Ensconced in a warm cab, Rose pulled her mobile out of her purse and began composing a text.

'You at home?'

'No, working a case'

'Could use your brother right about now'

'Will he be coming this way soon?'

Rose sighed heavily as she read John's responses. 'Don't know what either of my brothers are doing. Don't care'

There was a slightly longer pause before she received a reply.

'Everything okay love?'

'Just my brothers being my brothers.' Rose texted back.

'You sure?'

'Positive.'

'Love you, darling girl.'

John's words brought a smile to her face. 'Love you too.'

This left her with a dilemma though. Not feeling much like being alone, Rose opened her contact list to see who she could call for an impromptu outing. Louise was out of town at a competition so she was eliminated from the options. There were a few other girls from the dance studio and while Rose was friendly with them and they socialized at gatherings, she wasn't close with them. Never before had she realized that she had such a dearth of female friends, but today that certainly seemed to be the case! The question was, who was left in her contacts?

There was Anthea, but Rose hesitated to text or call her. While they were in communication from time to time, most especially when Rose had surprised Mycroft with Lilibet, they weren't really friends. Besides, she was in Mycroft's camp. Sighing heavily, Rose scrolled down her list until she came upon a name that looked like her best option. Selecting it, she waited for someone to answer.

"Hello?"

For a second or two Rose almost felt too shy to answer, but quickly overcame the feeling. "Hi. It's Rose… Sherlock's sister? I know we haven't really done anything together before, but I could use a friend for an impromptu shopping spree on my big brother's card. I think perhaps you, more than anyone else, knows what morons my brothers can be. Would you want to? Go shopping?" Rose bit her lip, wondering what the response would be.

A soft laugh was heard on the other end of the line. "I completely understand. Any particular shopping spot in mind?"

Letting out a breath Rose hadn't realized she'd been holding, she quickly sorted out where they should meet up before proceeding to shop until they dropped. With a plan in place, Rose ended the call and redirected the taxi driver to a new destination.

The short walk to the townhouse was spent in utter silence. Mycroft truly had no idea what was going on in Sherlock's head to prompt the cacophony of chaos that the last ninety minutes or so had become. One thing he did know was what Sherlock needed a reality check… and he would happily provide it! Though Mycroft did have to admit, Sherlock was upset, the emotion easily readable in Sherlock's eyes and the way he walked. What remained to be seen was whether or not he was upset because Rose was hurt, he'd stolen the car, or he was about to be caned.

"Study," Mycroft said as he opened the front door. "Find a corner and occupy it and do not huff at me."

Sherlock closed his mouth and began to protrude his lower lip.

"Or pout."

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock stalked into the study and went to stand in the furthest corner of the room from Mycroft's desk. What the point of this exercise was he didn't know, but Sherlock was at least smart enough not to push the issue, or rather, his luck.

With Sherlock in the corner, Mycroft retrieved his laptop and began a search for Rose. She didn't have enough money, nor the proper documentation, to flee the country, but she could easily become invisible within London for a while should she do so. He fervently hoped that she wouldn't do that, but just in case, he began to track her mobile. He refused to lose her again, particularly over something like this.

Leaving the trace running, Mycroft moved his laptop to a side table and crossed to the closet in the room. He could sense Sherlock stiffen in the corner, knowing that the cane was being retrieved. There had been times in Sherlock's life that the cane had been the only form of communication Sherlock understood, the physical symbol of crossing the line. It would seem that once again Sherlock needed to be reined in and Mycroft couldn't blame his little brother for not being enthusiastic about the reunion with the cane. The fearsome implement in hand, Mycroft went to sit behind his desk once more and laid the cane on top of his desk. "Sherlock, come and explain yourself to me."

Reluctantly, Sherlock did as he was told. He found that he couldn't quite look Mycroft in the face once he stood in front of his big brother's desk and, quite annoyingly, felt his face color with shame. He had certainly made a mess of this. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, eyes locked on the cane. As quickly as his face had grown red with embarrassment, it drained of color just as quickly while Sherlock's eyes locked on to the cane and he couldn't tear himself away.

