"I know you, I walked with you, once upon a dream"
Khr rarepair week Day 1-Star crossed lovers
Thank you for the admins for hosting the event! Sorry im literally like days late i needed courage.
It counts as a rarepair because im the only one that ships it👍
More info about this under the cut for those interested!
Everyone say thank you to the lasso tool🙏😭
Anyway lore. This isn't really an au because Kyoya and Sunny are star crossed lovers anyway (and doomed by the narrative who would've guessed) and yeah Sunny's 1st gen ancestor (which i will not name my bad lets just call them H) did fall in love with Alaude. Cant say the same for him though👍 long story short abt Alaude and H is that they both met during a Vongola mission and since then H has been attached. Sadly Alaude did not love them enough to give up his freedom. Guess what H did after💖
Kyoya does want to do different with Sunny though. Not exactly give up his freedom because he's a my way or the highway person but definitely reach a compromise. Not be dumb enough to doom Sunny's narrative further. Not commit the same mistakes of the past whatever that even means ew
When im in a yearning competition and my opponent is hibari kyoya
I think my very favorite thing you've written hasn't been published (because everything always comes up Sweeney), but I'll probably always love the Swaddled 'verse best just... 'cause.
ah yes, the SUPER SECRET sweeney collaboration that will never might one day be shared with the world... how long has it been since that one was last touched anyway?
thank you for loving (and contributing to!) Swaddled though... that ‘verse will always be near and dear to my heart.
Come and tell me what your favorite story of mine is!
Everyone deals with tragedy in their own way. Some worse than others, especially when their loved ones are literally a (parallel) universe or two away. The angstiest thing I have ever written.
Chapter 1 / 4. Can be found on AO3 in its entirety.
Part 2 of the Swaddled ‘Verse, also on AO3.
Note: Last night, @asthewheelwills gave me all of the RoseLock nostalgia feels which led to me reading back through things that I wrote 1,000 years ago. The result of this? My posting this story here because it is the one thing that I’ve written that I am truly proud of (translation: it doesn’t make me cringe at all).
For those not already indoctrinated, RoseLock is a crossover pairing of Rose Tyler and (the BBC’s) Sherlock Holmes. Want some background? Check out this introduction post.
Chapter 1: Pain & Suffering
Sherlock rested his head against the taxi window as the car approached Baker Street, completely exhausted after yet another game of cat and mouse. This latest case had stretched on for far longer than he would like and no end was currently in sight.
As he stepped out of the car in front of the flat, he was vaguely aware of the sound of police sirens that were quickly disappearing around the corner. Fleetingly, he wondered if it was something he should pursue, but after the night he had all he really wanted was to kiss his wife and take some time to disappear into the wonderful oblivion that was listening to his daughter's slow, steady breathing as she slept.
Unfortunately, neither of these options was in the cards.
Opening the front door, Sherlock was met with the unmistakable sound of Jacqueline crying. Only she wasn't upstairs in her room, but instead appeared to be with Mrs. Hudson. Rushing to the landlady's rooms he all but snatched the sobbing toddler from the older woman's arms.
"What happened? Is she hurt?" he demanded, giving her a hurried once-over. Having satisfied himself that the child was fine, he kissed her head and held her close, hoping to calm her down a bit.
"Thank god you're home, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson sighed, her hand over her heart and a look of deep sorrow on her face. "It's Rose..."
"Where is she?"
"You just missed them. Greg put her in the car to head to St. Bart's-"
The sirens. He knew that he should have followed them, and yet he came inside instead. "It's too soon," he breathed, his thoughts suddenly struggling to catch up with what was happening. Handing a marginally calmer Jacqueline back to Mrs. Hudson, he turned to run for the door. "I have to go."
"Of course," Mrs. Hudson agreed. "Just let me know what happens, and give Rose my-" she heard the door slam behind Sherlock. "Love." Sighing, she shifted the baby in her arms and headed for the stairs. "How about we get you back to bed, sweetheart? All will be well in the morning."
