NOTE: Rose turned ten the month before this story takes place. It occurs 10 weeks before the events of chapter 2 ("What is Right is Hard to Do").

The door closed for the final time as the sun began to set, casting shadows of color throughout the sky. Mycroft leaned back against the door, taking a deep breath, letting the sudden quiet of the house envelope him for just a few moments.

"I don't understand why they brought food. Why they all brought food. We had food for today, and additionally, we have a cook. Why bring us food?" Sherlock asked, leaning against the door beside his brother.

"It's traditional, Sherlock. You bring food to funerals, not only to feed the funeral guests, but to feed the family, who is presumably too upset by the loss of their loved one to be able to feed itself," Mycroft replied.

"That's a ridiculous tradition," Sherlock decided.

"No one said traditions weren't ridiculous." That comment earned Mycroft a small smile from his brother.

They fell silent for a moment longer. "Where's Rose?"

Sherlock shrugged. "She went upstairs an hour or so ago, when people first began leaving. I think this was all very overwhelming for her."

"We should really find her, make sure she's alright."

"What if she doesn't want to be found?"

Mycroft sighed. "She's Rose, of course she wants to be found. And if she doesn't, that's too bad. I want to make certain she's alright. After I've ascertained that, if she wishes to be alone for a bit, I will pose no objection. But she's Rose, so I doubt that will be the case."

With a nod Sherlock headed upstairs with Mycroft close behind him, in search of their sister.

Rose proved to be a bit difficult to find. She wasn't in her room, the playroom, Mycroft's room, Sherlock's room, the library, Mycroft's office, or any room in the house that they'd searched. A full forty-five minutes passed as they searched for Rose and did not find her.

"Do you think she might be…" Sherlock let his voice trail off, unable to say the words properly, so he'd rather not say them at all.

"No, I don't think so. Go look anyway. I'll look outside," Mycroft decided.

The brothers parted ways and Sherlock headed upstairs, proceeding directly to one room in particular. He stopped at the door, his hand on the knob. Mother's room; his mother's room. The room of the woman who was at this very moment dead and buried.

Sherlock took a deep breath and opened the door. The room was quiet and dark. A layer of dust had already begun gathering on the furniture. The faint scent of her lavender perfume clung to the room and its contents. Entering the room fully, he turned on the light. Nothing looked out of place, but that didn't mean Rose wasn't in here.

He checked under the bed and in the adjoining bathroom and finding them empty, had just one place left to look- the closet. Sherlock crossed the room and put his hand on the knob and began to turn it, only to have someone hold the knob firm from the other side.

"Rose?"

No answer.

"Rose, I know you're in there. Let me open the door." After thirty seconds, he could feel that she'd released the knob and Sherlock opened the closet door. The sight that greeted him broke his heart. Wrapped up in a quilt Mother had made her, was his little sister. Her face was red from crying, her nose was running and she was trembling. Rose said nothing and wouldn't even
look at him.

"Oh sweetheart," Sherlock whispered, kneeling down in front of her. "Come here." He held his arms out for her, expecting her to emerge from the closet for a cuddle.

Only she didn't. Rose began sniffling and threw the quilt over her head, turning away from him.

"Come on now, Rosie. You don't have to cry alone, I'm here." When she made no move to come out of the closet, Sherlock reached for her and was kicked for his troubles.

"No! No! I won't go!" Rose shouted from beneath the quilt.

"Go? Go where? What are you talking about?" Sherlock questioned. "Rose, let me make it better. Tell me what's making you so upset, please." When she continued to ignore him, Sherlock got up from the floor and went in search of Mycroft.

"She's not outside," Mycroft said, greeting Sherlock as he entered the house. "We should call Eleanor, maybe she snuck home with them."

Sherlock shook his head. "She's upstairs, in Mother's closet. Something's wrong, she won't come out. She told me she didn't want to go, but wouldn't say where it was she was going."

