LEARNING HOW TO PARENT—Part 2

LESSON LEARNED: LOVE IS PATIENT

Sherlock Holmes had been looking for his violin for the past three hours. How a violin disappears and stays missing for such a significant amount of time he wasn't entirely certain, but stay missing it did and he was quickly running out of new places to look. Soon there was only one place left to look: Rose's room.

He knocked lightly on his baby sister's bedroom door. "Rose, its Sherlock. May I come in?" He could hear her little feet crossing the room and she opened the door slowly.

"Hi," Rose said quietly. The door was only opened enough for her to stick her head out of the door. "I'm busy, come back later." She promptly shut the bedroom door in his face.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, knowing without a doubt now that his violin was in her room. A part of him even thought something may have happened to it, which only added to his desire to find it. "Rose! I'm going to come in. I need to find my violin and I think you know where it is."

He entered the room to find his four-year-old sister sitting on her bed, holding on to her beloved Teddy tightly, looking like the personification of the word 'guilty.' This was not going to be fun, Sherlock thought to himself. Crossing the room he took a seat on the bed and reached out for one of Rose's tiny hands. Everything about her was so very tiny that sometimes it was hard to imagine that someone so small could create the level of mischief and mayhem that she did.

Taking her hand, Sherlock rubbed it gently with his thumb. "Rose, do you know where my violin is?" he asked gently.

Rose nodded miserably and buried her face against her teddy bear.

Sherlock squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Can you tell me where it is?"

She mumbled something in response but Sherlock couldn't quite make it out, being unskilled at understanding Rose-through-bear-speak. "Tell me where it is, Rosie," he encouraged. "Whatever it is, I won't shout at you, I promise."

Those were apparently the magic words as Rose removed her face from the bear. "Under my bed," she whispered. "I'm really sorry Sherlock, I didn't mean to." After this declaration she buried her face once more.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock got up from her bed and knelt on the floor. A cursory look under the bed confirmed that his violin was in fact underneath it, pushed as far in the back as Rose's little arms had been able to push it. Lying flat on the floor he reached underneath and caught the instrument with his hand, gently pulling it to him, uncertain what he will find. When he spotted the huge gash on the back of the violin, Sherlock let out a cry of distress, his fingers gently assessing the damage to the instrument. The violin itself might live, but it certainly wasn't a lovely, performance quality instrument any longer.

"How did this happen Rose?" Sherlock asked, looking at her sternly. "Why did you have my violin and what did you do to it?"

The little girl burst into tears and pressed her teddy bear against her face once more.

"Crying isn't an answer to my question, Rosenwyn. I suggest you answer them or you're going to be in very big trouble," Sherlock warned. He wouldn't spank her, after all he was the fun brother, but a long time out most definitely had her name on it, particularly if he wasn't thrilled with her responses.

After another minute or two of tears, Rose finally lifted her head from her teddy and looked sorrowfully at her big brother. "I just wanted to play it! I was going to learn to play it like you and surprise you, but I accidentally dropped it down the stairs and then I got scared and tried to hide it."

"We've talked about this before, haven't we?" Sherlock asked, sitting down on the bed once more. "About how my violin is mine and you can't play with it unless you ask first." He could sense how reluctant she was to admit that they'd discussed the rules of his violin before, and was very proud of her when she nodded her head anyway.

"I'm very disappointed in you," Sherlock said, deliberately mimicking the stern but gentle way his mother had of scolding. "That was a naughty thing to do and there has to be consequences. We're going downstairs and you're going to sit your bum on the naughty chair for a long time out for breaking the rules again."

Rose began crying as if she'd be sentenced to death, but Sherlock was determined not to let it sway him; not this time. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she repeated through her tears. "Don't be dis'pointed in me!"

With a sigh, Sherlock picked her up for a cuddle. "I know you're sorry, but you aren't allowed to do that. You've made me very, very sad. But after your time out, you'll be all forgiven and I won't be disappointed anymore."

While she continued to cry and cling to him, Sherlock carried her downstairs, not feeling any happier about this turn of events than she was. He'd never had to tell her before that he was disappointed or even punish her before. But she deserved it, he kept telling herself. This time, despite her tears, she really, really deserved it and he most definitely had to do it, or she'd never learn to leave his things alone.