The eldest Holmes took a deep breath and let it out slowly before responding. "Are you Sherlock? Are you truly? And which act is that apology supposed to cover? Do you even know what all you should be apologizing for?" Mycroft paused, hoping Sherlock would chime in with a better apology and begin to name the poor choices he needed to apologize for.

"I'm sorry that I involved Rose in something like this," Sherlock replied. "I didn't mean to get her in trouble with you, or make her an accessory to my borrowing your car without permission-"

"An accessory to stealing my car," Mycroft interjected.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "An accessory to stealing your car. I'm sorry that I created a situation that allowed for Rose to get hurt. I would never purposely hurt the baby."

That, above all else, Mycroft believed. He had no doubt that Sherlock had not, for whatever reason, anticipated that the fallout of his choices would impact Rose. "Are you sorry for stealing my car in the first place?"

"I am now!" Sherlock hastily replied.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "At least you're honest in that regard, though I imagine the cane is responsible for that honesty. Did you truly think I wouldn't find out about this, brother mine? More importantly, why didn't you speak up and claim responsibility for your actions rather than allow me to place blame on Rose? She trusts you Sherlock… and so did I."

Sherlock visibly flinched in response to his brother's words. Mycroft had trusted him, meaning he no longer did. This would necessitate that he rebuild that trust with Mycroft and could potentially strain things in their effort to love, care for, and guide their baby sister.

"Are you going to answer me?" Mycroft inquired when Sherlock remained silent.

There was considerable hesitation before Sherlock spoke, as he wasn't sure how the truthful answer would be received. "I intended to take the blame, because it was in fact mine. That's why I came to intercede between you and Rose, only to find myself being publicly spanked over the bonnet of the car. It occurred to me that if I was not too old for that to happen that you were likely to think I wasn't too old to be caned for it." In other words, Sherlock had panicked, but he couldn't quite bring himself to say the words out loud.

The eldest Holmes sighed heavily. He could hardly blame Sherlock for panicking a bit at the idea that he was not too old to be punished after all. In fact, it had been quite some time since Mycroft had last spanked or otherwise disciplined Sherlock; nearly a decade! Panic over being caught was hardly an excuse for the action that started this mess in the first place. "You have put me in an untenable position here Sherlock. It is hardly a joyous occasion for me to have to discipline you and we should, in fact, be far past the days when I need to do so," Mycroft explained.

"We have a problem here," Mycroft continued, his tone growing quite grave. "I trusted you to be the adult, to keep Rose in check at Baker Street. I can hardly rely on you to keep Rose out of trouble if you're going to get her mixed in up car theft. Thank god it was only my car you took, otherwise imagine what kind of trouble Rose would be in thanks to you? Accessory to grand theft auto!"

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't take just anyone's car. Particularly not if it was going to be used for Rose's driving hours. Don't be overdramatic Mycroft."

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly to try and calm himself. "So you're a selective car thief then? Is that supposed to make me feel better?!" His attempt to remain calm quickly eroded, and Mycroft bellowed the last few words at Sherlock. "I trusted you with her, Sherlock. I trusted you to be an adult and take care of her. Apparently that was a mistake. You steal, lie, and let me believe she was involved in this deception and had violated my trust. This is so completely idiotic Sherlock, I can hardly even fathom your thought process. Correction," Mycroft paused for a second. "There was no thought process about any of this. I think it's time I keep an eye on Rose for a while, until you can manage to prove yourself to be a responsible guardian again. And to be frank, I don't see Rose willing to be answerable to you after you've pulled something like this. We'll be lucky if she doesn't stage an all-out rebellion against you."

Mycroft's words hurt, and the evidence of how deep that cut Sherlock flashed across the younger man's face. What does this mean? Sherlock thought. He was certain that he could patch things up with Rose, considering how close they were. But did Mycroft mean to keep Rose away from him again? Take her away from Baker Street? Three times in his life he had been forced to stay away from Rose- after he overdosed when Rose was ten; after he started using again when Rose was fourteen; and when Rose ran away. Those were by far the most painful and lonely times of his entire life and Sherlock had no desire to experience that ever again.

