Mycroft Holmes raised his eyes to the heavens. It was mid-afternoon on a Saturday and he'd specifically made an appointment with Rose to begin her hours behind the wheel towards her driving license. He'd been waiting for her, standing outside his car no less, for fifteen minutes. Not only was she late, but she came dancing out of the studio towards his car, iPod in hand undoubtedly blaring music through her earbuds.
Rose came to a stop when she bumped into the car, flashing a smile in Mycroft's direction. It was quickly replaced with a sigh as Mycroft tapped the watch on his wrist. "I hopped in the shower for your benefit Mycroft. After all, cars are small and I've been dancing vigorously for the past six hours. Think about how much more annoyed you'd be if I smelled horrid for the next couple hours!"
"Unfortunately, you make a good point," Mycroft decided. "Your company is difficult to bear in the best of circumstances, sister mine. Adding an odor would simply be more than I could stand. After all, my dear, every man has his limits."
Laughing, Rose shook her head. "Aren't you going to ask me why I'm in such a wonderful, gloriously happy and smiling mood today? Surely one as observant as you has noticed the spring in my step and the glow on my face and a host of other things." She playfully poked Mycroft's arm as she waited for his response.
"You're always smiling and it's obnoxious," Mycroft retorted with a straight face. He frowned as Rose substituted a fist to playfully punch his arm rather than simply poke it with her finger. "What is it then?"
"I am no longer teaching ballet to the little ones anymore. Instead, we've got a whole new group of little ballroom dancers that I will be responsible for in two weeks!" Though she started off speaking in a normal tone, the announcement ended with a squeal that earned her an eye roll from Mycroft. "And you're taking me to dinner to celebrate, after we put in some of my hours, provided we have not killed one another by that point."
A genuine smile crossed the eldest Holmes's face. Rose's happiness was infectious and if her success with the toddler ballerinas had been any indication, she had the makings of a fine teacher and would send her new pupils into the dancing world with considerable skill. "That is good news," Mycroft agreed. "Congratulations Rose. I'm very proud of you." He groaned a bit as mere seconds later as his arms were filled with his sister without his consent. "Must you fling yourself at me in that manner?"
"Mmhm," Rose confirmed, hugging him tightly. She held on for a moment or so before stepping away and grinning at her brother once again. "So, shall we? Get on with the driving that is. And then will you take me to dinner?"
"Will you take me to dinner, she says," Mycroft echoed, shaking his head. "You make it sound as if I have the option to say no. It is only polite to ask me to spend my hard earned money on you, sister mine, rather than dictate it. No one dictates to me, save the Queen."
"And me, on occasion," Rose challenged, raising an eyebrow at him. "But I know you'll never admit it so won't even try to force you. Seriously though, let's drive!" She held her hands out for his car keys, grinning brightly at him. Had she been a bit younger, Rose may have even bounced on her toes in excitement!
Mycroft crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at her. It was the patented 'absolutely not' look and rather than see comprehension dawn across his sister's face, she saw confusion. "No," he clarified.
Rose blinked, staring at him in utter bewilderment. "No?" she repeated. Wasn't driving the whole point of his coming? "Mycroft, I'm really confused. What is 'no'?"
"You are confused by the meaning of the word 'no'?" Mycroft retorted, both eyebrows now raised. "Well that certainly explains a great deal over the years."
"Seriously! What do you mean? That's what you came here for, for us to put in some of my hours. Why are you here if you didn't intend to go through with it?" Rose was quickly growing frustrated and it showed in the frown that settled on her features. "I don't understand."
Letting out a put-upon sigh, Mycroft pointed at her high heels. "That is 'no.' That is not appropriate footwear for a driving lesson. You will wear flat shoes, you will surrender your iPod and mobile, and then we will drive. Not before."
"It would have been nice to know that before this very moment, Mycroft. I would've brought flats with me if I had known you'd have a fit about it. Any other requirements I need to fulfill before I can begin driving?" The youngest Holmes arched an eyebrow at him in a look that resembled Mycroft's own.
"You could lose the unbecoming attitude you're displaying," Mycroft replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "These conditions are for your safety and mine, which I take very seriously. If these terms are not acceptable to you, I suggest you find someone else to assist you in attaining the required practice hours."
Rose raised her hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright, we'll do it your way. That means a stop at Baker Street though so I can exchange these shoes for flats."
Nodding, Mycroft went to the other side of the car and opened the door for Rose, shutting it after she got into the car. He couldn't help but wonder if he was going to be putting his life into the hands of a complete ill-equipped driver. Rose may say that she had passed an actual driving exam in Luxembourg, but there was always the chance that she had passed by a hairs breadth and was in fact a poor driver. There was only one way to find out…
Twenty-five minutes later, Mycroft found himself waiting for Rose yet again. His foot tapped impatiently on her sitting room floor as he this entire scenario far too reminiscent to Rose's teen years. "Rosenwyn Holmes, what in god's name are you doing in there? Making a pair of flat shoes?" he finally called out in the direction of her bedroom door.
"You've grown more impatient in your old age," Rose observed as she opened the door. Not only had she traded her brown buckle heels for a pair of gray flats, she had traded her yellow giraffe sweater and gray skirt for a black and white striped top and wide legged sailor pants. A massive sun hat and sunglasses completed Rose's look. She struck a dramatic pose in the doorway of her room, letting her shades slide down her nose just a bit. "All right Mr. DeMille," Rose drawled in her best Norma Desmond impression. "I'm ready for my close-up." She watched as Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh. Then… he chuckled, before outright laughing.