Sherlock carried her straight into the sitting room and put her gently on the naughty chair that faced the corner. "Ten minutes," he told her. "You're going to sit here for ten minutes and then we'll have a cuddle and it'll all be forgiven." It was longer than one might normally put a child in time out, the prevailing theory being one minute for each year of their age, but Rose had not only taken his violin but tried to hide that she'd damaged it, making the ten minutes justified in his opinion.

That didn't mean, however, that those ten minutes would be easy for either of them. Truly despondent at the fact that she'd upset her beloved fun brother so much that he was not only punishing her, but was disappointed in her, fueled frantic tears that seemed to go on and one without abating as the minutes began ticking by. Sherlock, despite his best efforts, wasn't immune to them; not even close.

Three minutes ticked by so slowly Sherlock thought they both might expire before the full ten minutes passed. Finally, at four and a half minutes, he couldn't take her tears any longer and crossed the room, turning her to face him. "Is it very hard?" he asked gently. "Are you really that upset?" His heart broke at the anxious look on Rose's face as she nodded and tried to swipe at her tears with her tiny hands.

"I'll be right back, stay here," Sherlock said, turning her back to face the wall. He immediately got up and entered the dining room, picking up a chair and bringing it back with him to the sitting room. Placing it right behind Rose's chair, he sat down and picked her up, settling her on his lap. "You're still going to have your time out," Sherlock explained when she gave him a questioning look. "But we'll do it together, alright? We're both going to sit very quietly together until the timer goes off. Understand?"

Rose nodded her understanding and turned to face the corner once more, her tears finally coming to a stop as she sat there in his lap. The final part of her time out passed quietly, and Sherlock was very relieved that her frantic tears had stopped. He meant to teach her a lesson, not frighten her or torture her!

When the timer went off, Sherlock turned Rose around in his lap to face him. Before he could say a word, Rose threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry Sherlock. I won't take your violin anymore ever again. Or hide it either."

Sherlock smiled and snuggled her close. "I forgive you," he promised. "It's all forgiven and time out is all over now." He stood carefully with her in his arms and left the corner, pleased at how well everything had turned out, even if his violin had been damaged. Sometimes one had to be patient and temper discipline with love when it came to children and today Sherlock had learned the value and truth of his mother's words of wisdom.

LESSON LEARNED: ACCIDENTS ARE BOUND TO HAPPEN (AKA: The Dreaded Pirate Rose)

"Rose! Did you take those beakers again? I need those!" Sherlock called up the stairs.

"Yes! I hide them, better come find them!" she called back. Wearing a red bandana, a little leather vest and a sword, 'pirate' Rose gave her brother an impish grin and dashed off to her playroom.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock trudged upstairs, thankful that she'd only taken them from the dining room and not from the experiment room. Still, he needed those and wasn't necessarily in the mood to play treasure hunt.

After searching through some of the upstairs rooms, Sherlock finally entered Rose's playroom, watching with amusement as she tried to give him an angelic little face. "Tell me where they are, or I'll have to resort to torture," he stated with a completely straight face.

Rose's blue eyes grew wide. "Torture?" she whispered.

"Yes, torture," Sherlock confirmed. "The very worst form of torture known to mankind: tickling."

"No! Heavens no! You can't! I won't let you catch meeeeee!" Rose put up a merry chase around the playroom, finally making an escape before Sherlock could proceed with the dreaded tickle torture.

"Come back here!" Sherlock called, laughing as he chased her. "I want those beakers and I will have them!"

"No! I'm a pirate and pirates never return their treasure!" Rose responded, running towards the stairs.

Sherlock watched in horror, unable to reach his baby sister in time, as Rose tripped over her shoe laces at the top of the stairs. Time seemed to stand still, and the distance between them increased ten-fold as he heard her frightened scream and the thud of her little body hitting wooden stairs over and over and over before landing with a smack on the hardwood floor at the bottom.

