LEARNING HOW TO PARENT

Mycroft never lets an opportunity pass him by to disparage Sherlock's parenting abilities. Lackadaisical, lenient, unhelpful are generally words, among others, he uses to describe Sherlock's skills, or the implied lack thereof. Mycroft, however, only saw the Sherlock that was around when Mycroft himself was in the house, when Sherlock very willingly took a backseat in the parenting department. However, when the eldest Holmes wasn't looking, Sherlock was slowly learning how to raise his little sister, one step at a time, developing his own unique style in his role as "co-parent" of the littlest Holmes. Born out of my "Its summer time, set the plot bunnies free!" mentality, comes a series of bits and pieces of Sherlock's journey as a somewhat reluctant parental type figure.

LESSON LEARNED: PICK YOUR BATTLES

Sherlock sighed heavily as he took a tray of skin samples out to the rubbish bin on the curb. His plan to examine the effects of acid on different skin types, using samples from both men and women as well as varying races, was at an end before it even began. Mother was well and truly horrified by it and had banished the project to the bins.

"I really don't understand why that's necessary Sherlock. I'm not even going to ask where you got those… skin… things from," Maud commented when her middle child returned to the house. "But that is disgusting and the smell is making me quite ill."

The fourteen-year-old immediately felt badly for mentally complaining about throwing away his experiment. It was certainly not his intention to make Mother ill, particularly when she'd had a very good day health wise. "I'm sorry Mother," he told her sincerely. "Why don't you go lie down? I'll watch Rose."

"She'll need to eat and be put to bed," Maud cautioned. "Mycroft called earlier and he'll be late tonight, you'll be on your own." Sherlock had turned out to be an exemplary big brother and more than able to keep an eye on his excitable sibling, having well learnt his lesson last spring. Though she no longer doubted his ability, Maud disliked having to put Rose's care on her middle son's shoulders.

"I can handle that. Honestly Mother, go rest, we'll be fine. I'll wake you if I need you," Sherlock promised.

After Maud kissed her children goodnight and headed upstairs, Sherlock turned to his little sister with a smile. "Want to help me find some other things for my experiment?"

"Yes! I wanna help," Rose told him emphatically. The three-year-old was always telling people she could help and trying to do things because she was a 'big girl' now.

Immediately a massive treasure hunt commenced for new materials, culminating in the siblings scouring the house from top to bottom and procuring a wide variety of items. First there was the cotton batting from a pillow in Mycroft's room; it was an ugly pillow anyway, no one with eyes that worked would miss it. This was followed by a small patch of carpet from the sitting room that had been procured with a box cutter and the empty space was promptly covered by adjusting all the furniture in the room just a bit to the left. Sherlock was certain no one would notice the very slight movement.

A load of moldy bread also joined the cache of items for Sherlock's experiment and created quite an adventure in its retrieval from the rubbish bin outside. Sherlock had gone into the bin and was sifting through that week's trash when the garbage truck began its journey down the street, moving ever close to the Holmes's bin.

"Lorry!" Rose shouted when she spotted it. "Lorry! It's coming!" She bounced around and pointed at the approaching vehicle while Sherlock made a hasty exit from the bin. "Lorry! Lorry! Lorry!" A moment later she let out a screech of indignation when her big brother suddenly seized her hand and began moving her away from the curb. "Nooooooooooooooo! No no no no! Bad Sherlock, bad!"

Bad Sherlock? Clearly his sister spent too much time around Mycroft; that needed to be rectified as soon as possible. "Rose, we can't stand there or the lorry is going to hit us," Sherlock explained as he dragged the screeching toddler back a few feet, awed once more by the shrill nature of Rose's protests. How such a tiny person was able to make such a massively loud and high pitched noise he wasn't certain, but it was very interesting… for the first thirty seconds or so and then it was annoying and a bit painful. Despite her protests and attempts to pull away, Sherlock held onto her hand tightly, knowing Rose was far more likely to run and investigate the large truck than stay at his side if he didn't. When the lorry moved on, they returned to the curb where Rose watched the truck finish the street, clapping enthusiastically when it turned off their road.

