Lady A: Hey everyone and welcome back to Heart of the Sociopath! I am so sorry that it has taken me so long to get back to one of my solo stories, but in my defense, the stories that I'm co-authoring with matthewcortes93 are totally freaking awesome! *coughs to regain her composure*

Right, moving along. Much love and overwhelming gratitude to all those who fave, follow, and review my rubbish...I mean, my work. You guys…and girls are the best!

Brief Recap: Artz found herself in the world of Sherlock and Doctor Who. She had a not so brief conversation with the Holmes brothers, but then quickly passed out. The brothers then argued over the fate of the mysterious ginger, finally reaching the agreement that she would remain in Sherlock's care.

Now on with the show!

Chapter Two: Mystery of History

The ginger haired woman from another reality awoke harshly, her breathing heavy and ragged. She had been having some sort of nightmare. There were these ugly, scaly humanoid creatures wanting to experiment on her and Erin, and for some unknown reason, the Ninth Doctor was there too, trying to save them. She had no Earthly idea as to why a fictional character would be involved, but she figured she would ask Erin about it later.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes to get the sleep out of them. She blinked a few times, only to realize that she was not in her room. The bedroom she was currently in was rather small, so small that it made her feel like the walls were closing in on her. It was highly neat and well organized, everything in pristine condition. She was feeling rather nervous because she didn't understand where she was or why she was there.

It made her feel out of control, caged even, and she hated the feeling of being trapped. She hated the loss of freedom and control. She'd admit it, if only to herself, that she liked being able to control her environment. Her place, her rules, and if someone crossed her, they had to deal with her sociopathic best friend.

Thinking of Erin brought back her most recent memories and her eyes widened. Erin was gone, vanished into thin air, and she was alone, completely and utterly alone. For the first time in years, Artimes felt extremely insecure, frightened, and just a tiny bit paranoid. Erin had been by her side for such a long time that she had gotten used to his constant presence. He always made her feel safe and protected like nothing could harm her, but now that was gone…her Erin was gone.

She had been so lonely and empty before she met him, clinging to the promise of the Doctor's name just to keep her going, and once again she was alone, but even worse, she had no one to rely on; her family, her best friend, even her cat, Merlin…it was all gone. That train of thought finally broke down the wall holding her deeper emotions at bay and the shock of what had happened to her finally settled in.

Tears filled her sapphire eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She didn't make a sound as she cried, simply too overwhelmed to move or utter a peep. She just sat there in the bed and let the tears fall, not bothering to wipe them away. She was so far gone that she didn't notice the near silent arrival of a certain consultant detective.

The younger Holmes observed the silently crying red head for several moments. He was highly disturbed by his emotional reaction to her tears. It actually pained him to see her in such a state. He may not have been able to deduce her or anything from her life, but he did recognize the signs of shock and loss. He just never thought there could be so much devastation and pain to such a state. He had been wondering when the shock would finally hit her, but he never expected it to happen shortly after waking.

She made no visible sign that she was aware of his presence as he ventured closer to the bed and judging by the pin points her pupils had shrunk to, she was definitely experiencing acute shock and a grief so powerful that even he, the high functioning sociopath, was affected. He sat down next to her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him. Contrary to what his brother might believe, Sherlock did understand the necessity of physical contact, especially during times of intense sorrow and mourning. For she was, in fact, mourning…mourning the loss of her friend, her family, her world. Everything she knew was gone in an instant and he couldn't really fathom what that must feel like…to lose it all in a split second.

He gingerly placed her head against his chest, positioning her right ear above his heart. The sound of his heart beating next to her ear would provide both an audio and physical stimulus that should assist in breaking through her shocked state. He placed his left hand more firmly around her waist and cupped her cheek with his right, wiping away the constant stream of tears with his thumb.

"Artz." He said softly when she showed no visible change.

He watched as her eyes dilated and she began to vocally sob, her state of shock evaporating very quickly as she descended into an emotional mess. Her sobs grew to the level of screaming. She became so loud that he had to actually press her face into his chest to spare not only his ear drums but to spare him the headache of the moronic police showing up and citing him with a noise violation. He had to admit, if only within the confines of his own mind, that he disliked the ginger being in so much pain. He wanted her to smile again and be her normal sassy and sarcastic self again. He wanted her to be the woman he had met mere days ago. The woman that sassed his brother for the fun of it and the woman who was perfectly content in the arms of a sociopath.

Artimes sat in a comfy chair across from the consultant detective. He had blissfully remained silent about her descent into an emotional mess and she was eternally grateful for that small courtesy. She was more than a little angry at herself for losing control over her deeper emotions. She was usually better at keeping herself contained and she prided herself for being able to stay calm and think rationally during stressful situations.