Watching his brother closely, Mycroft saw something alarming flickering in Sherlock's eyes, though the younger man's face was well masked. It disquieted him immensely. "Sherlock? What are you thinking about right now? I'm sure that, whatever it is, you're blowing it out of proportion. Talk to me Sherlock, I'm right here," Mycroft said firmly.

While Mycroft attempted to get through to Sherlock, Rose stepped out of her cab in front of a local shopping mall. She passed the driver enough bills to cover her fare and waved away the change before turning towards the entrance. That was when she spotted Molly Hooper and waved enthusiastically at her. Waiting by the door, Molly waited for the younger girl to join her before suddenly wrapping her arms around Rose and squeezing tightly. After just a moment, she let go and stepped back, her cheeks beginning to grow pink. "Sorry, I… You just sounded like you could use a cuddle when we were talking earlier and… I'm sorry." After all, Rose was a Holmes and she didn't know her all that well. What really had she been thinking? Molly mentally gave herself a good scold before she was interrupted by a bit of laughter.

"I'm sure I did sound that way," Rose admitted. "And it was very kind of you. Unlike my brothers, I happen to enjoy a cuddle from friends, especially those intuitive enough to know I need one without my saying. We're… we are friends aren't we?" She flashed Molly a nervous little smile, suddenly finding herself just as nervous as Molly had been a moment ago. It was an unusual feeling for Rose, who thought herself to be a confidant person. Then again, it wasn't very hard to be confidant around friends. Not to mention the fact that her confidence in things with Mycroft had been rather shaken.

"Well, if there's any doubts, a day of shopping is sure to clear that up, yeah?" Molly offered with a smile. "We know each other a bit, no reason we can't be friends. I was really… flattered that you called. That you thought of me. No one usually does."

Rose's heart constricted at the blunt honesty in Molly's tone. "I don't believe that," she decided. "I think you've got a small, trusted circle of friends. People who really know you and love you, and you don't play up the numbers game as if having friends were a competition. You want people you can be yourself with and there's nothing wrong with that."

"You're definitely a Holmes," Molly decided. Her tone was much lighter now, and she gave Rose a smile. "How did you figure that out?"

"Because we're alike in that way I think. I prefer a small circle of friends to a large one. I like to be myself and not waste my time with people that don't appreciate me as I am." A sad look settled on Rose's face as she realized that Mycroft now fit into that category, or rather had for some time in comments about her clothing. "Anyway, it just means we're well suited to be friends I think. So, let's get at it then! Mani-pedis first or should we clothes shop first?"

"Clothing," Molly decided. The two fell into step beside one another as they headed into the building. "Have you been to that shop that upcycles clothes? Takes old clothes and refashions them? I love going there and it's really unique. Every piece is one of a kind."

"Lead me to that area at once," Rose directed with a laugh. "Because one-of-a-kind and unique are just my style!"

"Sherlock!" Mycroft thundered. "You're not going into your mind palace in order to avoid answering me! What is the matter?"

The younger man swallowed hard as his gaze fell to the floor. Some things never change, Mycroft thought to himself. Sherlock certainly didn't; or rather, Sherlock in trouble didn't. All that was missing was some foot shuffling of some sort. Though perhaps toeing at the floor with his shoe was the version of shuffling his feet that Sherlock now preferred.

"Are you going to take Rose away?" Sherlock finally asked, his eyes staying glued to the floor.

"Take Rose away?" Mycroft repeated slowly. "Where exactly would I take her?" His brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what Sherlock was getting at, but clearly couldn't manage to say bluntly.

"Away from Baker Street… and…from me." For being a statement of only seven words, there was a world of past hurt, even agony, behind them. A feeling of loneliness and emptiness washed over Sherlock at the very idea of Rose being kept from him again. "I'm not using Mycroft, I swear it."

