Something had upset her in the store and he should have seen this coming. What it was that upset her Sherlock didn't know, but his baby sister's eyes were distinctly teary looking on the cab ride back home. He had wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to his side as much as the seatbelt would allow, and kissed the top of her head. Inwardly Sherlock resolved to raid the biscuit tin with Rose and give her a good cuddle after they took the shopping inside the house. He'd paid the driver and grabbed a few of the bags, asking Rose to take one of the lighter ones inside.

Only she hadn't taken the bag from him and within a matter of moments, Sherlock had ascertained that Rose was gone. Again. Dropping the bags just inside the front door and yelling for their cook, Terre' to come quickly and collect them, Sherlock then reached for his mobile.

"Mycroft, please don't start shouting." The eldest Holmes closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Conversations that began with Sherlock making that kind of statement were never good ones.

"Rose has gone missing. She's not with any of her friends and I'm at the park closest to the house and there's no sign of her. She was right beside me and then was just gone!" Sherlock's own attempts to remain cool, calm and collected were beginning to unravel.

Mycroft's heart seemed to stop for a moment as he processed his brother's words. Gone could mean kidnapped! "BENCHLEY!" he shouted for his P.A. "Sherlock, where was she last seen? Is there evidence of kidnapping?"

When Benchley hurried into his office, Mycroft momentarily ignored Sherlock, giving directives to her instead. "I want the most senior police officer you can locate on the phone in the next 90 seconds, followed by-" He was cut off as Sherlock shouted his name.

"Not kidnapped! Not kidnapped!" Sherlock shouted, attempting to reclaim his brother's attention. "Sort of vanished, but she can't be that far."

"Not—You mean she's wandered off again?!" This time it was Mycroft doing the shouting and for very good reason. This was the third time in the past two weeks that Rose had just decided to go off and wander around on her own, an appalling habit that Sherlock had always had. The last thing Mycroft wanted was Rose to make this her habit as well. It was dangerous out there; she wasn't even quite eleven years old yet! Not to mention it was the beginning of December, meaning London was quite chilly most days.

"I told you to handle this!" Mycroft continued on. Benchley reappeared in his office doorway, motioning to the telephone on his desk but disappeared when he waved her off.

"I've been trying! I-"

"Yes, you've tried oh-so-hard," the eldest Holmes ground out. "The first time, you talked with her about feelings, which she would not share, and cautioned her not to do it again. The second time, you scolded her and sent her to bed early after a lengthy time in the corner reflecting on what was bothering her and why won't she share it. Again, no result!" As he ranted, Mycroft was getting ready to leave his office, balancing his mobile while attempting to put on his coat. "You should have spanked her the first time and I told you to definitely spank her the last time! Perhaps she wouldn't be taking after your wandering proclivities if you had put your foot down with her!"

At the other end of the conversation, Sherlock was cringing as he continued to search the area for Rose. "Mycroft, I-"

"No, I don't want to hear it Sherlock! I'm leaving the office now, and when we find her, I'm putting my foot down whether you like it or not!" Ending the call, Mycroft stepped out of his office and nearly ran into Benchley who had been about to enter once more.

"I've pushed all your meetings off until tomorrow, the Queen says she will call you later to reschedule tea, and I won't bother you unless there is an imminent threat," Benchley stated as she moved out of his way. "Is there anything else you need, sir?"

There were a great many things Mycroft Holmes needed: a guide to raising pre-teen girls, massive amounts of alcohol or a vacation. Neither of which were things that Benchley could provide, particularly when it came to dealing with Rose or Sherlock. "No, that will be all." With a curt nod, he departed his office and set off to find his sister.

London traffic was a fickle and changeable beast. A times the traffic flowed smoothly, when pedestrians and drivers alike respected one another's right of way. At other times, there were so many vehicles on the road that traffic crawled along and pedestrians were in fear for their lives. Or if they weren't, they should have been. Going on a gut feeling, something which rarely- if ever- led him astray, Mycroft gave his driver directions and hoped that traffic would be cooperative.

Thirty minutes after Mycroft hung up on him, Sherlock's mobile alerted him to a text. Its content caused him to heave a sigh of relief.

'Have located the baby. M'

'Will be murdering her shortly. M'

Sherlock sighed heavily. Admittedly his attempts to coax Rose into discussing what was bothering her these last few weeks had failed, but he wasn't certain an angry Mycroft would be any more successful.

'Be gentle. Don't shout at her. SH'

He waited, hoping for some reassurance that Mycroft would at least attempt to be patient or keep his temper somewhat in check. Sherlock was not surprised when Mycroft declined to respond and mentally wished Rose luck; she'd need it!