Just as time seemed to stand still before, it now seemed to speed quickly ahead and without even knowing how, Sherlock was at her side as Rose lay at the bottom of the stairs. She was silent, her little body at what seemed like strange angles, and bleed was oozing out of her nose and mouth. "Rose? ROSE?!" He kept repeating her name, his volume louder each time he did so, hoping she would open her eyes. When three minutes had passed and Rose hadn't moved, opened her eyes, or made a sound other than that of her breathing, Sherlock knew he needed help.

While his first instinct was to call Mycroft, which might also be the signing of his own death warrant, Sherlock knew that even Mycroft couldn't magic an ambulance to their house faster than the emergency number. Forgoing alerting their elder brother, Sherlock took out his mobile and called 999.

The eight minutes that passed between the time the call was placed and the ambulance arrived were the longest eight minutes in the history of the world, according to Sherlock. After letting the paramedics in, he watched in horror as the paramedics first examined Rose and then ever so carefully put her on a back board and secured her head with a neck collar before loading her into the ambulance.

"I need to come with," Sherlock insisted as they made to shut the back doors of the ambulance. "I'm coming with or you're not taking her."

"You can't ride in the back of the ambulance sir," the paramedic said patiently. "But you can ride up front with the driver."

Once everyone was settled the ambulance took off for the nearest hospital, sirens and lights blaring. Halfway there, Rose's eyes fluttered open. "Sherlock?" she murmured. "Sherlock?"

"Slurred speech," the paramedic noted.

"What? That's not slurred speech! That's my name!" Sherlock called from the front seat.

The paramedic frowned. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously! And her name's not even really Rose, it's Rosenwyn. Our parents thought it might be fun to be creative… or something…" Sherlock muttered.

"How do you even spell that?" the paramedic asked. "R-o-z-w-i-n?"

"Oh, I feel so happy I've entrusted my only sister's care to such idiots," Sherlock growled. "R-o-s-e-n-w-y-n. Think Rosalind. And I'm right here Rose, there's no reason to be scared. I won't let any stupid people touch you."

"Want My," Rose whimpered. Her whimper went straight to Sherlock's heart. Did she blame him for her fall?

Before the moronic paramedics could infer that she was slurring her speech or having trouble putting together sentences, the ambulance arrived at the hospital. Sherlock exited the vehicle and moved well out of the way as they wheeled his sister inside where a doctor and several nurses took over, shouting various things at each other as they disappeared with her. When Sherlock attempted to follow, a nurse stepped in his way.

"They're going to take very good care of her sir. I have some paperwork for you to fill out so come and sit in the waiting room, please. The doctor will be out to talk to you just as soon as he can," the young woman said.

As Sherlock began filling out the mountain of paperwork, he retrieved his mobile and dialed a number, filled with dread as he did so.

Mycroft, ensconced in his office, was surprised to feel his mobile vibrating in his pocket and even more surprised at the name displayed on the screen. "Sherlock?" he answered. There was no response. "Sherlock? If you're calling just to breathe at me, I thought we'd already established that that was an inappropriate prank. He could hear his brother take a deep breath on the other end of the line.

"I broke the baby," Sherlock whispered. The brothers often referred to Rose privately as 'baby' or 'the baby' in their discussions, despite the fact that the child in question was now six-years-old. Sherlock suddenly felt as though he'd like to have a good cry and took another deep breath in order to thwart the urge to do so.

Mycroft frowned, despite the fact that Sherlock couldn't see it. "You broke Baby, what does that even mean?"

"She fell down the stairs Mycroft and was unconscious and bleeding," Sherlock finally responded. "I'm at hospital, they carted her away somewhere on a back board with a neck collar and it's my fault."

The eldest Holmes was very disconcerted by the emotions he could hear in his younger brother's voice. "I'll be right there."

Ten minutes later, Mycroft Holmes walked into the hospital. It didn't take him long to spot Sherlock, the younger brother looking despondent and very nearly in tears. "Have you heard anything?" he asked, sitting down beside him. "What happened?"

Sherlock shook his head. "They haven't come out yet. I'm so sorry Mycroft," he whispered. "I didn't mean it. This is entirely my fault and I'm so sorry." He couldn't even bring himself to look at Mycroft.