His brother's hurting was palpable and Mycroft was reminded of a somewhat similar situation some years earlier here in this very room. He'd sworn never to let Sherlock see Rose again and thrown him out of the house when Sherlock had relapsed, with no promise he could ever come back. As it turned out, Sherlock never did come back to the family home, though Mycroft had considerable difficulty keeping Rose from him and eventually gave up on it. Naturally he closely monitored his brother, lest Rose find herself in danger, but Sherlock had never let that happen. And, as he was now discovering, Sherlock had never quite got over that second forced separation from Rose.

"Sherlock, this is a very different circumstance than the last time you were in here and I used similar wording," Mycroft pointed out. "For one thing, Rose is twenty, not fourteen and even at fourteen I could hardly successfully manage to keep her from you. She does as she pleases when it comes to you. For another, you stole my car, which is not the same as bringing illegal substances into the family home. You may have a caning coming your way, but this is hardly a reason to try and force you two apart again. Besides, Rose has already turned down my offer to move home to see if it soothed her PTSD, so I imagine removal from Baker Street for any reason would one hell of a fight. One I wouldn't likely win." A bit of a smile crossed Mycroft's face as he admitted that. "Do you see that today is different?"

Finally Sherlock managed to look up from the floor and turn his gaze upon Mycroft, narrowing his eyes as he scrutinized the eldest Holmes. "I suppose," he finally decided. Sherlock's face began to grow pink as he realized how silly he must have sounded to Mycroft. Then again, anything having to do with Rose was always emotionally charged, despite efforts to the contrary.

"Your decision today was stupid, but not lethal. I'm angrier that you put Rose in the position you did than that you took my car. To be frank, I almost expect that sort of thing from you." The two brothers shared a brief, small smile with one another. Sherlock's reputation as a troublemaker was well earned, but that didn't mean Mycroft hadn't, on occasion, found amusement (or even admiration at times) in Sherlock's more colorful and imaginative bouts of misbehavior.

"The idea that I would keep an eye on Rose was not meant to imply her removal from Baker Street by any means," Mycroft continued. "Rather, think of my role as…" He paused to consider the correct term for what he had in mind. "An enforcer, to some extent. I'm foreseeing potential issues of Rose rebelling against you because if you aren't going to make good choices, why should she listen to you? In such an instance, I would therefore have the last word and, if necessary, administer discipline. Neither of you are above the law, but Rose should not use today's events as justification for a free-for-all. Does that make sense to you?"

Sherlock nodded slowly, processing his brother's words. "That does make sense. I hope that won't have to be in effect for long. Even more than that, I hope things won't come to the point that you need to step in. But Rose can be very stubborn and defiant when she wishes to be. I suppose we'll see how things go."

"Precisely," Mycroft agreed. "A contingency plan for our unpredictable little sister. That, however, is to be worried about at a later time if circumstances warrant it. For now, brother mine…" Rising from his chair, Mycroft picked up the cane on his desk. "You have a good hiding coming. Trousers and pants down and bend over the desk. See to it that you behave yourself- no interfering, no standing up until it's over or-"

"Or you'll be an arsehole and make it worse somehow," Sherlock answered. He artfully dodged the cane when Mycroft flicked it at him in response to his cheek, instead crossing the room to shed his coat and placing it on a chair.

"You never did know when to keep your mouth shut to save your hide," Mycroft muttered, rolling his eyes. "Just as when you were young, this wipes the slate clean," he reminded Sherlock, then proceeded to wait for the younger Holmes to return to the desk.

…And waited.

….And waited.

"Oh do stop dawdling with your coat, Sherlock, and come here." He raised an eyebrow at Sherlock who finally stopped fussing with the folding of his coat and sheepishly began to cross the room. Mycroft stood to the side as he wait for his brother to bare his bottom and bend over the desk. "Eighteen today," he cautioned, stepping up alongside Sherlock to take aim.

"What?!" Sherlock half roared. He looked over his shoulder at Mycroft, eyes widened with a not insignificant amount of trepidation. Eighteen cane strokes was tantamount to torture!