The thirty minute drive- London traffic had not been cooperative- did little to cool Mycroft's anger. Finding her essentially safe and sound precisely where he thought she would be did not ease his anger either. Leaving behind his car, he walked briskly through the grounds, his eyes on his precious target. His precious and very disobedient target!

Either Rise did not hear him coming, or hoped that if she didn't acknowledge him he'd disappear, but she did not look up as Mycroft approached her. She was sitting pretzel style on the ground, silent and still, staring at her mother's headstone, completely unaware of the world around her… right until the point his hand wrapped around her arm and hauled Rose to her feet.

Gasping, Rose began struggling to get away until she turned her head and saw that it was not some random strange but her big brother. Her very angry big brother! Immediately she stopped struggling and merely looked at Mycroft with wide eyes full of alarm.

"This," Mycroft growled, gesturing at the cemetery. "Is not acceptable behavior Rosenwyn and you are in very serious trouble! I will not allow this behavior to continue." He gave her a bit of a shake, somewhat surprised that Rose had yet to say a word. "You do not run off whenever you feel like it. Sherlock is allowed to wander London because he is an adult; his privileges do not apply to you! We need to know where you are, for your own safety! Are you even listening to me?!"

Rose continued to stare at him with wide eyes, completely tongue tied, which only made Mycroft more upset. "Have you no explanation at all for your behavior? You could get lost, injured, stolen for god sakes! We have safety rules for a reason! Well? Start explaining young lady!"

Her eyes immediately looked down at the ground as she took a deep breath. Then another, and another. The explanation was right on the tip of her tongue, yet somehow she couldn't manage to speak, thanks to the lump in her throat.

Red-faced and out of patience, Mycroft gave her only a moment or two to start talking. "Alright, if you do not wish to explain, then we'll move on to the consequences of your newly found habit of wandering London at will."

Keeping a firm hold on her arm, Mycroft steered her towards the memorial bench at the end of Maud's plot. In one smooth movement he sat and instantly began to tug Rose over his knee. Pushing her coat well out of the way of his target, Mycroft's hand firmly swatted the small bottom propped over his right knee.

The eldest Holmes half expected an indignant shout, or perhaps even an order to stop, from his spirited little sister in response to the swat, particularly since they were in public. No responses were forthcoming and Mycroft's hand fell several more times in quick succession before he heard even a peep out of Rose. Only it wasn't a mere peep or protest. Instead, it was a little sob; faint, but a sob nonetheless. It was followed immediately by a much deeper sob that sounded guttural and hollow.

When he heard it, Mycroft's hand immediately stopped mid-swing. Something about the sound of that sob was devastating and rather than continue spanking, he lifted Rose up and stood her in front of him. He knew what 'crying Rose' sounded like and this… this was pain. His chest ached at the sound of it and all thoughts of scolding or spanking were banished, replaced by the need to stop her from hurting. Without saying a word he wrapped his arms around Rose and lifted onto his lap where he cuddled her against his chest as tightly as he could.

"Whatever it is, we will fix it poppet. I promise that we can and will fix it, whatever is hurting you," he murmured into her hair. "Shhhh, it'll be alright." By this point, Mycroft became vaguely aware of other visitors to the cemetery who were shooting anxious glances in their direction. Whether they were anxious because Rose was crying or because he'd shouted and spanked her, he wasn't sure. Either way, Rose did not need an audience to her pain. Scooping her up in his arms, Mycroft stood and walked back in the direction of his car.

Sherlock was waiting in the sitting room for them to come home and found his anxiety heightened when Mycroft began carrying Rose towards the door. Opening it, he watched as Mycroft entered and breezed right past him, going up the stairs with Rose, who appeared to be sleeping. He followed almost immediately and was thankful when Mycroft waved him into the room.

"Help me get her into bed," Mycroft whispered. He began carefully extracting the sleeping Rose's arms from her winter coat while Sherlock took care of her shoes. Once it was ascertained that only her coat was wet from sitting on the ground, Rose was tucked up in bed still in her school uniform. Unwilling to leave her alone just yet, Mycroft sat on the bed and rubbed circles on Rose's back through the duvet, hoping to help her settle into a good sleep. When it appeared she would rest peacefully, the brothers departed her room.

"She just started crying. This awful cry, one I haven't heard in… Well, months, frankly," Mycroft admitted when Sherlock looked to him for details. It had been eerily reminiscent of the gut wrenching cries Rose had whenever she desperately missed their Mother in those first few months after Maud's passing.

