The sound of a crowd gasping and a host declaring a "blackout" drew Sherlock's attention towards the telly. Rose had hooked up her laptop to it in order to watch 'Take Me Out' on a bigger screen. For much of the day, her reactions had matched the audiences', interspersed with giggles and declarations of "Aw, poor fellow!" when a seemingly valid candidate suffered a blackout. Now, however, and for the past hour, there had not been a peep out of Rose.
Initially Sherlock assumed Rose had fallen asleep, but now, as he shifted his gaze over to his pajama-clad sibling, he could see tears streaking silently down her face. He'd known this was coming, anticipated it happening weeks ago in fact. That it had taken this long for Rose to breakdown spoke volumes about her inner strength and determination.
Leaving aside the photographs he was examining, Sherlock crossed the sitting room and sat down beside his sister. Without saying a word, he wrapped his arms around Rose and pulled her close. "It's alright Rosie," Sherlock whispered. "It's alright."
Turning to face him, Rose wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her forehead against his shoulder. Her silent tears quickly turned into great heaving sobs that shook her shoulders in a way that made Sherlock's heart ache. Holding her even tighter, Sherlock began to rock her, swaying gently from side to side. Resting his cheek on top of Rose's dark curls, Sherlock made soft shushing sounds as he rocked her. How long they stayed that way, he wasn't certain, but it felt like an eternity before Rose's sobs died down to sniffles.
"Sherlock, I don't think I can take even one more hour," Rose murmured, her forehead still resting against his shoulder. "I just… There's almost not even words. What is the point of my life right now?! What has been the point of my life for weeks on end? Absolutely nothing! I don't even know what to do with myself anymore and it's killing me! Sherlock, I-" Rose's voice cracked and she stopped talking, though her sniffles grew more pronounced.
"You're so close Rosie. Just a few more days," Sherlock murmured, kissing the top of her head. "But I know precisely how you feel. I know how hard it is to be utterly deprived of the very thing that gives you life. It eats at you, it's all you can think about and you question what your purpose is without it. I know, because I've been there."
"When you were in rehab?" Rose asked softly, almost as if he was uncertain she should bring that up. She immediately felt him hold onto her tighter in response to her question.
There was a brief pause as Sherlock closed his eyes and wished he could do that, among other parts of his life, all over again and make better choices. "Yes," he said quietly. "I know, and that is why I am so incredibly proud of you."
Rose looked up at him for the first time since he'd come to cuddle her, her eyes searching his for a moment and finding nothing but absolute sincerity there.
"I'm so proud of you Rose," Sherlock went on, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "You've been very mature and responsible about this; taken into consideration the long-term effects that not resting now could bring, rather than dancing anyway just to banish that feeling of uselessness. It's not easy to make that choice, and to make it each time you are tempted to disregard resting is an achievement. You should be proud of yourself Rose, of how strong you are. Its things like this that make me so proud of the person you have become, and are still becoming, Rosie."
As Sherlock waited for her to respond, because it looked as if she might have something to say, he was dismayed to see tears once more streaking down her face. "No, no, no more tears! I was trying to make you feel better, not make you cry again," he huffed.
She gave him a small smile and shook her head. "Happy tears," Rose assured him. "Happy tears because someone understands exactly how I feel, how completely awful this has been. Someone sees the efforts it's taken to do as I'm told for once." Her words drew a snort from Sherlock, which only made Rose smile even more.
With the pads of his thumbs, Sherlock brushed away the few 'happy' tears that were falling.
"Are you horribly mad at me?" she asked softly, ducking her head a bit. It was growing harder and harder to not think about her day of reckoning, so to speak, that would undoubtedly come on Saturday. The idea of both her brothers and John being angry with her was unpleasant to say the least, not to mention the fact that she was likely to face some serious punishment from the lot of them.
"I was," Sherlock admitted. "But not anymore. I can't possibly bring myself to be, not after how difficult this has been for you. I've watched you struggle for nearly six weeks to be good, attempting to hide how unhappy you've been. There's no punishment I could ever give you that would be greater or make more of an impact on you than six weeks without dancing even a step."
Rose put her arms around Sherlock's neck and hugged him tightly. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for understanding. Best big brother ever."
Sherlock chuckled, the sound of it rumbling through her ears. "You're welcome," he assured her, kissing her curly head once more. "Don't expect such understanding from Mycroft, however. But I will do my best to mitigate things for you, as long as you promise that you'll hold out until you're officially released from resting."
"Promise, I promise," Rose immediately responded, an urgency to her tone.
Just then, Sherlock's mobile chirped. With a sigh the consulting detective retrieved it from his pocket and read the text.
'We need to discuss the baby. 8pm tomorrow at the house. M'
Unable to keep from snooping, Rose peeked at the screen and promptly let out a huff brimming with resentment. "Will you two ever stop referring to me that way? I'm twenty," she pointed out as she pulled away from him slightly and cocked an eyebrow.
"No, and I think you'd secretly be sad if we ever did," Sherlock retorted smugly. He didn't even try to duck out of the way when Rose promptly smacked him with a pillow.
At just before 8 pm the following day, Mycroft looked up from his desk at the sound of feet in the hallway. There were two feet too many and the source of the second pair was readily noticeable as Sherlock entered the room and was promptly followed by John Watson.
"The last time I checked, brother mine, our family unit consisted of three, not four," Mycroft began, a hint of annoyance already coloring his tone.
"It does indeed. Your point being?" Sherlock asked as he flopped onto the small sofa. He couldn't resist flashing Mycroft a rather smug look, rather enjoying his discomfort.
"My point being that this is a parenting conference and not a place for Dr. Watson to be." Mycroft steadily avoided directly addressing the man in question, preferring to try staring Sherlock down instead. "We've managed not to make a complete blunder of it this far and I'm certain we can continue on without the good doctor's unsolicited opinions." The eldest Holmes ignored the prickling of irony his mind was registering. Just a few weeks ago, blissfully unaware of his sister's growing attachment to the army doctor, Mycroft would not have objected to John's inclusion in such a meeting. Now, however, everything was different and Mycroft was feeling particularly territorial, especially as the man in question was invading his office!
