It was well after dark when Mycroft Holmes returned home. While some people might not think 10pm was all that late, it was extremely late for Mycroft; he'd been up since 3:30 that morning. Protecting Britain was a never ending job and seemed to grow more complex by the year as the nation was met with new challenges and he moved up the ranks in the British government. Not to mention his work for the British Secret Service on a strictly unofficial and hush-hush basis.
Opening the front door of the house, Mycroft closed it quietly behind him. The house was dark, but he wasn't really surprised by that. Most of the house's inhabitants should be asleep and he intended to join them in short order.
He opened the door of his office and stepped inside. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Mycroft realized there was something in his large, plush desk chair. Moving closer, he saw it was not a something; rather it was a someone. A very small someone, in fact, all curled up and holding a teddy bear.
"Rose? What are you doing in my office? More importantly, what are you doing out of bed?" he asked quietly as he approached the chair.
A head of silky black curls moved and his four-year-old sister looked up at him with sleepy eyes.
"Poppet, you know better than to play in here," Mycroft scolded lightly as he plucked her out of the chair. Sitting down he settled her on his lap, smiling as a tiny hand grasped onto his shirt.
"Mummy said," Rose murmured, snuggling close.
An eyebrow quirked. "Hmm. I doubt that very much, miss. Where is Mother?"
"Sleeping."
"And you are not because…?"
A yawn escaped. "Missed you."
Mycroft couldn't keep the tender smile from his face. "I missed you today, too, Poppet. But it's very late. Long past the time that little girls should be in bed. Who put who you to bed?" He truly hoped someone had remembered to put her to bed!
"Sherlock," Rose told him. "He tolded me a story."
"Was it a nice story?" Sherlock had a habit of turning current high profile crimes into bedtime stories, something Mycroft strongly objected to. His teenaged brother needed a filter sometimes when it came to Rose.
She nodded. "Very nice. And he singed me the baby song with the funny word. Melly…mella, I dunno," Rose decided.
Ah. Sherlock had taken to using crooner songs for lullabies again, Mycroft thought. "Melancholy Baby?" he asked. "How long have you been down here, Poppet?"
"That one. I camed down when Mummy sleeped," she admitted. "You took a long, long time My."
He chuckled softly. "I'm sorry Rose. I'll try to be home earlier tomorrow, hmm?"
She nodded, her curls bouncing with the movement.
"And now it's time for bed," Mycroft decided. He stood up, still holding her in his arms. He smiled as a little arm hooked around his neck and Rose nuzzled her head against his neck. He carried Rose upstairs and into her room, putting her down gently on the bed. "Under the covers now; Teddy too."
Rose complied, burrowing under the covers with her bear. She gave him a sleepy smile as he tucked her in snuggly.
"Good night Rose. Stay in bed this time, please." Mycroft got up to leave, but paused when he heard a little whining sound.
"My!" Rose protested.
"It's bedtime now," he told her firmly.
A could see a distinct pout on her face. "Kisses."
Mycroft closed his eyes and mentally sighed. He really was tired. Rose never went to bed, ever, unless everyone in the house gave her goodnight kisses. He sat down on the side of her bed and leaned over, brushing curls from her face before kissing her forehead.
"Night, My. Love you," she whispered, her eyes closing.
He smiled. "Goodnight Poppet." Mycroft sat there a few moments longer, waiting for her to fall asleep. Had anyone told him four years ago that he would enjoy moments like this, and gladly bear the responsibility of raising his baby sister, he would have laughed. Now, he wouldn't trade moments like this for the world.
Twelve Years Later
Hands clasped behind his back, Mycroft Holmes was pacing around his office. He tried very, very hard to be lenient with his little sister, Rose, who at sixteen was already at university, and tried to enforce appropriate rules for her unique situation. There was, however, one rule that he was absolutely unwilling to change, and that was curfew. At sixteen, there was no reason in the world by Rose should not be home by 10:30pm on a school night or 11:30pm on weekends.
Yet, here he was, pacing his office at 12:30a.m. Mycroft was certain he could feel his blood pressure rising with every moment that passed without hearing the front door open, or his mobile ring. He wasn't an unreasonable man. Sometimes delays happened that were unavoidable and he had promised Rose that as long as she contacted him to advise him of a delay or that she needed a ride, or anything of that nature, she would not be punished for breaking curfew. At the present moment, she was one hour late, but for now he would wait. Surely she would call at any moment or unlock the front door any second; then he'd bellow at her, smack her soundly, and then feel relieved she was alright.