"Okay it wasn't that funny," Rose commented, giving Mycroft a worried look.
"That was a precise rendition of how you introduced your steampunk phase when you were fifteen," Mycroft explained, still laughing. "Only you look like a decent human being this time round."
Rose laughed along with him, shaking her head. "You certainly didn't laugh then!" In fact, now that she thought about it, he'd been downright furious. She won the battle to keep her new clothing, but her bum had paid the price for buying things he wouldn't approve of and far exceeding the budget he'd given her.
"Well it was not the least bit amusing that you spent two thousand pounds buying whatever it was that you wore during that phase. I refuse to call it clothing because it was not at all that. In fact, the whole of it was not the amount to spend nor the result I intended," Mycroft reminded her. "It made me wonder if I was doing the wrong thing letting you attend university too young. You were being exposed to all sorts of new and unsavory things and people. That phase made me question your maturity level quite seriously."
"Well, luckily for you I'm over that now," Rose said with a smile. "And I changed shoes as requested. Can we drive now?"
"I wasn't aware changing shoes meant a complete outfit change as well. You look far more suited for Italy than gray, chilly London," Mycroft pointed out. He mentally noted Rose's involuntary shiver at the mention of Italy. It didn't seem chilly in her flat but he couldn't think of any reason for her to shiver, so for now he filed that bit of information away for later review. "But yes, you're wearing the appropriate shoes now. Turn over your iPod and mobile, make certain you have your learner's permit in that cavernous accessory you call your purse."
Rose tossed her sunglasses and hat onto her coffee table before taking the requested items out of her purse, watching them disappear in various pockets of Mycroft's overcoat. "I am getting those back, right? Without special tracking devices implanted in them?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"Rosenwyn I'll be in the car with you the entire time, watching you drive and praying we remain accident free throughout today's exercises. When precisely would I have the time or the opportunity to put anything in your electronic devices?" Mycroft queried. "You're becoming paranoid."
"Well, you're you so that's not necessarily unfounded paranoia," Rose reminded him with a stern look.
Mycroft rolled his eye at the look she was giving him. "You'll get them back without any unwanted additions of any sort. If you're through interrogating me and have turned over all your electronic devices, I suggest you get your coat on and we'll be off."
Thirty minutes into their two hour drive time, Rose was seriously wondering if getting her license was at all worth the hassle. "Mycroft, I swear I will hit you if you touch this steering wheel again," she ground out through clenched teeth.
"So I should just let you hit the pedestrian or the curb and do nothing to interfere? That's hardly a sound option Rose. All you need to do is pay attention," Mycroft lectured. "I'd very much like us to arrive back at the townhouse in one piece with my car undamaged with no charges of vehicular manslaughter along the way."
"I was five feet from the curb, have stayed well within the lane markers and the people you thought I was destined to hit were twenty yards away! Plenty of time to avoid them by coming to a stop, considering I'm already below the speed limit," Rose retorted. "And you may want to review your priorities a bit, considering the way you just listed them. My brother, the humanitarian." She shook her head, unable to keep from laughing softly. Leave it to Mycroft to worry about his car before worrying about the populace at large, aka the goldfish!
By the time they pulled into Mycroft's driveway, Rose wasn't sure which one of them was more frazzled. One would think that the British Government could manage two hours in the car with her but it appeared to be a rare weak point in Mycroft's armor. "No offense My, but I think I'll find someone else to help with my hours."
An eyebrow rose incredulously. "And just who else would be able to take you?" Mycroft challenged.
"Sherlock's got a license," Rose countered with a shrug.
Mycroft scoffed and shook his head. "Sherlock has a license and no car to drive. No rental company will let you practice drive in their car either, whether or not its Sherlock's name on the paper work. That would be an absolute nightmare for them legally. And you are completely out of your mind if you think I will turn my car over to you and Sherlock."
With a heavy sigh Rose turned off the car and took the keys from the ignition to hand them back to Mycroft. "Dinner?" she asked with a hopeful tone.
Though he was relieved to have the keys back in his own hand, Mycroft let out a sigh at Rose's question. "Well, we are still alive and my car is intact. I suppose that is worth celebrating. Now get out of the driver's seat young lady," he ordered while gesturing at the door. A smile tugged at his lips as Rose gave him a cheeky salute and practically hopped out of the vehicle with the level of energy only a very active twenty-year-old could muster. "What did you have in mind?"
"Oh, you know. Something expensive I can't afford on my own." Rose flashed him a grin as she buckled her seatbelt. "Surprise me brother mine!"
"A surprise it is then," Mycroft agreed. "Now pay attention to how a good driver drives, will you?" A smile tugged at his lips when Rose snorted indignantly.
A short time later, the siblings found themselves at The Ivy. Rose's eyes went wide as they found a place to park. "This place is so busy Mycroft are you sure we can get in? And am I even dressed properly?"
"When you mentioned dinner I sent Anthea a text asking her to arrange it. I thought it you'd enjoy it," Mycroft admitted. "And you look fine. Rose… Rose don't do that." He rolled his eyes as Rose tipped the rearview mirror in her direction and was about to scold her when he realized she wasn't looking at her face. Rather, she was looking at her neck, fingering the scar there. Mycroft watched as she let go of the mirror and reached into her bag for a black fashion scarf.