Mycroft frowned, unable to think of what Rose might mean. Shaking his head, he followed Sherlock back upstairs and into their mother's room. There was no time for nostalgia as both brothers went straight to the closet.

Unwilling to let her cry alone any longer, no matter what the reason, Sherlock went right into the closet to sit beside her. It was a very, very awkward fit, his legs sticking out at odd angles, but at least he was beside her.

Mycroft's eyebrow rose at Sherlock's actions but didn't comment on it, instead choosing to sit just outside of the closet. "Rose? We're here now; Sherlock and I. Tell us what's wrong. It's all right to cry about Mother; about missing her and about everything today. There's nothing wrong with crying and you don't have to hide your tears. Why don't you come out of there so we can sit together? You can bring your blanket if you want."

The brothers shared a look when Rose didn't respond, and Sherlock awkwardly hugged the blanket, hoping he didn't smother Rose in the process. Though that would get her out from under the blanket, he admitted silently to himself.

A moment later the blanket slipped down and Rose's head emerged. She scooted closer to Sherlock and when he picked her up to hold her on his lap, she began clinging to him as if her very life depended upon it.

"There there," Sherlock whispered, resting his cheek against the top of her head.

"I don't want to go. It doesn't matter where you send me, I don't want to go," Rose said quietly. Her head was turned so that she was clearly addressing Mycroft with these questions.

Her eldest brother looked puzzled. "What are you on about Rose? Where do you think you're going or being sent?"

"Away. Somewhere away," she responded. "Because Mummy is gone and you won't have time for me anymore. I'll be too much work."

Mycroft was completely stunned by her statements. He couldn't even fathom where she would have got such ideas into her head. He tried to formulate a reassuring response, not missing the way Sherlock held onto her tighter, whispering something into her ear.

"I have no idea where you got the idea that we were too busy for you or would send you away," he began, keeping his voice even but firm. "But wherever that came from, put it out of your mind this minute because you, Rosenwyn Holmes, are not going anywhere. This is your home, we are your family, and that will never, ever change. There is no other place in the world that you belong other than right here with us and here is where you will stay."

"We love you," Sherlock added in a hushed, almost reverent tone. "I for one cannot imagine life without you." He began carding his fingers through her hair, feeling her relax against him.

"I can't either. We're going to continue to take care of you, the same way we always have," Mycroft continued. "Admittedly things will be different now…" He paused, taking a deep breath to steady his voice. "For all of us. But we will work through it together and no matter what, this is your home and you are not going anywhere."

"Promise?" Rose asked. "Promise with all your heart? Even when I'm difficult and nasty and don't listen and everything?"

"Well you're hardly nasty," Mycroft said with a chuckle. "In any case, nothing you do will change this. I promise you, Rose, with every fiber of my being, that I will always take care of you."

The little girl was a bit in awe at the vehemence with which Mycroft said those words. They were precisely what she wanted, and needed, to hear and she believed him instantly. A little bit of weight from her heart was lifted away.

"I promise too, with all my heart," Sherlock added, before kissing the top of her head. "You are quite stuck with us, sweetheart, whether you like it or not."

"I like it," she assured him.

"Who put all this nonsense into your head?" Sherlock asked.

Rose pressed her face against his chest. "Don't want to say," she answered, her words a bit muffled.

The brothers shared a look over her head; bullies again. Clearly Mycroft needed to make yet another visit to the school and issue serious threats once more. No one threatened quite like Mycroft. Why was it that nobody bothered to do anything unless he showed up and made them do something?

Perhaps it was just time for a new school altogether. Or home school. A vision of Sherlock and Rose blowing up part of the house emerged in his mind's eye. No, definitely not home school. The house wouldn't survive it.

"Will you come out of the closet now?" Mycroft asked. He sighed heavily when she shook her head. "Why not?"

"It smells like Mummy in here." Rose pressed her face against Sherlock's chest for a moment. "I know I can't have her back, but I want her back. Nobody can do the things Mummy did and I need her to do them!" Her voice cracked and Rose began sobbing. They were deep, heavy sobs, full of emotion that shook her slight shoulders and sounded so very despondent.