"Come on, let's go look in the attic, we've got everything I need from the bins," Sherlock told his little sister. "Have you ever been up in the attic?" When she shook her head no, he grinned brightly. "You're in for a treat then Rosie!" He promptly took Rose inside and carried her up into the attic, pulling the steps up behind them so she couldn't fall.

Once the steps were pulled up, Sherlock set her down and gave her a grin. "Alright Rosie, you dig wherever you want and I'll look, too. Come show me anything you find that's interesting."

It didn't take Rose long to find something interesting, but it was not something she could bring to her big brother, so it was a very good thing he was watching her! Rose's eyes had settled on a steamer trunk with leather straps, the sort a person from the 19th century would have travelled with, but that detail was quite lost on the toddler. All Rose knew is that it was very interesting!

She closed the distance between herself and the trunk and ran her hands over it, eyes wide, her tongue sticking out just a bit in concentration, almost as if she was trying to read the trunk, deduce things from the trunk even. Sherlock grinned with pride at the thought of Rose, just a month short of being three, was already showing signs of deduction capabilities and attention to details.

"Do you like the trunk?" Sherlock asked, moving to stand beside her.

"Yes," she said, rubbing her hands on the leather straps of the trunk before moving them to feel the wood of the trunk itself. Rose scrunched up her nose in concentration, causing her big brother to smile. "This feels funny; they aren't the same," she pointed out. "Why?"

"They're made of two different things," Sherlock explained, kneeling down beside her. "These are leather straps that keep the trunk closed up tight when someone goes travelling. Do you know what leather is?"

Rose nodded and simply said, "Cows."

"Right! This is wood," Sherlock explained, moving his hand to touch the trunk itself. He examined it closely for a moment, distracted by identifying the specific type. "Black walnut in fact," Sherlock announced after a moment. "You can't make things of black walnut anymore, so this is a very special trunk. What do you think is in there?"

"Pirates!" Rose announced as she began bouncing up and down, her curls bouncing in time to her movements. "Open it, Sherlock, open it!"

"You think a pirate is in there?" Sherlock asked, chuckling. "Do you mean pirate gold? Treasure? Should we open it?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Rose shouted, clapping her hands excitedly. She sucked in a breath as he opened the top of the trunk and her little face, so full of excitement, immediately became sad upon discovering nothing but a large spool of lace. "No pirates," she whined.

Sherlock hugged her tight. "No, no pirates, but I can use this for my experiment," he decided, retrieving the spool. The lace, which had once been white, was yellow and somewhat brittle with age. As he tossed the lace in the direction of the steps down to the hallway below, Rose climbed inside the trunk where she happily sat while Sherlock dug around for several minutes longer.

"We're done up here now, we need to go downstairs. Come here so I can help you go down," Sherlock instructed, holding his arms out for Rose.

The little girl shook her head. "No. I wanna stay here, my trunk now."

"You can't stay in the attic silly girl. You'd be hungry and lonely," he pointed out as he scooped her up. Sherlock immediately regretted taking her out of the trunk as she began screeching and wailing, reaching her arms out for the item in question. "Will you be quiet and be good if I bring the trunk downstairs? I'll put it in your playroom, but only if you let me bring you down first. Can we do that?"

Rose considered the matter for a moment before nodding. "Yes, we will do that. My trunk." True to her agreement, she held on tightly as Sherlock carried her down the steps to the hallway below and hovered nearby as he brought down the trunk. She followed him all the way into her playroom where he pushed it over to a relatively empty space in the room.

"I wanna sleep in there," Rose said suddenly. "Please? I wanna sleep in the trunk."

While he was normally one to indulge Rose's flights of fancy and adventures that led to learning, this one fell outside of Sherlock's comfort zone. What if the lid collapsed on her and she was stuck or got hurt? Not to mention Mycroft would murder him for letting their sister sleep in a trunk. "You'll have to ask Mother or Mycroft about it tomorrow," Sherlock decided. "Come on, we have more hunting to do."