Mycroft cleared his throat, shoving away the panic rising within him and tried to focus on how to deal with Sherlock. Did he try to be gentle about it, or should be stern and order Sherlock to get himself under control? "That wasn't what I asked," he finally said, trying the gentle route. It was unbelievably disturbing to see Sherlock struggle so much to control his emotions, particularly in public.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Sherlock whispered. "It's entirely my fault."

Ah; gentle wasn't the way to go then. He'd need to be stern to pull Sherlock out of his wallowing enough to get a straight answer from the teenager. Mycroft reached out and firmly grasped Sherlock's chin, forcing his brother to look at him. "That was not what I asked you, young man. Stop your sniveling this very instant and answer the question or else."

Sherlock's eyes went wide as Mycroft's threat registered and had the effect he'd intended. "We were playing upstairs, I was chasing her," he quickly explained. "She tripped over her shoes laces- I hadn't even seen they were untied- and fell right down the stairs. I couldn't get to her in time to keep her from falling."

A mental image of his tiny sister plummeting down the hard, wooden stairs to land on the equally hard, wooden floor flashed through Mycroft's mind and it was incredibly disturbing to say the least. Almost as disturbing as that mental image was watching Sherlock look down at the floor again and begin sniffling and… good god, was he actually crying?!

"Pull yourself together Sherlock," Mycroft hissed. They didn't do this, they never did this. Mycroft had never been the person who'd comforted Sherlock when he cried, with the rare exception of a good, sound spanking now and again.

Sherlock paid no mind to his brother and was just as uncomfortable as Mycroft when he couldn't get the silent tears to stop. In his mind's eye he could see Rose at the bottom of the stairs, blood on her face, and body at awkward angles, unconscious. People could die from falling down the stairs. He shouldn't have chased her. He should have scolded her more about those stupid untied laces. Rose knew how to tie her shoes, he should have insisted that she do it rather than get carried away with chasing her. He'd never forgive himself if Rose was permanently hurt, or even died, because of stupid shoe laces and stupid chasing.

While no less frightened than Sherlock for their baby sister, Mycroft forced himself to keep his emotions in check and save any tears or outburst for after they heard from the doctor. Still, he hated to hear Sherlock so upset and to blame himself for what sounded like a complete accident. He squeezed his brother's shoulder, struggling to find words to comfort him, yet again reflecting that somehow it was always so much easier to comfort Rose than Sherlock. Finally, the words came to him.

"Did you push Rose down the stairs?"

Sherlock looked up at his brother, completely aghast. "Of course not!"

"Did you untie her laces intending to make her trip to teach her a lesson about tying her shoes properly?"

"No!"

"Did you watch and not try to intercept her before she tumbled?"

"No! I just couldn't get to her in time!"

"Then it sounds to me," Mycroft said. "That you cannot blame yourself, whatever the outcome of this. People have accidents every day and unless you did any of those things, you are not to blame and piling blame on yourself won't make it anymore true or Rose any better."

Sherlock seemed to take some comfort from the words, and both brothers took a bit of comfort when the doctor approached them.

"Mr. Holmes," the doctor said. "And…"

"The other Mr. Holmes," Mycroft answered. "I'm Rose's legal guardian and her oldest brother." He was, for the first time, very thankful that Mother had given him full legal authority in regards to Rose so that should some sort of medical decision need to be made, he had the ability to do it.

"Well, it looks like Rose is going to be just fine," the doctor said. "She cut her lip on her teeth on the way down, hence the blood from her mouth, and smacked her face and nose pretty hard. The nose isn't broken but she's got a sizeable bruise on her cheek. We did some CT scans and x-rays and there's no evidence of bleeding in the brain and no broken bones. Other than a mild concussion, she's just fine and can be taken home in a few hours. We want to make certain nothing appears in the next few hours, but if nothing further arises, she'll be set. I'll have a nurse bring you to her room."

Four hours later, Sherlock carried a sleepy Rose into his room. "This isn't my bedroom," she murmured.

