NOTE: This chapter is dedicated to my friend Kate; she knows why.
Rose sat the kitchen table, half taken over by her notebook she was writing lines in, and half by her brother who was examining some cold case files for Lestrade. Pausing for a moment, Rose shook out her writing hand before reaching for her mobile to take a photo.
"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, looking over at her.
"Taking a photo of my very bruised and battered hand to send to My. Obviously," Rose added with a smirk. Inserting the photo into a text, she added a sad face to the message itself and sent it off to the eldest Holmes.
"You're not anywhere near having your lines done, are you?" Sherlock asked. "Trying to avoid a trip over Mycroft's knee by being all adorably sad and visibly wearing the results of your hard work?" He really couldn't resist teasing his sister who, even after all these years, was still rather cute when she blushed and scowled at the same time.
In all fairness, however, Sherlock had to admit that her fingers were rather bruised from the hours she'd spent writing. The pens had left their marks, literally, all over that same hand, and he wasn't surprised to see a bruise on her elbow from banging it on the table several times in the writing process.
"Nowhere near done, mores the pity," Rose admitted with a sigh. "He will not be best pleased with me when he comes to visit in two days. I've only got two thousand and sixty-seven done." Her mobile chirped and she paused to open it.
'Ice it and then carry on, sister mine. I'm expecting 4000 legible lines come Saturday. M' After reading the text, Rose closed the mobile and slumped down in her seat. That only lasted for a few seconds, however, before the poor posture began to cause her pain and Rose quickly sat up again.
"You might get more done if you weren't listening to whatever it is that passes for music on your ipod," Sherlock pointed out. "Your song selections worry me." He paused to listen to some of the lyrics from the currently playing song, his ears easily catching strands of the song from her ear buds. "What the hell is that?" he asked, confusion written across his face. "I want to be the grave and earth you?"
The youngest Holmes shrugged. "It's Lady Gaga and it's a brilliant song. That's just her way, to be a bit odd like that."
Sherlock's eyebrow quirked. "I don't think anyone calling herself 'Lady Gaga' is synonymous with the word 'brilliant.'"
"Oh shut up," Rose ordered, kicking his shin. "No one asked for your opinion."
"I never need to be asked," Sherlock replied, kicking her in return. "My opinions are superior to everyone else's. Besides, you're my sister and it's my job to educate you." Immediately a kicking war commenced with both siblings seemingly intent on bruising one another's shins and inflicting the most damage possible without using anything more than their legs and without ever leaving their chairs.
The glaring and kicking continued in silence for several minutes until a loud masculine "Ow!" was heard by John as he entered the flat. Carrying Tesco bags in both hands he entered the kitchen to find Rose smirking delightedly as Sherlock sat with his leg drawn up onto the chair, rubbing his knee.
"Heels are not allowed in the kicking game. You kick with your toes or the balls of your feet, you do not jam someone's knee with the heel of your foot," Sherlock informed his sister with a scowl. "That hurt."
"You're so much bigger than I am, so I need to use all available strategies to conquer you," Rose informed him in an imperious tone, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't whinge just because I'm more creative than you are and possess deadlier feet."
"Keeping yourselves entertained and reasonably out of trouble I see," John chuckled. "Try not to draw blood from each other, alright? There are moments when I feel like a referee during your brief attempts to kill each other!"
"We haven't killed each other yet and it's been going on for years, referee or no referee," Rose pointed out. "What did you get? Anything good? Can I cook tonight?" She got up from her chair to peek inside the shop bags.
Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes. "My dearest sister, your grammar is deplorable. It is may I cook, not can I, because obviously you can physically cook."
"I object to your logic, brother dear," Rose responded. "While I may have the know-how to cook and do it quite well if I do say so myself, the question is not may I because I am asking my lovely doctor if he deems me physically well enough to cook again, hence the can rather than may."
"The more important question here, far more important than grammar at any rate, is how far you are on those lines," John interrupted the warring siblings. He left Rose looking through the shopping bags to examine her notebook. "Well, that's definitely more than when I left, but not anywhere near the number Mycroft wants in two days. Are you sure you have the time to spare for cooking?"