"I could easily make it twenty-four Sherlock," Mycroft warned. His tone made it abundantly clear that this was not up for negotiation. "Eyes forward, young man, and do not give me that shocked look of outrage. This is more than earned and even you must realize that." He watched, albeit with a bit of satisfaction, when Sherlock did as he was told. "Let's review the rules, as it's been some time since you were last here for an appointment with the cane. Your hands must stay in front of you at all times, and you are allowed to stomp and kick as necessary, provided you do not kick me or damage my desk." Mycroft nearly added that Sherlock could shout and cry, too, but if Sherlock didn't know that by now, he'd really done something wrong in Sherlock's formative years.

The cane tapped Sherlock's bottom as Mycroft took aim, causing the younger man to wince in anticipation. Mycroft raised the cane high before bringing it down with a whistling crack across the crest of Sherlock's cheeks. It had been some time since Mycroft had last used a cane- since before Rose had disappeared- and he was pleased to see he hadn't lost his touch. One should not use a cane if they couldn't wield it properly, after all.

As Mycroft found he hadn't lost his skill with the cane, Sherlock found he had forgot how much a caning hurt. The immediate impact left a line of fire across his cheeks that seemed to sting and burn in equal measure, the real pain setting in seconds after the initial impact. That's what made canes so nasty! That and the cumulative effect of multiple strokes, that seemed to ignite and even worsen prior ones. Sherlock hadn't forgot that bit, or rather, he hadn't erased that bit, and even with that in mind, there was no real way to brace for the cane.

"Shall I count for you?" Mycroft asked. "Or would you like to do the honors?" It didn't matter to him either way, though saying the count aloud might help Sherlock struggle through a bit more. He wasn't surprised though when Sherlock chose not to reply, instead gritting his teeth as he waited for the caning to continue.

It wasn't a long wait, with strokes two and three falling quickly, each leaving a tramline of pain behind. Mycroft didn't count out loud, having no real desire to actually make this more difficult for Sherlock, shockingly enough. He really ought to just thrash the daylights out of his younger brother. Instead, he worked in threes. Three strokes, with perhaps 30 seconds between them, than a full minute for recovery. If the gasps and shifting Sherlock did was any indication, it was effective but not unbearable.

Sherlock gritted his teeth as the first set of three became a total of six, with each stroke moving ever further down his backside. He gasped after nearly every stroke, shifting uncomfortably during the break Mycroft provided him. As the third set began, Sherlock began to hiss and grunt in response before finally breaking his relative silence to utter an "Ow, ow, ow," and stomp his foot on the floor. Good god, am I only half way through?! He thought to himself.

"You're doing well Sherlock. Very well. I'm certain we won't ever have to discuss grand theft again, hm?" Even Mycroft himself winced at the sharp crack of the twelfth stroke. That one bit deep, he could tell, and if that hadn't been obvious, Sherlock's reaction left no doubt.

Yelping loudly, Sherlock jerked and began to rise from the desk before thinking better of it and resuming the proper position. That didn't stop a string of curse words from falling out of his mouth, nor keep him from stomping both feet on the floor several times. When he finally settled, Sherlock was rather shocked to find tears stinging his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he cried, let alone cried in front of Mycroft over a spanking. Though it is a caning, Sherlock thought, seeking to both defend and explain this disturbing turn of events. Wrapped up in these thoughts, it was a shock to the system when the caning resumed. A sob caught in his throat as Mycroft continued to bring the cane down, seemingly without mercy, driving him ever closer to all out crying.

Mycroft landed each stroke with care, making certain the tram lines were evenly spaced and did not cross one another as they marched down Sherlock's bottom. He was surprised that Sherlock had not begun to cry noticeably yet, though it was clear the younger man was struggling. The stomping had increased and the little "ow, ow, ow" chorus was steadily growing louder and more tearful sounding. When Mycroft paused to give Sherlock a bit of time to recover before the final set of three, part of him was filled with alarm when Sherlock simply lowered his head, resting his forehead against the top of the desk.