Only she didn't.
At 1:15a.m. Mycroft hacked into Rose's mobile. She was far cleverer than he'd anticipated and had no contacts stored in her mobile other than his number and Sherlock's, meaning she had committed any other important numbers to memory. Her texts and call history were deleted as well. Worst of all, the mobile was off and he couldn't trace it unless it was on.
By 2 a.m. Mycroft was giving considerable thought to calling the last person he ever wanted to turn to for help: Sherlock. He'd already gone to Rose's room and searched for clues of where she had gone and with whom, but come up empty handed. Grabbing his mobile, Mycroft placed a call.
x
"Lestrade!" Someone called across the large room. "Lestrade! You can't leave yet!"
Greg Lestrade stopped and let out a groan. "And why the hell not?" he asked his partner.
"We've got a case. From high up. Missing minor, potential kidnapping."
Lestrade frowned. "Not my division."
"It is when our boss's boss says it is."
Scowling now, Lestrade grabbed the report from his partner and scanned it. "Rosenwyn Holmes? Who made this report?" he said aloud, scanning it further. "Lovely. Just lovely. Does anyone even know what bloody Mycroft Holmes even does?" He threw the folder on the floor and headed to the lift.
x
It was 5 a.m. He should have been at home, asleep, three hours ago. Only he wasn't, he was scouring the city for some teenager having a fit of pique and Sherlock had been ducking his calls. But Lestrade kept calling all the same. Finally, there was an answer.
"Yes? I prefer text, you know that," Sherlock commented.
"Well this is important. Please tell me you know where your sister is so I can bring her arse back to Mycroft and go home and sleep."
There was a pause. "You're looking for my sister? Why?"
"She never made it home last night, Sherlock. You didn't know?" Lestrade was dumbfounded. Was the relationship between the Holmes brothers really so bad off that one couldn't call the other when their sister was missing?
"No. Meet me at Mycroft's."
"I do not need your assistance, Sherlock!"
"Very clearly you do, brother. If you didn't Rose would be home right now, wouldn't she? She out smarted you. I'm really almost proud, but I'm too angry," Sherlock growled.
"Oh both of you just shut up!" Lestrade said.
Rolling his eyes at Lestrade's dramatics, Sherlock headed upstairs to Rose's bedroom with Mycroft right behind him.
"I've already looked in here. There's nothing," Mycroft said. "That's just her homework Sherlock."
"And all her friends right now are university friends, which is where this homework comes from," Sherlock pointed out. He flipped through a few folders and a couple notebooks before stopping. There was something circled, the pen dug deep into the paper as it wrote.
"Find something?"
Sherlock began laughing. "Ah, my clever, clever little Rose," he murmured, holding up the notebook. "Its shorthand; my shorthand to be specific. I taught her that. You never even looked in this notebook did you? No, just called out all possible police personnel."
"Does it tell you where she is?" Lestrade asked. He looked and sounded exhausted.
"Indeed. Follow me," Sherlock said to Lestrade, hurrying down the stairs. "Don't follow me Mycroft. I'll bring her home." He had a feeling that Mycroft wouldn't want to be there when he found Rose.
"Where are we going?" Lestrade asked when they got outside.
"A 'rave'. We really need to stop her from making friends with Americans," Sherlock grumbled.
"How do you know it's an American?"
"Because we don't give children names like "Diesel" here."
Lestrade laughed. "No, just names like Mycroft, Sherlock and Rosenwyn, which are completely normal."
"Do you, or do not want to make a drugs bust, Lestrade?" Sherlock asked. "Because I could call someone else; Dimmick, for example."
"No, I don't want to miss this. It's going to be fun, I'm certain of it!"
"Sherlock, this is an abandoned warehouse area. No one in their right mind comes here for anything, let alone to have a fun time," Lestrade pointed out.
"Who said anything about them being in their right minds?" Sherlock questioned. He stopped and pointed at one of the buildings. "This one. Time to call in people if you want to." Without waiting for a response, Sherlock headed inside the abandoned warehouse.