Rose threw a pitiful look in John's direction. "I haven't done anything but sleep, eat and write lines-"
"And drink coffee," Sherlock added, amid close examination of a photograph.
"And drink coffee," she agreed, shooting her brother a look. "All day today and the day before that and the day before that. It's just one little break. Even Mycroft can't be disgruntled because I stopped to make food."
"Alright," John said with a nod. "But you keep both feet on the floor at all times, no reaching up above your head, and be careful. There's no need to disrupt all the good resting you've done by over exerting yourself."
"You'd best help me then. In case you haven't noticed, most things are well over my head in terms of reaching at any rate," Rose pointed out. "Sherlock, get out of my kitchen." She poked his shoulder repeatedly, hoping to get him to move both himself and the files.
"Actually, it's my kitchen," Sherlock pointed out. "Not yours. You have your own and very cruelly never allow me in it. I could use the extra work space you know, horribly selfish child." Yet despite his protests, Sherlock gathered up the cold case files and reorganized himself at the desk.
Rose rolled her eyes. "I love you, but you need to move your arse Sherlock so I can cook. John, will you do some sanitizing of… everything?" She shrugged and looked around the kitchen as if she might be able to see with her own eyes the bacteria and gunk lurking on the surfaces. "And I think a bit of music is in order to give us some energy." Grabbing her ipod she skipped around to find a song she liked and put it on the dock so they could all hear it.
"I'm not listening to songs about grave diggers!" Sherlock called out to her.
"It wasn't a song about grave diggers, it was a metaphor for sex… I think," the youngest Holmes called back. She gave John a look that clearly said 'what did I do to deserve him?' and then smiled brightly.
Sherlock scowled but refrained from saying anything further that would only serve to make him feel more uncomfortable than he did at that moment. Naturally the fact that Michael Buble's Young at Heart now firmly drowned him out had no impact whatsoever on that decision! He decided to firmly ignore the occupants of the kitchen in favor of solving the case he held in his hands.
"So what sort of feast are you making for us tonight?" John asked as he scrubbed the kitchen table.
"Nothing too fancy, just a teriyaki chicken stir fry." Rose busied herself getting everything ready before reaching up for the frying pan. The movement drew a wince from her that did not go unnoticed by John.
"Both feet flat on the floor love," John said firmly, reaching up to get the pan for her. "And no reaching up like that. Someone can't follow directions well." This last he said teasingly while handing over the pan.
Rose blushed a bit as she turned back to the stove. "It's hard to remember," she admitted. "But for once I'm not actively attempting to injure myself further. That's something, right?"
John chuckled and gently wrapped an arm around her waist, smiling as she leaned back against him. "It is something; a very good something in fact. And you'll note I didn't scold, I merely reminded you in a firm tone. You've been a remarkably delightful patient." He kissed her cheek before moving away to let her continue cooking, enjoying watching her in her element- or one of them rather.
Before long, the chicken was browning and Rose began adding the rice and veggies, singing along with her music as she worked. She swayed back and forth on her feet, unable to completely remain still when her body called out for her to dance to one of her favorite Buble songs.
"You're a carousel, you're a wishing well and you light me up, when you ring my bell. You're a mystery, you're from outer space, you're every minute of my every day. And I can't believe that I'm your man! And I get to kiss you baby just because I can! Whatever comes our way-" Her melodic singing was interrupted with a very unharmonious squeak, accompanied by a jump that nearly sent the frying pan to the floor as John suddenly pressed a kiss to the hollow of her neck.
"Where did you come from?" she asked, turning around to face him. Her face was alight with laughter and Rose struggled not to giggle out loud at the feigned look of innocence on John's face.
"I was just over there," he told her, pointing at the table. "Weren't you just telling me I could kiss you just because I can?" John wrapped both arms around her, pulling her close.
"I was singing, I wasn't advertising," Rose said softly, blushing just a bit. "And why kiss me there? It's just my neck and you're not a vampire last I checked."