Immediately Sherlock held her tighter, so tight he thought she might break. The sound of her desperate sobs brought tears to Sherlock's eyes and he had to close his eyes to keep them from falling. He tried to rock her a bit, but since they were in a closet, that was a bit hard to do, though he tried just the same.

Mycroft gestured for Sherlock to move over, despite the fact that there was very little space to move. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock complied, moving around a bit to make space for Mycroft. By the time Mycroft was in the closet Sherlock was certain they made a very odd picture; two tall, lanky men and their legs sticking out of the closet, clothes hanging just barely above their heads. Thank god the closet was tall.

"If you ever tell anyone about this, I'll strangle you," Mycroft whispered in Sherlock's ear. God only knew what would happen if it became known that he'd crawled inside a closet for some sort of very awkward family cuddle. He immediately began rubbing Rose's back as she sobbed.

There was no need for words at that moment so neither brother said any. Rose just needed to know they were there for her, that she wasn't alone, and be given the chance to cry all the tears she so bravely held back all day. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, her sobs died down to sniffles and Rose turned her head away from Sherlock's chest, resting her cheek against it instead.

"Feel a little better?" Mycroft asked, looking at her with concern. He was pleased when she nodded just a bit. "Sometimes it's helpful to have a good cry. Don't think you have to be brave and hide when you're sad. Promise me you won't."

"Promise," she whispered.

"What was it that made you so upset before?" Sherlock asked. "We're not Mummy, but we'll try our best, whatever it is."

"No one will rub my tummy anymore when I get sick. Mummy always did that and made me feel better," Rose explained softly.

Well that wasn't a hard one to solve! Sherlock tipped her head up to look at him. "I do believe I'm plenty capable of rubbing tummies when the occasion calls for it," he replied in a serious tone. "If you want me to."

Rose nodded. "It always makes me feel better, every time."

"Then I'll do it, every time," he promised. "What else?"

"Who is going to do my hair for school? Mummy always did my hair for school, in braids most of the time," the little girl explained. "I can do my hair sometimes, well, lots of times, but I can't French braid."

"I think Sherlock and I can manage that," Mycroft offered. "Depending upon who is here on a given morning. Would that be alright if we tried?"

"I don't want to look silly," the little girl told him seriously. "If you do it, you have to do it right."

"We'll manage," Mycroft promised. "No one will let you leave the house looking silly."

That answer seemed to satisfy Rose and she nodded before resting her head against Sherlock's chest once more.

"What else?" Sherlock prompted. "Anything else you can think of that Mycroft and I need to do?"

"I can't think of anything. But I'll let you know, okay?"

Sherlock nodded and kissed the top of her head. "That sounds just fine. It'll take some adjusting, but we'll work it out together, I promise."

"I do have a question though," Rose said, addressing both brothers. "Am… am I an orphan now? That's a terrible word I think, orphan. It just sounds sad."

"If we're going strictly by definition then yes, you are, because both your parents are dead," Sherlock answered.

Rose began sniffling once more and Mycroft immediately glared at his brother. As smart as Sherlock was, at times he could be incredibly daft!

Sherlock, however, wasn't finished and opened his mouth to continue. "But this world doesn't run strictly by definitions, especially when it comes to family. There are all sorts of families in the world, aren't there?" He looked down at her with a little smile, hoping to encourage her to answer.

Rose nodded. "Lots of kinds of families. Like Lillian at school, she has two mummies."

He smiled a bit bigger. "That's a very good example. Families come in all sorts of shapes and sizes, and while you don't have parents, you have us. Mycroft and I. You can't be an orphan if you have two brothers to bring you up."

"That's true I suppose. And we've always been an odd sort, us Holmeses," Rose admitted.

Mycroft chuckled. "That's very true. It just wouldn't do for us to be ordinary." He felt a rush of relief when she gave him a smile.

"So you see, you aren't an orphan, definition be damned," Sherlock told her firmly. "Because you have us and we'll do our very best for you."