"It's hardly visible you know," Mycroft said quietly as Rose fussed with the scarf. "Only if someone is close by you and has a reason to look there. No one would see it in there poppet."
Rose gave him a bit of a smile and continued to play with the scarf. "I usually cover it with make-up," she said softly. She knew he wouldn't miss the way she avoided looking at him, even as she reached for the rearview mirror once more. "When I'm just practicing or teaching I don't bother with any, so I always make sure I have a scarf with me. One that will go with just about anything I wear. Even if no one can see it, I still know it's there." Finally deciding her scarf was arranged just how she wanted it, Rose let go of the mirror again, her hands folding in her lap for a moment.
"It still hurts sometimes," Rose whispered.
Mycroft's eyes went wide with alarm. That was not normal at all! "It what?" he asked with a frown. "That shouldn't be. It shouldn't be hurting still. It's been months."
Turning to look at him, Rose tried to summon a little smile for him but couldn't quite seem to. "It doesn't, not really. But it feels like it does at times. Its phantom pain though, similar to what people who lose a limb experience. They feel as if the limb is still there and hurting but it isn't."
The eldest Holmes swallowed hard and tried to think of something comforting and profound to say, especially since it was the first time Rose had ever said anything about it to him. That was his job, after all, to comfort her and offer wisdom. Sadly he had had no preparation in how to assist his baby sister in healing from a violent attack. Part of him was ashamed to admit that he hadn't thought about her still suffering from it nearly six months later. Perhaps that was because Mycroft didn't want to think of Rose experiencing PTSD symptoms and thus had acted as if that wasn't the case, as though doing so would make it so.
"This one is much easier to hide, though I have to alter some of my dance costumes now," Rose continued, indicating the scar on her chest that was hidden by her clothing. "They both hurt sometimes. When I have nightmares, or when I smell the body spray he used." She shook her head as if shaking away those thoughts, then tried to smile again. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so melancholy. Should we go in?'
Mycroft found himself wishing they were at the townhouse where he could wrap his arms around her and never let go. Or at least not until her spirits lifted a bit and she could smile at him again. Unfortunately they were in his car in a restaurant car park. "Don't apologize," he said firmly. "If you need to talk about this, then I want you to do so. If now is that time, so be it. How often do you have nightmares?"
"I used to have them a lot, sometimes every night for a long stretch of time. They've got better though, maybe once or twice a week but not more than that." Rose wisely left out the reason why they had improved of late, namely because she and John shared a bed nearly every night now. She kept him grounded to London, to the present, soothing away the nightmares of war. He kept her safe and loved, banishing her nightmares with his protective and comforting presence.
"Please don't infer that this is some sort of nefarious plan to lure you away from Baker Street but… If it would make you feel safer, help with your nightmares, you could move home again. I wouldn't think less of you for it," Mycroft said gently. "And you'll always be welcome, sister mine, even if it was only a short stay."
Rose turned to look at him, smiling softly. "Mycroft, that is very sweet of you. And also precisely why I bought you Lilibet, so you wouldn't be lonely." She grinned brightly as he began to sputter.
Mycroft shook his head. "Rosenwyn Aramantha I am not lonely! Please cease and desist your fanciful imaginings, you impertinent child."
She giggled and leaned across the seat to kiss his cheek. "I do love you, you know. Even when you're silly. I'm alright for now though; promise. You'll be the first I tell if that ever changes, My."
Not entirely convinced that she was in fact alright, Mycroft's eyes searched Rose's though he wasn't sure what exactly he was looking for. Fear, anxiety, signs of deception. Whatever it was he didn't find it there. Then it hit him—John; she had John. She had John and no longer needed him to check for monsters under her bed and kiss away tears when she had bad dreams. The realization of it hit Mycroft rather hard, almost painfully in fact. A wistful look entered his eye and Mycroft watched Rose pause and tilt her head to the side as she examined him. As observant as ever, he thought. Just as I taught her to be.
"My? Are you okay? You… you almost look sad right now. Did I hurt your feelings?" she asked, her brows furrowed with concern. Though if she had hurt his feelings by refusing his invitation to move home, Rose had no idea how she could make it better because she didn't want to leave Baker Street and the cozy home she, John and Sherlock somehow made together.
Forcing himself to smile convincingly, Mycroft nodded. "Of course not Poppet. I was merely thinking about how grown up you are, and lamenting about how old that makes me feel. Now, if you're ready, we'll go inside and claim our reservation. You can tell me all about your plans for your new students."
"Please be advised that we will not be leaving here until I get a peppermint ice cream sandwich," Rose warned before sipping at her cappuccino.
"Always you and the caffeine," Mycroft replied, shaking his head. "It's as if you aren't even British, Rose."
"The vodka in your glass isn't British either." She raised her eyebrows in silent challenge as she continued to examine the menu. The Cornish crab bisque had been an amazing starter and if it wouldn't offend the chef- and probably Mycroft- Rose would be seriously tempted to just as for more of it rather than a main dish. "We need to come here more often, by the way. I could easily come daily for that bisque."
"And bankrupt me in the process." Mycroft made his decision, ordering the Thai seabass. "Next time, you and I will split the Devonshire chicken for two," he told Rose. A small smile escaped as she flashed him a bright grin, clearly pleased to know they would come back again sometime. After how anxious and serious she'd been in the car just before dinner, he was about ready to promise her the moon and stars if it would make her smile. Thankfully, all Rose required was a bit of spoiling with fancy meals.
