By some small miracle, undoubtedly attributable to Anthea, Mycroft was able to leave the office at 4pm. As soon as he was dropped off by his vehicle, he sent it for Rose.

'The car is on its way. M'

While he waited for the car to return with his wayward sister, Mycroft paced the sitting room. What in the world was she thinking? John Watson, while someone very reliable in terms of keeping both his siblings patched together, was too old. She was a child still, and certainly not old enough to even be considering dating a man so much older than she was. Over a decade older, in fact! And that display in his office? Completely disrespectful! Disgraceful! Outrageous!

When she arrived, Mycroft was waiting for her at door, rewarding her appearance with a truly censorious look. "My study, now," he ordered the moment the front door was shut.

Rose hung up her coat near the door, taking a deep breath to shore up her bravery before responding. "No," she said in a firm tone.

"No?" Mycroft repeated slowly. His eyebrow quirked as he attempted to stare her down, his displeasure growing as she continued to met his gaze without any inclination of being obedient.

"No," Rose stated firmly. "I want to have an adult conversation and if we go in your study I know that won't happen. Let's go make some tea and then talk in the sitting room. It's an even playing field that way," she suggested.

"Given the circumstances I rather think an adult conversation to be a moot point as clearly, one of us is not an adult," Mycroft challenged, his tone tinged with anger.

She raised her chin defiantly and said simply, "Quite." Though his comment had clearly meant to label her as the one not acting her age, Rose felt that it was Mycroft who was the one acting far more childish. She fervently hoped that the implications of that one word response were not lost on her big brother.

Without waiting for a response, Rose made to stride past him and head for the kitchen, only to find a tea service set up in the sitting room. Cook was in then! Perhaps that might assist Mycroft in keeping his temper in check. Or, given the fact that he was attempting to glare at her hard enough to set her on fire, perhaps not!

Mycroft's eyes narrowed as Rose sat- or rather flopped- onto the couch before beginning to pour tea for them both. He tapped his foot encased in an exquisite and expensive leather loafer impatiently on the floor and crossed his arms over his chest. "Well?" His displeasure grew when she merely held out a cup of tea, which he ignored, choosing instead to make his way towards and stand over her, continuing to scowl.

"If you're waiting for an apology Mycroft, you won't be getting one," Rose stated. His tea cup was returned to the tray on the coffee table.

"Is that so? You, young lady, are on very shaky ground at this moment. I suggest you tread quite lightly Rosenwyn," Mycroft ground out.

"I will not apologize," Rose repeated. "What you did this morning was abominable on so many levels I can hardly even begin! John-"

Mycroft quickly cut her off. "And charging into my office to give me some sort of dressing down? In front of the prime minister no less! Was that any less outrageous?"

"Are you completely serious right now?! How is my charging into your office and calling you on your outrageous in comparison to what you did? Don't you even begin to equate them!" Rose found herself on her feet, attempting to meet Mycroft's dark look with one of her own.

"We are not here to discuss my behavior. We are here to discuss yours! You cannot possibly be thinking of a romantic relationship Doctor Watson. That is beyond absurd and quite frankly I will not allow it. He is far too old. I forbid it!"

Rose glared at him, clenching her jaw as she fought to keep her anger somewhat under control. Shouting at one another wouldn't help anything. "Funnily enough, I'm twenty now. Quite old enough to not need your permission and for the record, I am not seeking your permission either, Mycroft. I care for John very, very much."

"You have no idea who or what you care for. Your life experience is insufficient to know anything of this nature. You are too young to date someone of such advanced years," Mycroft countered. "Whether you care for him or not is irrelevant. You simply will not have a relationship with Doctor Watson, I forbid it.

"You truly cannot just decide everything for me My! If I want to have a relationship with John, I will not allow you to stop me," Rose challenged, with a sharp edge to her tone.

Mycroft scowled darkly. He did not take kindly to his authority being flouted by his mere slip of a sister. "Persist all you like, sister mine. Arrangements can be made which would make any sort of relationship with Doctor Watson quite… long distance," he hissed.

"NO!" Rose shouted. "You couldn't possibly do that to Sherlock! He needs John and John needs him! Not to mention that you cannot make these sorts of decisions for me Mycroft. This is bigger than just John and you know it is! It's your inability to let go of your right to dictate my life. We cannot do this anymore, My! We've come too far you and I! It's time for me to make my own decisions. Why don't you understand that?!"

"Because your judgment is quite obviously flawed, sister mine! Shall we review? Shall we go forwards or backwards?" Mycroft asked, his voice rising with nearly every word. "Jumping off balconies… fighting…building cannons… smoking…theft…" He slowly counted off her lapses in judgment on his fingers.

Rose's face began to burn red as Mycroft began listing 'crimes' from her past. "Mycroft-"

The eldest Holmes ignored her. "Drunkenness… lying… secret keeping… absconding to the continent…"

This was going down a dark path and Rose knew she had to put a stop to it, otherwise he might hold these things over her head forever. "MYCROFT! That's enough already! This isn't helping!"

"Hiding the fact that you were being aggressively stalked… causing yourself injury and not seeking medical attention… competing with said injury. Tell me, Rosenwyn, how exactly am I supposed to trust your judgment? In fact," Mycroft thundered. "If you refuse to see reason, I might find my way to refusing to fund your entrance into adulthood so that you are forced to move home where I can assist you in making better choices! Perhaps you might find yourself more agreeable now?"

