Title: Elementary, My Dear Tyler
Author: MyLonelyAngel
Character/Pairing: Ten/Rose
Rating: K
Summary: The Doctor remembers times of jam, chavs and Sherlock Holmes.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. But my John Barrowman picture (signed), this slow and tacky laptop and my love of Lady and the Tramp (random, ey?).
AN: Woah, took me a while to get this out. But here... something is. Ta da! Feel free to read and review. (Some angst, humour and lots of friendship)

There was something depressing about that jar of jam, perched on the table in a practically forlorn way. A knife stood upright in the sticky substance, resting against the edge of the glass jar.

An almost weary Doctor was standing by the door frame, facial expression unreadable.

He hadn't been in here since... well, not for a long time.

There was still the remainings of breakfasts from times past. Showing just how untidy the previous occupant had been.

"'Elementary my dear Watson?' Nah, you're 'aving me on this time."

Rose Tyler sat seated opposite the Doctor, an incredulous look aimed his way. As they always were. Disbelief was starting to edge into her expression.

"Yes! My line! Though Artie did change it in his book... Did you know..."

There he went again. Off on some sort of random subject. It was something Rose would never be able to keep up with. The Doctor's new (well, new-ish) ability of talking a mile a minute. The Doctor had actually had entire conversations with evil dictators without said evil dictactors getting one word in edgeways.

"... actually never stuck them together. Ol' Art just stuck them near-ish each other, Holmes never said the famous--"

"Elementary?"

The Doctor cocked his head to one side and looked at Rose like she'd entirely missed the point. Or like she'd just questioned his ethics on sticking his fingers in the jam jar and then preceding to lick them.

"Yes. Elementary - simple, basic and straightforward. Elementary my dear Tyler. Y'know--"

"You're so jammy," Rose laughed, shaking her head. Obviously not believing him.

The Doctor looked outraged - in a rather comically way actually, from Rose's point of view - at the mere thought of him being 'jammy'.

"Well, I'd rather be jammy then... then... a chav!"

The Doctor grinned, a smug look crossing his face, before it was replaced with terror.

All because Rose had raised an eyebrow. And given him 'The Look'. A look so devastatingly important that he'd had to give it capital letters. The look no doubt taught to her by the infamous Jackie Tyler, creator and master of the 'Tyler Slap'. Another word deserving of its title - 'cause it hurt. A lot.

"Er, I say chav... chav, or linking back to its etymology origins - chavo - Romani for boy. Or possibly even linking to the colloquial Spanish word chaval, meaning kid or guy. Er... did I tell you about the parrot that I might have accidentally pinned an ASBO on?"

The eyebrow if anything only raised higher. Oh dear lord, Doctor thought rather miserably to himself. You've either just called her a kid, guy or boy. Or worse... a chav...

"Hmm... lovely jam isn't it? I've always liked homemade jam... well, farm-made jam," He peered inquisitively at the jam jar's label. If worse came to the worse he could use it to fend her off. "Somewhere in Wiltshire apparently, isn't that lovely. We should go to Wiltshire, see some tractors, chase some sheep. The usually tourist-y stuff."

It was a known fact that when the Doctor's mind was screaming to shut up, his mouth carried on oblivious to the fact that he was just dugging his own grave.

"Doctor?"

"Yes, Rose."

"Put a sock in it."

Short sigh.

"Yes, Rose."

The Doctor shook his head, bringing himself out of his thoughts. Out of the past. Out of memories of Rose. And how simple things had seemed then. Like a maths equation.

Rose Tyler add the Doctor equalled simplicity.

Elementary.

What did you do when things were no longer elementary?

Not simple.

Not basic.

Never straightforward.