~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~
It took only a split second after Rose had doubled over in pain for Greg Lestrade to jump into action. One moment she was making tea in the kitchen as he waited in the sitting room for Sherlock to return, and the next he heard the sound of a mug shattering on the floor and a sharp yelp of pain. Without thinking, Lestrade gathered Rose up in his arms and hurried down the stairs, painfully aware of the sounds of a crying baby emanating from the opposite direction.
Rose was no stranger to pain, but she had never experienced anything like this. When she went into labour with Jackie the contractions had been painful, but manageable. This, though, was something completely different. She knew instinctively that something was wrong... She was only at 23 weeks, far too soon for labour to set in.
Vaguely aware of Greg barking at Mrs. Hudson to check on Jackie, Rose moaned as another searing pain jolted through her abdomen. "Sherlock," she hissed.
"Hospital first, Rose," Greg replied, carefully laying her across the back seat of his car, before hopping into the driver's seat. "Now to find your useless husband, yeah?" Turning back to smile at Rose, the sight that met his eyes made him turn on the siren and take off without hesitation: she was curled up into herself across the seat, her hands clutching her stomach and beads of sweat across her brow as she bit her lip and nodded slightly in response.
There were several unsuccessful attempts to reach Sherlock on his mobile - for some inconvenient reason it kept going directly to voicemail - before Greg decided to call John instead. "Come on," he growled as the phone rang a third time before someone finally answered.
"Greg?" John asked.
"Sherlock. Bart's. Now," Greg barked, swerving slightly to avoid an oncoming car. Glancing again in the rear-view to check on Rose, who only looked paler, he took a deep breath. "It's Rose."
"Oh, God," John breathed. "We'll meet you there."
Feeling somewhat reassured that John would come through on finding Sherlock, Greg tossed his phone onto the passenger seat. "Almost there, Rose."
Rose nodded mutely, her jaw tightly clamped shut against the pain. She could only hope that they would arrive at the hospital soon, and prayed that Sherlock would be right behind them. She experienced the vague sensation of the car coming to a full stop when a final blinding pain shot through her and everything went dark.
~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~
Sherlock tried repeatedly to reach Lestrade on his mobile, but was thwarted by voicemail every time. Armed solely with the knowledge of where they were heading, he was about to try calling Molly when a text message alert caught his attention.
Where the bloody hell are you? ~JW
He stared at the message for a split second, contemplating its meaning. More than likely, Lestrade had contacted John when he was unable to reach him directly. Which meant that John was at least aware of the situation.
On my way. Three minutes out. ~SH
Turning his attention to the driver, he realized that they were slowing for a red light. "£100 to run the light. Now drive!" he commanded. Yelling at someone felt good, it made him feel ever so slightly in control when he knew that whatever was waiting for him would be completely out of his hands. His mind reeled with every possibility, every scenario that he might face when he entered the hospital doors, and none were easing his concern.
Throwing a handful of cash at the driver, Sherlock raced across the sidewalk and into the old building. Normally, as he walked through these doors, he knew that satisfaction was close at hand. Now, however, he had a feeling that he would not be satisfied with anything he learned here today.
"Rose Tyler-Holmes," he barked at the nurse sitting behind reception. "Where is she?"
The nurse blinked up at him, but couldn't bring herself to be completely annoyed. "Sir, if you would please-"
"Where is my wife?"
"Sherlock!"
Relief. That was the only word to describe the feeling that immediately washed over him. Lestrade was here, which meant Rose was here. He would have answers. No, that wasn't right. If Lestrade was here in reception with him, then no one was with Rose. In the blink of an eye, the relief was replaced with dread. Taking in the man before him, he knew his instinct was correct. Lestrade was pale, he looked defeated as he stood there. But that was nothing compared to the blood stains on left side of his jacket.
"What happened," he demanded, nearly hissing through clenched teeth.
"They're not entirely sure," Greg replied. "But she's in surgery now."
All of Sherlock's carefully cultivated bravado suddenly disappeared. "Surgery?" His voice was barely a whisper, and he knew that he was radiating fear and uncertainty, but he couldn't be bothered to care. His Rose had been rushed to the hospital and now was undergoing some sort of procedure and he was not with her. "Where?"