Feeling more than a little uncomfortable in the thick tension presently choking the room, the man whose presence was being debated found himself drawn to a set of bookshelves. Photographs were liberally strewn throughout the shelves, each featuring Rose at a variety of dance competitions. Some of them even featured the whole family as Rose proudly displayed her latest trophy. She looks so much like her mother; they all do. And she's so small, just a little Rosette. That thought in particular made John smile, as did the fact that the photographs existed in this location at all. One did not take Mycroft Holmes for the sentimental kind and yet each frame was another example of just that, every image somehow sweeter than the one before.
"Kindly step away from my bookshelves, Dr. Watson," Mycroft ordered upon seeing John reach for a picture frame. He disliked the idea of anyone seeing the particular photographs he'd chosen to display in his office. This was his inner sanctum in a house that for much of his life had been the scene of utter chaos. Each photo was chosen for a specific reason or memory, displayed in the safety of this room of calm among the storm and not meant to be viewed by an outsider. Even if John Watson was the least 'outside' of outsiders.
John dutifully moved away from the bookshelves and took a seat beside Sherlock on the small sofa.
"This is family matter Sherlock," Mycroft commented, glaring darkly at his smug little brother.
Sherlock sighed heavily and then began speaking slowly, as if talking to someone of slightly dubiously intelligence. "And John is family. Not to mention that he has some grievances of his own with Rose."
"That's the first reasonable argument you've made thus far," Mycroft muttered before giving his full attention to John. A quirked eyebrow indicated that the doctor should state his reasons for being displeased with the littlest Holmes.
"She and I have talked about her tendencies to over use things like ibuprofen before," John began. "At least twice prior to this business with her rib. She was using as many as four every few hours! How she managed to stay conscious on that dosage I can't even begin to tell you, but that's very, very dangerous and I'm rather put out with her to be honest. She doesn't take it seriously when I tell her that's unsafe."
"Welcome to my world, Dr. Watson. She hasn't taken me seriously for the past twenty years anytime safety is a factor," Mycroft replied. "Though I hope being 'put out' with her is putting it mildly."
"I was furious when I found out, which was completely accidental. She was telling the emergency room physician and I happened to overhear, otherwise we might all be blissfully unaware of that little gem of nonsense," John grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm no longer furious but I most definitely intend to make it very clear that those sorts of choices are not acceptable, particularly when I could easily treat any injuries she has and prescribe proper medication when needed. There's no good reason for her to self-medicate like that!" There was no hiding the annoyance in his tone by the time John finished speaking.
"It would seem you and I are on the same page then," Mycroft admitted. "You may stay. The question we must deliberate now, gentlemen, is what to do with that little idiot. Sherlock, why don't you begin? I imagine you intend to plead for leniency on her behalf as usual?"
Sherlock's jaw tightened as he bristled with irritation. "I am, but only because it's warranted. She's been utterly miserable for six weeks Mycroft. Six whole weeks without any sort of purpose to her life and while you may not have the capacity to understand how that feels, rest assured that I do. Rose has been depressed-"
"A condition of her own making," Mycroft interrupted. "I'm not in the mood to be sympathetic when her depression has been caused by her own actions and she has other uses than dancing. If she cannot be bothered to find them and exercise them during these past weeks, that is hardly something to take into consideration. You'll not persuade me to let this go Sherlock and if that is your end game, I suggest we move forward."
As Sherlock opened his mouth to begin arguing, it dawned on John that this was essentially a picture of Rose's childhood going on in front of him. One brother stern and unyielding when it came to rules and safety while the other's emotional connection with Rose sought to balance that out, with some sort of middle ground probably being achieved each time. Or at least he hoped a middle ground was achieved, or nearly so, on a semi-regular basis. How Rose had ever formed a close relationship with Mycroft he couldn't even begin to imagine, if this was the sort of response from him she'd met over and over again after misbehavior. John had no doubt that misbehavior of one sort or another was a rather regular occurrence, likely with Sherlock acting as a partner in crime if not making any legitimate efforts to curb Rose's natural streak of mischief.
All this inward reflection caused him to miss a portion of the argument going on between the two brothers, at least until Sherlock shot up from the sofa and stalked over to the desk.
"NO!" Sherlock thundered, slamming his hand on Mycroft's desk. "I won't allow that Mycroft! I don't disagree that there are actions Rose needs to answer to both you and John for, but I will not allow you to do that."
Mycroft, unphased by Sherlock's dramatic display, merely gave his brother a penetrating look. "Precisely how do you intend to stop me, Sherlock? If you're bowing out of this in terms of disciplinary measures, which I completely anticipated, how do you justify dictating how exactly I respond to Rose's outrageous disregard for her well-being?"
Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, though he wasn't entirely sure why, John cleared his throat to get their attention. "I believe I've missed something. What are we arguing about?"
"He-" Sherlock paused to point an accusing finger rather close to Mycroft's face. "Wants to cane her and I'm not going to allow that."
The doctor's jaw dropped. Cane her? Bloody hell! Apparently Mycroft was taking this far more seriously than he'd even realized. "That's a bit severe, don't you think?" John asked quietly.
"No, I don't think. Serious misbehavior calls for a serious response and I'd rather like her to keep living for a while. God only knows why sometimes," Mycroft grumbled. "Sherlock, however, is a bleeding heart, as per usual."
Sherlock slammed his fist on the desk again and closed what little space there was between his and Mycroft's face. "You hurt her Mycroft! I will not allow you to do that again!"
Mycroft now stood up, attempting to tower over Sherlock. "I did no such thing! How dare you say that?"
"Because I saw and I heard Mycroft! Do you really want to dredge up memories of that night? You broke her," Sherlock growled.
"I did not break her, I did not do anything other than give her the caning she very much deserved!"
"Well you weren't the one whose sister appeared hysterical and shivering at a crime scene with twelve fresh cane stripes telling me 'Mycroft doesn't love me anymore' were you? No, I had to try and assure her that despite the fact you had said unforgiveable things to her that deep down you still loved her! And let me tell you Mycroft that was not easy, particularly when all I wanted to do was come break your face!"
Within seconds what should have been a calm conversation nearly came to blows, with John watching it all in horror on the couch. Was Sherlock actually serious? They're not really going to hit each other, are they? My god, I need some tea because I can't handle these two. I wonder where the kitchen is. Would they even notice if I slipped out of the room in search of tea?