"Did she tell you what all this has been about? It can't really be that simple," Sherlock pointed out. "Rose can't just keep doing this and who even knows if that's where she's been going the last two times." It was rare indeed for Rose to keep anything from Sherlock and her refusals to tell him what was wrong and where she had been on the previous occasions worried him to no end.

"I'll get to the bottom of this, in more ways than one," Mycroft promised. When it looked as if Sherlock was about to object, the eldest Holmes held out his hand. "I have no intention of being harder on her than she deserves, but there has to be consequences for running off when she knows better than to do so. But I will attempt a softer approach and hopefully find a good balance between it and the sternness required to deal with serious misbehavior. Don't worry Sherlock, you can cuddle her and tell her I'm terribly mean all you like afterwards."

A few hours later, the sound of little feet descending the stairs alerted Mycroft that Rose was awake. Closing his laptop, he exited his study to find her at the bottom of the stairs. "You missed supper," he told her. "Shall I warm something up for you?"

Rose nodded. "Will you sit with me? You could have tea," she pointed out.

"I might be able to manage that," he decided. Holding out a hand he squeezed Rose's gently when she placed her small one in his larger one. Together they headed for the kitchen. "Set the table for yourself, please," he instructed. It went without saying that Rose only set out silverware and glasses when she set the table, far too short to reach the plates on the top shelf of the cabinet. Mycroft grabbed one and retrieved the leftovers from the fridge.

"Tea cup or mug?" Rose asked. "And may I have coffee?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Mugs for us both and yes, I'll make you coffee. Sometimes I'm not the least bit convinced you're British, Rosenwyn. What's wrong with a good cup of tea?" He smiled to himself when his teasing garnered a giggle from Rose.

Within a few moments, with their preferred drinks made and Rose's supper warmed up and placed on the table, the two siblings fell silent for a few moments. Mycroft didn't miss the way her eyes darted towards him every now and again as she attempted to determine if he was still angry with her.

"Am I in trouble?" Rose finally asked between bites of delicious pot roast.

Mycroft's eyebrow quirked. "Yes," he answered bluntly. "Though how much trouble remains to be seen. I do not understand, nor do I appreciate, this sudden proclivity of yours to just go wandering. Nor do I like the fact that something has clearly been bothering you and you have not chosen to share it with either Sherlock or myself." Typically it was Sherlock she shared her secrets with and the fact that Rose wouldn't tell even her beloved 'fun' brother was troubling to say the least.

"You are, on the whole, a good girl who is generally obedient and almost always kind," Mycroft continued. "It isn't like you to purposely and knowingly frighten your brothers, or blatantly break rules. Generally, it's the fact that you don't stop and think about things for five seconds first that leads you into trouble and inevitably across my knee. But this is different, this is outright disobedience; repeated and flagrant rule breaking and I want to know why, because this is not like you, Rose."

Rose slumped in her seat, finding her pot roast suddenly incredibly interesting. It was really very unfortunate that her brothers knew her so well, because that made getting away with anything next to impossible. Though admittedly she hadn't anticipated getting away with her wandering, particularly not today's. Where did she even start her explanation?

Mycroft ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath. Shouting at her and demanding answers immediately would get him nowhere. "Let's start slowly," he suggested. "Did you visit Mother's grave each time you've wandered off?"

She nodded slowly but offered nothing further, so Mycroft went on. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to visit Mother's grave Rose. You are welcome to do so any time, you need only ask and one of us will take you. Why did you not ask?"

Lifting her eyes up from her supper, Rose looked at Mycroft, biting her lip for a second before responding. "Because it makes you sad and I didn't want to make you sad," she admitted. "And don't say it doesn't. I've seen it in Sherlock's face when I mention her and your eyes get so sad, My. I didn't want to make you be sad just because I was."

Mycroft sighed heavily. "It is not your job to shield Sherlock and I from sorrow, poppet. Rather, it is our job to take care of you. You're not to take such great responsibility upon those little shoulders of yours. Yes, sometimes it is hard to think about Mother, or talk about her, because we all miss her so much. That does not mean, however, that Sherlock and I cannot or will not talk about her with you or take you to visit her grave when you wish to," he said firmly. "But you must tell us. Tell us you want to go, or tell us you want to talk about Mother and we will do so. Now come here," he ordered in a firm tone.