Pure rage was written across her face as he made his threat, and eyes grew full of flame. "Are you finished with your harangue? Because I have something to say and I suggest you listen good and hard, Mycroft Holmes."

Rose stood up to her full height and raised her chin defiantly. When she spoke, her voice was firm and even, without the merest hint of wavering. "I have no doubt that you could do all that and more, and would if you wanted to; even send John to some horrible place far, far away. But before you even begin to contemplate the logistics of doing so, I would like to advise you that if you pull some stunt like that I'll never speak to you again. Ever. You and I will be completely done," Rose warned.

"I don't want that to happen, because despite how ridiculous you are, you're rather important in my life, but I'm not going to give in on this Mycroft. Not on my independence, and not on John either! So think very, very carefully before you do anything stupid."Having given her warning, Rose fell silent and stood there, waiting for him to do or say something. Surely such a proclamation as that would not go unaddressed!

Mycroft could only stare at his baby sister as she issued what could only be described as an ultimatum; an ultimatum with potentially disastrous consequences. Her words made his mind race a thousand miles a minute. Does she mean that? Will she leave again? Is this some sort of manipulation? A scare tactic? Yet every question that his mind produced found no answer and he was, for perhaps the first time in his life since acquiring the ability to speak, at a complete loss of words.

When it was clear to Rose that Mycroft did not have a response, or perhaps didn't even care to have one at all, she turned on her heel and stalked towards the front door. She didn't even stop to put on her coat, merely grabbed it and went out the door, putting it on as she ran to catch a cab. Thankfully one stopped for her and Rose slid into the backseat. Immediately she took her mobile out of her trouser pocket and sent off a text.

Mycroft watched in horror as Rose turned away from him and was out the door before he could sufficiently regain his language skills. Should he go after her? Should he give her some time and space to calm down? For them both to calm down, he thought wryly. In fact, he needed to sort out his own priorities before even thinking about broaching this subject again with her. The very last thing he wanted in this world was to lose her again.

Letting out a sigh as he watched Rose get into a cab, Mycroft was about to go in search of some tea to aid him in thinking about this whole mess when the sounds of banging in the kitchen met his ears. Mycroft had forgotten that Terre', the inveterate cook of the Holmes household, was in and quite likely heard everything. She clearly disapproved if the banging was any indication. There goes my chocolate cake, he thought with a sigh. Deciding the need for tea to help him think clearly outweighed Cook's potential wrath, Mycroft made his way into the kitchen.

When he entered, Terre' glared daggers at her employer, feeling more than a little protective of Rose. Having joined the family as a permanent fixture, in a sense, towards the end of Maud's life, Terre' Schuster had almost instantly fallen under young Rose's spell. While she rarely criticized either of the Holmes boys out loud, she had her own ways of making her displeasure with them known; most notably the sudden disappearance of their favorite desserts or serving the least favorite of the vegetables for a meal.

"You might as well say it," Mycroft told the woman with a sigh.

The tall, German born, later middle aged woman put her hands on her hips and regarded Mycroft with a stern eye. "She's a good girl, Mister Holmes. You're too hard on her. It's not my place to say, I know, but it's true. And I know you're thinking that I just have a soft spot for Miss Rose, being motherless as she is, but that… That was not well done, Mister Holmes." Terre' shook her head and sighed. "Sit down and I'll make your tea."

Taking a seat at the kitchen table, Mycroft watched Terre' bustle around the kitchen. She was one of the few people in this world he ever allowed to criticize his parenting skills, perhaps the only one at all save Mother. He really only allowed it because Terre' cared so much about Rose, and also because the woman had been of invaluable assistance when Sherlock went to rehab shortly after Mother died. Thankfully she was wise enough not to offer her opinion, at least verbally, without gaining his agreement to hear it first.

Within just a few moments a cup and saucer were placed before him, the delicate tea cup filled nearly to the brim with strong Earl Grey tea. "Might I offer a bit of advice, Mister Holmes?"

"Just this once, I suppose," Mycroft agreed with a sigh. He indicated for the woman to join him and once her own tea cup was full, she did so.

"Little girls grow up, the same way little boys do. For all we want our wee ones to stay little, they don't, and treating them that way won't turn back time and make them small again," Terre' stated. "She's as stubborn as you are, if you don't mind my saying, and you of all people should know how immovable Miss Rose is when she sets her mind to something. Perhaps you'd best think about your priorities, Mr. Holmes. Is this really a battle you have to win?"

"This is precisely why I give you the day off whenever I know there's going to be an argument with her," Mycroft grumbled.

Terre' merely hummed in response before topping off his cup of tea. "Shall I be expecting Miss Rose for supper?"

Mycroft's eyebrow cocked. "You assume I'm going after her."

"Not assuming, Mister Holmes; I know," Terre' said. Never in her life had she seen such a thoroughly unhappy individual as Mycroft when Rose was away. The man might not say so out loud, at least not where Terre' could hear it at any rate, but Mycroft's sun rose and set by the littlest Holmes.

"Then at a minimum you're assuming she'll come home," Mycroft countered.

"Again, I know, not assume," Terre' responded with a knowing smile.

"Hmm." It was as close to a thank you as Terre' was likely to get, for the advice or the tea.

'Things did not go well with Mycroft.'