"For god sakes Mycroft think about what you said to her that night! Think about it, really think back to that night, and tell me that's something you want her to remember?" Sherlock finally challenged.
"Fine, but you're exaggerating Sherlock, I'm sure of it." Taking his seat once more, Mycroft thought back to the night in question a little more than six years prior. Rose had been brought home in a police vehicle, in trouble again…
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry My, please!" Rose shouted. "Don't!"
"You're not sorry at all," Mycroft growled as he grabbed her arm and began dragging her towards his desk. "But I can assure you that you will be in short order. This is the last time you will ever be brought home by police Rosenwyn Holmes! BEND OVER NOW!"
As Mycroft began to reexamine his memories, Sherlock motioned to John before exiting the study. "When he remembers in full, he'll need a minute to come to terms with his idiocy," he said quietly. "In the meantime, we might as well get some tea."
"Mycroft, he didn't…" John couldn't even quite get the question out. The man had a temper, particularly when it came to Rose, but he couldn't imagine even Mycroft going so far out of bounds.
"Did he abuse her? No. Twelve was far too much though. She's so small and he scared her half to death. They were lighter strokes, or at least as light as one may be with the cane while still using it for its intended purpose," Sherlock admitted. "He was careful enough, but she was only fourteen and he didn't even try to understand what was really going on. And the things he said to her…" He shook his head, a sad look coming over her face.
"Get out of my sight," Mycroft ordered as he moved to return the cane to the closet of his study. When he turned around, Rose was still there, sobbing and looking for all the world as if he'd struck her across the face.
"You are not the child I raised. My Rose is a good girl; mischievous but good. You, however, are a completely ungrateful, disobedient little monster." The words spilled out his mouth without a second thought. "Do not look at me like that, as if those words are some sort of newsflash. You have been treading on thin ice for quite some time Rose and I have had it. I'm done with it, utterly finished. Whatever your problem is you better sort it out and quickly, because believe me when I say that I will not tolerate any further nonsense from you. I am completely and utterly done with you and your nonsense. I am so disgusted by you and your behavior that I can hardly bear to even look at you," Mycroft thundered.
"You have completely destroyed the trust I have in you and you will never be able to earn that back! I won't ever be able to trust you or anything you say again! Save your tears because they will not sway me even one bit," he went on. "Don't even begin to look to me for comfort because you deserved every bit of that and I have absolutely no desire to make you feel better. Disobedient little monsters don't deserve comforting. In fact, I don't even want to hear you or see you. Go upstairs at once and get out of my sight, you wretched little brat! NOW!"
Rose had done as he asked, his vicious diatribe having forced her into silence, making her swallow her sobs. She fled his presence with a look of utter devastation on her ashen face and he had let her go. Worse yet, he had seen it and hadn't cared.
Sherlock and John were just starting their second cups of tea by the time Mycroft emerged from his study and found them in the kitchen. He silently began making a cup of Darjeeling for himself, joining them at the table when it was finished.
"Gentlemen, we need a new plan," Mycroft said quietly. "I am open to suggestions."
By the time Mycroft had finished his second cup of tea, the three men had come to a consensus on how to handle Rose's poor choices and overall lack of concern for her own welfare. It was not the course Sherlock would have preferred, given his own feelings that Rose has suffered enough during her confinement, but it was a fair and balanced approach just the same. After all, even he had to admit that Rose's choices were begging to be addressed.
As Sherlock and John got up to leave, Mycroft put a hand on his brother's arm and squeezed rather firmly. Raising an eyebrow, Sherlock turned his full attention to his brother, letting John go out ahead of him.
"Thank you for advising caution," Mycroft said very quietly. "For once you were actually right. I wish I had handled that night, all of that acting out, so much differently. I hope you know that. More importantly, I hope Rose knows that as well."
"You could always tell her, you know. Make sure she knows. She loves you Mycroft and she'd forgive you almost anything. The fact that she's here and even speaks to you at all is proof that she understands, in her own way, that you regret what happened between the two of you," Sherlock responded. It was very odd to be offering comfort of all things to his big brother!
"But you could tell her," he continued. "Say the words so she knows for sure, and so you both can let it go. Text her, suggest she spend the night Saturday," Sherlock suggested. "You know how she is after a spanking, always so sleepy. Ask her to stay the night, have a bit of time with her, and talk. Really talk. She loves that heart-to-heart nonsense."
Mycroft chuckled. "So did Mother. That… is a good idea Sherlock. I'll think on it." With a curt nod, Mycroft headed back to his office, clearly dismissing his younger brother.
The days before her 'release' date ticked by slowly but Friday did in fact come and found Rose sitting on an exam table in John's office at surgery. Swinging her legs back and forth, she waited semi-patiently for him to return. John had insisted on an x-ray before he'd officially release her from having to rest.
Finally, just when it seemed as if he might never come back, the door opened and a grinning John entered. "Good news love. Everything looks to have healed up nicely and you may resume normal activity. Go lightly with the dancing and be careful, but you can dance again."
With a squeal of delight Rose got down from the table and threw her arms around John. "Oh my god, I'm so relieved you don't even know!"
With a laugh, John kissed her cheek. "Dressed warmly enough for a walk about town? I'm taking you out on a special date but it's going to involve some going in and out of doors and walking. I don't want you getting a cold after all your hard work resting."
Dressed in a gray, long-sleeved sweater dress with a thin, bright purple belt at her waist and black leggings and her favorite pair of shoes- flats with an adorable bird on them that John had given her, Rose was more than ready for a day of walking. "I've even got my jacket if I need it. Come on, let's go, let's go!"
Kissing her once more, John gave a curt nod. "Then go we shall. Grab your jacket and I'll drop off the paperwork with the secretary on our way out."
"Where are we going?" Rose asked as they exited the building. "The cinema? A fancy late lunch?"
"You'll see," John replied with a smirk. "I'm pretty sure you'll love it, but I'm not telling you."
Despite all the begging, pleading and adorable looks Rose could muster, John refused to reveal anything about the surprise. A brisk fifteen minute walk brought them to their destination.
"Chocolate Ecstasy Tours," Rose read. "What is that? Are we doing that? It sounds delicious!"