"I'll do the Ivy hamburger with fried egg and I'll skip the pommes allumettes, please." Rose didn't miss the surprised look on their waiter's face and offered him a smile. "For now? If I'm going to have room for dessert I think it may come at their expense and an ice cream sandwich wouldn't last long enough to take home. Could I please have them delivered just before we leave? Then I can snack on them at home and they won't go to waste and I still get dessert!" The delight on her face at having solved the conundrum of her fancy fries was infectious.
The waiter chuckled and returned her smile. "You have it all planned out I see. I'll let the chef know, I'm sure he'll be happy to accommodate you, miss." Taking their menus, the waiter disappeared to put in the orders for their main dish.
"Well done," Mycroft said quietly, feeling proud of how deftly Rose had managed that. "I applaud your effort to not waste food and yet somehow not insult the staff or chef. I'm certain Sherlock will enjoy your pommes allumettes."
"Don't look so smug, brother mine," Rose murmured. "It's completely abhorrent and quite unbecoming for your face." With a wink, she reached for her cappuccino and took a sip. This… this… was just like old times and Rose couldn't be happier.
It was the end of a long week and an even longer day for John Watson. Day was rather a loosely defined term in this case, John thought to himself as he trudged up the stairs to 221B. It had really started the night before when a case had come up just before 3am.
Early that morning he and Sherlock had been on the hunt for a man whom they suspected was the perpetrator of several robberies who had just elevated his crime level to include the homicide of an elderly couple at the latest break in. Time was of the essence and they were still working the case at just past 8am when John's mobile rang.
"No, now's not a good time, try Richards," he told the nurse at a nearby hospital. "You've tried everyone? Seriously? And the diagnosis is what again?" John cursed at the answer she gave. "Alright, alright, I'm on my way. I'll be there in twenty minutes, have everything ready to go."
"Go? Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, looking up from his microscope. "I need you to go through that surveillance footage, you're sharper than Lestrade's lot are. Better at reading body language. Our killer could be captured on that video John and we need to know!"
"I know, I know," John responded with a heavy sigh. "Look, there's a little boy who needs emergency surgery and it won't wait for me to finish examining that footage. No, don't start with me," John said when Sherlock opened his mouth to protest. "Someone is going to die if I don't go."
"Someone else may die if you do go!" Sherlock replied loudly.
"Well, they've got you and this little boy doesn't have anyone, so let's hope for the best on both sides, alright? Good luck Sherlock. I'll be back as quickly as I can." With that said, John left for the hospital.
What should have only been a surgery lasting a few hours turned out to be much more complicated and before John knew it he'd been in surgery for six hours and car crash victims delayed his leaving yet again. With most of the emergency staff out with the flu, there was nothing for it and John made it through the day as best he could.
Now, umpteen hours later, all John wanted was a cup of tea and John Watson was not a man whose cup of tea one should ever trifle with. He toed off his shoes and headed for the kitchen, his eyes falling on the tea kettle. As he picked it up, John immediately caught the stench of something foul. After debating for a few seconds whether or not he wanted to find out what was inside, John finally lifted the lid and peered inside. What looked like congealed blood was lying thick inside the kettle, but then again, it was rather black looking so perhaps not blood at all. That did not make the very tired doctor feel any better. "SHERLOCK! How many times have I told you to leave the bloody tea kettle alone? What the hell is this?" John thundered at his flat mate, holding the kettle out in Sherlock's direction.
Just as John began to raise his voice, Rose entered the flat. She had only just got home from her dinner with Mycroft and hadn't missed the sound of raised voices as she climbed the stairs. Upon hearing what the issue was, Rose immediately turned around and exited, only to come back just a few moments later, bearing her own tea kettle. She frowned at the men as they continued to bicker, uncertain if they just needed to have their row and get over it or if she should intervene.
"You did this on purpose! Just so I couldn't have my tea when I came home because you were angry that I left! It wasn't my fault I couldn't stay on the case with you. But those people needed my help Sherlock, and I'm a doctor, I heal people that need it and they needed me to be a doctor and not a crime solver!"
"I needed your help," Sherlock retorted, gritting his teeth. "And you deprived me of it!" He brought his fists down hard on the table. His childish display, while momentarily making him feel good, backfired almost immediately. He watched as John's eyebrows went skyward and the irate doctor slammed the beloved kettle onto the counter before placing his hands on his hips. Instinctively, Sherlock took a little step back, realizing he'd pushed a bit too far this time. One of these days he'd realize John was at his limit before pushing him over it, Sherlock reflected. Perhaps he could conduct an experiment to find that thin line between crabby John Watson and looking-like-he-wants-to-break-every-bone-in-my-body John Watson.
"No, you did not need my help, you wanted someone to show off to and tell you how brilliant you are!" John accused, pointing at finger at Sherlock as he slowly advanced on the younger man. "Other people exist in this world Sherlock and sometimes their needs are far greater than your own. How would you like it if some other doctor didn't answer his mobile and respond to an emergency when it was Rose needing his help?"
Rolling her eyes, Rose could see this escalating rather quickly if she didn't intervene and ending with John storming off to the pub and Sherlock pouting for hours. Without a second of hesitation she stepped between the two arguing men, placing a hand on each of their chests- or rather a teapot in John's case- to further separate them while fixing both with an evil eye. "Gentlemen, this is unnecessary. Sherlock, you will not do disgusting things to the tea kettle just because you're disgruntled at John. And John, there's no need to shout, you can always borrow mine even if I'm not around."
