Hey! What is up? And that my friends is my attempt to communicate with you.

XxXxXxX

They sat in the kitchen (they found that sitting at an abnormally large dining table will certainly not do) and the trio were served tea and toast with blueberry jam. An awkward silence fell upon them until Mycroft finally spoke up.

"I have called in a private doctor to look at your head injury. Oh, don't worry Sherlock. It's completely confidential so they won't give away her location. After we know how long the memory lose will last we will-"

"Wait," Rosie said with sudden confusion, her eyes switching back and forth from Sherlock to Mycroft accusingly. "What do you mean by 'give away her location'? Am I in trouble?"

Mycroft shook his head. "It's nothing like that. According to Sherlock, you were running away from home before you were attacked and lost your memory. I believe once we know your true identity, we will be able to find out the cause of your… escaping."

"Oh. Well then. The attack explains the head injury and the bruises and cuts."

Sherlock coughs, "The bruises and cuts are much too old to be from yesterday night."

"What do you mean?"

"What I'm saying is that those injuries are from an attack at least 5 days ago. There are others that are older too. And based on the patterns and the lack of signs of resistance, I'd say they are due to domestic abuse."

Silence.

"Um," Rosie looked highly uncomfortable. "I think… I'll just, um. I need some fresh air." She set down her mug and quickly got up and left, banging into the table on the way out. Sherlock seemed unmoved, Mycroft glared at him. Sherlock took a sip of his tea and looked up at his older brother.

"What?"

"Oh, you know exactly what."

"She was going to find out one way or another."

"Well, yes, but that was a bit harsh. The poor girl must be terrified by now. Go apologize."

"Apologize?"

"Yes. Now go find her and say sorry."

Sherlock groaned, but Mycroft's intimidating glare made him finally gave in. The brother smirked as Sherlock got up and stomped out of the kitchen to find the amnesiac.

After quickly deducting where she went, he found her on the same balcony she found Sherlock this morning. She was leaning over the railing, staring off to some imaginary land. The few hairs not restricted by the bandage danced in the slight morning breeze. He noticed her muscular physique and how the loose camisole suited her quite nicely even though the baby pink contradicted the rest of her fierce look. She was, in fact, attractive. 'Wait, did I just think that?' Sherlock's thought had puzzled himself profoundly.

"How did you figure that out, Sherlock?" She must of sensed his presence because she didn't turn around. Her voice was quiet, as if she was scared someone might hear.

He walked over and stood next to Rosie. She still did not move.

"I know those bruise patterns."

"They could have been from a two-way fight or an accident. How did you know those bruises were from domestic abuse?"

"Because I have them, too."

Rosie's head whipped around and silently stared at the curly haired boy, waiting for proof. Sherlock, mentally getting the message, began to pull at his shirt and untucked it from his jeans. He lifted his shirt to reveal scars and odd looking yellow spots. Rosie quietly erected her stature and looked at him straight in the eye. Her amber orbs were dancing with sadness and unknown understanding.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. The vulgar man is long gone. Also, Mycroft have similar ones, although I have more. He especially did not enjoy my presence. Said I was weird and too intelligent. Called me a fag when he found out I played the violin. 'A woman's instrument' he would call it. He would hit me when I broke something or when I would deduce about him. It was absolutely terrible when I found out about his affair…"

Sherlock faltered. Why was he telling this stranger his life story? This is not like Sherlock. Not at all like him. But… there was just something about her...

"It's fine if you don't want to tell the rest."

"Okay."

Silence. Again. This is becoming something common between the two. They continue staring quite dramatically off to a distance until Sherlock broke the almost visible tension between the two.

"UmMycrofttoldmetoapologizesoI'msorry."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry for being rude." Sherlock practically whispered. He was looking down at his hands. He had the resemblance of a 5 year old. This amused Rosie greatly.

"What?

"Nothing, it's just, your face," she said beginning to laugh. It was so odd. Her laugh. He couldn't help but laugh a second time today. And, also for the second time today, Mycroft interrupted their moment. This time with a text.

Tell Rosie that the Doctor is here to see her -MH

XxXxXxX

Sorry it's short. I just thought it was a good place to stop.