John laughed. "We are indeed doing that. We need to get in there so I can purchase our tickets. Try not to devour the window display before the tour even gets going, hm?" He chuckled when she stuck her tongue out at him in response.
As they waited in line, Rose plucked a brochure from a rack and began to read it aloud. "Chocolates of the World Tour: visit a selection of London's best chocolate shops and sample familiar favorites and exotic chocolates from around the globe." While examining the photos of yummy looking treats, Rose's eyes caught sight of the price.
"John," she whispered, tugging briefly on his jacket. "This costs thirty pounds a ticket! I can pay for myself," Rose offered.
John scowled at her for a moment. "Exactly what sort of men have you been dating Rosenwyn Holmes? A gentleman always pays for his lady; always." His scowl turned into a smile when she blushed.
She looked into his eyes, searching for something and smiling when she appeared to find whatever she'd been looking for. "I'm your lady am I?"
"You are," John confirmed, kissing the tip of her nose. "Do you object?"
"No. I'm sort of in awe though. This might be the first time anyone has referred to me as a lady in a way that isn't that 'young lady' disgruntled tone Mycroft favors," Rose admitted.
Laughing, John pulled her close and kissed her once, softly. "I'm glad you don't object," he said quietly. "I rather like the idea of calling you my lady."
"Does this mean I can call you my knight?" Rose grinned brightly when John gave her a brief nod and reassuring smile. He kissed her once more before turning to step forward in the line and pay for their tickets.
In short order they were one of ten couples on the tour and quickly introduced themselves to the others and had been served hot chocolates just before their tour guide arrived.
"Good afternoon everyone! Thank you so much for joining us. I'm Jessica and I'm going to start off with a rundown of our tour today as I pass out some bottles of water. Trust me, you'll need them," she said with a laugh. After filling them in on their destinations, the discounts that would be available at each shop they visited, Jessica gave them what she called the most important rules.
"There's an art to judging chocolate and I'm challenging each of you to do it. The rules of proper tasting are: look, listen, smell, then taste. Look at the chocolate, it should be shiny, smooth and evenly colored. Then listen to the chocolate when you break it, listening for the crisp snap it makes. Next you must smell your chocolate and let your nose make you aware of the delicate notes of the treat, be it curry, honey, or any other ingredient. Lastly, you taste! But don't bite it and eat it all down. Rather, let it melt in your mouth. Now, if there's not any questions, we'll get started!"
For the next three hours, John, Rose and the other couples followed Jessica's lead to ten different chocolate shops right in London that boasted exotic ingredients from around the world. They tasted a 100% bar of chocolate, were surprised and delighted by marmite truffles and enjoyed raspberry chocolate macaroons, cappuccino truffles, curry chocolate bars and more.
By the time the tour ended, John and Rose had placed several orders for their particular favorites and purchased a number of chocolate bars they thought Sherlock might enjoy. Rose easily pocketed their goodies in her large purse. The tour ended with a complimentary chocolate drink of their choice and both shunned alcohol for peppermint hot cocoa.
"That was insanely fun," Rose decided as they left the final stop on the tour. "Even if I've gained weight that will take hours and hours to dance off! It was a perfect idea John."
Wrapping an arm around her waist, John gave her a smile as he pulled her close. "I'm glad. I was trying to think of something special that was a bit of a splurge and out of the ordinary. This ticked all the boxes and was something I knew without a doubt that you'd enjoy."
"It seems too early to go back home," Rose commented as they headed towards the nearest tube station. It was dusk and the sun would be setting shortly, leaving an entire evening ahead of them. Suddenly, an irresistible idea came to her and a bright smile bloomed across her face. "Have you ever been on Albert Bridge at night?"
John shook his head. "Not that I can recall at any rate, though I probably have been and not paid any attention. Been over it in the daytime several times; actually more like countless times during army training for marching practice. Why?"
"We have to go then! It's so beautiful when it's lit up at night. Trust me," she added when he shot her a dubious look. "I know that a bridge sounds anything but beautiful or romantic, but it really is and we're only a few blocks away or so. If we hurry, we can be there when they light it up. Please?"
"As if I could deny you anything," John teased. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and said, "Lead on, love."
Taking his hand rather than letting him hold her about the waist so they could walk quicker, led the way to Albert Bridge and gave a mini history lesson as they went. "It's incredibly unique, you know. It encompasses three different styles, the original and two add-ons later that were used to stabilize it. Albert Bridge has never been replaced, just stabilized, which is distinctive. Only one other bridge over the Thames can boast that you know..."
Smiling and nodding, John listened to her speak, the words flowing quickly and easily, making him wonder just where and when she'd learned all this history and how she could possibly recite it so well on a minute's notice!
"What?" Rose asked, stopping amid regaling him with another historical tidbit. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because I think you're amazing," John stated very firmly. "I never have a clue what all you've got in that head of yours and I love learning what's in there. I love watching you tell things like this, because you're so animated, full of smiles and excitement as if it was the be all and end all of information." He chuckled as she began to blush prettily.
"Well… thank you," Rose commented quietly. "Now hurry it up or we'll be late. There's four thousand light bulbs that get turned on all at once and we're going to miss it if we don't hurry!"
Holding tightly to his hand, the pair ran the rest of the way to the bridge. Just as they arrived, it was as if someone threw a gigantic switch and the entire bridge burst into light. The multitude of bulbs shone off the eccentric pastel colors of the bridge, creating a rather breathtaking sight.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Rose asked, her voice low and reverent.
John nodded in agreement, but found Rose more beautiful than the bridge by far. When she caught him gazing longingly at her, Rose laughed and gently pushed him. He immediately responded by pulling her close. "Walk along the bridge with me?"
Taking the arm he offered, they began to walk in silence along the bridge. "Dance with me."
John frowned and turned to look at her. "Sorry?"
Rose rolled her eyes. "Dance with me, John. Let's dance, right here and now. I don't think I can wait even another second."
"We haven't got any music and I'm not a good enough dancer to go without," John admitted. He hated to disappoint her, but as her hand disappeared inside her purse and came out with a mobile he realized he wouldn't have to after all.
"I've got you covered," she assured him. It took a moment of scrolling through the songs on her mobile to find just the right one. Pressing play, she tucked it inside the front pocket of his shirt and grinned brightly. "Dance with me, please."