The excitement of the hunt swept Rose up once more and the two combed through the rest of the house to acquire more items. One such item was a forest green jumper found in the laundry room that belonged to Mycroft- or rather, had belonged to Mycroft- which joined the hodge podge collection of seventeen items in total.

By the time their treasure hunt was finished it was well past supper time and Sherlock fed her before hustling little Rose through her bedtime routine. They brushed their teeth together, he helped her change into her pajamas, and he read her two books before tucking her into her little toddler bed. After turning out the light he headed back to the dining room to work on his experiment. With Rose in bed, Sherlock had every intention of getting back to his experiment.

Rose, however, had every intention of not allowing him to do so. Ten minutes after being tucked in, Sherlock could hear the pitter patter of her tiny feet making their way slowly down the stairs and towards the dining room.

"You have to go to sleep Rosie," Sherlock said seriously when he caught sight of her curly head. "You're going to be intolerably cranky if you don't get some sleep, Baby. Come on, I'll tuck you in again." Without waiting for a response, he picked Rose up and carried her back upstairs, ignoring the indignant whimpering and whining noises.

Fifteen minutes later, she appeared once more and was again promptly tucked into bed. Five minutes after that, she came out again. Finally, forty-five minutes after he'd first put her to bed, Rose made her fourth trip into the dining room and promptly threw a tantrum.

"No!" Rose wailed. "No, no, no! No sleep!" The toddler added a stomp of her tiny foot as if trying to emphasize her unhappiness with bedtimes. "Don't wanna sleep! Wanna help! Lemme help!" When stomping didn't change his mind, she decided to use her sad puppy face which alwaysworked with Sherlock… until now.

"Why won't you go to bed? Why are you being so fussy?" Sherlock finally demanded of her. He put his hands on his hips as he stared down the stroppy three-year-old. "Are you feeling icky? Is it cold? Are there monsters? What is the problem Rose? I can't fix it if you don't tell me and you have to go to bed."

Unused to being scolded by the 'fun' one of her two brothers, Rose stared up at him for a moment in shock as her mind processed this new data. When the moment passed, however, her face crumpled up and she began to cry.

These were not the tears of a little girl who didn't get her way, but tears of one who was very, very upset about something that she considered serious. Sherlock promptly picked her up and cuddled her close. "What's wrong Rosie?" he asked gently, trying futilely to dry her tears.

"I want My!" Rose wailed before promptly burying her face against his shoulder.

She wanted Mycroft? That was the problem? Ugh, Sherlock thought. "He's not here Rosie," he replied as he rocked her in his arms. "He'll be home later, but he's not home yet. Are you seriously lonely for Mycroft?" He sighed heavily when Rose nodded her head. This was a problem he couldn't solve.

Or could he? "How about I make you a bed in here, with me?" Sherlock asked. "I could make one up in here and you can be with me while I work. I'll tell you everything I do as I do it, so that you can learn too, and then when you're tired you can just fall asleep and I'll still be here." After all, the important part was sleep, so as long as she slept somewhere that was the main thing. The location of said sleep was really not something worth an all out battle.

"Okay," Rose whimpered. She wiped her face on his shirt before looking up at him hopefully.

"Good, we'll do that then. Let's get Teddy and some things from your room," Sherlock said, kissing her cheek.

Within just a few moments a new little bed had been fashioned in the dining room at an appropriate distance from where Sherlock would work. A cushion from the sitting room couch, which had two long ones as opposed to three shorter ones, would serve as Rose's bed and was just her size. With her pillow and blanket from her room, and Teddy in hand, the toddler was tucked into bed once more.

"Please go to sleep Baby," Sherlock said gently, tucking the covers in snuggly around her. "You have Teddy; you've had stories and all the other rituals of your bedtime routine, so now it's time to sleep. Nobody wants a cranky Rosie in the morning."

The little girl smiled sleepily up at him. "Night-night Sherlock. Love you." She gave him a kiss and watched as he returned to the dining table and began his running commentary on his experiment. It worked as well as any lullaby and within minutes, Rose was fast asleep.

