After departing the hospital, Greg Lestrade had returned to his department, a grim look of determination on his face. It was a look many of his officers knew and it did not bode well for the person who had earned it. It was his, 'I'm angry and I'm going to do something about it' face, indicating someone was in for an official reprimand and dressing down.

He was a good boss, an excellent mentor to new officers, a fair but firm head of a department, and a man with an excellent sense of humor that rarely, if ever, held a grudge. If someone's mistake could be easily correct with a stern look and a firm warning rather than making it an official part of someone's record, he much preferred to handle things in that manner. He firmly believed that those cases were learning opportunities and to crack down hard on every little mistake would be counterproductive and breed resentment. When Greg Lestrade put his foot down about something, everyone took notice because only a serious mistake or offense would truly earn his ire. And Sally Donovan had more than earned it this time.

For more than an hour, roughly coinciding with Rose's x-rays and scoldings at St. Bart's, Greg sat in his office, thinking long and hard while trying to reign in his temper. Despite her faults, Sally Donovan really was a good officer and they'd done a lot of good work together. He didn't want to lose her skills permanently and in reality, a cruel prank wasn't enough to justify a transfer anyway. Still, something would have to be done.

Getting up from his desk, Greg opened the door of his office and locked eyes with Sally. "My office," he directed. Leaving the door open he sat on the edge of his desk, a stern look on his face that only grew when Sally closed the door and took a seat. "So," he began. "Was I not clear enough on Wednesday? Because I can't think of one good reason why you would blatantly disregard something I told you to do, I must have been misunderstood. Was I unclear? Were you confused?" An eyebrow arched as he paused and waited for an answer.

Sally swallowed hard and shook her head. "No sir, you were very clear and I was not confused. I apologize. That was what I forgot on Wednesday night, to tell the janitor not to try and 'fix' the chair after all."

"Alright, so not only did it conveniently slip your mind and add to a co-worker's already existing injuries, but you sought the assistance of the janitor in your childish little prank war. This wasn't just a prank Sally. This is intentionally cruel," Greg scolded. "Now I know you didn't realize she was already injured- apparently no one did-" He paused to shake his head. "But that little stunt could have injured her all the same. If she had fallen funny on her wrist it might have snapped; she could have hit the floor hard enough with her head to get a concussion. Any number of things could have happened."

"I realize that sir and I apologize. I didn't think it through very well when I set that up," Sally admitted, sounding rather ashamed of herself. "But I wasn't actually trying to injure her."

"No, just embarrass her, right?" Greg asked. When she gave a little nod he continued on. "What you two were doing before was childish but overall harmless until the witness statements were tampered with. I asked you both to stop, I sanctioned you both-"

"Funny, I was the only one in the archives yesterday," Sally commented, an edge of defiance in her tone.

Greg rolled his eyes. "I was trying to keep it unofficial for you both. While you got to spend some time being bored but still getting paid for your time here, I notified Rose's brother of the incident and asked him to handle it. I'm certain it was very uncomfortable for her to be called to task by her brother at the age of twenty, if not a bit humiliating as well, whether or not that was accompanied by..." He cleared his throat. "A rather traditional form of discipline."

Sally was confused for a moment before it dawned on her what he might possibly mean, which indicated that her young co-worker had not been handed over to Sherlock but to the other one and might actually have gotten into trouble. The thought of it was satisfying, to say the least.

"Yeah, try not to look so pleased about Sally," Greg snapped at her. "Rose is twenty, readily assumed responsibility for her actions and stopped what she was doing. You, on the other hand, are a sergeant, reluctantly admitted responsibility and didn't bother to take notice that I told you to 'stop.' And I don't really care if you forgot to tell the janitor to forget about the chair or not, that was not a harmless prank. I'm incredibly disappointed Sally. You're better than this; I know you are."

That, perhaps more than anything hit home with Sally and her eyes shifted away from her boss. "I apologize," she said quietly. "And I mean that. I didn't actually want to injure her and I am sorry that I did. Will she be alright?"

Greg nodded. "She'll live, provided her brothers and John Watson don't off her in the meantime," he said with a slight chuckle. He quickly sobered though and let out a heavy sigh. "Given the seriousness of this, the fact that you deliberately did something that might hurt a co-worker and disregarded directives from me, I can't let this go with a day of enforced boredom. This will go on your official record Sally and there's really no way around that. Additionally I will offer you a choice: two week suspension without pay or an accumulation of a month's hours in the archives. If you're not needed up here, you'd be there."