John swept her into his arms and, forgetting the potential for any audience or the fact that they were on a bridge, they began to dance to the strains of Meghan Trainor's 'What If I.'
What if I want to kiss you tomorrow? Something tells me you're not like the other boys. Oh no babe, oh no babe, mmm. 'Course I like you, can't you hear it in my voice? Oh yeah babe, oh yeah babe, mmm. Well don't be nervous, I'm so in to you, yes I am babe. And is this somethin' or am I just a fool? What if I wanna kiss you tomorrow?…
Rose hummed along to the tune as they twirled in each other's arms, her head resting against his shoulder. John could smell the soft scent of lavender in her hair and it felt for a moment like they were lost and the world had disappeared. At least until he heard:
The snow glows white on the mountain tonight, not a footprint to be seen. A kingdom of isolation and it looks like I'm the queen…
John pulled away from Rose and quirked an eyebrow at her. "Seriously? 'Let it Go'? Seriously?"
She promptly scowled at him. "I happen to like Frozen thank you very much! And it's a very catchy tune, I couldn't quite control myself when I found it on itunes. I could sing it to you!"
Laughing, he shook his head. "No, that's alright. What's next on your playlist? Should I be frightened?"
"Possibly." Rose wiggled her eyebrows at him and skipped to the next track.
Prince Royce… Big Snoop Dog. She got me stuck on a feelin', she got me stuck on a feelin'. I like you talking dirty, I like your—
"Wait, is this even your mobile?" John asked. Reaching for his pocket, he pulled out the mobile. It was in the familiar pink polka dot case it always was but this song! "I don't even understand. Snoop? Seriously? Miss 'I Heart Dean Martin and prefer to choreograph songs with music from the appropriate period' has Snoop Dog among her music collection?"
Her face a bright red, Rose scowled and grabbed for the mobile. "I'm allowed to have varied tastes in music if I so chose, thank you very much!"
"Snoop though? Snoop?"
She flashed him a mischievous grin. "Admittedly my relationship with Snoop started when I was trying to annoy the hell out of Mycroft. It worked beautifully."
Throwing his head back, John let out a hearty laugh at the very through of how Mycroft would react to hearing anything by that less-than-illustrious, so-called musician.
"Alright, alright, enough laughing," Rose grumbled. "This one's better. You'll like it I think, though it's also probably an unexpected choice."
A distinctive country twang started the next selection and John immediately recognized it, even before a word of the lyrics had left George Strait's mouth. He swept Rose into his arms again and started to waltz with her, completely oblivious to the few gawkers that had stopped to watch them.
I don't my whiskey to extremes. Don't believe in chasing crazy dreams. My feet are planted firmly on the ground. But darlin' when you come around- I get carried away by the look, by the light in your eyes. Before I even realized the ride I'm on, baby I'm long gone. I get carried away, nothin' matters but bein' with you—
"Kiss me," Rose whispered, her cheek against his. When he didn't immediately respond, she repeated her request in Spanish with a much firmer tone. "Bésame John. Kiss me, bésame!" This time the message got through and John's mouth covered hers hungrily, his arms moving around her midriff. Within seconds they were against the rail of the bridge, spectators be damned as they competed to see who could devour who first.
I get carried away, nothing' matters but bein' with you. Like a feather flyin' high up in the sky on a windy day, I get carried away. George Strait ended and another song began to play but neither of them paid the least bit attention to anything but the task at hand. Rose's soft curves melted into the contours of John's body as one of his hands moved to cradle her head. The kiss finally broke and as Rose caught her breath, John began pressing feather-light kisses along her jawline and then down her neck, right to the pulse point at the base of it. Rose put her hands on either side of his face and moved his head towards her, kissing him hard and urgently.
"Ahem! Excuse me? Ahem! Oi!" It wasn't until the rather loud and annoyed 'oi' was uttered that either John or Rose took notice of the fact that someone was attempting to get their attention. Both their heads turned in the direction of the voice, only to find a police officer glaring at them. "Time to move along you two. This is a public bridge and it's just past sunset this is really…" The man's voice trailed off and his eyes narrowed as they examined Rose's face. "How old are you miss?"
Rose smiled and laughed. "Plenty old enough, I promise!" When the officer merely responded with a stern look, things suddenly felt far less funny. "I'm twenty, and this is my boyfriend," Rose explained.
The officer's eyebrow quirked. "Is he now? Are you now? I'd like to see some identification, please, from both of you, quick like." With a sigh John took out his wallet and removed his ID, handing it to the officer. He expected Rose to do the same and looked in her direction when he didn't, only to discover her digging around a bit frantically in her bag. "Rose?" he asked. "Just pick one and show him."
"I don't have one to pick," Rose hissed. "All I have is my studio ID card!"
"Miss? I'm waiting for yours," the officer prodded her. "Look, I am twenty and I even work for the Met, you can call and check. My name's Rose Holmes. All I have on me though is my ID card for the dance studio I also work at," Rose admitted, handing the card over.
"No date of birth on here. You're awfully young looking miss, I'd say about fifteen. That makes me really uncomfortable with what was going on here. If you can't prove your age, I'm afraid I'll have to take you both to the Met," the officer told them sternly.
"What for? That's ridiculous!" Rose protested. "You so I can call your guardian to come collect you, him-" he paused to indicate John. "He'll be placed under arrest for indecent behavior with a minor."
"That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Call DI Greg Lestrade, he'll tell you to let us both go. We both work with him and for him. I don't have anything else, any other ID on me, but he'll vouch for us I promise you. In fact, I can call him right now." Rose reached for her mobile in John's pocket, intending to call Greg.
"A very likely story miss. I understand you probably find it flattering that this older gentleman is showing interest in you," the officer began.
"Older gentleman? Older gentleman?" John repeated, his tone full of resentment and rising with each word.
"That's enough out of you sir," the officer promptly responded. "This isn't seemly miss, and it's not legal either. Both of you are coming with me. Sir, you can come quietly or I can put you in cuffs. The choice is yours."
"Oh for heaven's sake, this is ridiculous!" John shouted indignantly. "She's of age, we can call any number of people who work at the Met to verify that. You can call and verify she works there and there's certainly no minors working as an assistant to a homicide DI," he pointed out.
