat?"

"It wasn't like I was aiming for it. I could've wound up anywhere, Mars even, well, probably not Mars since they always wind up on Earth, but still I couldn't have known I'd wind up in your flat."

He stared at her for a moment, as if he was trying to decide if she'd lost her mind. Whether he believed her or not didn't really matter at the moment because there were more important issues.

"You're not making any sense," he said.

"It doesn't matter. I want to know about that word. You said its proof Moriarty's still alive, but what does it mean? Burn? Burn what?"

"Me."

"You?"

"My life. My…JOHN."

"John?"

He ignored her as he pulled out his phone and began to text. She assumed he was sending John a message since he seemed to be worried about him. Burn his life. What did that mean?

He was worried about John so it must have something to do with his friend. No, not just his friend. His life. So, everything he cared about. Wait. Did that mean…

"You think he's going to go after your friends?" she asked.

"I only have one friend," he replied staring at his phone as he waited for…the phone chimed.

"Is he all right?"

"Yes. I'm going to have him meet us at the flat."

He finished typing and then slid his phone back into his pocket.

"So…you want me to come with you?"

"Do you have somewhere else to be?"

"No," she replied, giving him a smile and then lacing her arm through his. "Besides if this Moriarty bloke is coming after your friends you could probably use my help."

"Friend," he corrected.

"What about Lestrade? Isn't he your friend?"

"We work together."

"So? You can't have friends you work with?"

"I didn't say that."

"He likes you." He gave her a disbelieving look. "I can tell. And what about Mrs. Hudson?"

"She's my housekeeper."

"She's not your housekeeper," Rose said in a mock Mrs. Hudson voice before giving him that distracting smile. He returned it and she almost thought he was going to laugh, but then he seemed to think twice about it.

He was guarded. This one. As if he was afraid to let anyone in. She hadn't known him long or John for that matter, but she was beginning to consider them both friends. And the last thing she was going to do was leave them when they needed help the most.

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

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