He shook his head, leaning his forehead against hers. "Nope, not a vampire, but your neck was pretty irresistible just then."
Rose could only smile at his words, delighted that he found her irresistible. "Next you'll tell me you'd kiss my toes or something. Which, you really shouldn't, you don't even know where they've been!"
The doctor's eyebrow quirked at her words. "Well they better not have been anywhere but here," John commented warningly.
"They weren't," she assured him. "All of me has been right here, sleeping and writing lines."
John let out a sigh of relief at her words. When it came to Rose, one never really knew for sure, especially when she was meant to be resting. "Good. That means I can do this without condoning bad behavior," he murmured teasingly.
Before Rose could even reply, she felt the heady sensation of his lips meetings hers, a sensation that defied all logic and understanding. At once soft yet demanding, sweet yet full of fire, sensations rippled through her body. Rose closed the small space between them, her body seeming to mould perfectly with his. John cradled her closer still, his hands slowly traveling lower until they reached her bum, when he carefully lifted her up and onto the table.
He had really only meant to kiss her once, but after he began it seemed as though he couldn't stop. While John could tell that Rose wasn't the most experienced at kissing of the women he had dated there was something intoxicating about both it and her. She certainly wasn't bad at it by any means, but there was a sweetness and innocence about it that made her all the more irresistible and summoned his protective nature to the fore.
When the kitchen went silent, aside from the ipod continuing to cycle through songs, Sherlock looked in that direction. He immediately recoiled upon seeing his flatmate and sister snogging and looked away as he fervently tried to delete the image from his mind. That was definitely not something he wanted to tuck away in Rose's room of his mind palace!
Their kissing broke apart momentarily, leaving Rose a little weak in the knees and clinging to John's arms for support. "God, you're so good at this," she whispered. A blush crossed her face and Rose hurriedly buried her face against his shoulder.
"You're adorable when you blush like that," John whispered.
Rose smiled and was about to reply when she was quite rudely interrupted by an annoyingly loud beep beep beep beep.
Taking a deep breath to prepare himself for what he might find when he turned around, Sherlock glanced in the direction of the kitchen and sighed. "Rose, dinner is on fire," he announced with a resigned sigh.
"Dinner!" Her eyes wide with alarm, Rose turned to look at the stove top. Sure enough, their dinner was happily burning away, the smoke setting off the alarm's obnoxious beeping. Before she could even slide off the table and attempt to put it out, John was at the stove fighting the small fire. The lid was popped onto the pan, which effectively killed the flames, and the entire pan was moved to an unused burner.
"Note to self, don't snog while cooking," Rose murmured. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sherlock move into the kitchen and turned to look at him, immediately cringing when she did.
Arms crossed over his chest, an indignant eyebrow arched, Sherlock glowered at them. "Did I or did I not ask you to refrain from sexual intercourse on the table?"
"I'm not sure if you're aware, but kissing is not the same as sex Sherlock," Rose began. She cringed at the dark look that comment earned her. "I would not have sex on a table with you anywhere nearby. Or on a table you've spent significant time with to be honest. Horribly unsafe." Rose slide back to her feet and spared a glance for John.
"We got carried away," John said apologetically. "I wasn't actually going to have sex with your sister on the table." He couldn't help feeling like a teenager who'd brought his girlfriend back home after her curfew had passed, despite the fact that he was far from being a teenager anymore!
"This does not give me confidence that you'll refrain from having sexual relations on this very table the second my back is turned and John I truly, truly hate having that thought, let alone image, in my head. It is unbearably painful so please stop trying so very hard to put it there!" Sherlock thundered.
Though he sounded angry, the look on his face was more akin to physical pain than anything else and Rose hated knowing she had put that look there. She promptly crossed the room and hugged him as tightly as she dared. When he responded in kind and dropped a kiss on top of her head, Rose let out a sigh of relief.