"You can call them all when we get there then," the officer said. "And as you're getting rather hostile, I think it'll be the cuffs after all sir."
As the officer handcuffed John, amid loud protests, Rose looked up at the sky and stomped her foot. "How is this my life?" she questioned the stars. Of all the bad luck in the world, could she not just have one minute of uninterrupted bliss with her boyfriend? Or was her life doomed to be this sort of madness?
"This ought to be a fun story come Monday," John grumbled. "You know they'll ask. They'll see my name and ask." Rose sighed a she fell in step with John and the officer. "They'll definitely ask, not a doubt about it." Shaking his head, the ex-army doctor then stole a look at Rose. "What're you going to tell them?"
"The truth! George Strait got us arrested," Rose answered without missing a beat. She then promptly burst into giggles which were joined in short order by John's answering laughter.
"You know what this means, don't you?" John asked. When Rose shook her head, he gave her a devilish grin. "That's our song now." They both burst out laughing again, utterly unable to keep from dissolving into a mutual fit of giggles, much to the officer's bewilderment.
Thirty minutes later, across London, Mycroft was just sitting down in front of his fireplace with a snifter of brandy and a good book, ready to enjoy some rare quiet time to himself. Just as he cracked the cover, however, his mobile began vibrating on the end table. With a sigh, he closed the book and reached for it, surprised to see Rose's name on the screen. She rarely called, except when… Oh, god.
"Rose? What's going on?" Mycroft asked, his voice full of concern.
"Hi. Um… I sort of find myself in need of your assistance," Rose explained somewhat hesitantly.
Mycroft let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was bound to be a vexing conversation. Could she never ring him just to say 'hello, how are you?' Attempting to keep the growing annoyance from his tone, Mycroft asked, "Have you been arrested, Rosenwyn?"
Rose rolled her eyes and let out a huff. "No! But John has. We're at the Met and I need your help to get John out of jail."
"Why has your boyfriend been arrested?" Mycroft asked, his tone growing steely.
There was a long pause before Rose responded to the question. "Do I have to answer that?"
"If you wish for my intervention, yes, young lady, you do," Mycroft said sternly.
"John and I were on Albert Bridge and a police officer thought John was… well… um…" Rose was cringing as she attempted to choose her words very, very carefully. This did not go unmissed by her big brother.
"Rose, spit it out already before I become incredibly annoyed with you," Mycroft ordered. "Or rather, more annoyed with you than I already feel myself becoming."
"The officer thought John was molesting me, more or less, and I haven't got an ID to prove I'm of age. So John was arrested and I need you to get something that proves my age. Sherlock has all my passports, Greg took my fake license, and my ID for the Met is at home," Rose explained quickly. The words tumbled out with little time to think about how best to explain the situation.
"You were being intimate in public?! Rosenwyn Aramantha Holmes, have you no decorum at all? You are a young lady! That is incredibly inappropriate!" Mycroft thundered. "What were you thinking of? It's downright indecent and I am not going to stand for that sort of nonsense from you!"
"We weren't being intimate My! We were kissing! It's not like we were having… doing… It was just kissing, alright? Please My, come down here with whatever documents we need to prove I'm adult so John can be released. Please. It's not his fault I'm short and look very young," Rose pleaded. She tried rather desperately to pretend that she was alone, with no officers or recently arrested persons around her to hear her end of a difficult and embarrassing conversation. The fact that she could hear snickers behind her back was evidence that those efforts had failed miserably.
The desperation of her plea and the utter embarrassment of the situation were palpable and despite his best efforts, the sound of it tugged hard on Mycroft's heart strings. "You are very young," he responded in a weary tone. "I suppose you wouldn't forgive me if I left him there to rot for a few hours or so?"
"No, of course I wouldn't!" Rose exclaimed. "Please My, don't be a bear! I need you. Do this for me, please."
Mycroft let out a sigh as he checked his watch. "I'll be there in twenty minutes. And don't think I missed the detail about your fake license. However, we will discuss that, and the reason why you have no proper identification, another time." He promptly ended the call, but did not miss the start of a loud groan from his baby sister before doing so.
Rose let out a loud groan as she slumped down in her seat to wait for Mycroft to come to the rescue yet again. How utterly humiliating to not only be mistaken for a minor but to be forced to call Mycroft of all people and ask for assistance? She'd never live this down.
Eighteen minutes later, Mycroft arrived at the Met and walked with determination in his step towards the holding cells. He stopped at the one which held John and cocked an eyebrow at the man. "This is not an illustrious way to start your relationship, I must say."
John's face grew red but he leveled a look at Mycroft not unlike those he had given men under his command in the army. It was a look that blatantly stated that the person receiving that look was on thin ice, metaphorically speaking.
For a long moment the two men just stared at one another, each hoping to force the other man to avert his gaze. When it became clear that that would not happen, Mycroft let out a long-suffering sigh. "I ought to leave you in here for a few hours to reflect on public decency, but I've been informed by Rose that that would be unforgiveable of me. If you could see your way to not…" He paused, searching for the right word. "To not behaving inappropriately with my sister in public, it would be appreciated." Turning on his heel, Mycroft walked away before John could even respond.
After furnishing a birth certificate with the name that matched Rose's ID for her dance studio, the arresting officer had no choice but to release John and drop the charges. That and he had a feeling any objection he may bring up would be somehow overruled by the man dressed in a suit that cost as much as he made in a single month, if not more! The officer quickly disappeared down the hallway to release John from the holding cell.
"You may as well go to your-" Again, the eldest Holmes paused to find the right word to describe what John was to Rose without offending his own sensibilities. "Go to your person. Try to make it back to Baker Street in one piece." Mycroft reached out to cup Rose's cheek in his hand, the closest he would come to a public display of affection inside the Met, poppet or no poppet. "I'll see you tomorrow at 2pm. We have much to discuss. I suggest you bring an overnight bag."
Rose watched her brother breeze past her, eyes wide. Bring an overnight bag? What exactly were they going to do to her tomorrow?! Before her mind could begin dissecting the possibilities, Rose spotted John out of the corner of her eye and immediately ran in his direction.