With a sigh, Rose got up from her chair and came around the side of the table to where Mycroft sat. Without a word, she began bending over his lap, knowing from the moment he found her that she was going to get a spanking for running off. It was rather odd he would choose to do so in the kitchen and not his study, but Rose didn't want to add to her list of misbehavior by asking unnecessary questions.

Somewhat shocked by her response, Mycroft caught Rose by the shoulders and stood her back up. "We don't give spankings in the kitchen in this house. It is unseemly." Admittedly he could recall a number of times when Sherlock had in fact been swatted in the kitchen by their Mother, but he'd always considered it the height of bad decorum.

"There will be time enough for that later, I assure you," Mycroft said truthfully. He guided her onto his lap, right side up, and wrapped his arms around her. He smiled as Rose nestled close and hugged her even tighter. "You looked as though you could use a good cuddle," he whispered, as if sharing a secret.

Rose nodded, her curls jostling slightly with the movement. Almost immediately she began to play with one of the buttons of his waistcoat. "I'm sorry," she whispered in return. "For scaring you and Sherlock and making you leave work to come find me. I won't do it anymore."

Mycroft rested his cheek on top of her head. "Good girl," he praised softly. "Apology accepted. Make certain you apologize to Sherlock as well, when you and I are finished talking." He held her tightly, smiling as she continued to play with his buttons. Rose had played with his buttons whenever she was nervous or in trouble since her tiny fingers had learned how to unbutton and re-button them.

"Do you have any idea how devastated Sherlock and I would be to lose you? I can't even imagine how we would go on without you. In fact, I cannot remember what this house was like before you began filling it with giggling, dancing, mischief, and an overabundance of sentiment," Mycroft admitted.

Rose looked up at him with a little smile, which grew wider when he kissed her forehead.

"Now, I have a very important question for you: who are the adults in this house?" Mycroft questioned.

Scrunching up her nose in confusion, Rose stared at him for a second. That was a silly question! "You, and sometimes Sherlock," she said, flashing him a cheeky smile.

Mycroft chuckled and smiled. "Very true." He quickly sobered, though. "So, if Sherlock and I are the adults, that means it is our responsibility to take care of you, not the other way round. You must let us do our job. In return, it is your job to act responsibly and follow the rules isn't it?"

"Yes. But sometimes that really isn't much fun at all you know," Rose informed him with a sigh. The sigh did little to hide the sparkle of mischief in her eyes though! "But I do try."

"Hmm," Mycroft murmured. "But I have a feeling these have not been spontaneous sojourns around London, walking nearly two miles to the cemetery without being seen. I'm willing to believe that you were trying to shield Sherlock and myself from sadness your previous visits, but what prompted today's visit? When you were crying earlier, at the cemetery, that was not your 'I'm being spanked' cry. What made you so terribly upset?"

Immediately the sparkle in her eyes vanished as Rose ducked her head, beginning to play with one of his buttons again.

"Poppet? I really must insist that you tell me. I can't make it better if I don't know what is wrong and I'm concerned. Or at the very least, if you won't tell me, you must tell Sherlock," Mycroft suggested. He could feel the tension coming off her in waves and cuddled her as close as he possibly could, rubbing circles on her back to soothe her.

"They were out of Mummy's soap at the store," Rose said very softly. "I went and asked if they would be getting more and they said no, they aren't carrying that brand anymore."

Mycroft closed his eyes for several long seconds. Since the day Rose was born, their mother had used her favorite soap to wash her tiny infant, L'Occitane en Provence Lavender. Mother had been using that soap, and its accompanying lavender scented bath bubbles, for as long as Mycroft could remember. She had never used anything else and neither had Rose. Though he did not indulge in sentimental attachments to scents and products, he well understood Rose's desire to continue using the same items now that Mother was gone. It was a link to Mother and Rose had proved to need as many of those as possible since her death. How he wished more than anything he could make up for the gap in all their lives now that Maud Holmes was gone.

Rose began sniffling a bit. "And then I realized that there wouldn't be a Christmas dress this year for my birthday, or any clothes for Samantha, and no Christmas dinner because none of us can cook like she did. It won't be the same at all, none of it," Rose whispered. "I don't know if I even want a birthday or Christmas if we can't have Mummy, because it will be the most awful thing ever! And we'd starve to death, too."

"We wouldn't starve to death," Mycroft objected. "I can cook a little."

"Pancakes are not Christmas dinners, My," Rose whispered. She pressed her face to Mycroft's chest, struggling not to burst into tears.