Back at Baker Street, John's mobile alerted him to a text. "It's from Rose," he told Sherlock. "Things apparently didn't go well." He'd missed Rose before Mycroft's car had taken her to answer Mycroft's summons and had been more than a little worried about her. Her bravery was certainly impressive, John had to admit.

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh. "Sometimes Mycroft is a complete idiot. Where is she? Is she alright?"

'Where are you? Are you OK?'

'I need a little time on my own. I'm fine.'

John frowned at the screen. "She claims she's fine but I don't believe her. Always putting on a brave front, my girl is." He quickly sent a response: 'That doesn't answer my question.'

"She can't possibly be alright. Tell her to come home," Sherlock instructed.

"You tell her to come home, I'm having my own conversation with her," John said, throwing a frown in his flatmate's direction.

'Rose, where are you? Are you safe? Are you OK?'

As the cab pulled up to her destination, Rose ignored the texts in favor of paying the driver. Once she was out of the vehicle, she pulled her coat tighter around her before responding.

"She says, 'I'm going somewhere in search of wisdom.' What the bloody hell does that mean?" John asked. Rather than frowning at the screen, he was now outright scowling.

"Ah," Sherlock murmured, nodding his head. He knew exactly what Rose meant. "She's safe and definitely needs her space John. She'll come home when she's ready."

John stared at Sherlock for a moment, torn between confusion and frustration. In the end, frustration won out. "Clearly this is some sort of… of… Holmesian code that you two know. Would you mind clueing me in so I'm not tempted to call Greg so we can start combing the city for my potentially devastated girlfriend?"

While Sherlock attempted to talk John out of launching some sort of city-wide search for her, Rose walked slowly up a small lane. She always walked slowly here; it seemed more respectful and reverent. Taking a left onto another small lane, Rose began counting the rows, rather disturbed by the fact that her feet didn't automatically know where to take her anymore.

Finally, she found the correct row, her steps quickening just a bit. Foregoing the nearby bench, Rose sat down right on the ground, unconcerned if the damp earth stained or even ruined her coat. Pulling her knees to her chest, Rose gave in to her tears and wished more than anything for the person whose name was carved on the headstone in front of her.

Nearly ninety minutes passed before Mycroft went after Rose, heading in his car to where he suspected she would be. Upon arrival, it didn't take him long to spot Rose in the nearly empty cemetery on a chilly March day. She was seated on the ground, knees pulled up to her chest, chin resting on top of her knees. Rose was still and utterly quiet, seemingly staring at the headstone in front of her as if somehow life's answers or their mother's wisdom might be communicated to her. It was a look he knew all too well.

Mycroft approached Rose slowly and quietly, uncertain if he wanted to break her out of her reverie. It turned out he didn't have to, however, because despite his best efforts to be silent, it was clear Rose heard him coming. She pulled her coat closer and then held on to her knees tighter, her shoulders hunching a bit; protecting herself? Still he moved closer until he stood right beside her. "I thought I'd find you here," he said quietly.

A full minute or more of absolute silence passed before anyone uttered another word. "Because you know me so well or because you tracked my mobile?" Rose queried.

"I had my suspicions that this was where you would be," Mycroft said quietly. "I decided to at least eliminate this as a possibility before resorting to tracking your mobile. After giving you some space, as the saying the goes. I didn't want to leave things between us the way they were when you left the house rather suddenly. And I was worried about you."

It hadn't felt very 'sudden' to Rose, but she wasn't about to quibble with him over his choice of words. Another moment passed without either of them speaking or moving until she chose to break the silence. "What made you think I'd come here?"

"You and I are far more alike than we generally admit to." Mycroft held out his hand and gave her a look. "Your coat will be ruined if you spend any further time sitting on the damp ground."

Rose tilted her head to the side, stealing a slanted look at him. There was no hiding her tear-streaked cheeks and red eyes. "I don't want to fight anymore My."

"Nor do I," he replied sincerely. Mycroft let out a sigh of relief when Rose gave a curt nod and put her hand in his, allowing him to help her to her feet. He then directed her towards the memorial bench they had placed at the foot of Maud's grave.

Taking a seat, Rose looked at Mycroft, regarding him with somber curiosity as she waited for his response.

"I knew because this is where I came when I questioned myself or life; still come, in fact, from time to time. Naturally I didn't expect any sort of response from Mother," Mycroft added. "But there was something…"

"Comforting?" Rose volunteered the word.

The eldest Holmes nodded solemnly. "Yes, comforting. There is something comforting about coming here and either verbally or inwardly reflecting on an issue and trying to imagine what words of wisdom Mother would offer if she were here."

Knowing it was difficult for Mycroft to talk about their mother, Rose overlooked any lingering feelings of frustration or anger and slipped her hand back into his, squeezing it tightly. "This is the first time I've come here since I got back," she admitted in a hushed tone. "And I didn't even bother to bring flowers. Some daughter I am."

"Hush Rose," Mycroft ordered sternly. "Mother would be incredibly proud of you and consider you the most wonderful of daughters. Of that I have no doubt at all." He, on the other hand, had no doubt that he would be a severe disappointment to her right now.

"Why did you come My?" Rose asked curiously. It was unlike her brother to have any sort of open displays of sentiment and visiting a parent's grave was just such a display. She watched as a shadow oh-so- briefly crossed his face and then disappeared.