"I know," Sherlock chuckled quietly. "It's my room. I want to keep an eye on you during the night and my bed is bigger than yours. I couldn't fit in it."

"I'm okay Sherlock. Promise," Rose replied. "The doctor even said." Despite being okay, she smiled as he tucked her under the covers before getting into bed himself and pulling her close.

"I'm sorry you got hurt today Rose. It was my fault and I'm really sorry. I was so scared," he whispered, running his hand through her curly hair. "Forgive me?"

"Of course!" Rose turned over a bit and kissed his cheek. "I should have tied my shoes anyway, so it's my fault," she whispered. "So I'm sorry too. Am I in trouble?"

"Am I in trouble?" Sherlock echoed. "You fell down the stairs and lost consciousness for ten minutes, I'm quite sure that's plenty. Plus, I'm certain you'll tie your shoes properly from now on, won't you?"

Rose nodded. "That was wholly undignified. What sort of pirate falls down the stairs? I need proper pirate boots, without laces," she decided. "We should do something about that. More proper pirate gear is required. Also, a ship would be nice."

Sherlock laughed quietly. "It was not undignified, and I really hope you have more respect for falling down the stairs than just declaring it 'undignified.' As for proper pirate gear, I'll pick Mycroft's pocket tomorrow and we'll order some online."

Rose smiled and closed her eyes. "You're my favorite Sherlock," she declared.

"And you're the most fearsome pirate mistress that ever sailed the seven seas," Sherlock replied, kissing her forehead. "Now go to sleep. I'll be right here, watching over you."

Seven days later, Mycroft Holmes walked into his favorite café to purchase something for lunch. After making his order, he handed over his bank card and picked up a pen to sign the receipt.

"Mr. Holmes? Um, your card has been declined."

Mycroft looked up at the cashier with alarm. "Excuse me?"

"It says it's been declined. I ran it twice and it came back that way both times," the young woman told him.

That was not possible. Mycroft had plenty of money in the bank to purchase lunch and had just recently had his sizeable paycheck deposited. The bank must have made a mistake, which was not the cashier's fault, so Mycroft held back his displeasure and handed over a credit card. This time the transaction was completed and he took his lunch back to the office.

Immediately upon his return he logged into his account at the bank and began reviewing the recent charges to the account: there were charges for various business dinners, daily lunch orders, 150 pounds on Amazon, charges from the grocery store, 2500 pounds to Playworks Inc., the usual charge for the mobile plan, the water bill…

Mycroft stopped and frowned. 150 pounds on Amazon? 2500 pounds to Playworks Inc? What the hell was all that? He hadn't made those charges! Mycroft quickly called up the online retailer and the children's playground equipment store and discovered what had been purchased with his card. He then immediately left the office and went home, murder on his mind.

His car pulled into the driveway of the Holmes residence twenty-five minutes later and the expenditures from his bank account came immediately into view. There, in the backyard, was Rose, in the most expensive pirate gear known to man, treasure map, hook, sword, pistol and all, running around the deck of her very own pirate ship.

A pirate ship.

In his yard.

That cost 2500 pounds.

That had apparently been christened HMS Mycroft.

And there, just where Mycroft knew he'd be, was Rose's faithful first officer, Sherlock, wearing his own pirate hat, shaking a sword in the air.

"WILLIAM SHERLOCK SCOTT HOLMES!" Mycroft thundered. Both the younger Holmes turned to look at Mycroft in alarm. "I AM GOING TO TAKE EVERY POUND OF THAT MONEY OUT OF YOUR FLESH!"

Sherlock's eyes widened and the seventeen-year-old went pale. That had not been an anticipated outcome of his illicit purchases for Rose. Shouting, yes; grounding, probably; forced repayment of funds spent; highly likely. Exchanging all of that for what was sure to be a very unpleasant visit to Mycroft's study? Nope, hadn't seen that one coming.

"I AM GOING TO GIVE YOU THE HIDING OF YOUR LIFE. GET OFF THAT RIDICULOUS SHIP NOW!" Mycroft bellowed.

Sherlock did the only sensible thing one could do when confronted with a bellowing and threatening Mycroft: he ran.