"So…what now?" She asked curiously, very uncertain about what her future might hold.

"Mycroft has placed you in my care and has created the proper documentation for your existence in this reality." Sherlock answered handing her a large manila envelope.

She accepted the envelope and sifted through the contents; IDs, medical history, vaccination records, educational history, visa, passport, citizenship papers, and several other documents that she couldn't identify. All in all, a very thorough job…too thorough. Some of the information was extremely specific and she highly doubted that the elder Holmes would have been able to deduce exact dates and even exact events. Something was not right about this. She looked up at the younger Holmes, fingering the bank card in her hand and twirling it a bit.

"Basic ID and history, I can understand, but some of this is highly specific, especially the dates. I highly doubt that your brother could gleam such minute details from his deductions. So my question is this; how does he know so much about me when I've only been here for two days?" She questioned her eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly before placing his hands in a steeple like fashion under his chin, his prayer pose as the Sherlock fans would call it.

"That is something I would like to know myself. My brother seems very insistent about keeping you away from Torchwood." Sherlock answered.

All the color drained from the ginger's face at the mention of that institute. Her mind was racing at the implications. She originally thought that she had landed into a parallel world very similar to BBC's Sherlock and not the world of Doctor Who. If the Torchwood Institute was real then that meant a certain two hearted alien was also real, considering that the institute was created by Queen Victoria to combat such threats like the Timelord and the werewolf.

The ginger's reaction to the word 'Torchwood' did not go unnoticed by the consultant detective. He was curious as to how she knew of that vile organization and the true severity of her predicament.

"Based on your ashen skin and the almost petrified look in your eyes, you know of Torchwood." He stated rather than asked.

She nodded slightly, swallowing hard and forcing herself to calm down.

"Another show in my world called Doctor Who introduced the Torchwood Institute in Season Two of the reboot. It was founded in eighteen seventy nine by Queen Victoria to combat the alien horde as she called it. The name was derived from the estate where she had an encounter with two different aliens. One was in the guise of a werewolf wanting to infect her to gain the crown while the other was a time traveler simply passing through and decided to help out.

The Torchwood Institute has, as of now, three main command nodes across the British Isles. The first and main base of operations is Torchwood One, located in London…Canary Wharf to be precise. The secondary base of operations is Torchwood Two, located in Glasgow. Exact whereabouts were not depicted in the show. Finally, the final command node, referred to as Torchwood Three or The Hub, is located in Cardiff, Wales." Artimes explained.

Sherlock was mildly surprised by the amount of information that she had on the Torchwood Institute and if they were to ever learn about her…no, he would not allow any harm to come to her. That much he was certain of, though for the life of him, he couldn't comprehend his strong emotional response to the thought of her being injured.

"You mentioned Cardiff when you first arrived." He prompted resting his chin on his now intertwined hands.

"Yes, according to the Doctor Who series, there is a rift in space and time running straight through the city and it is the reason why Torchwood set up a base of operations there. All sorts of things come through the rift; from aliens to technology to debris. Sometimes there are negative spikes which take people and objects from here and deposit them on other planets and even in different time periods." She explained.

Artimes was turning into quite the asset for the consultant detective. She was clever and very knowledgeable.

"And you believe that a similar phenomenon is what brought you to our world." He concluded.

"Considering that all the knowledge I'm drawing from is from fictional sources, I can't be certain of anything, but given that Erin and myself were in the heart of Cardiff and surrounded by a golden light that looked remarkably similar to the temporal energy depicted in Doctor Who, it is at least a plausible possibility." She replied.

He sat back in his chair, mulling over everything she had told him. A thought occurred to him and he decided to broach the subject with the crimson haired woman.

"Your reasoning is sound and given your knowledge of myself and Torchwood, it gives credence to the possibility of foreknowledge." He responded curious of what her answer would be.

"Even if I did, in fact, possess knowledge of the future and that's a big if then I will not give any spoilers away whatsoever. If there is one thing I have learned from the Doctor Who series is that foreknowledge is dangerous. The wrong word spoken at the wrong time or to the wrong person could result in a devastating paradox that could rip apart the very fabric of the universe. My knowledge could kill us all." She countered completely serious.

"Goes without saying, Artz. A paradox would be unbeneficial to me at this present time." He concurred smiling slightly.

Artimes giggled, her mind reminiscing the time she spent with the high functioning sociopath that was her best friend. She sobered almost instantly, her heart aching as she remembered that he was gone. Acclimating to Erin's absence was going to be very difficult for her because she and Erin had practically been attached at the hip for almost five years of their eight-year friendship.

"You're thinking about him…that friend of yours, Erin." Sherlock stated softly.