"Well today I came to find you obviously. Before, I came because of you," he admitted quietly. "Being a parent is a particularly difficult thing Rose, something you won't quite understand until you are one yourself. Which had better not be any earlier than a decade from now," Mycroft stated, giving her a significant look.

"After Mother died… you were so young and had so many difficult years ahead of you and I knew absolutely nothing about girls. Little girls," Mycroft clarified when Rose snorted. "I suppose I kept coming in hopes of gaining some wisdom about how to best continue raising you to be a smart, independent, and strong young woman. Nothing ever came to me though. Regardless, you have grown up to be just that and more: intelligent, independent, strong, loving, kind, and many more adjectives that are all very sentimental. It makes me think that somehow I didn't do too terribly after all, no matter how out of my depth I felt at times."

"Though whether it was because of you or in spite of you that I became all those things is a mystery for the ages, like the identity of Jack the Ripper," Rose commented with a nod.

Mycroft's mouth dropped open and he could only stare at her for a few long seconds before responding. "… You're comparing my parenting skills, or lack thereof, to a serial killer who horrifically butchered his victims?"

"Wait, what?" Rose scrunched up her nose in confusion. "No; no of course not! As if that would even be an appropriate analogy in the first place. Lord, Mycroft! I just meant that my having turned out so well was a mystery for the ages, like Jack the Ripper's identity, but never mind," she decided, unable to resist chuckling. "It wasn't a very important point anyway."

Silence settled over them for a moment before Mycroft broke it once more. "Well, I answered your question, and quite honestly I might add, so you must answer mine. Why did you come here today?"

Rose shrugged her shoulders a bit. "I've never managed to get any advice or pearls of wisdom from beyond the grave either," she admitted. "But I've always found this to be a really good spot to clear my head when… when…" She paused to take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"When things are rough with you. You can really be quite...hard; harsh even. Sometimes a place to take a deep breath and think about how important family is helps me sort out what to do in response to that. So far all I've managed to figure out is that Mummy wouldn't much like it that we were, or are, at each other's throats rather than being a family." Rose ducked her head, indicating her regret at having to be so truthful with him and use adjectives like hard and harsh. No matter what had passed between them or ever would in the future, the last thing Rose ever wanted to do was hurt her brother.

The fact that she said 'Mummy' rather than 'Mother' spoke volumes to Mycroft about how vulnerable she was feeling. After Mother's passing, Rose had quickly adapted the more formal title. Whether that was out of reverence for the departed or for solidarity purposes with he and Sherlock, Mycroft wasn't entirely sure. But when she was truly upset and hurting, 'Mum' or 'Mummy' always slipped out when the Holmes matriarch was mentioned in conversation.

"Thank you for being truthful with me," Mycroft said quietly. There wasn't a shred of bruised feelings evident in his tone, largely because Mycroft knew he could be hard and harsh when it came to Rose. He rarely truly intended to be but it was all too easy to forget in the heat of an argument how very deeply she felt things; how his words could either bolster her confidence or tear away at her sensitive heart. That had been a hard lesson learnt over eighteen months of constant worry and fear and it was a lesson he had learnt quite well. Mycroft would be damned if he made the same mistake with her again.

Mycroft reached for her hand that he wasn't presently holding and almost recoiled from it after a slight touch. "Your hand is like ice! Rosenwyn Holmes, where are your mittens?" The words materialized more out of habit than anything else. How many times over the years had he asked that same question?

Reaching into her pockets, Rose was dismayed to find them empty. "They must have fallen out at the house. I was trying to leave very quickly so you wouldn't see me cry and I didn't even stop to check for them. Or notice that I was cold, really."

"Whatever am I to do with you?" Mycroft asked with a sigh. He began rubbing her hands between his own, trying to get the blood circulating properly again. "We should go back to the house, or at least some place that is warm and serves tea. Bonus points for a roaring fire." He added the last, trying to get a smile from her. "Isn't that what you and Louise like to say?"

A small, shy smile graced Rose's face, putting a bit of sparkle back into her sad eyes. "Yeah. You sound ridiculous saying it though. Men in Savile Row suits and outrageously expensive overcoats aren't meant to use catch phrases."

The eldest Holmes rolled his eyes and gave her ear a good tug. "Brat. Shall we go home and try to communicate more effectively? You weren't the only one thinking deeply after you left." Mycroft had a few things he wished to say to her and would rather not say them out in public. He would, however, compromise with a sort of neutral ground should she request it, provided there was the aforementioned tea.

"Alright, but I have two conditions that you must agree too. First, promise me we're not going to fight anymore. We don't have to agree completely, but I don't want any more shouting or… or accusations, or anything of that sort," Rose said firmly. "We start fighting again and I'll leave again. Leave the house," she quickly added. "Not leave leave; not disappear leave."

Mycroft's heart resumed its beating at her clarification of what was meant by 'leaving.' He nodded, indicating that she should continue.

"Secondly, you bring me home later and apologize to John. Not for threatening him, we all expect you to do that," Rose admitted. "But what you threatened him with. He has PTSD My and that was… well it was cruel and PTSD isn't something to mess around with. He deserves an apology for you threatening him like that and probably triggering things for him. I'm going to insist on it, because…" Rose took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Because I have that too and it's bloody miserable. So I know better than anyone else what your threat might do."