"Please make an attempt to refrain from behaving like randy teenagers from now on, will you? Or better yet, just do that in Rose's flat, though preferably not while cooking dinner. I'm certain Mrs. Hudson would prefer you not burn down the building," Sherlock cautioned.
"Point taken," John agreed rather sheepishly. "We'll think things through a little more next time."
Rose snickered, earning herself a look from John. "We? There was no we. You started it," she teased.
"Well you didn't end it, did you?" John laughed, smiling when she blushed yet again. One of these days he was going to have to keep count of how many times he could make her do that inside a 24 hour period.
Shaking his head at their antics, Sherlock let out a sigh. "Fight about whose fault the fire was later. Right now there are more important decisions to be made: Chinese or Angelo's? Chinese I think; less likely that you'll both to go all googly-eyed at each other over it."
This time both John and Rose blushed while Sherlock smirked delightedly at their discomfort.
"Mycroft, I can explain," Rose greeted her brother as he arrived at Baker Street for a visit two days later. She inwardly cringed at the nervousness that crept into her tone.
Crossing the room, Mycroft took a seat at the kitchen table and gave her a searching look, trying to decide just what it was she might have done. Then again, being Rose, it could be almost anything and thus the searching look was ultimately unfruitful. For an entire week he had not heard even a peep about trouble or uncooperative behavior and Mycroft anticipated a pleasant visit with his sister, during which he would collect her completed lines. Apparently that was not to be the case. With a longsuffering sigh that any parent would recognize as one simultaneously filled with exasperation and affection, he said, "Well, what have you done?"
"Rose, I'm off to surgery," John interrupted. "I'll be back at 9pm. Don't forget to take your pain meds as you should, you're due again in an hour." Giving his patient a smile he shrugged on his coat before crossing the room to kiss her goodbye.
Rose leaned up a bit for a kiss and then, at the exact moment, realized they should not kiss just then, because Mycroft was there and he didn't know about them! Immediately she turned her cheek, allowing John to kiss it, praying that neither of them blushed brightly.
Mycroft, however, was not blind and did not miss the sudden widening of his sister's eyes just as the doctor's face was a few inches from hers. His eyes narrowed as he tried to decide what to make of that. Perhaps she had been hoping John would come to her defense over whatever it was Rose needed to 'explain' to him. Yes, surely that must be it, the eldest Holmes concluded, because what else could it possibly be?
"Dr. Watson, I have a feeling your opinion will be necessary. Do delay your exit for a moment and I shall have my driver take you straight to surgery afterwards," Mycroft requested. Or rather, he made it sound like somewhat of a request but in reality it most definitely was not. It delighted the eldest Holmes to no end that John knew the difference and easily capitulated.
"Alright, but we'll need to make this quick," John agreed with a sigh. He stood just inside the entrance of the kitchen, feeling a little silly, yet was unwilling to defy the eldest Holmes over so minor an issue.
A light blush crossed her cheek bones as Rose slowly pushed two notebooks in his direction. "It's more what I didn't do. I tried My, truly, but I couldn't get them all done. The lines in the red notebook are complete and I have about 200 or so done in the purple one but that's all."
Opening the red notebook, Mycroft scanned the pages, taking in the number of lines and appreciating that they were very legible. "I forgot how lovely your penmanship is," he admitted as he closed the notebook. Opening the purple one he found another 515 neatly written sentences. Closing it, he slid the purple notebook back in her direction. "I asked for 4000 and you have given me 2515. Is there an explanation?"
"I gave it my best effort My. I sleep a lot more than I anticipated and now that I'm properly fussed over, there's time spent using a heating pad or ice. Both things I didn't do very regularly prior to Dr. Fussypants over there taking over." Rose inclined her head in John's direction and smiled when the doctor in question snorted at the newly appointed nickname.
Mycroft's eyebrows rose at the nickname and a little chuckle escaped before he could stop it. "Dr. Watson, would you care to add to the discussion?" He looked over at the man in question, hoping John would confirm that Rose had been making slow but steady progress so that he didn't have to scold her.