Sherlock smiled to himself as he watched her for a moment, making certain she would sleep this time. When it was clear she wouldn't be up anymore that night, he felt a sense of both relief and pride at having picked the right part of the battle to fight instead of causing an all-out bedtime war.

LESSON LEARNED: EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED

"I like it," Rose murmured as Sherlock closed the cover of Miss Nelson is Missing.

"That one's your favorite book right now, isn't it?" Sherlock asked, looking down at the toddler in his lap. He smiled when she nodded enthusiastically. "That wasn't hard to deduce, since we've read it seven times today. I bet you'll be able to read it to me soon."

"No," the little girl said.

"No?"

"No more reading, my tummy is hungry," the three-year-old told her big brother.

"Well, I suppose it is tea time. Would you like a sandwich and some tea? Will that make your tummy happy?" Sherlock asked, tickling the tummy in question.

Rose squealed and wriggled around, playfully pushing his hands away. "No! No! No!"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Sherlock responded, continuing to tickle until she was breathless from all her giggling.

"I love you," Rose murmured when she caught her breath.

Sherlock smiled and returned the sentiment, whispering it in her ear. "Ready for your sandwich?"

"Yes! Can I help? I'm big now. I'm three," Rose reminded him, sounding very proud of herself.

"You're big? You don't look very big," he teased, gently tugging on her pony tail. "You still look very small to me."

His teasing was rewarded with a scowl, which unfortunately for Rose was a rather adorable one and far from intimidating. "I am very big. My said so. Three is very big! I have a big girl bed," she reminded him. Rose was quite proud of the fact that she'd recently traded her toddler bed for a proper twin sized one and gotten a whole make-over for her bedroom, which was, naturally, pink.

"Well, Mycroft is an idiot, don't listen to anything thing he says," Sherlock said with a straight face. He could hardly hold it together as Rose gasped and her bright blue eyes went comically wide. "But I suppose you can help me make sandwiches, and prove how very big you are," he offered, giving her a bit of a smile.

"Yes, I will help," Rose said assertively. She got up from his lap and scurried off to the kitchen with Sherlock close behind her.

"I'll start the tea, you get the bread and jam so I can make us sandwiches," he suggested, unable to resist smiling at the way her face lit up.

"I can do that!" Rose retrieved the loaf of bread from the bread box and placed it on the counter before going to look for the jam in the fridge. It wasn't hard to spot and she picked it up with both hands, intending to be careful with the glass jar. The lid, however, was not on very tightly and the bottle fell away from her, landing the kitchen rug with barely a noise, its contents spilling out everywhere. Rose stared at the pile of jam on the rug and frowned at it.

"Did you find it?" Sherlock asked, not looking up from where he was working at the counter.

"Yep." Rose solved her sandwich problem by merely picking up some jam in her hands and depositing the little pile on the countertop.

Sherlock reached for a jar, only to find it wasn't there, getting jam on his hand instead. Frowning slightly, he turned to look for Rose and found her back on the rug, trying to scoop the jam back into the jar. "One should always expect the unexpected with you, shouldn't they?" Sherlock murmured, looking once again between the handfuls of jam on the counter, his jam covered sister, and the rug which sported a sizeable heap of it.

"Yes," Rose agreed in a serious tone. "I'm cleaning, don't worry."

"Well we can't use that jam anymore, it's been on the floor. Mother wouldn't approve," Sherlock explained. "How did you manage to get so much of it on you in two seconds?" Jam was smeared on her hands and arms, the knees of her trousers and along the hem of her shirt.

"It just happened," the little girl responded. Uncertain whether or not he was upset by the mess, Rose offered an equally uncertain, "Sorry?"

"It's alright," Sherlock assured her, crouching down to pick her up. "Tea will have to wait though; you need a good washing first. Can't get jam all over the house."

Rose pouted. "Why not? It's a pretty color."