Lestrade followed Sherlock, who followed the sound of laughter and music, which ultimately led them to an open portion of the warehouse that had been turned into some sort of lounge/dance floor. Random bits of furniture were spread around and people were dancing on the open area of the floor. Scantily clad young women and young men looking to get lucky were cavorting about in a haze of marijuana, liquor in their hands.
Sherlock's eyes scanned the room and then he found her. His sister was sitting on some fellow's lap, laughing as if she was high as a kite. He stalked across the room and the closer he came to Rose, the more convinced he was that she was high. Not smoking, but the amount of marijuana haze in the room was bound to get anyone high, and she was drinking from an exceptionally large glass of alcohol.
"SHERLOCK!" She squealed as he drew nearer. Rose tried to wave but merely managed to slop liquor onto the floor.
An eyebrow quirked. "You cannot possibly be that glad to see me. In fact, I'll make certain you aren't glad you saw me. Get up Rosenwyn. Say goodbye to these people that you will never see again and then I'm taking you-" Sherlock paused. He couldn't take her back to Mycroft like this. In all good consciousness as her older brother, he couldn't just hand her over to Mycroft in this state.
"I'm taking you home with me and we're going to have a nice long discussion about how idiotic you are. Get up Rose. NOW!"
She giggled and stumbled to her feet.
"My god, how short is that skirt? That can't possibly even qualify as a skirt. I'm burning it," Sherlock decided. He took his coat off and effectively manhandled her into it amid a torrent of giggles. She stank of alcohol and once he released her, she sat down on the boy's lap again.
"Oh, no. No." He hauled her to her feet and looked in her eyes. "You aren't going to remember this, I'm sure, but just so you're aware, I'm going to murder you in the morning."
She giggled and sat down again.
Sighing heavily, Sherlock picked her up, put her over his shoulder, and walked out of the warehouse to find a cab. As he walked away, he could hear Lestrade roaring with laughter.
Once he caught a cab he practically tossed Rose inside, and then gave the driver the address of his small flat.
'Found her. She's fine. Taking her to my flat. SH'
'Bring her back here. M'
'No. She fell asleep and my flat is closer. Will bring her over tomorrow. SH'
'Fine. M'
The morning came quick for Sherlock, who was far too worked up to sleep; not to mention he hadn't been tired. Instead, he spent the hours while his sister slept through her drunken stupor deciding just how to respond to her behavior. There was no way he could just let this slide. As a general rule, he though Mycroft had too many rules for Rose and that was why she did what she did. Sherlock was starting to rethink that notion and even grudgingly admit that Rose was a handful. While he had no intention of telling Mycroft what he'd walked into last night, Sherlock wasn't going to let her get away with it either. By the time she woke up, he had a plan.
"Ah. I see you're among the living still," Sherlock commented as she stumbled out of his bedroom. "How's that head?"
Rose groaned in response and flopped onto the couch.
"About what I suspected." He left the room for a moment, returning with a tablet and a glass of water. "Swallow this. It'll help."
"Why am I here? I don't remember coming here," Rose admitted after taking the tablet.
"That is not at all surprising. You had quite the night Rosenwyn! Party at an abandoned warehouse? Drinking? And though you weren't smoking, you were certainly high off it just from being in the same room. You came to be here because I found you, not Mycroft. And you should be eternally grateful for that, young lady," Sherlock scolded. "Because Mycroft probably wouldn't have waited until he took you home to smack you."
Rose gaped at him.
"And don't get me started on that skirt. It's going in the bins, today, and if you fuss at me about it, I'll burn it."
"Who are you?" she finally asked. "Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm your brother, that's who I am. And because I'm your brother, there is no way in hell I'm letting you get away with that. You are in a world of trouble, Rosenwyn."
"You're ridiculous," she decided. "Completely ridiculous."
"Come here," Sherlock said, crooking his finger at her. "Come here, now."
"I'm good thanks. Stop being a git Sherlock. You've made your point. I'll find a safer place to party next time," Rose told him.
"That's what you think I'm angry about? Just that and not all the other idiotic things you were doing? Do you actually think that is acceptable behavior, Rosenwyn?" Sherlock asked. "I consider myself quite lenient with you, but this, my dear sister, is where I draw the line! You are going to be spanked, and I do mean spanked."