Though the men glared at each other a moment longer, they did back down- and away- from one another. Shaking her head, Rose looked at John with a fond smile. "You are a very grumpy man when you're deprived of your tea," she commented, arching an eyebrow at him. "Luckily for you, I brought my nice clean teapot with me when I popped over here. Get comfortable, settle, and I'll have some tea for you in just a moment."
Once the tea was going, Rose turned to Sherlock and raised both eyebrows at him. "The teapot?" she asked quietly. "You had to put it in the teapot? The one material item John loves more than any other? Leave it be, alright, for my sake, alright? Please?" She gave her big brother a pleading look and was rewarded with a nod. "Good. I love you." Rose stood up on her toes to kiss Sherlock's cheek.
"Where have you been all day?" Sherlock asked as he watched Rose moving around the kitchen. First it was finding the tea and making sure a cup was clean, then opening the cupboard and jumping up to reach a box of hobnobs on the top shelf… and missing. "You could ask," he pointed out, reaching for the box.
Rose smiled as she took the box. "Thank you. Buy me a step stool, will you?" she gently nudged his ribs with her elbow before reaching for some small plates. "I've been home a while, didn't you notice? I brought my pommes allumettes home from the Ivy and set them down by you a couple hours ago."
"Ah!" Sherlock said, giving her a curt nod. "I saw those and wasn't sure where they'd come from. They were delicious by the way."
His baby sister stopped to look at him, her eyes wide with abject horror. "Sherlock… I get maybe not seeing me, or maybe not hearing me, since I did go back to my flat because you were doing icky things. But you realize food doesn't just appear right? In fancy containers with a hand-drawn heart on it? Give me a sign, brother mine, that you're fine." Rose let out a laugh at the unintentional rhyming before sobering once more. "Seriously though, how did your brilliant mind explain its appearance?"
Sherlock shrugged. "It just sort of happened. Just like my tea in the mornings when John is off doing boring things."
"Oh for god sakes Sherlock, Mrs. Hudson brings you tea those mornings because she worries about you and takes pity on you," Rose responded, shaking her head. "Your morning tea does not come via the tea fairy, nor does any other drink or edible item." Her eyes narrowed for a moment as she scrutinized his face, reaching for his collar to pull his head down closer.
"What? What are you looking at? Do I have something "icky" on me, or are you still trying to process the fact that I don't give a damn how my tea appears, so long as it does?" Sherlock asked, scowling darkly as he batted her hands away.
"Oh no, well past that," Rose assured him with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'm trying to figure out now which of us is the grown up, because I'm not sure anymore. Sort of a problem if you're the one supposedly still "raising" me, yeah?"
Rather than respond verbally, at least initially, Sherlock reached out and lightly smacked her thigh. "Behave. And keep that sort of musing to yourself. God knows neither of us need Mycroft around here more often than he already is. Which is completely your fault by the way," Sherlock pointed out. "So other than clearly getting dinner somewhere, what have you been up to? Making mischief?"
"I practiced today with Alfred, the competition is almost here! And then did some of my driving hours with Mycroft." She made a gagging noise, emblematic of the entire experience to be sure.
"Went that well, hm?" Sherlock had anticipated as much. The two of them in the car sounded like a proper nightmare. "Did he survive or did you dump him alongside the road somewhere?"
"Of course I didn't," Rose giggled. "Though I certainly did think about it at least thirty times. I don't think I can go through that again with My or I really will dump him somewhere. Grabbing at the wheel and shouting, all over utter nonsense. I've no idea what I'll do now to get my hours in before I can test. None of my friends here have vehicles." She carefully poured the now-ready tea into three mugs, and moved each to its own plate. A few hobnobs were added to the plates before she fixed John's just the way he liked it, then her own. "This one's for you," Rose told Sherlock, indicating the remaining plate on the counter.
"I'll see if I can get a car from somewhere," Sherlock commented as she left the kitchen. "Then you can log your hours with me."
Rose stopped in her tracks and turned to give Sherlock a stern look. "Not stolen Sherlock. Promise?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes and nodded, looking slightly affronted that she'd even say such a thing. Not that he wouldn't steal if necessary, but the last thing he would do was get Rose involved in something like that. Mycroft would have both their heads.
Having Sherlock's promise, Rose continued into the sitting room, going straight to John. "Hello you," she murmured, holding out a plate with the mug and biscuits. "Fancy seeing you here. Come here often?" She wiggled her eyebrows at him, drawing a smile from the tired doctor.
"I do, though I can't always remember why," John chuckled. "Hello to you too." He took the plate from her and set it aside, then reached for Rose's to do the same. With the hot beverages out of the way, he tugged Rose onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her closer and didn't stop until their noses touched. John closed his eyes, inhaling the light scent of her perfume, wondering when it had come to smell like home. "I'm trying to decide if you're the calm before the storm," he murmured, indicating Sherlock. "Or if you're the angel of mercy. Any thoughts?" John opened his eyes and looked into Rose's.
"Considering I brought you tea, and how very much you love your tea, I'd opt for angel of mercy," Rose said quietly, letting out a sigh of contentment.
John opened his eyes and smiled at her, eyes full of tenderness. "You're gorgeous, whatever you are," he decided. "And very nice to come home to, regardless of the fact that your brother is bonkers enough to mess with my tea."