Sherlock's eyebrows rose and he looked down at her, unable to do anything other than laugh. "The world is much less boring through your eyes. What an interesting idea!" He could well imagine the look on Mycroft's face when he came home to discover a jam-covered house. It would be priceless, he was certain of it, but it was probably not the greatest idea to put in Rose's head. He knew without a doubt that she'd do it and then have to face the wrath of Mycroft afterwards. It was best to just discourage the idea now.

"But even though that's a very interesting idea," Sherlock continued. "It's not really a good one. I would suggest you not attempt to do that as an experiment, because I'd really hate having to put you in time out."

The little girl heaved a dramatic sigh as they entered the bathroom, but nodded her agreement just the same.

"That's my good girl," he praised, kissing her head. "You look almost good enough to eat, with all that jam. Maybe I should do just that!" Sherlock reached for a jam covered hand and slowly drew it towards his mouth, opening it up wide.

"Nooooooooooo!" Rose squealed, throwing her arms and kicking her legs around. Wriggling out of his grasp, she took off running through the house with her big brother in hot pursuit.

"What in the world is going on here?!" Mycroft demanded as a jam covered child ran past him just as he entered the house. He reached out and caught Rose's arm, immediately regretting it as he felt the sticky substance. "I'm not going to like the explanation for this, am I?" he asked, practically cringing in advance.

"No?" Rose offered. "I didn't put it on the walls, Sherlock said no."

"So you put it all over yourself instead? Lovely Rose. Jam is for eating, not for… whatever it is you're in the middle of attempting to do," Mycroft scolded.

"Making sandwiches," the little girl said, filling in the blank for him.

Mycroft was completely flabbergasted by her response. "Making… how does this happen while making sandwiches?"

"Oops?" The little girl looked up at her eldest brother with a tiny pout and an imploring face that practically screamed 'Don't scold me, I'm so cute!'

"Oops? That is not an explanation Rose," Mycroft informed her. "Sherlock, since you allowed this to happen, go clean her up and then tidy anything she's touched. Thank you once again, Sherlock, for making our home chaos."

"I advised against her making future jam-centered experiments. For what it's worth, this was an accident. Someone didn't close the jam jar tightly enough and Rose was trying to be helpful." Sherlock's tone clearly indicated that he felt Mycroft was the person in question and thus responsible for the entire jam fiasco.

"Mmhm. Yes, an accident. I completely believe you," Mycroft ground out sarcastically. "Just get cleaned up already, both of you. Oh Rose, don't lick the jam off yourself!"

"I'm a kitty. Meow meow. This is how kitties clean. Meow." She proceeded to lick at the jam on her arm.

Sherlock burst out laughing at the look of horror on Mycroft's face while the 'kitty' tried to clean herself. "Alright, come along kitty, time for you to get a bath I think."

Rose began meowing frantically as Sherlock picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. "No! Meow! Kitties don't like water! MEOW MEOW! MEOW!"

Her brother merely shook his head and carried her away to the bathroom.

LESSON LEARNED: DON'T LOOK A GIFT HORSE IN THE MOUTH

"I will not tell you again, Rosenwyn Aramantha. You will cease and desist all this climbing and bouncing on every piece of furniture you come across. Do you hear me? It's done now, find something else to do," Mycroft scolded as he escorted his errant five-year-old sister out of his study. "If I see it again, someone is getting a sore bottom. Is that understood?" He glared down at her, daring the tiny girl to defy him. Much to his relief, Rose merely pouted and bounced away.

As her beleaguered eldest brother shut the door firmly and returned to his desk, Mycroft quickly realized that working from home this Saturday afternoon was just not going to work. While she may not, at this moment, be bouncing or climbing on anything, she was now singing at the top of her lungs while running up and down the hallway outside his door. While all singing was likely to disturb him just then, particularly in such close proximity to what was supposed to be his sanctuary in this house of madness, it was the very worst song of all.

"How do you solve a problem like Maria? How do you catch a cloud and pin it down? How do you find a word that means Maria?" Rose sang at her loudest possible volume.