Greg knew better than to start answering any additional questions in the reception area. Sherlock would want to talk to the doctors, see Rose for himself. So, instead of simply standing there, he led the man through the sterile corridors and explained what little he knew, what he had witnessed, until they reached the labour and delivery wing and a doctor could be found.
Arriving at the nurses' station, Greg was relieved to see that someone was already there waiting for them. Molly was standing there, a grave expression on her face, ready to run interference with the nursing staff if need be. After Rose was rushed off to the operating theatre, Lestrade knew that he needed to wait at the main entrance for Sherlock. However, he didn't feel comfortable leaving the wing unmanned. Knowing that Molly was in the building already, she was the only person that he could think of to call to take up his vigil as he went to find Sherlock - hoping that John was successful in his task.
"Sit down," she said gently, placing a hand on Sherlock's arm.
"Not until I see Rose," he hissed.
"You can't yet, Sherlock," she chided. "Her doctor will be out soon, but she's already been put under and they've begun the procedure-"
"What procedure!" he all but roared. Why was nobody giving him answers? "They can't operate without consent-"
"A placental abruption," Molly said quietly, effectively cutting him off. "They think she suffered from a placental abruption."
Sherlock stared at his friend in disbelief, not really seeing her at all. There was no reason why this should be happening. Collapsing onto the uncomfortable waiting room sofa, Sherlock took his head in his hands. As the minutes passed, he was vaguely aware of voices talking to - or about - him, but couldn't be bothered to respond. He needed to be with Rose, to see that she was alright. He felt the tremors in his hands begin to take hold.
Time seemed to hold no meaning for him as he waited for news of Rose and the baby. It might have been only a few minutes, an hour, or even a year for all that Sherlock noticed. All that he knew was that it felt like forever, and no one from the hospital had yet come to speak with him, to update them on Rose's condition. He looked up, somewhat surprised to find that their party had grown in number from simply Lestrade and Molly to now include John, Mary and even Mycroft. He tilted his head, peering suspiciously at his brother who nodded solemnly at the unexpected eye contact. Of course he was here - it was Rose. She brought them all together. This was their family.
Family. Jacqueline. It suddenly occurred to Sherlock that he had left her with Mrs. Hudson, who would no doubt be concerned about Rose as well. Thoughts like this never would have crossed his mind before, but now they were somewhat commonplace. He cared for these people, and knew that they cared for him. He just couldn't stand to be near them right now.
Jumping up, he started to pace the room, still ignoring those around him. He was anxious. Once upon a time, he would have willingly given this feeling over to the oblivion of heroin. For now he would settle for a cigarette. Just as he was about to make the foolish pronouncement, something caught his eye.
Sherlock's heart nearly stopped as he saw an unconscious Rose being wheeled away from him on a hospital bed. Everyone - and everything - else forgotten, he ran forward, pushing a nurse aside so that he could take her hand in his. It didn't escape his notice that her hand was icy.
"Sir!" the nurse admonished. "We need to move the patient into recovery-"
"She is not simply 'the patient,'" Sherlock growled, his eyes never leaving his wife's face.
"Of course not, Mr. Holmes. But we do need to get her into recovery before she can be moved to a private room. I promise, I will come and fetch you once she's ready."
"And the baby?"
"The doctor will be out shortly to speak with you."
Pain lanced through Sherlock's very core at her words. There was no mistaking the meaning behind them, no hope for anything other than simply surviving. He looked down at Rose, her face so peaceful as she was still under the effects of the anaesthetic, who had no idea what sort of heartbreak she was going to wake to. He released her hand and watched as the nursing staff moved her away from him and through another set of doors. All he could do was stand there, in the corridor, numb.
~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~
Rose sat in an armchair by the sole window in her hospital room, staring outside but not seeing anything. The doctors and nurses insisted that moving would be good for her, even if it meant simply walking laps around the central nurses station on the floor. She couldn't bring herself to do it though - seeing the happy faces of new parents in the ward, hearing the sounds of crying babies from the nursery - it was too much. Instead, she chose to withdraw into herself.
Sherlock entered the room as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake Rose. Seeing her sitting by the window, he sighed with short-lived relief. He knew that if she was mobile the hospital would release her. The doctor had told him as much. She needed to get away from this horrible place; she belonged at home with him and Jacqueline. He could see that she was wilting before his very eyes, her very essence faded away.