A long silence reigned, during which Mycroft stared at her and Rose attempted to look anywhere but at him. "I did not realize," he finally said quietly. "Are you seeing a… a specialist?"

Rose shook her head. "I defy anyone to nearly be murdered on the pavement in front of their home and not come away with post traumatic stress," she said quietly. "But no, I'm not seeing a psychiatrist. I have a support network and that's really all I need. It'll get better in time.

"Don't pity me, My," Rose warned. "I don't want that, nor do I need that. I just need you to recognize that threatening John with being dropped randomly into some Taliban headquarters somewhere was cruel. Even if you didn't know he had PTSD, he's a war veteran who was shot in combat in Afghanistan. You should have known better. I expect better from you because I, more than anyone else in this world, know that you are not deliberately cruel except to those who deserve it. Daring to date your sister does not fall into the category of those deserving cruelty."

Mycroft resolved in that moment to find out everything he could about PTSD and do his best to help Rose through it. That she could speak so passionately about how much Doctor Watson might suffer from his threat meant that she struggled significantly with her own post traumatic stress issues.

"I can accept those terms, if you in return will accept some hot chocolate and whatever Cook can manage for a light snack. She threw my cake out," Mycroft admitted glumly.

Rose laughed a bit, shaking her head. "It's a deal then."

In a rare show of public affection, Mycroft wrapped his arms around Rose and held onto her tightly, even rocking her just a bit in his arms. "I'm sorry about before," he said sincerely. "About bringing up your past mistakes. I still don't necessarily agree with your choices of late, but that's no reason to act as though the past is cumulative and… potentially unforgivable." His voice was filled with hesitation, halting now and again as if he was uncertain of how to say what he felt. Mycroft let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding when Rose nestled close.

"Though do not take this apology to mean that you are 'off the hook', as they say, for hiding your broke rib. After all the time and effort I put into raising you, it's a bit ungrateful of you to put yourself in such jeopardy, isn't it?" Mycroft asked with just a hint of teasing in his tone. When Rose laughed, he couldn't resist smiling a bit.

"Oh My," Rose chuckled. "What would I ever do without you to put everything in perspective like that?" She rewarded him with a smile before sobering a bit. "You mean that though? You don't still hold those things against me? It hurt when you threw them at me again," she admitted. "I've paid the price, so to speak, for those things. I'd like to think I've grown up more and moved on, at least from the less recent mistakes."

If it was possible he hugged her even tighter. "I promise, I do not hold those things against you. I may not forget them, mostly because I spend every waking moment worrying constantly about you, but that was uncalled for. Neither you, nor your actions, have ever been or will ever be, unforgivable," Mycroft assured her. "Now, let's go home before you freeze to death."

As he and Rose made their way towards his car, she took her mobile from her pocket and sent off a text to both Sherlock and John. 'My apologized. Talking sense into him, take 2.'

Sherlock and John both dove for their mobiles when they beeped almost simultaneously. After reading the message, Sherlock let out a sigh of relief. "Hmm. Mycroft's learnt something after all," he murmured.

John's eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "That's all you're going to say on the matter? Were you certain he would make it right with her?"

"Reasonably certain," Sherlock admitted as he began to pluck at his violin. "She is the only person in the world he cares about; sometimes he forgets that. I'm glad today wasn't one of those times."

"He cares about you," John offered.

"Not in the same way. I am a mere brother, an obligation, a problem to be solved, a creature to be watched in order to prevent destruction of self or others." There was no note of bitterness in Sherlock's tone, only resignation. He and Mycroft had never been close, or at least not as close as they both were with Rose. Mycroft had been indulgent and even playful when Sherlock was quite young, but the older Sherlock got, the more their relationship was strained. That was far more Father's fault than Mycroft's and Sherlock was not so petty as to blame his big brother for absolutely everything.

John waited to see if Sherlock would continue. When it was clear he had no intention to, the doctor spoke once more. "And he and Rose are… incredibly complicated."

"Parameters," Sherlock murmured.

"What the hell does that mean? That's like the fifth time either you or Rose have said that and I still have no idea what it means. Would you kindly explain it to me? I need all the help with those two I can get," John pointed out.

Rather than respond, the middle Holmes merely picked up his bow and began to play.

Snuggled up in a blanket with a steaming mug of hot chocolate in her hands, Rose stared at her big brother, wondering how to begin this conversation. Mycroft looked calm and collected, and had apologized very sincerely, but one never truly knew how long that would last.

"Why didn't you tell me about your relationship with Doctor Watson?" Mycroft asked, taking the initiative.

"Because I knew how you would react. I wanted to take some time and see if it would even work first," Rose admitted. "We've actually only been out on one real date. I've been sort of out commission thanks to my ribs."

"Do you love him?"

Rose began to choke a bit, having inhaled at the wrong moment when he posed that question and sucked hot cocoa rather unexpectedly into her throat. After a few coughs and attempts to clear her throat, she attempted to answer the question.

"That… is complicated," Rose said slowly. "I love him as a person, as a friend, as someone I am glad to have in my life. Do I love him? I don't know yet. One date doesn't decide that I don't think."

Things are not as bad as I had thought, Mycroft mused.

"But that's sort of the purpose of dating. Have fun and get to know one another better and then decide if there's love," Rose added, shrugging. "So we'll have to see. To be honest, I don't quite understand what your problem with John is. Who could be better? Or is the point that no one would be acceptable?"