Wrestling with whether or not to continue, particularly as the final three strokes would land across his sit spots and the very last across the tops of his thighs, Mycroft reached out tentatively to place his hand on Sherlock's back. He could feel the deep intakes of breath and the shuddering of silent but very heartfelt sobs. No doubt he would find a small puddle of tears on his desk, should he look. "Almost done Sherlock," Mycroft said quietly, rubbing the small of his brother's back. "Last three, and then let's never do this again. Agreed?"

Sherlock nodded his curly head, more than ready for this ordeal to be finished and never ever repeated, even if that meant he had to take three more strokes across the most sensitive area of his bum. The consulting detective didn't notice, given the fact that his bottom was already on fire, but Mycroft tempered the last three strokes, using less force behind them so they were the lightest of the eighteen. Despite his best efforts to soldier on, mind over matter, Sherlock's sobs became more vocal by the final stroke. Exhausted, embarrassed, and in considerable pain, he did not move even after Mycroft said the caning was over.

Allowing a moment for Sherlock to collect himself, Mycroft took the cane back to its place in the closet and then detoured over to the liquor cabinet in the far corner of the room. His finest whiskey was poured into two glasses that were taken back to the desk. "Whenever you're ready," Mycroft said quietly, somehow finding himself rubbing Sherlock's back once again. "You took that very well Sherlock. Surprisingly so." Surely if Rose needed comforting still after a spanking, Sherlock could do with some brotherly encouragement. Half expecting Sherlock to tell him to fuck off, Mycroft continued to offer that encouragement until it seemed that Sherlock was ready to rise.

Slowly and very, very carefully, Sherlock rose from the desk and bent to retrieve his clothing and return it to its proper place. This was not an easy thing to do, and elicited considerable quiet "ouch"s and grunts before the task was completed. As soon as he straightened and his bum was covered again, Sherlock found a box of tissues being nonchalantly pushed in his direction and a glass of whiskey put in his hand. The brothers shared a silent look that spoke volumes about what had just occurred without using any words at all and, after a moment, it was business as usual between them.

"Now, knowing Rose as we do, this is what I anticipate from her in the near future and how I believe we should handle it… together," Mycroft began. "A rebellion is coming, brother mine. We had best be prepared."

After finding a few treasures at the upcycle store Molly had raved about, she and Rose wandered the shopping center ducking into various stores to try on shoes and clothes and look at jewelry. Molly had just spotted a fuzzy baby blue jumper that had her name on it when she caught sight of what Rose was holding. Raising her eyebrows, she moved closer to get a better look at the item. It was a yellowish jacket covered in swans riding bicycles.

"That's…" Molly began. She paused, trying to think of how to put it gently, but then opted to simply be honest. "That's rather hideous. Might even be the ugliest jacket I've ever seen."

Putting a hand over her mouth, Rose tried, rather unsuccessfully, to stifle her laughter. "You're right, it is," she confirmed when her laughter was under control. "It's sort of the principle of it though, this ugly coat. I'm going to get it, and return it probably, just to annoy Mycroft. He thinks this dress is inappropriate? Then he ought to get a good look at this coat and all the other stuff I'm getting. Most of it I'll keep though." Her selections thus far included a short, hot pink shirt; a white jumper with all sorts of glass beads on it; a very sexy black dress picked out with wowing John in mind; a bright yellow dress with a lace covered bodice; a Pusheen t-shirt; and a pink blouse covered in unicorns. "This is probably my favorite," Rose said, showing Molly a black dress covered in tiny umbrellas. "An ode to Mycroft and his brolly. Or maybe these trousers with little foxes on them is my favorite. I have a jumper that will go perfect with them."

"They are really cute trousers," Molly agreed with a smile. "And I love that brolly dress. I think I need that for myself if it's in my size! What else have you got?"

The two spent several minutes examining each other's shopping choices before making their final selections, which included dresses covered in rabbits and smiling air balloons respectively. "So you're trying to annoy your brother then? Buy things you know he won't like with his card? What happened earlier?" Molly asked while they waited in queue.