She nodded in response, once again pulling herself back together.

"Tell me about him. How did you meet?" The detective asked.

The ginger looked into the younger Holmes' pale blue eyes and she was genuinely surprised by the level of sincerity and gentleness in those calm blue orbs. She had always been able to read his fictional counterpart like an open book and it would seem that it carried over to the very real and very handsome Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective.

'My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher, yet he elects to be a detective. What might we deduce about his heart?' – Mycroft Holmes – A Scandal in Belgravia

Artimes's mind, heart, and instincts were all saying the same thing, 'Trust Sherlock Holmes'. That was exactly what she was going to do. She was going to be his friend, to be there for him when all others fell away, and to always accept him for the brilliant and sometimes arrogant man that was. She was going to stay by his side for as long as she was able…which may prove difficult if she ever became involved with a certain time traveling idiot with a bigger on the inside blue box.

"I was on my way to work one day and took a shortcut through the park. Walked past this strange fellow who was doing something to the ducks at the pond. Apparently, he was conducting some sort of experiment, but as fate would have it, it kind went sideways. The ducks started dive bombing people, particularly a couple on their early morning jog. They were not happy with Erin and proceeded to shout at the top of their lungs at him. I stepped in, smooth things over, and sent them on their merry way." She answered smiling fondly at the memory.

"No doubt he was grateful for your assistance." He concluded once again assuming his trademark prayer position.

The ginger snorted in amusement, making the younger Holmes frown at her in confusion.

"You're drawing conclusions based on what you have observed in normal human behavior, but Sherlock, Erin was far from normal…very far." She replied smirking.

"Then by all means, enlighten me, Miss Blaine." He responded gesturing for her to continue.

"He was extremely…perturbed by my 'interference in matters that did not concern me'. He was the epitome of ungratefulness and he proceeded to pick apart my life story in…oh, three minutes." She answered laughing, her eyes sparkling.

"What is so amusing? Most women, most people in fact, would be highly upset at the invasion of their privacy." Sherlock queried highly confused by her reaction.

She giggled some more, drawing her legs up into the chair and tucking them beneath her before she continued her story.

"Hate to break it to you, Lock, but I'm not like most people and certainly not like any woman you've ever met or been acquainted with. Erin discovered this very quickly. I started firing off question after question after question, grinning like an idiot. The look on his face was priceless. After that day, he never left me alone. I think he became a little obsessed in his quest to figure me out." She replied smiling widely, "I am kind of surprised that you haven't attempted to deduce me like Erin did. You have the reputation of deducing first, commonly shoving your foot in your mouth in the process and pissing people off, and ask questions later. Mainly to see if you got anything wrong."

"I can't deduce you and neither can my brother. You seemed to be enshrouded by an odd sort of static. The best I would be able to accomplish is educated and quite possibly highly inaccurate guesses." Sherlock stated his arms returning to the arm rests.

The ginger's smile dropped as her eyes narrowed, an emotion he could not identify flashing through those sapphire orbs. She held out her right hand, palm upwards.

"Can I borrow your phone?" She asked kindly.

"Why?" He countered not understanding what she was going to do.

"I need to make a call." Artimes replied a smirk on her lips and an almost wicked look in her eyes.

The consultant detective sensed that this was important to her so he promptly pulled out his mobile from his inner jacket pocket and placed it gingerly into her hand. She stood up as she scrolled through the contacts until she located the one she was looking for. She highlighted Mycroft's name and selected it, placing the call as she walked away a few steps. She put the phone to her ear and it rung twice before being picked up.

"We need to talk…now." She stated firmly, her tone surprisingly cold.

She hung up and tossed the phone back to bewildered younger Holmes, who caught it effortlessly and returned it to his pocket. She did not speak another word and simply sat down on the surface of his desk, watching the doorway with the look of a predator. Sherlock Holmes had an inclination that things were going to be very interesting with the crimson haired woman around and he smirked slightly. This was going to be rather fun.

Lady A: That's all she wrote for Chapter Two: Mystery of History! Whew! Lots of talking in this, but hey, it's the beginning of the story and stuff just had to be said. Right, leave tons and tons of reviews and be on the lookout for Chapter Three: The Cleverness of Artz! Stay Tuned!

Sneak Preview

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed.

The red head glanced over at him briefly then her gaze returned to the item that had given her pause.

"Mind explaining why there is a gallon of spoiled milk next to a severed head in the refrigerator?" She countered sounding remarkably calm.

Lady A: Oh ho! Looks like Sherlock's experiments will be coming into play in the next chapter! How will our favorite red head react, hm? You'll just have to wait and see, now won't you, dearies. Laters! *disappears in a puff of blue smoke*