Rose threw a pillow at him. "Shut up Sherlock. This isn't funny."
"Do I not look and sound serious right now?"
"You look like an idiot. Stop scolding me, that's not your job. You can't spank me, I won't let you." Sherlock hadn't spanked her in at least two years! He'd never been much of a spanker to begin with, probably because Mycroft was so much of one that there didn't need to be two.
"I'm not asking your permission," Sherlock growled. "Are you going to come here, as I asked, or do I need to count?"
She tossed another pillow at him, rolling her eyes.
"Clearly, you're not taking me seriously!"
Rose watched in horror as he sprang up from the couch. Luckily for her, he didn't spring at her. Instead, he stalked into the kitchen and began rummaging around. She sat there, feeling on edge, until suddenly he rounded the corner and came back with an incredibly large wooden spoon.
She opened her mouth and said "Wha-?" and that was as far as she got.
Rose let out an indignant squeak as Sherlock pulled her up by her arm. Once she was up and standing, he started smacking her bottom, hard, with the wooden spoon. "Ow! Ow! Sherlock! OW! SHIT!"
"Watch your language," Sherlock snapped at her. "Are you coming to understand that I mean business right now, Rosenwyn? That I'm going to hold you accountable for being an absolute idiot?"
"Yessss! Ow! Sherlock STOP!" Rose was squirming to get away.
"Stand still, show me you'll cooperate, and we'll get on with our discussion of your behavior," Sherlock explained.
"This isn't the discussion?!" she shrieked.
"No, this is to get your attention. Do I have it?"
Rose stamped her foot once, then remained still as instructed, though she continued to yelp.
After another six smacks fell, Sherlock stopped and put the wooden spoon down on the coffee table. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he looked into her eyes. "Are you listening?"
Rose nodded, a hand sneaking behind her to rub her stinging behind.
"Good. Now listen, and listen hard Rosenwyn," Sherlock continued. "What you did was completely unacceptable. I cannot, in good conscience, let you go on your merry way with no repercussions. What if you had passed out and they'd left you there? What if you'd gotten alcohol poisoning? What if someone tried to take advantage of the fact you were drunk and high? What would you have done then?"
Biting her lip, Rose looked down.
"No. Eyes on me." He waited for her to look up again. "I'd like an answer to that question."
"I don't know what I would have done," she admitted. "I didn't think about all that."
Sherlock nodded. "Which is precisely the problem, Rose. Though I'm certain you intentionally broke your curfew, am I correct?"
"Yeah."
She's sounding younger by the second, Sherlock thought to himself. "I care far too much about you to let you be stupid. I'm not angry because you broke my rules, because I don't have any. I'm not angry at you for worrying Mycroft. I'm angry that you don't care enough about yourself to use a bit of common sense before you go off frolicking with your friends. Despite whatever your best efforts might be to the contrary, you. Will. Stay. Safe. And if that means I must follow you around and smack your behind when you don't stop to think, then I'll do it. Daily if necessary; though that would quickly become inconvenient," he admitted.
He could see the tears welling up in her eyes. How does Mycroft do this on a regular basis, Sherlock couldn't help but wonder.
"So there is a rule now. You will make smart, safe choices, and if you aren't certain if it's a smart choice, you will contact me and I'll let you know, without repercussions. You're still learning, and I'm your older brother, it's my job to help you learn. And right now, you're going to learn how seriously I take your safety, because we're going to discuss it at length," Sherlock explained.
"Discuss it?" Rose sounded so hopeful, thinking he meant actual discussion.
"Yes; my hand is going to discuss it with your bottom for a considerable length of time."
"That's not the definition of discussion you know," she said softly, looking down again. "I don't think I like this turn of events very much."
"That's the new definition, my definition. And if you don't like this, make reasonable choices in the future and I'll let Mycroft continue to be the mean brother," he offered.
She giggled just a bit at that, and then sobered once more. "Sherlock?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you going to tell Mycroft on me?"
Sherlock shook his head. "I don't believe that's necessary. I'll let him know the matter has been handled, but you will apologize. He was very worried about you. Every officer in London was looking for you, silly girl. Now, any further questions, or can we get on with things?"