Rose laughed softly, unable to disagree with that assessment, then touched John's lips with her own, as softly as a whisper. John needed little further prompting to respond in kind, moving his mouth over hers, kissing her slowly and softly at first, then more insistently. Finally he broke away, only so they could breathe, then kissed her nose, making Rose laugh again.
"You're very good at this," she murmured, moving closer to John in order to dot kisses along his jawline. "Too good in fact."
"Glad to hear it," John replied, his breath tickling her skin. He turned his head and nipped lightly at her earlobe, unable to keep from grinning when it drew a tiny squeak of surprise from her. Inexplicably, Rose began to pull away, making John frown and follow her gaze.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rose had caught a flash of movement that could only be attributed to her brother. Wondering what was making him move so quickly, not to mention tear him away from his work, Rose turned her head just in time to see Sherlock grab a notebook from his desk and begin to scribble in it. As soon as he realized she was looking, Sherlock shut the notebook with a snap.
"Huh uh," Rose said firmly. "You're not just going to close that up because I'm looking now. What are you doing?" When Sherlock rolled his eyes, Rose quirked an eyebrow at him. "Sherlock, I'm serious. What were you doing? Were you taking notes on us?"
"Don't be ridiculous!" Sherlock snapped. He tucked the notebook under his arm and attempted to cross the room to lock it away in his bedroom before Rose could snatch it from him.
"Oh no, no you don't! I want to see that now!" Rose retorted, following Sherlock as he attempted to make an escape with the notebook. "Give that to me! You're taking notes on me and I want to know what they are!"
Rolling his eyes, John reached for his tea and began to sip at it. Rose and Sherlock was somehow equal parts ridiculous, amusing, and utterly infuriating at the same time. He watched as Rose darted after Sherlock, easily able to slide around and in front of him, grabbing at the notebook. "If you two make me spill my tea, so help me I'll-" Had they been paying even the least bit of attention to him, John would have made a threat, but it was clear the siblings were in their own little rambunctious universe at the moment. Plus, John wasn't entirely sure what sort of threat might have been taken seriously by either of them.
Sherlock led her on a merry chase throughout the main floor of 221B for a few moments, more than able to keep the notebook high enough she couldn't reach it, until finally Rose jumped at him. "No! Rose, no! Don't!" Sherlock ordered.
Naturally, she didn't listen and Sherlock reacted instinctively by tossing the notebook aside and trying to catch her- try being the operative word. Unable to accommodate catching and holding Rose on just a few second's notice, she effectively tackled him to the floor where Sherlock landed with a mighty thud on the floor, with his baby sister coming to straddle his stomach. Sherlock lay there, gasping to regain the air knocked out of his lungs, and watched with a scowl as Rose easily got up and retrieved the notebook.
John watched the two siblings, narrowing his eyes at them. "You two play too hard sometimes," he cautioned them, shaking his head. "Is it really necessary? You could really hurt her Sherlock
"Terribly necessary. I grew up with two brothers, remember? Tussles weren't exactly out of the ordinary." Rose paused and frowned in thought. "Alright, actually Sherlock and I always played hard, Mycroft never did, he merely shouted about it. Still does." Giving her boyfriend a shrug, Rose opened the notebook and began to examine it. Initially it seemed like nonsense, but the longer she stared at it, the more sense it seemed to make. It was some type of code and within just a few minutes, during which time Sherlock attempted to regain the air that had been knocked out of him, Rose had cracked it.
Sherlock was making detailed records of how, when, how often, and how long she and John kissed. Had it been anyone else, Rose would happily break their nose and think nothing of it. But this was Sherlock, and Sherlock was… well… Sherlock. "This," Rose said, holding the notebook out. "Is not okay. John and I are not an experiment. This is not something to collect data on. It's hurtful and invasive, Sherlock."
Her brother had the good sense to look a bit ashamed of himself, the tips of his ears going pink. "I wasn't trying-"
"I know," Rose said gently. "You weren't trying to be invasive, you were simply doing what you do best: collecting data. But this isn't okay data to collect, at least not from me, alright?" As Sherlock got up from the floor, having caught his breath once more, Rose crossed the room and handed him back the notebook. "No more, for me. Please?" She gave him a hopeful look and rewarded Sherlock with a hug when he reluctantly agreed.
"It would be less tempting if you two weren't doing that here all the time. You do have a flat of your own, though I don't seem to find you using it that often these days," Sherlock pointed out. Despite being a bit dejected at his valid data collection now more or less forbidden, he wrapped his arms around Rose and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
"That's not my fault, blame John," Rose replied. She made no attempt to let go of him just yet, enjoying the cuddle from her big brother. It had always been one of the things he was good at, just for her, and only with her.
John laughed loudly and shook his head. "How is it my fault? Come explain that to me," he decided, feigning a stern look while crooking his finger at her. "Over here miss and enlighten me as to your logic."
Rose abandoned her brother and sauntered across the room towards John, stopping to retrieve her tea before helping herself to his lap. "You, sir, don't scare me in the slightest," she announced, giving him a stern look, not unlike one Mycroft would give.
"Then I'm afraid that you aren't very bright," John said, a teasing twinkle in his eye. "Because I should certainly frighten you." He waggled his eyebrows at her teasingly before sipping at his tea.
"Mmm, yes you're very scary dearest." Rose nestled closer to him and pressed a kiss to his lips… as soon as the tea cup moved that is.