Sally took a deep breath and gave herself a moment to consider her options. "I'd prefer to work in the archives here, sir, rather than forego two weeks pay. I'm sorry it came to this," she said sincerely.

"I am too," Greg admitted. "Monday then you can start in the archives unless I need you up here. From now on, please try to get along with Rose. She's not a bad kid and does really good work. She's been a great help around here… and she's not Sherlock," he added.

"I'll do my best," Sally told him sincerely.

"Tea?" John asked his flatmate while pouring himself a cup. It was getting on towards supper time and felt like the perfect time to have some tea and contemplate what he might make or what they preferred for takeaway.

"Mmm."

That, as John well knew, could indicate either a yes or a no, but he was willing to bet it was a yes this time. He poured a second cup of tea and set it down by Sherlock, well out of the way of the microscope and whatever potentially dangerous thing his flatmate was doing. He spared a glance at the sleeping figure on the couch, a smile settling on his face. Rose; his Rose. His insane Rose. That girl was going to keep him on his toes and make his life a whirlwind.

"I still can't believe you're perfectly okay with this," John murmured. "You've always discouraged anyone she's shown interest in at all."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sat up with a sigh. "Her previous suitors were idiots," he explained. "You're reasonably intelligent, care about her, and have already demonstrated that you won't let her do whatever she feels like doing if it puts her safety in jeopardy. Those are all very good qualities that I would look for in any potential partner for Rose.

"She needs a partner John. A real partner, in every way, but one that understand she needs a firm hand now and again," he continued. "Somehow I don't think her impulsiveness and general disregard for her own safety will ever dissipate with age and I, for one, feel better knowing you understand how to handle her without it making you see her as a lesser partner in a relationship."

John stared at his flatmate, unable to help feeling a bit shocked. They never talked like this. They talked about loads of things, sometimes things that involved more information than either of them was comfortable with, but not like this. This was an important moment in their friendship and John couldn't help being a little bit floored that Sherlock placed so much trust him when it came to Rose.

"Mycroft is the one you need to worry about. They're different than Rose and I are," Sherlock commented.

"Because you two have been partners in crime at various times when she was growing up?" John asked, grinning.

Sherlock nodded. "I may put my foot down when needed with her, but yes; we'll always be co-conspirators of Mycroft's discomfort. But I don't consider her mine the way Mycroft does. As I said, they are different. They fit parameters."

John wasn't entirely certain he knew what Sherlock meant by that, but he merely nodded and drank some of his tea. Sherlock would elaborate if he felt so inclined. "Any advice on the Mycroft front?" Normally Sherlock was the last person John would seek advice from, particularly in terms of social cues and dating, but this was one area in which Sherlock could give him vital information in those areas.

"When Mycroft resists- and he will resist- be patient with them both. Do not under any circumstances pressure Rose to choose between the two of you," Sherlock warned. "It would cause her great pain to be forced to do that and I don't think you would emerge victorious in that situation. If anything, it might make Rose feel inclined to disappear again and I would avoid that at all costs."

Surprisingly enough John didn't feel injured that Sherlock felt Rose would not choose him over Mycroft. In fact, that gave him tremendous insight into the complexity of the relationship between the eldest and littlest Holmes.

"Considering how well she and Mycroft have healed the rifts that existed before her disappearance, Rose is unlikely to do anything that would jeopardize their relationship, no matter how much she might in fact love you," Sherlock went on. "If it takes some time for Mycroft to warm up to the idea of your relationship, and you really care about her as much as I believe you do, be patient. She cannot bear to truly disappoint Mycroft."

John looked thoughtful as he digested his best friend's words. "Something must have gone very, very wrong between them for her to disappear for eighteen months."

"Rose was very hurt, far more than even I realized, and Mycroft was rather oblivious to it," Sherlock admitted. "From what I've gathered, she left to prove to Mycroft that she was not all the things he accused her of. I'm fairly certain her time away wasn't all fun and full of adventure, considering the way she hedges around the subject and offers little in terms of information outside of her stays in Luxembourg and Geneva."