"Rose," he said, trying to pull her attention. Kneeling beside her, he took her hand in his and pressed his lips to her palm. "Tomorrow, Tulip. You can come home tomorrow."
She nodded slightly in acknowledgment, but pulled her hand from his grasp. "Tomorrow," she echoed, her voice hollow and her expression blank.
"Tomorrow."
~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~
Three weeks passed, and Rose hadn't spoken a word. Upon arriving home to Baker Street, she settled into an old recliner by the window of the sitting room and had barely moved since. She couldn't bring herself to lie in the bed that she and her husband shared, she couldn't face the stairs to check on Jackie in the nursery, she barely ate and hardly slept.
Sherlock did what he could to ensure that she was cared for: he brought her food, water, and tea; he encouraged Jacqueline to talk to her and bring her drawings; he carried her into the tub and bathed her. Yet somehow at her lack of response, her lack of improvement, he knew it wasn't enough.
One evening he finally reached his breaking point, and tried yelling at her. "You need to stop this! Snap out of it already!"
Rose simply blinked and turned her head away from him in response.
"I lost him too, dammit!" Bending down to lean against the arms of the chair, he looked her directly in the eyes. "He was my son too."
"And you can have a hundred more!" she screamed, breaking her silence for the first time. She pushed him away from her and stood, all but running to their bedroom and slamming the door behind her.
Understanding flooded Sherlock, but before he could give chase, a cry sounded from upstairs. Apparently Rose had woken Jacqueline from her nap.
❤.roselock moodboard based off my discord thread with @lifeitselves‘s Rosie, who has been through it, but is very loved by her mans who is stupid and will die for her ❤
Everyone deals with tragedy in their own way. Some worse than others, especially when their loved ones are literally a (parallel) universe or two away. The angstiest thing I have ever written.
Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Epilogue. Can also be found on AO3 in its entirety.
Part 2 of the Swaddled ‘Verse, also on AO3.
Chapter 2: Mental Anguish
It nearly broke Mary’s heart to see her best friend so shut off from everything. She knew how much Rose had already lost, and to add not only the baby, but the hope of any future children to the list made her want to cry. Instead though, she managed to keep a neutral expression as Sherlock did something he never did: asked for help.
“I had hoped that being home with Jacqueline would help,” Sherlock explained. “But I just…”
“What can we do?” Mary cut across. “Anything you need.”
“She can’t be alone, I can’t… I can’t trust her with Jacqueline. I came home the other day, and god knows how long she had been left crying as Rose just sat there. Mrs. Hudson tries to help, but she’s less than ideal.”
Mycroft shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “If Jacqueline is unsafe-”
“You are not taking my daughter.”
“I merely meant that-”
“Enough,” John interrupted. “The fact is that Rose needs help. She is suffering from severe postpartum psychosis. It’s rare, but not unheard of, given the situation.”
Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. You’re a doctor, we know…”
“Mycroft!”
~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~
As had become her custom, Rose sat in the recliner at the window, her knees now tucked up to her chest, her eyes trained on the outside world but not seeing. Never had she felt so empty and alone, but that is exactly what she was.
She had heard the doctor’s words in the hospital as he explained what happened. She understood that it was the only option to ensure her survival; that no matter what the baby would be lost. But knowing something, understanding the meaning of the horrible words, and living with the consequences of them were two completely different things.
This was her life now. She was to become one of those bitter, barren women. Sherlock would have no further need for her. He had been so excited to find out that they were to have a son, and soon enough he would want to experience that again. With someone else. Someone who could actually have his child. Not her.
More than anything, Rose longed for her mother. She would know what to do, what to say to make everything alright again. But that was the rub. Jackie Tyler didn’t exist anymore on this world, and even if she did, she wouldn’t be the same.
Hugging her knees tighter to her chest, a thought occurred to Rose. What if there was a way?