Rose whispered a short version of the events that had taken place at Buckingham Palace and, subsequently, Mycroft's study. "He doesn't understand that just as his Savile row suits define him, my clothes define me. I'm young and quirky, perhaps a tad bit eccentric, and I love to have fun. I love things that are interesting and so I buy clothes that are interesting. A dress covered in sea horses for instance," Rose said, indicating the dress she was wearing. "When he says that my clothes are inappropriate or embarrass him, it's…" She paused, trying to think of the right way to put it, her forehead creasing with the effort.

"It's sort of like he's saying that you or your personality are embarrassing or inappropriate," Molly commented, perfectly following Rose's line of thought. "Which is really quite hurtful." She thought back to all the times Sherlock had said or inferred that she or her clothing were plain. Molly didn't think of herself as plain. Rather, her taste was professional when at work, though her work clothing was generally made of comfortable fabrics in her favorite hues. She didn't try to blend into the woodwork, rather she blended into her working world. Unlike Sherlock, Molly couldn't define her job so fluidly and even if most of the people she saw everyday were dead and up for postmortems, there was an expectation of modesty and professionalism expected of everyone at St. Bart's.

When she wasn't working, however, was when Molly let her own personality show. Today, for example, she was wearing a pair of sparkly flats with a sparkly red jumper and a skirt with cat silhouettes on it. It was a cute, comfortable outfit and very much her.

"I'm sorry," Rose said quietly, looking contemplative

Her words snapped Molly out of her deep thoughts and she turned a quizzical look on the younger woman. "Sorry for what?"

"For whatever Sherlock has said to make you feel that way. He doesn't put it together that the things he wouldn't say to me because it would be hurtful might be hurtful to others too. So I'm sorry for any comments he's made that have upset you. I'd say don't take it personally, because that's just Sherlock, but that's a tall order to not be hurt by it," Rose admitted.

Molly shook her head and smiled. "I'm used to it and I don't think he's actually trying to be cruel, at least most of the time. He's just… Sherlock."

Their conversation came to a pause as they stepped up to the registers to pay for their purchases. Rose smiled gleefully as she handed over the card tied to Mycroft's account and signed the receipt for the not insignificant total.

"Where to next?" Molly asked as they exited the shop. "We could get a late supper or try to get our nails done before the salons close."

Rose was inclined to getting her nails done and finding supper later on but her response immediately changed when she caught sight of the shop kitty-corner to the one they just exited. "You know, I don't think there's anything sweeter for revenge after being called a thief than using Mycroft's card to buy lingerie." With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, Rose indicated the store and gave Molly a questioning look. "Should we?"

Laughing, Molly nodded. "I think we should! Maybe after we'll catch dinner and head back to my flat? I've got films and Xbox-"

"Rock Band?" Rose inquired, clearly intrigued.

"Of course! With a guitar and a drum set," Molly confirmed with a bright grin. "With a seriously large song library too. Is there really any other reason to have an x-box if not for games like Rock Band?" War simulation games held little appeal for Molly but some, like Rock Band, Just Dance, and various Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings games were quite fun.

"Oh, I'm so in!" Rose linked her arm through Molly's and the two made their way through the crowd towards the lingerie store. "Will you help me pick out some things? I've never bought lingerie before and I'd like to get some nice things for John's benefit," Rose admitted, her face growing a bit red.

"Of course! You should get some practical stuff too. That sheer little number there…" Molly paused to point at a black bra that was completely sheer. "Isn't practical in terms of support or every day wear, but perfect for the bedroom."

Rose nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "I've always wondered about that. Most of it seems so impractical, hardly anything that could be worn in the office or at a competition or something. And why buy something if it doesn't really suit its purpose? That makes a lot of sense though. I think I'll buy some pretty, sexy things for me to wear regularly and some pretty, sexy, and wholly impractical knock-out pieces for John," she mused.

"Exactly," Molly confirmed. It surprised her a bit that Rose was a bit embarrassed about discussing lingerie, especially when she had good questions about it. Then again, she'd been raised by Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes, quite probably two of the most dysfunctional men in the history of the world. Well, Molly could help with that, and happily too! "Let me show you some of my favorite brands," she said, steering Rose into the store.