"He's simply too old for you," Mycroft said, his mouth puckering in distaste. "He's nearly twenty years older than you! Aren't there people your own age? What about that Alfred? I've had him checked; there are no skeletons in his or his family's closet. I might find my way to deeming him acceptable." If I have to… was the unspoken caveat.

"Alfred is a very nice bloke, I'll give you that," Rose conceded. "But I'm not attracted to him. He's my dancing partner and, if anything, more of a brother. Even that's not quite right as a descriptor, because he's not nearly as annoying as you."

"I really ought to smack you for that," Mycroft grumbled, his eyes narrowing at her. "However, that would entail the spilling of our hot cocoa, which is a crime without measure. But I shan't forget, sister mine. When you least expect it, there retribution shall be!"

Rose rolled her eyes. "He's far less dramatic than you and Sherlock are too. You're ridiculous, My." Still, she gave him a smile before sipping on her cocoa. "Is that your only objection? The age thing? I find it really hard to believe that the age difference alone was worth the stop you had earlier."

"Rosenwyn Holmes, I do not strop!"

"So earlier was just an interpretation of what a grown man throwing a strop was?" Her look challenged him to deny it again and Mycroft's eyes narrowed in response. "Alright, I'll let it go, since you have apologized," Rose decided. "Seriously though My, what is the problem aside from age? Is that really, truly it? Not some sort of complex calculation of compatibility or dark secrets or what have you?"

The eldest Holmes took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and tried again, but still nothing. Bloody sentiment, he mentally grumbled.

"My? Whatever it is, you can tell me. I can handle it," Rose urged. "Please tell me, be honest with me. It's bound to be easier if we are."

It was as if her words somehow gifted him with the ability to speak once more. "The thought that you might not always be mine to protect, poppet is… frightening in its reality. You mean more to me than I can even express and I will always watch out for you, try to keep you safe," Mycroft said quietly. "If… if Doctor Watson unduly upsets you in any way, be forewarned that Sherlock will be looking for a new blogger."

The enormity of his words sunk slowly into her. "Oh Mycroft," Rose said slowly. "You… are unbelievably silly. I'll always be yours to protect, My; always. John isn't the enemy here, neither is any other man who may come in or out of my life. Nothing and no one could ever replace you and surely you're the biggest idiot on the face of the earth not to know that! You're the only dad I've her had, who could possibly replace you? Not even Sherlock could take your place, let alone John!

"And if John should attempt to do so, he and I would be over like that." She snapped her fingers. "I won't be forced to choose between my family, between you, and someone I love. Neither you nor anyone else will make me do so. Please don't ever ask it of me, My."

The eldest Holmes sighed softly before reaching out to move a stray curl from in front of Rose's eye, something he had done far too many times to count in her twenty years on this earth. Tucking it behind her ear, he then cupped her chin in his hand.

"Above all, I want you to be happy, healthy, and content with your life. If, for whatever reason, beginning a relationship with John Watson assists you in obtaining those goals than I suppose I cannot, nor will I, stand in the way of that. It would be… most hypocritical of me, would it not?" Another sigh, this one sounding particularly weary, escaped. "Just be careful, poppet. You have a beautiful heart and I would hate it see it cruelly shattered."

Rose tried to find the right words to say in response to what was a particularly heartfelt declaration, the likes of which she was certain she had never heard from Mycroft before. When words failed her, Rose quickly put their mugs down on the coffee table and threw her arms around him, holding on as tightly as she dared.

Immediately, Mycroft wrapped his arms around Rose in response. "Such sentimentality," he scoffed lightly. Yet Rose could hear the sound of a smile in his voice, and her own smile relit the spark in her eyes.

"Now this is much, much better," Cook commented as she entered the sitting room. "Forgive my interruption, Mister Holmes, but supper is ready for you. Will you be staying Miss Rose? I've made Sheppard's pie."

Rose let out a groan. "Cookie, you know my weakness."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "You're twenty, Rose. Surely you can manage to at least call her Cook, if not Miss Terre'."

"The little dove may call me whatever she wishes," Terre' said with an indulgent smile. "Warms my heart, it does. I take it that's a yes, Miss Rose?"

"A most definite yes!" Rose replied, giving the woman a bright smile.

"Are we having dessert this evening?" Mycroft asked, giving Terre' a pointed look. He hated that the woman didn't have the decency to blush after throwing out his chocolate cake just hours ago!

"Oh certainly, Mister Holmes," Terre' replied. "My scratch made Sticky Toffee Pudding sundaes, with an almond blondie base, tempura banana slices, real bits of pudding and syrup stirred right in, and freshly made vanilla bean whipped cream with a candied cherry on top." The love and pride was more than evident in the cook's voice.

Apparently, my actions have met with her approval, Mycroft noted wryly. That woman had far too much say in the running of his home sometimes! It was a miracle he didn't weight an additional stone by this point. He would, if not for his treadmill…

"Oh good heavens; if I hadn't already said yes, I would certainly be saying it now," Rose decided. She flashed the woman a smile and received a warm one in return.

"It's always lovely to have you home, Miss Rose. Come along, both of you, before your suppers get a chill!" Terre' encouraged.

It was just past 8pm when Rose returned to Baker Street with Mycroft in tow. She opened the door to Sherlock and John's flat, letting herself in as per usual, and waved her big brother in as well.