"See?!" Sherlock shouted in an accusatory tone. "This is exactly what I mean! You're both always doing that! How am I not supposed to want to collect the data of what is happening quite literally all over my flat? Honestly Rose, I can only take so much you know."
Rose sighed and turned to look in Sherlock's direction. "It's truly not my fault! John hates my room!"
The man in question blinked and frowned. "I do?"
"You do. You're always complaining about how it's 'so damn pink' and that you feel like you're 'sleeping in a cupcake'," Rose replied. "On and on and on you go about it." That was a wee bit of an exaggeration, but she did love teasing him so, especially about his dislike of her bedroom color. "But we should move next door and give my poor beleaguered brother a break from us."
John downed the last of his tea then gave Sherlock an appraising look before nodding. "Alright love, go on over and I'll be there after I get some things from my room, yeah?" He pressed a chaste kiss to her nose before nudging her up from his lap.
Ninety Minutes Later
"It really is like sleeping in a cupcake you know," John murmured as they were about to turn off the lights in Rose's bedroom.
"Isn't that sort of charming though?" Rose countered. "I mean, haven't you always wanted to sleep in a cupcake?"
John, who had been about to lie down on the pillow, sat back up and gave her an incredulous look. "No… I'm a soldier, that's not allowed," he pointed out. "Have you always wanted to sleep in a cupcake?"
Rose nodded, grinning at the disbelief on his face. "Why not? It's very lovely and fantastical sounding. People dream about sleeping under the stars, in trees, in castles. Why not a cupcake?"
"Because it's bonkers and so are you for that matter. Now go the fuck to sleep, you," John half-growled. He grinned when Rose giggled madly at him, then put a large hand to her waist, drawing her close to him before wrapping his arm around her midriff to hold her snugly all through the night.
"I don't know what Mycroft is so worried about," Sherlock commented. They were twenty minutes into her second attempt at supervised driving the following Friday and thus far Rose had done everything just right. She used her turn signals, she looked over her shoulder, and drove defensively while scanning the cars around her to anticipate their movements. "Were you doing this well with him? He made it sound as though you were attempting to drag race in London and it was only by some major miracle that you both survived."
In the driver's seat, Rose rolled her eyes. "And he accuses us of being dramatic. The only time we were in danger is when he was shouting "Rosenwyn there's a pedestrian there!" and grabbing at the wheel when I was two intersections away. He was also intensely fearful that I would hit parked cars and drive up onto the curb. Where he got those ideas from I don't know."
"I cannot believe I'm about to say this and defend him," Sherlock admitted in a bewildered tone. "But you did hit some parked cars that one time so perhaps he's somewhat justified in that fear at least. Just a bit."
Rose pinned her brother with a side-eye look. "That was completely not my fault. He left me in the car with it running!" she huffed. "How was I supposed to resist climbing into the front seat and looking at everything?"
Sherlock turned a perplexed look on his sister. "You do realize that leaving you in the car wasn't actually an invitation to then drive it, correct? Are you seriously blaming Mycroft for the fact that you drove the car and hit two parked cars in the street?"
"I'm a Holmes, Sherlock. That should have been all the information Mycroft needed to know in order to come to the conclusion that I shouldn't be left alone in a running car. He survived you after all, you'd think he picked up some skills in the process of doing so," Rose pointed out. "In any case, I simply forgot about gravity for a second and then I was just rolling down the driveway and events transpired." She shrugged her shoulders as if that explanation somehow made perfect sense.
Her brother could only gape at her for a long moment, simultaneously in awe of and horrified by his baby sister. "If 'I forgot about gravity and events transpired' was the only excuse you gave Mycroft it's no wonder you got the smacking of your life," Sherlock replied. "I'm almost sad I missed that while I was at school. Not the smacking part," he clarified when Rose glowered at him. "But your attempt to explain yourself to Mycroft."
Sherlock could practically envision it in his mind's eye, a teary-eyed yet angry little five year old shouting at a furious Mycroft that not only was it his fault but events had transpired! Having arrived home an hour or so after the incident, Sherlock had missed the hoopla but not the call for cuddles from the 'nice' brother. A much subdued Rose had followed him around like a shadow the rest of the day, bursting into tears every time she saw Mycroft.
"Alright, alright, so we had a bad go at my very first driving attempt eons ago," Rose admitted. "Thankfully I've improved immensely in the fifteen years since then. Besides, rumor has it Mycroft had a go at driving the car himself and did far worse at it then I did!"
"Rumor has it?" Sherlock asked. "Who's spreading rumors like that about Mycroft?"
"Well no one really, but Mother commented to Mycroft that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. And, at bedtime that night, she said I wasn't the first little Holmes to want to drive far too early. I've never got a satisfactory explanation of what that meant," Rose admitted. "But I certainly know what it implies."
Sherlock smirked gleefully at the implications of such remarks. How he loved stories about Mycroft being less than perfect! Growing up, Sherlock swore that Mycroft must have been the best child that ever lived, rendering himself some sort of monstrous child that was forever getting into trouble. It always delighted him to hear that Mycroft had not been perfect after all. "That sounds like a theory worthy of an investigation…"
"How are the driving lessons going?" the Queen asked while watching Mycroft pack up his briefcase.
Mycroft looked up at her, quirking an eyebrow. "Moving on to none business topics then, are we?" He took a moment to lock the briefcase before responding and smiled politely when the Queen handed him a fresh cup of tea. "They are… going," he said at length, sounding quite put upon. "She worries me when she drives and then fusses at me when I make corrections. That's what I'm supposed to do as the licensed driver overseeing her practice hours, tell her when she's gone wrong and fix it."