When she said nothing further, Sherlock took a deep breath. "Right," he said. Taking a seat on the couch he took her by the wrist and pulled her to his side. "Over my knees." He knew this was the moment of truth. Either she'd do as he said and he would take care of it, or he'd have no choice but to call Mycroft.
Rose, much to his relief, positioned herself across his lap, her ridiculously short skirt riding up in the process.
"I was serious about this skirt. I'll find you something else to wear home. Mycroft will never let you leave the house again if he sees you in this," Sherlock pointed out. He tugged the skirt up and out of the way before pulling her panties down to her knees.
"No! Sherlock, no!"
"Yes, Rosenwyn, yes." Sherlock ignored the whining noises she made, and the pink splotches left by the wooden spoon, and raised his hand, bringing it down sharply across the center of her bottom. He repeated the smack, and then picked up the pace, smacking her cheeks hard and fast, quickly turning her whole bottom pink.
"Owww! Ow Sherlock, that's too hard!" Rose protested.
"No, it's not. I'm being quite fair, I assure you," Sherlock answered her. "Less talking more thinking. We're discussing, remember?" His hand continued to pepper her bottom with harsh swats and eventually turned his attention to her sit spots. When he began swatting her there, Rose's protests went up in volume, which he ignored. As she began squirming, he tightened his arm around her waist to make sure she stayed over his lap.
When her sit spots were the same shade of pinkish-red as her cheeks, Sherlock turned his attention to her upper thighs and did not lessen he strength behind the smacks.
"Owwwwww! Ow Sherlock!" Rose wailed. She burst into tears and put her hand back, trying to make him stop. For a moment he did, but just to catch her hand. He held it gently to the small of her back before continued.
"Disappearing, is not ok," Sherlock lectured. "And I will spank you for it each and every time you do it because I love you, even when you're a little idiot." His hand emphasized particular points of his lecture and Sherlock began upping the strength behind it.
"No being around unsavory characters that are going to give you liquor and expose you to drugs. You think this is bad?" Sherlock asked. Her tears and squirms told him yes, she did think it was. "Trust me, if you end up cited or arrested for this nonsense, this will be a cake walk in comparison."
His hand fell faster and faster, harder and harder until finally he had reached the appropriate shade of red, which was very bright and sore looking. By the time he stopped, Rose had gone still over his lap and was sobbing hard. The sound of it made him feel overwhelmed with guilt; even though he was certain he'd made the right choice.
"Alright, it's all over now Rose," Sherlock soothed. He released the hand he'd been holding and carefully pulled her panties back up before helping her up from his lap. Without any hesitation, he pulled her onto his lap, right side up this time, and positioned her well spanked bottom between his knees and hugged her tightly.
"Shh," Sherlock soothed. "I'm sure it hurts, but you'll live to misbehave another day, I promise." He kept his tone light, trying to get her to calm down. Words weren't what she needed though; it was holding her tightly and rocking her a bit while speaking that did the trick. Funny how she hadn't change much over the years in that regard. Even if it was only a few swats, Rose had been very demanding about post-spanking cuddles.
"You're a good girl, you know that? You really are. I've done far, far worse than this. Maybe that's why I worry about you so much," Sherlock admitted quietly. "You're smart; I know you'll make better choices."
Rose pressed her face to his shoulder, sobbing despite his efforts to soothe her. "'m sorry, 'm sorry," she repeated through her tears.
"I know you are," Sherlock soothed. He stroked her hair and cuddled her as close as was possible. "I know you are. It's all over now. You're forgiven and we don't have to talk about this ever again." Unless she pulled a stunt similar to this; then they would talk about this again. "It's alright now. I'm here and I'm holding you and rocking you, so it's alright now darling."
His efforts to soothe her soon paid off; Rose managed to stop crying, though she made no effort to move.
"You've never called me that before," she murmured.
"I have, you just don't remember."
"When?"
Sherlock smiled. "When you were very tiny, and it was just you and me. I read to you a lot. Your eyes lit up when I did and it was fascinating. Never mattered what story I read at all, because I experimented with different books."
"Of course you did," Rose giggled. "Why'd you stop?"