"You two always know all the answers. I hope I'm as smart when I'm all grown up," Rose decided.

"Do you think we could vacate the closet now?" Mycroft asked. "It's feeling a bit tight in here. Are you ready to get out?"

"I guess so," she agreed. "But we're not done cuddling. Just so you're aware."

Mycroft gave her a bit of a smile. "Duly noted." He extricated himself from the closet, which was about as easy as it had been to get in.

"Take the child," Sherlock ordered. "I can't hold her and get up."

Rose giggled just a bit. "The child can get up on her own," she quipped. Before doing so, she kissed Sherlock's cheek and crawled out of the blanket, taking it with her as she exited the closet.

A few hours later the three Holmes siblings were gathered in the sitting room watching an old film on television. When the credits began rolling, Mycroft looked at the clock and saw it was well past Rose's usual bedtime.

"And that is our last film this evening. It's time for little girls to be in bed," he announced.

Rose made a whining noise. "But the next film is The Lodger and that's my very favorite!"

"Don't bother pouting about it, I'm immune; you can thank Sherlock for that," Mycroft told her. "It can't possibly be your favorite, unless every film you watch is your very favorite, because you've said that already tonight."

"That was my favorite drama. This is my favorite silent film," the little girl countered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Mycroft's right; about bedtime, not the pouting," he clarified. "Who do you want to tuck you in?"

"You," Rose decided. She scooted over and helped herself to Mycroft's lap. "Good night My. I love you," she whispered, hugging him tightly.

"I love you too," he murmured, kissing her cheek. "Sleep sweet."

Sherlock stood up and scooped her up into his arms.

"I can walk you know," Rose told him, even as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I know. But I like carrying you. You're small," Sherlock replied.

"Brilliant deduction," she giggled before sobering. "Sherlock, is it okay to laugh? Are we allowed to? Is it terrible to laugh when Mummy is gone? Can we have lots of fun still, or not anymore?"

Sherlock pulled the bed clothes back before depositing her gently on the bed. "That, my dear sister, is a very good question," he began. When she crawled under the covers he sat down beside her. "Mother wouldn't want us to be sad for her. She'd want us to remember her, always, but I don't think she'd like it very much if we stopped laughing and having fun. I think that would actually make her very sad, to think we stopped doing those things."

"Mummy did like to smile and laugh," Rose added. "Even when she didn't feel well, she had a smile. So I think you're right and I'm glad of that. I like having fun and being silly, but I would've given it all up, for Mummy, if that was the right thing to do."

"You are a very special little girl Rose," Sherlock said quietly. "A very special and good girl. Mummy was so proud of you, do you know that? She loved you so very much and was so proud of how smart you are, how good you are, what a beautiful dancer you are. So very, very proud of her baby. I hope you know that."

Tears gathered in Rose's bright blue eyes and she tried to blink them away. Her efforts failed miserably and the tears began silently sliding down her cheeks.

Sherlock immediately felt like an arse. "I'm sorry Rosie, I shouldn't have said anything. I didn't mean to upset you sweetheart," he murmured. "I… I thought you'd want to know and be reassured."

She nodded and sniffled. "I did and I'm glad you said it," Rose told him sincerely. She swiped away her tears with her hands. "Sherlock, I'm scared and don't want to be alone. Will you stay until I go to sleep?"

"Come here," Sherlock murmured, pulling her into his arms. He began rocking her gently, stroking her hair with one hand. "There's nothing to be scared of," he soothed. "Would you feel better if you slept in my room again?"

Rose nodded, confirming she would.

He picked up her treasured stuffed bear and handed it to her before he stood up with her in his arms. Sherlock kissed the top of her head and, after stopping to turn off the light, carried her into his room. "Crawl under the covers, I'll be right back."

"Everything alright?" Mycroft asked when Sherlock came back into the sitting room.

"Not really, no, but it will be. She's going to sleep in my room tonight, I just wanted to let you know so you didn't have a heart attack when you try to peek in on her before you turn in," Sherlock admitted.