Mycroft was going to kill Eleanor Gardner the next time he saw the mother of Rose's best friend. That woman just had to get Rose The Sound of Music for her birthday. The girls loved it, she said. They played it and sang it and it was a lovely distraction, she said.

Sure, it was lovely movie with catchy music and an endearing -though ultimately heavily falsified- story of hope in the face of oppression, the full scope of which Mycroft was certain Rose didn't understand. What five-year-old, no matter how brilliant, really understood Nazi occupied Austria? But if he had to listen to that bloody awful nonsense the whole rest of the day, someone in this house was going to die. He just knew Mother would be quite distressed if he had to ring her up in Madrid and inform her that the baby had been strangled in order to preserve his mental health and thus, save the world.

Stuffing his paperwork into his briefcase, Mycroft threw open the door of his study, letting it hit the wall with a bang as he stalked out into the hallway. The noise had, thank god, disrupted the impromptu concert in the hallway and Mycroft couldn't help but feel a bit satisfied at the look of shock on Rose's face at the door hitting the wall. If only she could be stunned long enough for him to make his escape!

"SHERLOCK!" Mycroft bellowed. "I'm going to the office. Watch Rose and make certain she doesn't crack her head open again. If she does, you're both getting spanked and I will personally burn each and every one of your possessions that I can find, starting with your violin!"

The Holmes in question looked up in alarm from where he'd been reading in the sitting room and could only manage to nod in response to the threats. No, not threats, promises; Mycroft never said those sorts of things unless he meant them, hence it being a promise rather than a threat. Sherlock watched in awe as Mycroft slammed the door open and slammed it closed behind him, stepping out into the downpour, only to get soaked before he managed to open his brolly properly.

For a moment, the middle and littlest Holmses stared at the front door in shock, until finally Sherlock broke the silent. "That… was really masterful Rose. I don't think I've ever seen him so vexed in my entire life; I'm impressed," Sherlock decided, giving his sister a smile.

Three hours later, he was no longer smiling and wished that he had an office to go to. Rainy days were really the worst when it came to Rose, who had unending amounts of energy that needed to be drained by playing outside on a daily basis. Not only was it raining today, it was raining for the third day in a row.

In the time since Mycroft had abandoned him to the terror that was their sister a chair had been taken out of commission and Rose very narrowly missed hitting her head on the corner of the coffee table as it collapsed under her from continuous and sustained bouncing. In his attempt to save his sister from cracking her head open, his book had been tossed to the side while he dived across the room to catch her. Sadly, the side that it was tossed to was the side with the fireplace and that book "died" as Rose had put it. Hoping to keep them both, and the house, safe, and in response to her inability to keep from bouncing, Sherlock had put her in a lengthy time out. The wall where she'd sat on the naughty chair facing the corner now featured multiple scuff marks from Rose's shoes, further evidence of her inability to sit still for even a moment today.

The worst, however, came after lunch time, which had yielded some quiet for a few blessed minutes. Rose had gone up to her playroom afterwards and Sherlock was comforted by the lack of noise coming from upstairs.

He shouldn't have been.

Deciding he should check on Rose, even if things seemed to be calm and quiet, Sherlock went upstairs and entered the playroom. The first thing he saw was his little sister holding a pair of scissors, a most definite no-no. "Rose! You aren't supposed to play with scissors! Where did you find them?" he exclaimed. It was then he realized that the scissors were only the beginning of the mess that had occurred in those quiet thirty minutes she'd been playing.

"What have you done?!" Sherlock half-shouted, taking in the chaos of the scene before him. Doll hair littered the little kitchenette table and several dolls sporting very unfortunate haircuts were lying amidst their lost hair. Two of the curtains were missing their lower halves and at this very moment, Rose was cutting one up with the scissors.

"I'm gonna make clothes like Fraulein Maria! For all my babies! But they wanted new hair first. Those styles were very, very old. So we played beauty salon!" Rose made it sound as if that was the most obvious and natural thing in the world.