"Sherlock, make tea, will you?" Rose asked.

Mycroft frowned. "I'm not staying."

"I don't make tea!" Sherlock interrupted.

"Well go figure it out genius and make some," the littlest Holmes hissed. The less audience members for Mycroft's apology the better, yet she could hardly tell Sherlock that out loud!

Heaving a put-upon sigh, Sherlock got up from his chair and entered the kitchen.

"Well?" Rose asked Mycroft.

Clearly his throat, Mycroft crossed the sitting room to where John sat on the couch. He himself did not sit, preferring to stand instead for what was sure to be an uncomfortable apology. "My… apologies, Doctor Watson. I did not mean to cause you undue stress in terms of your condition. It won't happen again." Mycroft turned his head to look at Rose, who nodded her approval.

"My condition?" John asked.

"Your post traumatic condition," Mycroft explained. "I've been made aware of the difficulties of such a condition and while it was very much my intent to frighten you into doing what I wanted, it was not my intent to trigger your condition."

John stared at the eldest Holmes, hardly believing his ears. Mycroft Holmes was apologizing, actually apologizing. A part of him wanted to mark this one in a lifetime occasion on the calendar while another part almost asked the man to repeat himself out of sheer disbelief.

"Apology accepted," John finally managed. He stood up and offered his hand to Mycroft, who firmly shook it in response.

Despite having been sent to make tea, Sherlock was back in the sitting room, his mouth hanging open in shock at Mycroft's words. This was quite the unexpected development!

Ignoring Sherlock completely, Rose crossed the room to stand beside John. In one quick movement she stood up a bit on her toes, turned John's head towards her and kissed him softly and sweetly. It was not meant to be a lingering kiss, rather more of a test to see if Mycroft would break, so to speak, under pressure. Or rather, under the horror of seeing his baby sister kissing a man.

Mycroft physically recoiled, taking a step backward, his face overtaken by a look of disgust. "That…" He swallowed hard before continuing. "That did not just happen. I am thoroughly scrubbing that imagery from my brain as we speak."

"I can live with that," Rose assured him. She didn't expect Mycroft to be happy about it, merely refrain from interfering.

The eldest Holmes grimaced. "Walk with me, Dr. Watson," Mycroft directed. It was, of course, not at all a request.

"My…" Rose said warningly. A delicate eyebrow arched as she attempted to stare him down.

"Fear not, sister mine. Dr. Watson will come to no harm… today at least."

Rolling her eyes at Mycroft's dramatics, she shook her head. "I'm holding you to that."

Mycroft merely inclined his head before opening the door of the flat and stepping onto the landing.

Shrugging a bit at Rose, John hurriedly grabbed his jacket and followed Mycroft down the stairs and out of the building, falling into step with him on the pavement.

"I have given Rose my word that I will not interfere with your… relationship." The way Mycroft said the word clearly implied that he felt such a relationship was still ill advised. "Be aware that this is not the same as giving my blessing to it. If my choices are to allow it to happen or lose my sister, well, that is truly no choice at all."

John was momentarily stunned into silence at the thought of Rose presenting Mycroft with such an ultimatum. Not that Mycroft didn't deserve it, the interfering git! His heart swelled with pride at Rose's bravery and determination.

More than ready to take advantage of John's silence, Mycroft continued. "I'm not convinced that you are worthy of her, Dr. Watson. But at the same time, I'm also not convinced there is anyone I would deem worthy of Rose," he stated bluntly. "What Rose deserves, however, is another matter. She is…" He stopped to clear his throat, refusing to become overly sentimental in front of John.

"Rose deserves to have someone who loves her unconditionally and would never consider for a moment changing her in any fundamental way. Yet he must be willing to…" There was another brief pause as Mycroft tried to decide how best to word what he had to say. "Yet such a person must also be willing to take matters in hand when the occasion calls for it."

John abruptly stopped walking as Mycroft's words sank in, his face suddenly hot and the collar of his button-up a bit too tight.

Mycroft stopped and turned around, quirking an eyebrow at John's look of shock. "I am well aware of the fact that you've taken Rose in hand when necessary. How would I not be?" he questioned.

The doctor swallowed hard. "You've never said-"

"Of course not," Mycroft interrupted. "Your motives for doing so were the best motives possible: keeping that little idiot from killing herself in one fashion or another. The point I was trying to make, however, was that I suppose I might be willing someday to settle for an individual with the aforementioned qualities. I have no intention of giving my blessing or settling for anyone any time soon. She is young, Dr. Watson; very young." The eldest Holmes pinned the doctor with a foreboding look.

"I have no intention of rushing her into anything," John tried to assure him. "Or hurt her in any way. She is… a particularly special and wonderful individual and I have no intention of changing that. I love her."

The very emphatic way that John said those words caused Mycroft to raise his eyebrows in alarm and suddenly turn his head towards the shorter man.

"Can I ask you something?" John requested. "Sherlock keeps mentioning something about parameters, and Rose has once or twice, too. Parameters for you and Rose and nobody will explain to me what the hell that even means."

"Ah," Mycroft murmured, nodding a bit. "Rose and I fit the parent and child relationship parameters. We decided on it when she was nine after a series of unfortunate events."

John frowned slightly. "A series of unfortunate events?"