Once the thought entered her mind, it became the only thing that she could focus on. There was no way to predict when she would be able to make a go of it; someone was constantly with her and Jackie. If Sherlock was out, then it was Mary or John, or even Violet and Siger. Mycroft would stop by, but never to stay. From conversations she overheard she knew that Mycroft was keeping an eye on everything from the outside.
And then one day Rose had her chance.
John had just put Jackie down for a nap when his phone rang. There was some sort of emergency with a patient that couldn’t wait. Mary was on her way to take his place, but wouldn’t be there for a few minutes more. Against his better judgement, he asked Mrs. Hudson to keep an eye on Rose and Jackie, calling Sherlock as he left.
Mrs. Hudson had just set a cup of tea next to Rose before stepping into the loo. The second that the door clicked shut, Rose sprang to her feet. Shoving clothes haphazardly into a small bag, she flew upstairs to Jackie’s room.
Throwing the diaper bag over her shoulder, she gathered the sleeping child in her arms and ran down the stairs, pausing when she heard the flush of the toilet. Taking a deep breath she made her way through Mrs. Hudson’s rooms and out the back door, knowing that Mycroft had eyes on the street.
Once in the alley she unearthed a prepaid cell phone from behind a dumpster and sent a text message:
Bad Wolf howling in the wind.
Within 30 seconds, she had responses from nearly a dozen people, all with addresses of safe houses. Choosing one that she knew she could reach without touching a main street or passing a member of Sherlock’s homeless network, she said a silent prayer that Jackie would remain asleep and left Baker Street behind.
~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~
Three days, seventeen hours, forty-two minutes, and 218 - no - 219 cigarettes later, Sherlock was no closer to finding his wife and daughter than he had been the moment he learned of their disappearance. Scotland Yard was useless, and Mycroft and his connections weren’t far behind. There had been no sign of Rose or Jacqueline anywhere in London, not that he expected there would be.
He could feel his resolve shaking, the mania creeping its way into his head as he imagined countless scenarios of what might have happened. Would Rose hurt herself? Would she hurt Jacqueline? He didn’t want to believe that she would harm her child, but after everything that had happened, after the last two months, he wasn’t confident.
In the following weeks, Sherlock followed every lead he could think of, and each time the trail went cold. It terrified him to think that he might never see them again, but with her connections he was forced to admit that it was a very real possibility. He had suspected that her underground network was keeping her hidden from him, and he hated that there was nothing he could do about it.
~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~
They had moved locations twice within the city that first night, but once Rose and Jackie were safely hidden away in a Shepherd’s Bush flat, the real planning began. Documents were procured, transportation arranged, and smokescreens programmed for various security feeds around the country should anyone get too close. Everything was in place for their journey, and risk of being caught was minimal at best.
And so it was, six days later, that Rose finally felt a smile cross her face for the first time in nearly 3 months. Setting a squirming Jackie down on the sand, she relished in the glory of feeling the sun on her face, the salty air in her lungs. They had arrived in the one place on Earth that Rose felt might allow her the chance of seeing her family again: Dårlig Ulv-Stranden.
Weeks passed without incident in the small Norwegian town. Rose and Jackie - or Sarah and Toni, as they were known - mostly kept to themselves. Every day the pair could be found on the deserted beach, Rose sitting in the sand, staring at the familiar-and-yet-not dunes, and Jackie running and splashing in the surf or playing happily in the sand.
It was so peaceful there, but Rose still felt a darkness within her. At night, after tucking Jackie in, she would sit outside of their small room and allow her world to crash down around her. She was alone. She and Jackie, it was only them. She prayed to any gods that would hear her for a sign, for a mysterious crack, or a familiar mechanical wheezing. Anything that meant she could go back, go home. All that she wanted was the comfort that only her mother’s arms would bring.
After a particularly horrific night of fitful sleep, Rose reached out to her comrades to inform them of her intent to return to England. The answers she had hoped for did not come, but there was still one more sliver of hope; one place she could go to beg for peace.
~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~
Six weeks. It had been six weeks since Sherlock last saw his wife, since he last held his daughter. He was beside himself, a shell of himself.
Cigarettes no longer offered any clarity, music no longer provided distraction. Alcohol never held anything for him. Apart from the relief that only seeing Rose and Jacqueline could provide, there was one remaining option.