"Four ibuprofen , she has no problem at all. Give her some decent pain relief and she goes out cold," John said with a chuckle. "I don't understand it, because one would think someone her size would be equally affected by the ibuprofen, but sometimes there's just no accounting for that sort of thing. She's done really well Mycroft. Worked slowly but surely on them, between medication induced naptimes—"
Rose scowled and stuck her tongue out at John in protest of the word 'naptimes.'
"— and such. She's done her best on them," John finished.
The eldest Holmes nodded, inwardly pleased. "Then I shall table the new project I was going to assign and have you continue working on lines. I can only ask for your best effort, in this and in all things. Your best is plenty," Mycroft assured her.
A bright smile spread across Rose's face and before Mycroft could even say another word, Rose was coming around the table to hug him enthusiastically.
"Must you be so sentimental?" the eldest Holmes grumbled. "It's really quite appalling. Thank god I didn't bring you a present or you might smother me with your effervescent outpouring of affection." Yet for all his complaining, he returned her hug, kissed the top of her head and gave not a word of protest when Rose was suddenly sitting on his lap.
"And on that lovely note, I'm off to surgery," John spoke up. "I'll be home later and bring something back for a late supper. Make certain you take your pain medication when it's time, hm? One in another hour and one four hours after that. I'll be home in time for later doses."
"I'll make certain she does," Mycroft answered, even though it was clear the doctor was addressing his sister. "Do go on your way without a worry as to my sister's care. Wouldn't be the first time I've played sick nurse," he admitted.
John smiled and nodded, leaving the siblings to entertain themselves and took advantage of Mycroft's waiting car as instructed.
"I'm pleased that you've somehow managed to behave yourself, though generally that isn't very hard when one sleeps quite often," Mycroft commented. "I thought I might keep you company for a while this afternoon if that's agreeable."
Rose nodded, her whole face spreading in a smile. "I find that very agreeable. Are we going to do something?"
Mycroft nodded. "We are. You are going to do lines and I am going to enjoy a book." Before she could do more than give him a pitiful look, he gently pushed her off his lap and onto her feet and sent her in the direction of her chair with a light swat to her behind.
With a long-suffering sigh, Rose sat down in her chair and promptly stuck her tongue out at him.
"How very mature of you Rose," Mycroft commented with a sigh of his own.
"That's your fault, brother dear," she responded. "Mature people don't have to write lines, therefore you are stripping me of my maturity."
His brow furrowed as Mycroft gave her a stern look. "Mature people also don't walk around with broken ribs for three days and engage in a strenuous dance competition that puts their health in significant jeopardy." He watched as her body stiffened and she looked particularly abashed, her eyes dropping to the table top.
"Now, however is not the time for scolding," Mycroft continued. "I'll make you some coffee while you start your lines again." Getting up to find the coffee pot he watched Rose out of the corner of his eye, noting that she still looked rather dejected, despite the offer of coffee. As soon as the coffee began percolating he crossed the kitchen and hugged her gently. There were no words, just a hug that said everything that necessary.
"I know you only scold because you love me," Rose finally said softly. "But I hate it when you do. I try really hard to make you proud of me." She smiled when he hugged her a little tighter.
"That's precisely why I do it," the eldest Holmes agreed. "I love you far more than you'll ever know." This he whispered in her ear, as if the very walls might have ears of their own to hear it. "And I am proud of you poppet. I may not always be proud of some of the things you do, but I am proud of you. Given my own ineptitude at times, it's a miracle you turned out so well."
Rose laughed softly and turned in the chair to hug him in return. "What the world wouldn't give to hear you admit to be anything less than perfect and completely in control! Luckily for you, I'll never tell. Now where's my coffee?"
Rolling his eyes, Mycroft nonetheless brought her a mug of coffee and settled at the table with tea for himself and good book to read.
Two hours, two cups of coffee and one dose of pain medication later, Mycroft looked up from his book to find Rose fast asleep, pen still in her hand ready to write. Chuckling softly he got up and removed the pen from her hand before lifting her up from the chair and into his arms. With great care he carried her over to the couch and gently laid her down. Grabbing the blanket on the back of the couch he tucked Rose in snuggly and leaned over to kiss her forehead. "Sleep well poppet," he whispered.