His gaze flickered over to the couch where Rose still lay sleeping. John felt his heart contract painfully at the thought of Rose enduring a self-enforced exile and the sort of hurt she must have felt to do so. "Thank you for telling me this," he told Sherlock sincerely. "I won't put her in that situation. I'd much rather step back, if necessary, than cause a serious rift between Rose and Mycroft again."

Sherlock nodded, looking pleased. "Mycroft is overly sentimental when it comes to Rose, so be patient with him as well. Though that may be incredibly difficult, given that Mycroft is Mycroft."

John chuckled. "I'll do my best Sherlock; you've got my word of honor on that."

"Excellent! Though do remember that it wouldn't do to cross me either. I will be watching," Sherlock warned.

The doctor wasn't entirely certain whether or not he should be alarmed by that statement or comforted by it but wisely chose not to ask for what exactly it was Sherlock would be watching for.

'Rose isn't answering her phone. M'

'I'm aware. She is sleeping. Why are you bothering me? SH'

'I shan't be able to come to Baker Street until tomorrow afternoon. M'

'The world weeps with great sorrow at this pronouncement. SH'

'Just pass the message along to Rose, if you please. M'

'And if I don't please? SH'

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed as he typed a response. 'I suppose "Because I said so" would not be a sufficient reason? M'

'Nope. SH'

'Tell Rose because she'll feel forgotten if I don't show this evening. M'

'I suppose. Only for her, mind you. SH'

'Thank you. M'

'Now leave me alone already. SH'

"Arguing with your brother again?" John asked, looking over at his flatmate with a grin.

Sherlock scowled. "How did you know?"

"You have a particularly heavy-handed texting habit when you're arguing with Mycroft," John shrugged. "I see things too."

"Mmm. Perhaps there's hope for you yet," Sherlock replied sarcastically.

Mycroft arrived just past noon the next day, opening the door of the flat without knocking first, as per usual, earning a glare from Sherlock.

"Knocking would be nice," John commented with a sigh. "I'm about to make tea. Would you like a cup Mycroft?"

"I'm sure it would be but it's unlikely to happen," Mycroft replied. He placed a brightly wrapped package on the kitchen table and nodded at the doctor's offer of tea before turning his gaze to the littlest Holmes. Rose was stretched out on the couch, propped up against one of the arms, sound asleep. "Some things clearly never change," Mycroft stated with a put-upon sigh. "I'm not certain if I should be comforted by that fact or annoyed."

"You know how she is. "It's lonely all alone in the bedroom; I'll be so good if you let me be out here!"" The consulting detective mimicked his sister's voice. "John assured me that as long as she is resting, relaxing, and sleeps as much as her body needs, there's little difference between the couch and the bed. Since you weren't here to tie her to the bed, I deferred to John's medical expertise."

"Sherlock," Mycroft hissed, giving his brother an indignant scowl. "That is quite enough."

"Tie her to the bed?" John repeated. "This sounds like I story I need to hear." He passed Mycroft a cup of tea before leaning back against the counter, giving the Holmes boys an expectant look. There just had to be a hilarious story connected to that statement, as most of the stories of Rose's childhood were.

"The circumstances warranted it," Mycroft stated.

Sherlock laughed, a devilish smile settling on his face. "Mother didn't find that circumstances warranted it all, even if Rose did have a habit of wandering and you were rather desperate. In fact, if I remember correctly, Mother even threatened you Mycroft."

"Sherlock that is enough," Mycroft growled.

The consulting detective was not to be deterred by Mycroft's growling and dark look. "Something along the lines of 'If you ever do that again, I will take you into your own office and bend you over your own desk for a hiding you won't soon forget.' Sound about right, brother mine?" Sherlock smirked delightedly until Mycroft, whose face was particularly red, slapped him upside the head.

"My, why are you hitting Sherlock?" Rose called sleepily from the couch.

Mycroft quickly turned his attention away from Sherlock and crossed the room to Rose. He leaned down to kiss the top of her head before tucking a few curls behind her ear. "How are you feeling? Are you being a cooperative patient for the good doctor?"

"I'm tired a lot, but I think that's the pain medication," Rose admitted. "And I'm being so cooperative you wouldn't even recognize me."

"For the moment anyway," Mycroft challenged, arching an eyebrow at her.

Rose blushed and let out a sigh. "Alright, so I wasn't the best behaved patient in the world last time around, but I've resolved to change my ways."