"Because you started to talk, and not just talk, but parrot what people said to you. I didn't want Mycroft to know I called you that," Sherlock admitted. "He would have teased me mercilessly about it. I think you parroted me the most, and that got me in trouble one time, so I censored myself from that point onward."
She frowned. "I got you in trouble?"
He nodded. "A day Mother was feeling quite well she had some friends over for tea. I was playing with you, but you'd wandered off and I was following you. You walked right into the sitting room where Mother and her friends were and promptly said "Shit" a good seven or eight times."
"Oh my god," Rose laughed. "That's terrible, why did I do that?"
"You were two, you had no idea what it meant; you just liked to say things I said. I was just thankful it wasn't something worse than that," Sherlock admitted.
"And let me guess. Mycroft bellowed in that awful way of his?"
He nodded. "He did indeed. And things just progressed poorly for me from that point forward. Definitely not a good day."
"Aw, I'm sorry." Rose kissed his cheek. "I think Mycroft is going to murder me when I get home."
"No, I won't let him. You've had your spanking; it's done with, aside from your apology. Though if he imposes something additionally, for breaking curfew, I can't interfere with that," Sherlock explained. "But you won't get spanked again, promise."
x
"Rosenwyn. So nice of you to bother coming home," Mycroft grumbled when his siblings arrived. "You do know how to tell time, don't you? And in case you forget, your mobile has a clock on it, doesn't it? And why in heaven's name are you in pajama bottoms when you left here in jeans last night?"
Inwardly Sherlock chuckled. That explained how she managed to get out of the house in that ridiculous bit of fabric trying to pass for a skirt.
Rose sighed heavily. There was something about that tone that made her feel more like six than sixteen. "Yes, I do and yes, it does," she answered. She began fidgeting as she stood there beside Sherlock, but relaxed when he put an arm around her shoulders.
"They were dirty, I'm having them laundered," Sherlock explained. "Unfortunately she did not have a change of clothing at my flat, so we made do."
Mycroft's eyebrow quirked. "Is that so?" Considering how uncomfortable Rose looked just then, he doubted that was anywhere near the truth.
"We've had a discussion this morning, Rose and I. The matter has been settled," Sherlock stated firmly.
"Oh has it indeed?"
Sherlock nodded. "It was a very lengthy discussion of an uncomfortable nature."
Both eyebrows went up this time. "Oh do tell brother!"
"Please God, can the floor open up and swallow me right now? Please?" Rose asked.
Both men stopped to look at her.
"Was that out loud?"
They nodded.
"Just continue with your torture," she directed, waving her hand at them.
"I spanked her; soundly in fact. And now she has something to say, don't you Rose?" Sherlock prompted.
Rose took a deep breath before looking up at her eldest brother. "I'm very sorry that I worried you. Breaking curfew was inconsiderate and inconvenienced a lot of people for no good reason. Please accept my apologies, Mycroft. Please?"
"Do I want to know what you were doing last night?" Mycroft asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Not really, no," Rose replied in a tiny voice.
"But you're uninjured?"
She looked almost offended at the question. "I'm very injured! Sherlock was really mean!"
"I was not!" Sherlock shouted.
Mycroft's stern demeanor cracked and all he could do was shake his head and laugh.
"You would try the patience of a saint, Rosenwyn," he said once his laughter was under control. "Come here, please."
When she hesitated, Sherlock 'helped' by pushing her towards Mycroft. Immediately her hands went back to protect her bottom, but rather than swat her, he instead pulled her into a tight hug.
"You're going to put me in my grave Rose. You can't do that again. I was really frightened for you," he whispered in her ear.
Rose was somewhat surprised by the hug and it took her a moment to put her arms around him. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I mean it. You're not going to… to…" Rose couldn't quite bring herself to say the word.
"Spank you? No, not if Sherlock took care of that already," he assured her. "But you are grounded."
Rose let out a groan that sounded as though it was agony itself. "The trials of my life," she grumbled.
"Yes, you poor, poor child. It's just miserable having brothers who give a damn about you, isn't it?" Mycroft asked in a sarcastic tone.
"Hate you," Rose responded with a scowl, not meaning it even a little.
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's very nice dear, we love you too."
We are so dysfunctional, Rose thought. Then again, normal families had to be terribly boring, so perhaps theirs wasn't so bad after all.