It was a Friday and Rose had been on restricted activity for three weeks. Three whole long weeks and it was slowly driving her insane. Sure, she'd been out to Speedy's, and gone to visit Louise a few times and had Louise over more times than that, but being kept from any sort of actual strenuous activity was akin to torture. How all the people in prison all over the world survived she had no idea, especially since she had more 'privileges' than they did and was still going crazy.
Really, all she did was sit, Rose thought to herself. Admittedly Mycroft had made great effort at keeping her busy while remaining largely inactive but that only added to her misery. Only yesterday had she finished her lines for Mycroft, only to be rewarded with a bit of praise and the assigning of yet more lines. How there could still be things for her to write lines about in regard to her broken ribs she didn't know, but apparently Mycroft was a man of many talents, much to her detriment.
She scowled at the notebook open before her, hating it even if Anthea had managed to find a pink one. There was also a yellow notebook, far too sunny of a color for her current state of restlessness, and a black one that seemed much better suited for such a dreary and mind-numbing task. Each contained a single line in Mycroft's handwriting. The first was: I will not knowingly injure myself for any reason other than self-defense. That had been the original line, in the pink notebook. To start with there had only been one notebook, but two more had most unfortunately been added to the mix largely by her own making. Or perhaps entirely because of her own making, she admitted with a mental sigh.
The Previous Night
"I'm very proud of you Rose for completing these," Mycroft said sincerely as he gathered the last of her notebooks. "I hope you've learned a valuable lesson from writing these lines in addition to giving your body time to relax and heal."
"I'm so glad to be done with those, you truly have no idea," Rose told him emphatically. "Want some tea, or are you not able to stay?" She made her way to the kitchen and started some coffee for herself.
"I'll stay for some tea," Mycroft decided. "And don't be too excited just yet, sister mine. You still have three weeks of recovery time for me to fill."
The coffee pot Rose had been filling with water tumbled into the sink with a loud clink of glass against metal. After shutting off the water she turned around to face her eldest brother, looking completely crestfallen. "Mycroft, let's be fair here. I did four thousand lines and they took me forever to do. My hand will likely never be the same again after that and you're asking me to do more than that? I.. It's… My, it's not fair!" She hated the fact that the last sentence came out with a bit of a whine, completely without her permission.
"Rosenwyn I told you I was going to give you tasks to fill your recovery time and keep you out of trouble. If you really sit and think about it, you'll find I'm doing you a favor considering what a rotten patient you generally are," Mycroft pointed out. "Only one thousand more lines and then I have a few essay topics that you will find illuminating to research." Completely ignoring her dumbstruck look, he put a pink notebook down on the kitchen table. "Anthea managed to find a pink one for you."
More than a little tired of being kept half-bored and feeling a bit stir crazy, the slim hold Rose had on her temper broke. Without even looking at the notebook, Rose grabbed it and threw it at her brother, feeling inordinately satisfied when it clipped his face before falling on the floor. "Like hell am I writing more lines Mycroft! I'm had enough and if you even think for five seconds that I'm going to write essays for you, you're out of your fucking mind!"
The moment the words left her mouth and registered to her ears, Rose could feel dread settling heavily in her chest. The look of anger on her brother's face only made it worse, freezing her in place as her mind raced to find the words to say. "Mycroft… Mycroft I'm so sorry," she finally said in a quiet tone. "That was so out of line and I'm really very sorry. Forgive me?"
Mycroft was not in a forgiving mood just then and briskly shook his head no. "I have no idea what's got into you lately, but you seem to forget that you are a lady and ladies don't curse. What's more is that you don't ever have the right to speak to me in such a manner! Well I have had it with that foul mouth of yours lately and that's going to end now."
All the color drained from Rose's face and her eyes flew wide in alarm. "No… Mycroft, please."
The eldest Holmes merely raised an eyebrow at her and said, "Loo. Now."