Just the tiniest bit of pink appeared on Mycroft's cheeks. He hadn't been aware Sherlock knew of that habit. "It's a very bad precedent to set. She cannot spend every night in your room or-"

"I don't want to hear it Mycroft," Sherlock interrupted. "She's feeling vulnerable and I'm going to do everything I can to make her feel better. That's my job; our job. It won't become a nightly habit, whatever you may think. Good night."

Mycroft scowled at his retreating brother's back.

"Sherlock? Are you coming?" Rose called. She gave him a little smile when he entered the room.

"I'm going to change, hold on," he said with a smile. He disappeared into the bathroom with his pajama pants and t-shirt and changed, returning to his room after he put his clothes in the laundry basket.

"Sherlock?"

"What?" he asked, sitting down on the bed.

"I love you. I'm glad you're here. I'm glad I've got you," Rose whispered.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be," Sherlock told her. "And I love you too. Under the covers now."

She did as he asked, burrowing under the covers with Teddy as Sherlock settled back against the headboard. "Comfy?" he asked and smiled when she nodded. "Need anything else?"

"Just cuddles."

Sherlock gave her an outraged look. "Cuddles? Cuddles? Hmm, you don't ask for much, do you? Would you like the crown jewels as well? A trip to the south of France?"

Rose pretended to consider the matter seriously for a moment. "No, the queen better keep her jewels; after all I like her. Don't want to travel either. Just cuddles."

He gave an exaggerated sigh. "Well I suppose, just this once." Sherlock wrapped an arm around her when she cuddled up against his side and kissed the top of her head. "Now close your eyes and go to sleep Rose. It's very late and Mycroft will scold us both if you aren't asleep soon." Sherlock reached over to shut off the lamp beside the bed.

Sherlock began humming, holding her close, and before long began singing quietly. "Come, sweetheart mine. Don't you sit and pine. Tell me of the cares that make you feel so blue…"

Three days later, Rose was all set to return to school. Her lunch was packed, her backpack was ready and waiting by the door, she was dressed and had her shoes on. Only one thing remained and it was an important thing.

She knocked loudly on Mycroft's study door before opening it. When he glared at her, she waved the comb and hair ribbon at him. Rolling his eyes, he waved her into the office and immediately began speaking in Italian rather than English. Balancing the phone on one hunched up shoulder he attempted to continue the conversation while braiding Rose's hair.

When Mycroft finished with her hair he put his caller on hold and turned Rose around to look at him. "Have a lovely day my dear," he said sincerely. "Be certain to call my office if you need anything at all. Be a good girl for me." When she threw her arms around him, he gave her a hug and kissed her forehead before returning to his phone call.

Rose shut the door tightly behind her and headed for the entry way to get her coat and hat.

"There you are!" Sherlock called from the stairs. "I was looking for you and…." His voice trailed off and he gave her a strange look.

"What? Do I have something on me?" Rose asked, looking down at her clothes.

"Did you do your hair?"

She shook her head. "No, Mycroft did. Why?"

"Hmm. Bit not good I'm afraid," Sherlock said with a sigh. "Rather crooked. I'm sure he did his best but clearly braiding is not his forte. Best let me do that from now on."

Rose's mouth dropped open. "You mean there's things My isn't good at?"

"Don't sound so astonished Rose. He's human just like the rest of us," Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes. "Get your comb so I can fix your hair. I think you might have to make do with a pony tail today or we're going to be late." When she returned with her comb, Sherlock undid the crooked braid and put her hair up in a pony.

"Rose, why are you still here?" Mycroft asked as he exited his study.

"Because braiding isn't your forte," she responded. "Sherlock says. It was crooked, so he had to fix it. But we're leaving now. Bye My!" Rose gave him a wave before heading out the door.

Sherlock gave his brother a smug look before following Rose out the door. There was nothing as sweet as showing up Mycroft. This was going to be a brilliant day!