"I'm fine love, I'm just fine," John chuckled at suddenly finding his arms full of Rose. "It was a misunderstanding, as we'd said all along." Having her in his arms, however, made it impossible for him not to give into the temptation to kiss her soundly. The strong hardness of his laps captured her's as Rose melted against him. Mindful of where they were however, he managed to stop within an appropriate length of time, though it was clearly too soon if the little noise of protest Rose made was any indication.
"Come on my darling girl," he murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Let's go home."
The following afternoon a sleek black car was waiting outside 221B, intending to whisk the occupants across London to the Holmes townhouse. Inside the building, Rose looked as if she was waiting to be escorted to the Tower of London for a prompt beheading rather than facing a severe scolding and well-earned spanking.
Unable to keep from feeling a little bit sorry for her- after all, who could resist her sorrowful face?- John pressed a thermos of coffee into her hands before wrapping his arms around her. He smiled softly when she leaned into his embrace. "You're going to be just fine," he murmured in her ear. "We all love you, you know."
"I know," Rose admitted in a rather wistful tone.
"What's the bag for?" John asked, indicating the bag at her feet. It was, of course, pink and polka-dotted, which made him smile.
"Mycroft said to pack an overnight bag, so I did," she explained. "That really makes me nervous! What's he going to do that I need an overnight bag for?"
"Your bag has virtually nothing to do with your pending spanking, aside from the fact that you fall asleep directly afterwards," Sherlock commented. He reached for his coat hanging near the door and slipped it on. "Mycroft misses you, though he doesn't directly state it like that. I suggested he have you stay the night. Leave it to Mycroft to leave that bit out and just sound ominous instead." The consulting detective rolled his eyes and moved past them to open the door, expecting his sister and flatmate to fall in step behind him.
Sliding into the car, Rose buckled her seatbelt and waited for John to do the same before cozying up to his side. John wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head. Retrieving his mobile from his jacket pocket, he entered the password and scrolled through his contacts. After finding the one he was after, John clicked on it and showed it to Rose. There was her mobile number, with her name showing as 'Milady.'
Immediately Rose began to grin and John felt the thrill of success. An identical grin soon spread across his face as well, when Rose pulled up his mobile number with the contact name showing as 'My Knight.' The two of them tried to stifle their laughter, but that proved to be impossible.
"You two are utterly ridiculous," Sherlock complained, adding a dramatic eye roll and huff to his words. "We're supposed to be scolding her in a few moments John, so perhaps if you could manage to stop all that romantic nonsense it would be for the better."
Within seconds, Rose's face bloomed as red as the flower with which she shared her name. To be reminded that in just a short time she would be facing not only her brothers, but her boyfriend, for a good scolding was rather humiliating. She stayed silent for the remainder of the ride and was the first to exit the car upon its arrival at the Holmes townhouse.
"You've made it on time I see," Mycroft commented as he greeted them at the door. "Rosenwyn, please take your bag up to your room and then come to my study immediately afterwards." He knew from past experience that adding the immediately could head off any ideas of delaying the inevitable. As he watched her disappear up the stairs, Mycroft gestured for Sherlock and John to follow him into the study.
As per usual, Mycroft sat in the chair behind his desk, leaving plenty of room for the other two men to stand alongside him as this was, after all, a team effort of sorts. Now, they merely had to await Rose's arrival and, luckily for her, it wasn't a long wait. Her appearance garnered an eye roll from Mycroft: a light pink dress liberally sprinkled with black hearts, accompanied by a hot pink cardigan and some sort of ridiculous beige shoes. Wedges, he believed they were called. His sister's particularly unique fashion choices quite often left Mycroft mystified, though even he had to admit today's outfit was somewhat low-key in comparison to others.
Extending his hand in the direction of the lone seat placed in front of the desk, the eldest Holmes waited for Rose to take a seat before beginning the round of lecturing. "Let's begin with why we are all here and why you find yourself on that side of my desk; again."
"I'm an idiot and you all feel compelled to point that out to me," Rose responded, settling back in the seat with a huff.
"Elaborate on why you have classified yourself as an idiotic, and do it respectfully, if you please," Mycroft added, raising both eyebrows to give her a significant look.
"And if I don't please?" Rose and Sherlock suddenly responded in unison. It made the littlest Holmes giggle while the eldest let out a frustrated sigh.
"Sherlock, I'm not in the mood for games. Please do not encourage our sister, unless you have a burning desire to stand with her on the other side of my desk." The caution of Mycroft's tone was heavily tinged with the warning that, if pushed, he may not deem Sherlock too old for a stern discussion of his own! He smirked when Sherlock's laughter immediately ceased.
"You're all quite angry with me because I broke my ribs and didn't tell anyone. My defense is largely idiotic, one you won't like at all, which is that I did not know. I truly didn't realize that broken ribs could puncture a lung," Rose began. As she spoke, her gaze fell from the three stern faces before her to the well shined wood of Mycroft's desktop.
"If I buy that, and let's say I do," John responded. "That's hardly an adequate excuse for not seeking medical treatment immediately upon injury."
Mycroft easily picked up where the doctor left off. "Which is a rather appalling habit I'd quite hoped you'd outgrown by this point. Apparently, I was wrong. You still seem to be confused about the fact that safety is non-negotiable and always will be non-negotiable."
"I didn't think it was that dangerous though! Dancers get hurt all the time," Rose pointed out. "I've had loads of injuries over the years and danced through most of them. Sprained ankles, broken wrist, dislocated elbows and shoulders, more bruises than I could even begin to count. It happens. Had I thought it was something dangerous, I would have got help."
"That's a little difficult to believe, considering you were up and about with broken ribs for two days, Rose," Sherlock added. "I would personally have been willing to let this whole matter go without making a single comment had you immediately told John or gone to a doctor after your competition. Two days-"
"Is a bloody long time, during which any small movement you made might have punctured your lung," John finished. "That's the part that's unacceptable to me Rose. That even after you had completed your competition you still chose to hide injuries, even though we've talked about that before, you and I. And don't even get me started on the over medicating that I just happened to overhear-"
Mycroft blithely interrupted John to pick up on that train of thought. "Which is very worrisome Rosenwyn. It's irresponsible in the extreme and completely unnecessary when you have a physician living next door to you. Whether or not you believed you were in danger, you were in a significant amount of pain to be dosing yourself at such an unsafe level-"
"And that should have been an indicator that something was wrong and get treatment before your ribs broke. Not to mention I told you several times that the choreography needed to be changed," Sherlock continued.