"Sherlock!" Rose called out. She gave him a pleading look, hoping he would come to her aid.
"Mm, no. You walked yourself into that one," Sherlock told her, never taking his eyes from John's laptop. He did feel badly for her, having one's mouth washed out was not a fun experience, but Rose really had brought it on herself.
She flung a last look of appeal in Mycroft's direction only to be met with a stern look that clearly said 'I'm waiting.' With tears already gathering in her eyes, though whether from embarrassment or actual trepidation she wasn't certain, Rose walked down the hallway and into the bathroom with Mycroft right behind her.
"Sit," Mycroft ordered, closing the door behind them. He was pleased that Rose complied and sat down on the closed lid of the toilet. After a moment's brief search he located what he was looking for: an unopened bar of soap and a flannel. He ran the soap under the water for a moment before rubbing the flannel against it, making the cloth good and soapy.
"I can't believe we're doing this," he admitted as he worked. "You're twenty, Rose, not ten. You know better than to ever use such language, especially with me. That is not the way one speaks to their loved ones, or to anyone they even have an inkling of respect for. I am very disappointed."
The scolding had been hard enough to listen to but hearing that she'd disappointed him sent Rose over the edge and she began crying.
Mycroft heard her burst into tears and inwardly cringed. That sound never failed to pull on his heartstrings, no matter how much he might wish it wouldn't. Deeming the flannel soapy enough he turned back to Rose and nearly decided to forget about washing her mouth out. "You know you deserve this, don't you?" he asked quietly. "That sort of language has never been allowed and I'm not about to start having you throw it at me now, no matter how old you are. Do you understand that?"
Rose nodded but kept her mouth tightly shut, making him sigh. "I'm not going to wrestle you in order to make you cooperate Rose. Please open your mouth and let's get it done with. You've more than earned it."
As the unpleasantness got underway in the loo, John returned home from surgery to sounds that were out of the ordinary, even for Baker Street. Tears and the sound of gagging met his ears and he immediately looked for Rose, only to find her nowhere in sight. His flatmate looked wholly unconcerned, but that meant very little considering Sherlock was, after all, Sherlock. Deciding to investigate, John followed the noise to the loo and knocked loudly on the door. "Everything alright in there? Rose are you sick?"
"Rose is fine and this is none of your concern," came the voice from the other side of the door.
"Mycroft?" John asked, feeling confused.
"I repeat, none of your concern Dr. Watson!" The voice was filled with ominous warning this time and John backed away as the tears and gagging seemed to reach a crescendo.
Inside the loo, Rose was attempting to rinse her mouth, alternately coughing and spitting out the soap suds in her mouth. That taste was going to linger for hours! She wondered, just briefly, if her own lovely smelling soap might have tasted a little bit better but truly wasn't curious enough to find out.
As soon as Rose finished rinsing her mouth out, Mycroft pulled her into a tight hug. "Let's not do this again, poppet," he said softly before dropping a kiss on top of her head. "You might not believe me, but I don't enjoy this anymore than you do. I don't actually like having to be harsh with you."
A few years ago Rose might have snorted in contempt at such words and considered them a load of nonsense. Now, however, she knew what he said was true. "I'm sorry Mycroft, I'm really, really sorry."
Mycroft indulged in a bit of sentiment and smiled when Rose pressed her face against his chest the way she always had. "I know, but it's over now and I forgive you," he assured her, rubbing soothing circles on her back. "There's no need to cry anymore, just think before you speak from now on, alright?" When she nodded, he kissed the top of her head once more and murmured, "That's my good girl."
Present
Rose had assumed that they would never speak of the incident again and she firmly intended to deny that it ever happened should someone for whatever reason happen to ask. Then this morning the yellow and black notebooks arrived for her with a note requesting two thousand copies of each line, in addition to the one thousand of the line in the pink notebook. She was very tired of lines and being cooped up in the house like a prisoner. That was about to change.