"Really? Wouldn't that be something," he murmured. "But six weeks is a very long time. Are you certain you'll last that long, sister mine? I'm not entirely convinced you will so I've purchased something to help keep you occupied and cooperative."

Her eyes lit up as she spotted the package on the table.

Mycroft returned to the kitchen to retrieve the present, and then sat at the end of the couch as she opened it.

The packaging was quickly torn away, revealing a most unexpected gift: four notebooks and a package of pens. Rose looked at them, trying to make sense of it. The pens were normal blue ink pens, the notebooks were the standard 3 subject, college rule variety in four different colors: yellow, blue, red, purple.

"Anthea assured me there were no pink notebooks in sight so we made do," Mycroft told her. He smiled when she kicked out her legs and stretched them over his lap while continuing to examine her gift.

"I don't get it," Rose finally said. "Thank you? I mean… It's notebooks and pens." She set the items in her lap and looked at him expectantly.

"Open them," Mycroft instructed. He watched as she flipped open the first notebook and saw the exact moment when her eyes widened with understanding.

Inside the red notebook was a single sentence, scrawled in Mycroft's handwriting. I will not take unnecessary risks with my health. The purple notebook offered another sentence. I will seek prompt medical attention if I am injured or suspect that I may be injured. The yellow and blue notebooks also had a single sentence each: No matter how old I am, safety will always be non-negotiable and I will do everything my doctor tells me without question and without fail.

"Lines," Rose said, looking up at her brother. "You want me to write lines."

"I do indeed," he confirmed with a nod. "One thousand lines per sentence, due in exactly one week from today. My master plan, sister mine, is to occupy your recovery time so that you actually rest properly and continue to feel cooperative. Each week of your recovery I will provide you with a new project to work on. For your first week, it is writing lines, which will hopefully burn these concepts in your stubborn brain."

Rose's jaw dropped. "Mycroft you can't be serious. That's four thousand lines due in a week! I can't possibly manage that in merely a week, not to mention it's downright insulting!"

"That… is genius," John commented quietly. What better way to ensure Rose didn't over exert herself and do what she was told in order to recover than by giving her projects to fill the time? She might actually learn something from the experience and think twice before foregoing proper medical care in the future.

His comment had not been quiet enough, however, as a red notebook was suddenly hurled in his direction. John ducked out of the way but it hit his cup of tea, spilling it all over the coffee table.

"And in the space of five minutes your resolution to behave yourself has disappeared," Mycroft said with a sigh. He fixed Rose with a stern look, one that never failed to make her squirm a bit in her seat and today was no exception. "That was childish Rose; apologize."

She sighed heavily before looking over at John. "I'm sorry… that I missed you with the notebook."

Sherlock snorted in an attempt to stifle his laughter at Rose's defiance. She was so skilled at pushing Mycroft's buttons and had always able to do so much faster than he ever had. Not that it did her any good, but one could appreciate the effort.

Mycroft leaned forward and took Rose's chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. "I am in no mood for your games young lady. Do not believe for a second that while I am forced to wait until your recovery period is over to give you the spanking you so richly deserve that that is a license to do whatever suits you. You will behave, you will rest properly, and you will do your projects and hopefully manage to learn something from them. If I could trust you to be a cooperative patient all on your own these measures wouldn't be necessary Rosenwyn. Is that very clearly understood?"

The word 'trust' hit home and her eyes immediately began filling with tears. She had worked so hard to make him trust her again since she had come back! Was it really so easy to break that trust now?

Mentally Mycroft let out a curse. That had been a poor word choice, given their history, and Rose was never more sensitive than when she was ill or injured. "I didn't mean trust like that Rose," he said in a much gentler tone. Letting go of her chin he reached for her hands, squeezing them gently within his own.

When tears began sliding silently down her face, he knew hand-holding wouldn't be enough. "Budge up," he instructed. "So I can sit by you." When she moved away from the arm of the couch a bit, Mycroft moved and sat there, letting her help herself to his lap. His arms wrapped around her and he rested his chin on curly head. "Poppet, even you must admit that you're prone to misbehavior during periods of forced inactivity. It is not that you are untrustworthy, I just worry that boredom will cause you to make poor choices that will affect your recovery. Surely you can see the logic in that."

"I admit there's a small kernel of truth to that," Rose said quietly as she began to dry her tears.