But it wasn't. Sherlock crossed the room and took the scissors back from her, giving her a stern look. "Mycroft is going to smack the daylights out of you when he gets home! Look at this mess! What are we going to do?!"

"Dunno."

Uncertain whether to put her in time out again or merely count his blessings that she was uninjured as far as he could tell and hadn't cut her own hair, Sherlock decided on the later. Mycroft was the mean brother after all. "Come on, help me clean this up or we're going to be in so much trouble. Put all the dolly hair in the kitchen bin, put the scissors back wherever you found them, and I'll take care of the curtains. If Mycroft asks, they're being washed." And he would wash them, just so he wasn't making Rose lie. He just wouldn't explain that two of the three were half their normal size.

Fifteen minutes later, evidence of all crimes eradicated for the moment, Sherlock plopped Rose down in front of the telly and put in a film. Why he hadn't thought to do that earlier he wasn't sure, but he prayed to any god that was listening that Rose was done with her burst of manic energy. He made certain to select a film that was relatively nice and calming with a fairly limited amount of music that she could sing along to. The live action version of Peter Pan seemed to fulfill such requirements and Sherlock started the DVD before heading into the kitchen to get something to drink.

"What's that?" Rose asked when he returned.

Sherlock was dismayed to see she was still unable to sit still, but at least she wasn't bouncing or cutting anything! He sat down beside her, hoping to pull her close for a cuddle. "It's coffee."

Rose looked into his mug curiously. "Can I have some?"

Normally Sherlock would refuse, knowing Mycroft would have a hissy if he didn't, but really, at this point, her exuberance really couldn't get any worse. "Alright," he said, handing the mug over to her with a shrug. "Blow on it a bit, it's warm. Drink slowly."

He watched, fascinated, as Rose began delicately sipping the coffee. She seemed to like the taste and what was more her body appeared to like the drink as well. As Rose downed the liquid slowly but surely, she leaned back against the couch, all bouncing ceased, and she looked calm for the first time all day. How odd, yet fascinating. This would require further study!

An hour later, Mycroft returned home to find Rose calm and relaxed, enjoying a film that wasn't The Sound of Music. "I see you've both survived," he murmured, crossing the sitting room to ruffle Rose's curls. "Though the chair obviously didn't." Mycroft had been about to say they'd all be discussing the demise of the chair in detail when he realized Rose was drinking something that didn't look quite right.

"Rose, what are you drinking?" he asked.

"Coffee; I like it. This is my second one," Rose replied, giving him a bright smile. Her attention returned to the cup in her hands.

Mycroft's attention, however, turned to Sherlock, who promptly received a smack upside the head.

"Ow! Hold on, let's discuss this rationally," the younger Holmes brother responded. He headed for the kitchen with Mycroft hot on his heels. "She asked if she could have some and I gave her a cup. She liked it. She's been calm ever since. I don't understand it, but that's the truth."

"It's coffee and she's five. On what planet is that a good idea?!" Mycroft demanded, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"The planet that wants to continue to exist and not go the way of that chair in the sitting room," Sherlock pointed out. "I've never done it before, but it worked and I'm not going to question it. At least not this time anyway!"

Mycroft groaned loudly. "This is a very, very bad idea. I'm blaming you entirely for the fallout of this."

"There's an old saying that I used to think was completely idiotic, but now I believe is spot on. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Mycroft. She's calm and quiet and we'll all live to see tomorrow," Sherlock said, giving his big brother a look. "Don't spoil it, please."

Mycroft slowly nodded as he saw the wisdom of his brother's borrowed words and for once, allowed Sherlock to have the last word. While this could not become a habit by any means, today, he'd let it go.

NOTE: No, I don't condone giving children coffee LOL. But I was thinking about Rose's love of coffee and how that came to be. This was what came to mind.

ADDITIONAL NOTE: There are still 7 lessons for Sherlock to learn! I want your suggestions! I will also be doing a 10 of something with Mycroft and I want suggestions for that as well. Hope you enjoyed the drabbles! Will get Rose Blooms updated next!