An hour later, Rose left after purchasing several hundred pounds worth of lingerie, bringing the grand total of her shopping spree on Mycroft's card to nearly two thousand pounds. "Let's get some takeaway, on me, and then go back to your flat. Sound good?" Rose asked. "I'd say we could eat out somewhere but we've got a ridiculous number of shopping bags with us at this point."

"I think you're right. If you like Italian, there's a great takeaway spot a block from my flat that you'll love," Molly suggested as they exited the shopping center. "Let's get a taxi and have them drop us there. We might get robbed if we try to take all this on the tube!" Moments later, Rose flagged down a taxi and the two girls were off to continue their fun together.

Some Hours Later

John Watson was pacing the sitting room of Baker Street. Back and forth, around in circles, into the kitchen and around the table. He couldn't remember the last time he'd paced like this… and then he did. He'd last paced like this when Rose was in hospital, in surgery, after being attacked. But prior to that he couldn't ever remember pacing like this. Yet another thing that seemed to begin when and where Rose Holmes came into his life and he'd somehow fallen in love with her.

Which was why it was so bloody infuriating that it was going on 1:30am and Rose was not home, not answering his calls or texts, and not at Mycroft's, Louise's, Alfred's or the studio. John had already tried all those people and places. He actually didn't know where Rose was and pacing the flat kept him from more or less prowling the streets looking for her. John wasn't certain where to even begin and Sherlock had been little help since he'd arrived home that evening.

Earlier That Evening

A slow, measured pace of feet climbing the stairs caught the attention of John who had just settled in his chair with a cup of tea. "Mrs. Hudson?" he called. "Is that you?" The steps seemed too heavy, but who else could it be?

"It's me," Sherlock responded as he entered the flat. He watched John begin to scrutinize him and really, the last thing he wanted to do was explain why he was in pain. "I'm fine. Is my sister here?"

"No. I thought she might be with you," John responded. He watched his friend walk down the hall towards his room, his gait altered. The other man was… not quite limping, but definitely moving slowly and awkwardly. "Sherlock, are you really okay? You're walking funny. I'm a doctor remember? I can help if you're hurt."

Sherlock snorted. "I'm fine. Have you heard from Rose at all?"

"Not in a few hours. She was upset so," John pointed out. "Said her brothers were being her brothers. What happened?"

Pausing in the doorway of his room, Sherlock turned to look down the hallway at John. The defeated look on his face took John by surprise. "I… fucked up," he admitted. "And put Rose in a situation where Mycroft called her a thief and I didn't stop him quickly enough. Let me know if you hear from her, will you?"

John nodded slowly. "Alright, I will. Sure you're alright?" He wasn't the least bit surprised when Sherlock waved his hand dismissively and disappeared into his room.

Present

"She's not answering my texts Sherlock. Hasn't in hours and all she said was that she was fine and out with a friend. Only I've called them all and none of them have seen her and I'm really worried. Have you texted her?" John demanded of his friend.

Sherlock looked up from examining the photographs John had taken earlier while working their current private case. "I have; texted and called. She's not responding and I suppose I don't blame her for that. If something was wrong though, Mycroft would know. He's watching her- that's why I'm not using the GPS tracking on her mobile. I've already done enough today, I don't need to make it worse by tracking her."

John took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. "That's not good enough for me Sherlock." He grabbed his mobile and flipped through the contacts before selecting one, and it wasn't Rose.

Across town, Mycroft answered his mobile with a tired, "Yes?"

"Where's Rose? She isn't home, she isn't with you, she isn't taking calls or answering texts," John explained in a rush. "Where is she?"

"She's safe."

John pinched the bridge of his nose. Dear god, the Holmes men are so annoying and smug, he thought to himself. "Safe where Mycroft? I'm not playing here, I'm worried and I'm not okay with her not returning my texts or calls when it's 1:30 in the bloody morning."

At the other end of the line, Mycroft sighed, and the tapping of a keyboard could be heard. "She is at Miss Hooper's, and has been for the past four hours."

"Right," John responded. He hung up on Mycroft and crossed the room to get his jacket. To Molly Hooper's he would go then!

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Hope you enjoy the chapter!