"More than a small kernel poppet. A very large kernel might be a more apt description," Mycroft said gently. "I worry about you constantly, Rose and to be honest, those lines won't do you any harm and will keep you out of a world of trouble. As will the other projects I shall give you."

"What if I can't finish them in time? I mean, a week is only 168 hours, that would be… twenty-four lines every single hour of that whole time," Rose pointed out. "I've been sleeping a lot and I'm not sure if that's going to change, at least not while I'm on pain medication."

"That's a good point," Mycroft admitted. "You should be sleeping as much as you need to and it cannot be helped if your medication makes you tired. In that case I would refer to John's opinion on the matter. If you are sleeping quite a bit but make a good faith effort, he will tell me and I will give you more time to complete the lines. Does that sound fair?"

Rose nodded. "Very fair and reasonable, I admit, though I reserve the right to call and whine at you because my hand hurts so terribly it just might fall off," she added with a little smile.

"No worries there love, I'll give you all the hand massages you need," John promised, pleased that Rose had calmed down. She didn't need to start sobbing when it was already a bit challenging for her to take good deep breaths.

"Sorry about the notebook," Rose replied, blushing a bit. "I like to throw things."

"So I've noticed over the last several months," John said with a laugh. "It's alright love, no harm done. Why don't I start some coffee for you and you can get going on those lines while you're still awake?"

Those were the magic words and Rose immediately perked up. Coffee could make even lines seem tolerable! At least for a few moments at any rate. "Sounds good," she agreed before giving Mycroft a hug. "I love you, you know," she said quietly.

"I do know, and I love you too poppet," Mycroft whispered in return. "I'll go and leave you to your project but please behave yourself, alright? There's only one of you and for some odd reason I would like to keep you around."

Rose smiled at him and was about to respond when Sherlock let out a loud "YES!" that caused everyone to turn their attention to him.

"Molly has tongues! I've been waiting ages for some. I'm off to St. Bart's," he announced with an unholy look of glee.

Mycroft shook his head. "You two will never change. Sherlock will always be happy about tongues belonging to the recently deceased and you, poppet, will always have me worried about your safety."

"But you love us for it, so don't complain too much," Rose directed before kissing his cheek. "And we love you too."

Sherlock paused in the middle of putting on his coat to give Rose a scandalized look. "I do not love him."

"Well I don't love you either," Mycroft retorted with a scowl.

"Oh for god sakes and you two think I'm a problem? Try growing up with the pair of you for role models," Rose grumbled. "That, my dearest brothers, is a real problem. It's no wonder I can't stay out of trouble for more than five minutes at a time!"

"… Are you suggesting your broken ribs and continual lapses in prioritizing your safety are our fault?" Mycroft asked incredulously.

Rose tried to affect a look of complete innocence, complete with an angelic little smile. "But of course!"

"We must not have given you enough spankings then, leaving you confused and bewildered about where the boundaries of appropriate behavior are and when you've crossed them. That can be rectified of course," Mycroft offered. "Isn't that right Sherlock?"

"It is indeed, brother dear. We really should correct that. Thank you Rose for pointing out the fundamental flaw in our efforts to bring you up properly," Sherlock responded gleefully. "I'll get started on that as soon as I get back from St. Bart's. I'll take today's spanking and you take tomorrow's Mycroft? How many spankings do you think it will take to correct our mistake?"

"Oh hundreds surely," Mycroft decided. "At least a year's worth. We can reevaluate at that time. You'll be sure to let us know when things become clear to you, won't you Rose?"

Rose scowled darkly at her brothers. "I hate you both very passionately."

"We hate you too," Mycroft replied before dropping a kiss on top of her head. "Though we are of course teasing you now, don't think for a second you're not getting spanked for all this nonsense with your ribs."

Her face flushed red with embarrassment and Rose let out a huff as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Still hate you."

"How unfortunate, considering I'm rather attached to you, though god only knows why," Mycroft murmured. "Your lines are waiting for you and I suggest you don't dally my dear. You won't like what happens if you don't finish them in a timely manner." He gave her a meaningfully look and let the veiled threat hang in the air for her to ponder.

Rose responded in the manner completely appropriate to her character, age, wisdom and life experiences… by throwing a pillow at his head as Mycroft attempted to escape the flat and growling unhappily when she missed.