He had chased everyone away, drawn the sitting room curtains, and sat silently in his armchair. Save for the small plastic bag that he flipped back and forth between his fingers, he didn’t move a muscle.
The pull was so strong, the temptation so powerful. Oblivion. Nothing mattered anymore, not with things as they were. He could give in so easily, free himself from the nightmare that had become his every day. One taste and his mind would be free.
There were so many times that he was sure they had been found. Glimpses of Rose and Jacqueline on closed circuit security feeds, alleged eye witness accounts of mother and child traveling on a bus or train. None had panned out, none proven true. So when John threw open the door with a triumphant cry, Sherlock made no effort to acknowledge him.
“Get up,” John commanded. “Mycroft has a plane- What is that?” His eyes had trained onto the small packet in Sherlock’s hand, snatching it away from him.
Sherlock did not respond.
“Where did you get this?”
Silence.
“How much did you take?”
Silence.
John forced the sleeves of Sherlock’s shirt back, checking for puncture marks; pushed Sherlock’s face up, checking his eyes to see whether his pupils were blown. He heaved a sigh of relief when neither sign was found. “Get. Up.”
“Why?”
“She’s in Norway, Sherlock. She and Jackie. Some small beach town in Norway.”
Sherlock shook his head. He had already considered that possibility, already explored every channel he could find in the region. He refused to open himself to even the tiniest sliver of hope only to have the rug pulled out from under him. Again.
“You go,” he said, his voice hoarse. “If you’re so sure, you go. I’ll just be here.”
“And leave you here? Alone? With this? I don’t think so.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
John sighed, sitting down across from his friend. He tried to keep the pity from showing so plainly, but knew he wasn’t completely able to succeed. “No, you’re right,” he agreed. “But you do need a friend. When is the last time you ate something?”
“I had tea…”
“Come on,” John urged, getting to his feet. “Just come to the house, let Mary feed you. Mycroft can handle Norway. Then, you have my word, you can come back here to wallow. Without the drugs.”
~~~~0~~~~0~~~~0~~~~
Jackie toddled across the carefully manicured grass, pulling up dandelions and other wild flowers, blissfully unaware of the turmoil that was wreaking havoc on her mother. The area was deserted, which suited Rose just fine; she needed no further witness to her current mental state.
Instead, Rose focused her attention on the weathered stone in front of her, on the ground beneath her feet. A strangled sob escaped her lips and she collapsed onto her knees, no longer seeing the words engraved on the tombstone:
Here lies Jacqueline Andrea Suzette Tyler.
“Mum,” she choked out. “I need you…”
Rose wasn’t sure how long she sat there, her grief so raw, her body shaking uncontrollably. All she knew is that seemingly out of nowhere she felt Jackie’s tiny arms encircling her neck, her warm cheek resting on her shoulder.
“No cry, mummy.”
“I’m so sorry,” Rose whispered, pulling Jackie onto her lap and hugging her close.
Jackie reached up and carefully wiped a tear from Rose’s face, her face scrunched up in concentration. “Daddy?”
“He’s not here, sweetheart. But d'you know who is?”
Jackie shook her head - and the rest of her body - from side-to-side.
“That right there,” Rose said, pointing to the gravestone. “That’s my mum. This world’s version anyway.” A fresh wave of grief crashed into her at the words, and she pulled Jackie close. “I wish you could have known her, that she could have seen you even once. Oh, god. I’m so sorry, Jackie…”
Rose was at a complete loss. She had no idea what to say, what to do. She had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. The only remaining link to her mother was held tightly in her arms, that warm bundle of energy that exuded life and promise and hope, none of which she herself felt.
Coming here had been a mistake. When Bad Wolf Bay failed her, Rose truly believed that she might feel some sort of absolution, some sort of reprieve at her mother’s gravesite. But the fact was that this wasn’t her mother. It was a Jackie Tyler, but not her Jackie Tyler.
No matter what she did, she couldn’t outrun the demons that had taken up residency in her mind. Everywhere she turned she felt the darkness encroaching on her heart. It wasn’t healthy. Not for her, and certainly not for Jackie. There was only one thing that she could think of to do.