"Look, I know good choreography, it was do-able, it just needing working! Don't tell me how to do what I do best," Rose directed, her tone growing increasingly defensive. "All of you need to stop acting like I was purposely trying to break my ribs or kill myself."
"Only by sheer dumb luck did you not kill yourself!" John shouted. "You are not indestructible, Rose and we care very, very much about keeping you living and dancing for a long time to come."
"Drowning your pain in ibuprofen cocktails is just dangerous," Sherlock added.
"Says the man who drugs people for fun," Rose retorted rather hotly. She crossed her arms over her chest and let out a huff before directing her gaze across the room. How she hated to be scolded like some silly child! And how did they not understand that she didn't know?
"You did know," Sherlock answered her unspoken question. "Ribs aside, you know that that much over the counter medication is nowhere near appropriate for someone your size."
"And Sherlock's choices are not in question here, largely because I really could not care less if he blew himself to bits or managed to poison someone so long I didn't have to be bothered by it. You, however, are another matter entirely," Mycroft retorted. He blithely ignored Sherlock's snort.
Rubbing a hand over his forehead, the eldest Holmes took a deep breath before continuing. "I would sincerely appreciate it if you would stop breaking yourself with such alarming frequency Rosenwyn. I have spent more of my time making sure you've not maimed or otherwise injured yourself over the past twenty years than I have protecting western civilization! I would dearly love for you to stop damaging yourself so often. It makes me look incompetent… and I worry."
It was the tone of the words 'and I worry' that crumbled the defensive walls Rose had begun constructing around herself as they'd lectured. Mycroft sounded sincerely worried and it wasn't often he would let such emotion creep into his tone, even around John. Or perhaps especially around John given that he was her boyfriend now. It was rarely her intention to outright worry those she loved.
A few long, silent moments passed as the stern looking men watched Rose process their words and decide how to respond. It was never hard to see such processes taking place as every thought and emotion flittered across her face, some more briefly than others. They waited, mostly patiently, for her to respond.
"I'm sorry," Rose murmured. "I don't mean to hurt myself, honestly I don't. Sometimes it's hard to tell what to be worried about and what not to be and dancers have to dance through the pain or we'd hardly ever dance at all."
"Then let me decide what's worrisome and what isn't. Or another doctor if you'd prefer," John offered. "But there's got to be a point where you recognize you're hurting and stop to check that you aren't truly causing yourself injury. That's all I'm after here, love."
Mycroft grimaced at John affectionate use of 'love' to refer to Rose. He wasn't certain he'd ever get used to the idea and having to assist John out of jail the past evening hadn't helped matters.
Rose looked up from the surface of Mycroft's desk and spoke to John directly. "Would we be able to negotiate things? To a certain extent?"
"We can work out the finer points of that sort of arrangement later," John promised, pleased that she appeared willing to work with him on the matter. That was definite progress in his eyes!
"I'll do better, I promise." This time her gaze fell on Mycroft, her words a softly spoken plea for leniency.
The eldest Holmes searched her face for a moment, judging her sincerity, before slowly nodding his head. "Excellent; that is reassuring to hear. I hope, after your slate has been wiped clean that you will keep that promise," he responded. "But there is the matter of cleaning that slate that must be addressed. Though we would all each have a good reason to take you over our knees, it would be wholly unreasonable for all three of us to do so. That is quite lucky for Sherlock, who once again is a bleeding heart and unwilling to take you to task even when it is well and truly deserved."
A tiny smile was sent in Sherlock's direction and the two younger siblings shared a look of understanding before Rose turned her attention back to Mycroft.
"Since safety being a priority for you has long been an issue I've had to address with you, you will receive a spanking from me, today," Mycroft explained. "In a few days or so, Dr. Watson will address the issue of medication misuse in a similar manner." The way Rose seemed to deflate in front of his eyes at this pronouncement tugged hard on his heartstrings but sentiment, and a distinct dislike of being the one to make her cry, had to be pushed aside in order for a serious lesson to be imparted. "Is there anything further you'd like to say to any of us?"
Rose shook her head no, looking utterly miserable. "Then gentlemen, you may leave us. I'm certain she'll reassure you both that she's still alive later on, though I have nothing quite so drastic as murder in mind," Mycroft commented, giving a small Mycroftian effort at adding levity to the situation.
After brief cuddles and whispers of reassurance, Sherlock and John left as Rose remained seat on the chair. "I would like you to go to your room Rose. I will be up shortly," Mycroft instructed. "You may take this with you." Leaning down to the most dreaded of drawers, he pulled it out and extracted the spanking spoon which was placed on the desk top.
A look of utter confusion crossed her face. "My room?" Rose repeated. She couldn't even remember the last time Mycroft had administered a spanking in her bedroom! It was always done in his study.
"Your room," he confirmed with a nod. "You may change into your night clothes if you wish, or remain in your day clothes, the choice is yours. Either way, your bottom will be bare when it goes across my knee," Mycroft cautioned. "Now go upstairs please. I'd like you to place your nose in the corner as well." He paused briefly then added, "But first come here to me."
Already standing up to leave the office, Rose stopped when he asked her to come to him. A flicker of apprehension rushed through her; the brief flash of it in her eyes did not go unnoticed by Mycroft.
As she rounded the desk, Mycroft stood up and reached for Rose, pulling her close. He held her as tightly as he dared and simply held her for a moment before speaking. "You are so very loved poppet," Mycroft whispered, the words for her ears alone. "Do not ever forget that." Knowing that she may not have survived a second punctured lung, relief coursed through his veins at being able to hold her in his arms, whole and well. After a few moments, however, he ended the cuddle and reached for the spoon. "Upstairs now," he directed. "Take this with you. I'll be up shortly."
"I'm sorry," Rose whispered before biting her lip.
"I know poppet, I know." Mycroft pressed a kiss to the top of her head before turning her around and providing a nudge in the direction of the doorway. Taking his hint, he watched Rose scurry out of his office and shortly thereafter heard the sound of her feet running up the stairs.