Not making any promises beyond at least once a week with this one. I have some chapters finished, but after those are out the...at least once a week clause kicks in.

The M rating is because...well, Rose hasn't had a rainbows and unicorns life in this one. This story is a bit darker than the others if you're not okay reading that then you might want to pass this up. :)

There is going to be series 3 mentions mostly leaning toward the other one, which you'll know about if you've watched all three episodes. This story attempts an explanation of who the other one was, why Sherlock might've turned to drugs and locked away his emotions. Hope you enjoy it. :)

Rose opened her eyes. The first thing she noticed was the room. White walls, closed curtains over the window. No, no! Her chest constricted as panic set in. She couldn't be back. She got out…or was that a dream?

She sat up and that's when she noticed, her hands were free. She wasn't cuffed to the bed. What's more her wrists were bandaged. She did get out, but what the hell was she doing there?

She took another look at the room, more slowly this time. A hospital, but one for the sick and injured. Not the type she'd been kept in for over a year. A door at the other end opened. Three people entered. Two men, older, both with grey hair. One a doctor. She could tell from his coat and that look he had about him. The other…police? Yes, he carried himself that way. The woman, dark hair and skin, also with the police. The doctor gave her a smile.

"Ah, good, you're awake. I'm Dr. Michaels and this is DI Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan. They're here to ask you a few questions if you feel up to it," the doctor explained.

She glanced at each of them in turn. Lestrade seemed nice, judging by his smile. Donovan was more straight laced, no nonsense type. More like the soldiers she'd dealt with. The woman took her job very seriously.

"Would you mind opening the curtains?" she asked, glancing at the doctor.

The last thing she remembered was the rift chamber, but she wasn't sure if she'd made it off Pete's World. She needed to know if she made it. If they made it, but she pushed that thought aside for now.

"Sure," Dr. Michaels replied, crossing the room and opening the curtains.

"Now…um, we'd like to start with your name," Lestrade began.

She gazed out the window, grinning in relief as she took in the skyline. No zeppelins. She wasn't sure exactly where she was, back in her universe or in another, but she wasn't on Pete's World and that's what mattered. She turned her attention back to the inspector.

"How did I get here?" she asked, ignoring the inspector's question.

She had to be careful. If she was back in her original universe she couldn't give her real name. Rose Tyler died in the battle at Canary Wharf. She'd need to find Jack. He worked with Torchwood. He could come up with a story or an alias.

If she was in another universe there might already be a Rose Tyler and even if there wasn't, if there's one thing she learned, the wrong word in the wrong place could have catastrophic consequences.

"Um…" Lestrade said, taken back by her question. He opened the small notepad he was holding and leafed through a few pages. "You were found last night by Officer Morrison during his rounds. He called an ambulance because you were unconscious and…your injuries."

"Was I alone?"

Lestrade gave her a quizzical look before returning to his notes.

"Yes, there's no mention of anyone else. Why?"

"How soon can I leave?" she asked.

"Leave?" he inquired, as if he wasn't sure what she was talking about.

"Be discharged."

"Oh…um…"

Lestrade glanced at Dr. Michaels. She followed his gaze.

"You were suffering from exhaustion and exposure, not to mention your injuries," she glanced down at her wrists that were wrapped in gauze. "I'd like to keep you for seventy-two hours…for observation."

She knew what that meant. A seventy-two hour hold. Not a psych hold this time, at least she didn't think so. Her wounds were from the handcuffs that held her to the other bed, back on Pete's World. Her eyes fell on the IV in her arm, but she pushed the panic aside. They weren't sedatives, just an IV to build her strength.

"You're going to need to give us your name," Donovan insisted.

"I'm sorry, but I can't."

"Can't?" the woman asked.

"Look," Lestrade said, catching her gaze. "If you're worried that someone might come after you we can protect you."

He seemed genuinely concerned and she felt bad, but he couldn't help her. She had to get out of there and find Tony. Her brother wouldn't trust anyone else. He was clever, more than clever, had always been that way.

"I know you want to help, but you can't," she replied, turning her gaze to the window.

Lestrade watched her for a moment. She wasn't going to give him anything because she didn't think they could help her. Someone held her captive. According to the medical report she had wounds on both her wrists from being restrained. There was also scarring and according to Dr. Michaels it suggested that she'd been restrained over a period of months. There had also been sedatives in her system, as if she'd been sedated less than a day before. Someone had been holding her and somehow she got away, but she didn't want to file a report. He needed to find the bastard who did this to her and if she wasn't going to cooperate there was only one thing he could.

He crossed the room and stepped into the hall, pulling his phone out.

"You're not going to let this go are you?" Donovan demanded after the door closed.

"Of course not. Even if she's the only victim I want to catch the bastard who did that to her," he replied, dialing his number.

"Wait. You're not calling him are you?"

"You have a better idea?"

"Yeah, we go back in there."

"And what? Make her tell us? She's been through hell. She's holding herself together, but I could see it in her eyes."

"And subjecting her to him is any better?"

Sherlock sighed, staring out at the pleasantly warm early summer day. People mulled around the streets, smiling, couples holding hands. It was dreadful. He'd been without a case for two days…two agonizing days.

"Anything?" he asked.

John searched his blog for the third time since he showed up. There were two cases, but neither of them were remotely interesting…at least not to Sherlock. It was his day off and he'd come over to check on his friend, but at the moment he was wondering exactly why he'd done that.

"Just the two," John replied.

Another sigh. John ran his hand over his forehead, knowing what that sigh meant. At that moment Sherlock's phone rang. The detective picked it up from the desk.

"Yes?" Sherlock inquired.

John watched his friend's face relax as he smiled. That smile. The one that told the doctor whoever was on the other end of the line just offered Sherlock a case and one he wasn't going to pass up.

"Of course."

Another pause.

"We're on our way."

Sherlock hung up and pocketed his phone.

"Who was that?" John asked.

"Lestrade, with a case," the detective replied walking toward his room, most likely to get dressed since he'd spent the day in his sleep ware.

"Is it a murder?" John asked, standing up and grabbing his coat.

"No. There's a woman at the hospital who appears to have been held captive, but she's being uncooperative."

"Wait. How do they know she was held somewhere?"

"There are deep abrasions to her wrists from being held for a period of time. A few months according to the medical reports," Sherlock replied, stepping out of his room fully dressed and grabbing both his coat and scarf.

"Jesus. Where did they find her?"

"Banking district last night, unconscious."

John opened the door and followed Sherlock out.

"So she must have gotten away."

"It would appear so," the detective said opening the front door.

If she'd been held captive for months it made sense to John that she'd be terrified. She was probably afraid that whoever took her would find her again. He wasn't sure why Lestrade thought they would get more out of her and he really didn't like the idea of upsetting someone who'd been through that.

He climbed into the cab and waited for Sherlock to give the cabbie directions. Then he turned to his friend.

"Maybe you should let me talk to her," he said.

"Why?" Sherlock inquired.

"Well…it's just…she's been through a lot and you…you know."

Sherlock's brows drew together.

"I what?"

"You don't exactly have a good beside manner," John tried.

The detective rolled his eyes.

"I'm a consulting detective John, not a doctor."

"Exactly."

"I can be sensitive," Sherlock replied, defensively.

John raised his brow.

"Really?"

"Yes. I generally choose not to, but you can try to get her to open up, unless she continues to be uncooperative."

John knew that was as good as he was going to get from Sherlock. He sat back for the rest of the cab ride.

Standard Disclaimer.

Thank you to all my brilliant readers!

Reviews are always welcome. :)