"Indeed; most unfortunate. Since I refused to claim her as my own, since she's not my biological child, she decided it was a brilliant idea one day to tell someone at a store that I had kidnapped her. I was then arrested and our poor Mother had to come sort the mess out. Turns out it was hurting Rose's feelings that I did all the things a father did yet bit the head off anyone who attempted to say she was my little girl," Mycroft explained.

"So you changed your ways after that, I assume?"

Mycroft nodded. "She is the greatest thing I have ever accomplished," he murmured. "The fact that she isn't my own child does not negate that, because for all intents and purposes, she is. At least in all the ways that truly matter."

"My god you Holmes lot are complex," John commented, shaking his head.

"Has it really taken you this long to figure that out, Doctor Watson?"

"No, but you seem to grow more complex by the day since Rose wandered over to Baker Street."

"Yes, she does have that way about her," Mycroft agreed. "And now that we have the irritating sentiment out of the way, allow me to leave you with a warning, Dr. Watson. If you ever harm a hair on her head, or break her, believe that I am earnest when I say that the CIA's… tactics would have nothing on what I am capable of doing with my own bare hands. Where Rose is concerned, my wrath knows no bounds of law or human decency."

John believed every word of that very ominous warning and met Mycroft's eyes with his own. A silent acceptance of these terms passed between them.

Mycroft's almost feral look of warning was replaced by a polite smile, but not one meant to be reassuring. "Well, this has been a… event," he commented as a sleek black car pulled up alongside the curb. After inclining his head at John, the eldest Holmes opened the car door and entered the car, shutting the door firmly behind him.

"Why aren't you drinking the tea you forced me to make?" Sherlock asked. From where he was seated in his own chair with a cup of tea, he watched Rose pace the sitting room. "Mycroft's not going to kill him on the street in broad daylight."

Rose stopped pacing and scowled at her brother. "It's after eight!"

"Well, Mycroft isn't going to kill him on a busy street after eight either!"

"Mycroft, didn't kill anyone," John spoke up as he entered the flat. He hardly had time to say anything more as Rose flew across the sitting room and into his arms. Putting his hands under her bum, John lifted her up in his arms as he kissed her. Rose's legs went around him and John simply held her there, kissing her until…

"Ahem!" Sherlock said loudly.

With great reluctance John put Rose down, only to grab her hand and practically drag her off to her own flat. Once he was inside, John swept her up in his arms and carried her to the couch where he proceeded to kiss her soundly once more.

"You brave, amazing, tenacious, determined woman, you," John murmured when the kiss broke. He leaned his forehead gently against hers. "I hardly even know what to say. You fought Mycroft Holmes for me."

"You don't have to say anything at all," Rose assured him, brushing her lips across his cheek. "I happen to consider you a most worthy cause, John Watson."

"I'm quite in awe of you, my darling girl," John said sincerely. "Completely and utterly in awe."

It was just after 3am when Rose heard a strange noise that she couldn't quite place. Her eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the dark of her sitting room just before she was pitched off the couch and hit the floor with a thud. Getting quickly to her feet, Rose looked around for the source of the noise, as well as whatever threw her on the floor! Within just a few seconds she had her answer.

John was in the throes of a nightmare.

"John!" Rose called loudly. She didn't dare touch him, knowing if he wasn't fully awake he might hurt her, thinking he was once more in combat. "John! John wake up! You're here with me, Rose, and you're safe! John please wake up!"

She continued to call loudly to him until finally he stilled and his eyes opened. Tears began to slide down his face as John began to silently sob. Immediately he turned away from her, as if embarrassed.

"Shh," Rose whispered. "No, don't do that John." She put her hands on either side of his face and turned it towards her once more. "It's alright John, it's alright. I'm here and I understand. Sit up just a bit more for me."

Sensing she wasn't going to let him be until he did what she said, John sat up a bit more and began to swipe at his eyes, cursing the tears that refused to stop falling.

Carefully, Rose sat on his lap facing him and wrapped her arms around him. "It's alright John," she whispered. "It's alright. You're here and you're safe with me. It'll be alright. Just hold on to me."

John needed no further invitation and wrapped his arms around her in return, resting his forehead against her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said softly as his silent sobs died down. "I'm so sorry, I can't-"

"Of all the people in the world, I understand and I most certainly don't judge. My brave soldier, you don't have to be brave alone," Rose assured him. "I'm right here." She kissed his forehead and held him for what felt like an age before either of them spoke again.

"Do you feel like trying to sleep again?" Rose asked.

"I don't know," John said. "I don't… I mean…"

"I understand," Rose assured him. "Why don't you stay?"

John's eyes went wide. "Rose…"

Her face flushed. "I don't mean stay and do anything. Just… if you don't want to go, you don't have to."

"You mean…"

"I mean," Rose interrupted. "Precisely what I'm saying. If you want to stay, if it would help you sleep to just hold on to me…"

John took her hand, interlaced his fingers with hers and whispered, "If you're sure… really sure."

Rose kissed his hand and nodded. "I'll be doctor now, and I prescribe a good cuddle until you're able to fall asleep," she murmured.

"And I suppose, if I'm to be considered a good patient, I'd best do as my doctor ordered," John replied, giving her a small smile. "You're an amazing woman, Rose Holmes."

With a smile of her own, Rose stood up and held out her hand for him in silent invitation. After taking a deep breath, John put his hand in hers and stood to follow her into her bedroom. In that exact moment, when he took her hand, John knew he was completely and utterly lost.