Greg Lestrade was in his office conferencing with Sally Donovan over a new case when a light knock on the door drew his attention away. He looked over, expecting to see one of his officers or someone from the lab delivering a rushed report. The last person he expected at his office door was Rose Holmes! After giving Sally a look that clearly indicated he expected her to behave, Greg waved the young woman into his office.
"A triumphant return already?" he asked. "And even brings me a macchiato!" He accepted the coffee and gave Rose a grin. "Missed me and decided to come say hello?"
Rose smiled and shook her head. She was about to respond when Sally suddenly spoke up instead.
"How are you?" the woman asked, her tone sincere. "Are you healing up well?"
"I am actually," Rose admitted. "Slowly but surely. It's a long and torturous process and I'm certain my brain cells have begun dying from enforced boredom."
Sally chuckled and smiled at the younger woman. "I'm really sorry about your chair. I wasn't trying to injure you like that."
Rose's eyebrows shot up in surprise as Sally apologized, sincerely no less, for messing with her chair. "You know, I'm really not here to make your life miserable and I hope you know that," she responded. "We don't have to actually like each other or anything, but I would like to call a truce for Greg's sake. Man's got enough problems, yeah?"
"Hey now!" Greg exclaimed, uncertain if he should be offended by that remark.
"You've got a whole department of people to run and murders to solve. That's enough to deal with, isn't it?" Rose asked, giving him a grin. She quickly turned her attention back to Sally and stuck out her hand. "Truce?"
"Truce," Sally agreed. The two women shook hands while Greg grinned proudly at them both.
"So what can I do for you Greg? I'm incredibly bored at Baker Street and I might as well sit and do something for you here than sit there and be bored," Rose pointed out.
"Are you sure you're up to this?" Greg asked, looking a bit concerned. "I really wasn't expecting you back for a while yet."
"Oh, I'm very sure. I'm ready to work but I'll take it easy, I promise," Rose assured him.
"Well, I suppose you know your own limits better than I do, so I don't see why not. Just take it very, very easy and leave the minute you need to alright? I don't want John or your brothers jumping down my throat because you came back early and set your recovery back," the DI pointed out.
Rose nodded her agreement and happily got to work at her desk. "I've never been so happy to see a desk," she told Sally while lovingly running her hands across the top of it.
The sergeant merely shook her head, inwardly thinking once again that the Holmes lot was very strange indeed.
Five hours later John arrived at Baker Street holding a box of cupcakes for Rose. She'd been a fantastic patient for three weeks now and had more than earned a bit of a treat for resting as she should. He knew it wasn't easy for her, though Mycroft's little projects had certainly assisted in keeping her out of trouble.
He headed up the stairs and unlocked the door of the flat, knowing Rose would lock it since she was home alone. "Rose!" he called out when the door swung open. "Rose, I've got a surprise for you!" He expected her to come out of the kitchen or the loo to see what he had but there was no sign of Rose. Within a few moments, John had ascertained that Rose was not at Baker Street at all.
After placing the box of cupcakes on the kitchen table he retrieved his mobile from his pocket with a sigh. He had a feeling he knew exactly where she was but wanted to confirm it.
'I appear to be missing a patient. Might she be with you by chance?'
Over at the Yard, Greg's mobile vibrated on top of his desk. He grabbed it, read the message, and rolled his eyes. Somehow he had known Rose had absconded without anyone being the wiser!
'She is indeed. I take it you will be coming to claim her? –G'
'Definitely. Be there shortly.' Pocketing his mobile once more, John locked up the flat and headed for the tube, hoping the ride there would make him feel less inclined to strangle his recalcitrant girlfriend… Or at least give him the strength to resist doing so while anywhere near the Yard!
NOTE 2: Hello my dear readers! I apologize for the long wait for this chapter and will beg you in advance for your patience. I am back at university now, 2nd year PhD student and working two jobs (one with teaching responsibilities) so updates are going to be a bit slower than during the glory days of summer. My goal is one chapter per week for sure (either Petal or Wildflower) but will of course update more often if I'm able. Thanks for all your support and readership!