The Queen chuckled. "It could be worse, you know. She could be driving in a war-torn London like I did in my 20s. Considerably more danger there than she'll find these days on a London street, provided she avoids the pedestrians."
A thoughtful look crossed Mycroft's face as he sipped his tea and processed her Majesty's words. "That's quite true I suppose. Somehow I think Rose would have found it a grand adventure and run away from home to become a battlefield nurse. She's particularly irrepressible."
"Perhaps she might have. She's an ambitious girl and might have wanted to make a difference or been swept up in the romance of war and young men in uniform and all that. Then again, for Rose to be alive at that juncture would mean you were as well. How would you have handled world wars, Mycroft? I hear it all the time that they were inevitable. Do you agree?" Having lived through the war and been part of it, the Queen was quite interested in hearing Mycroft's take on that theory.
Mycroft scoffed and shook his head. "No good historian will tell you that something was inevitable. It is simply a set of circumstances with multiple outcomes that were possible. Any number of factors along the way could have changed things. Hitler getting into art school, for example," he posited. "Think how that would change the variables. As for myself, I'd like to think I'd have done a better job of things." He raised an eyebrow when the Queen began to chuckle.
"Less appeasement in the early days, certainly, but what if other factors were changed along the way? The Archduke of Austria for instance, one of the most botched assassination plans in history, perhaps could be prevented. But if that factor changes and he and his wife live, that does nothing to solve matter within Austria-Hungary itself. History is far too complex to boil down to inevitabilities and its far easier to find mistakes in hindsight then it is in the moment," Mycroft added. "I'd like to think I'd have prevented the wars in some way, or at least kept Britain out of it, but one can never tell."
"Churchill did well. I think everyone did what they thought best, even when it turned out not to be," the Queen responded. "Such is the nature of war. Luckily we have you now." She smiled genuinely as she said this. "Well versed in every possible thing that might become a factor at any time in any problem. You'd best not die, Mycroft. Put some of that brain power to finding a way to preserve yourself for all eternity," she teased.
Just as Mycroft was about to respond, his mobile vibrated in his pocket.
"Must be Anthea," the Queen surmised. "She's a lovely girl, you should bring her round next time Mycroft. Though I suppose she's holding down the fort, as the saying goes. Have you ever thought about that?"
Mycroft gave her a quizzical look. "Thought about what? Do you mind?" he added, retrieving his mobile. When the queen nodded her permission, Mycroft responded to a few text messages from Anthea as they continued to chat.
"Anthea! You two make a lovely couple at gatherings. Haven't you ever thought about a nice dinner without all the trappings of work? You haven't have you," the Queen said, answering her own question. She sighed heavily and shook her head.
"Do I exude an air of desperation of late?" Mycroft questioned, giving the queen a quizzical look. "Why is it that people in my life are suddenly concerned that I am lonely or in need of a relationship. Has it not been well established by now that relationships of a personal nature are not my milieu? Besides, I have Cat."
The queen raised an eyebrow at him. "I thought I christened her Lilibet. Why would you change it?"
"I haven't. I call her Cat when she's disobedient. Ruddy little thing, do you know what she did this morning? I wake up, go into my study and there's the arm of the couch all ripped up and not two feet away is the massive scratching post I just purchased for her to avoid that very thing! So she is most definitely Cat today and I locked her in the loo before I left."
"With a litter box?" Her Majesty asked, barely suppressing a grin. She chuckled lightly when Mycroft reached for his mobile once more.
Sure enough, Mycroft had left food and water for her, but no litter box. Was there truly no end to the nonsense that cat caused? It was as if Lilibet took after Rose in the level of mischief and problems she caused. That thought actually made him smile just a little as he hurriedly began to text.
'Anthea, send someone to my house to let out the bloody cat. M'
'The little monster is in the loo on the first floor. M'
'Preferably sooner rather than later before she does her business in there. M'
"You'll get into a routine with her and things will settle," the Queen assured him. "You're just not used to sharing your home anymore. Have you ever thought of moving to a smaller place?"
Just as Mycroft finished texting Anthea, a call from her came through.
"Go ahead and take it," the Queen told him before he could even ask. She poured herself another cup of tea while Mycroft took the call.
Mycroft gave a nod of thanks before answering the call. "Yes, Anthea?" A moment later, his calm demeanor cracked as he replied loudly and angrily, "They what?!"
The Queen clicked her tongue and shook her head, quite sympathetic to his troubles without even knowing for sure what they were. She watched with amusement as Mycroft hung up on Anthea and hurriedly placed a call.
NOTE: Dear Readers… It has been far too long, so I'd best start out with an apology. My life has exploded in good chaos since I last updated. I'm entering the final stages of my PhD (studying for comps now!) and have been given some courses to teach on my own, making me a very busy but happy girl! Sadly, it also sucks up far too much time and energy, leaving me little to no time for brainstorming and writing, hence why this chapter has been so long in coming. The story is NOT over and I have no intention of ending it anytime soon, nor will it be abandoned. I ask for your patience with me and my chaotic life. Know that I want to write chapters just as much as you want to read them! I will update as often as I can in the coming months. Thank you for continuing to read, for leaving your wonderful comments and messages, and for being fantastic readers overall! Take care!