"We'll make your birthday very special and have a lovely Christmas. I don't know how just yet, but Sherlock and I will put our heads together. Trust us; it might be new and different, but Mother would not wish for you to stop celebrating your birthday or favorite holiday because of her," Mycroft explained. "I promise we'll make it very, very special."

Inwardly, Mycroft wrestled with what to do with Rose. She had broken several rules, some of the most important rules, yet she had been so distressed. Could he truly go through with spanking her? Did he dare to not spank her this time and risk a fourth incident? This was precisely the sort of thing he would have sought Mother's advice about.

He held on to Rose for several moments more, quietly rubbing her back. "Try to finish your supper now," Mycroft said, putting her back on her feet. "Then you can find Sherlock and apologize to him."

A short time later, Rose made her way upstairs to Sherlock's experiment room and knocked firmly on the door.

"I need… three and a half minutes!" Sherlock called.

"Alright!" Rose put her waiting time to good use, running through one of her dance routines there in the long hallway. When she finished working through her portion of the tango, clapping accompanied her finish, causing Rose to blush as she bowed.

"Beautiful Rosie, as always," Sherlock said sincerely. "My experiment room is a bit of a mess right now. Can we talk out here?"

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry for running off on you again… and again," Rose explained, her face growing red once more.

Sherlock waved her over to him, and when she was close enough, went down on one knee and hugged her tightly. "I was very, very scared when you ran off. Especially this time because I knew you were upset about something," he murmured. "Please don't do that anymore. You are far too precious to lose, Rosie. After all, who would annoy Mycroft with me?"

His question caused her to giggle, despite the seriousness of her apology. "I won't do it again, I promise. I'm sorry I scared you Sherlock. Forgive me?" Rose looked at him with an eager, anxious little look on her face, as if he might possibly refuse to do so.

Sherlock kissed her cheeks and even dropped a kiss on her nose. "Anytime, for anything Rose. You will never be so naughty that you can't be forgiven," he assured her. "Especially when you make such a nice apology! Has Mycroft pronounced your sentence yet?"

Rose shook her head and wrapped her arms around him. "He doesn't have to, I already know. Safety rules," she lamented. Disobeying safety rules always meant a spanking in the Holmes household!

"Mmm. We do sort of take your safety seriously around her," Sherlock agreed. "But only because we love you more than anything." He kissed her cheek once more and stood up with her in his arms. "Shall we go beg for leniency? Throw ourselves upon the mercy of Mycroft?"

Rose giggled and kissed his cheek. "We can try, but it never works. After all, he is the mean brother."

Humming his agreement with that statement, Sherlock carried her downstairs, setting her down only when they reached Mycroft's study door. He knocked loudly and waited until Mycroft called out until he opened the door.

"Dear King Mycroft! We have come to plead the case of one Rosenwyn Holmes, a very sorry little criminal who wishes to beg you for leniency! We throw ourselves upon the mercy of your court!" Sherlock told him dramatically. He looked at Rose and the two shared a little smirk before running across the room and literally throwing themselves on their knees at Mycroft's feet. The scamps then held their hands up in supplication, offering their biggest and brightest smiles.

Sherlock nudged Rose with his arm. "Tell him how sorry you are," he whispered.

"I am the sorriest girl in the entirety of the world and promise to always be very good and obedient henceforth, if leniency is granted by your good person," Rose told Mycroft earnestly. It was a struggle to say the words without grinning or giggling at the silliness of it, especially when Sherlock let out a little snort of barely concealed laughter.

The eldest Holmes turned his chair towards them, crossed one leg over the other and cocked an eyebrow at them. He found that his scrutiny did nothing to discourage the over dramatic and giggly display before. If anything, it made it worse, as Rose ducked her head, unable to completely stifle her giggles.

"Please, please, good King Mycroft, have mercy on my little soul," Rose added, completely failing to sound as beseeching as she intended to. "I have heard from far beyond of your great wisdom and merciful nature, King Mycroft!"

Sherlock outright snorted at her improvisation and that was it. Rose completely lost it and began giggling crazily, doubled over as she sat there on her knees in front of Mycroft, abandoning all pretense of hiding her giggles.

Rolling his eyes, Mycroft let out a sigh. After how upset she had been earlier, he didn't have the heart to call her and Sherlock out on being so ridiculous. "Arise, good citizens. Your King will duly take your pleas under consideration. The young criminal should return upstairs and get ready for bed while her king deliberates."

The giggling stopped as both younger Holmes siblings looked at Mycroft almost in shock. Rose, the first to recover, hopped to her feet and hurriedly threw her arms around her big brother. After kissing his cheek, she darted from the room without saying a word.

"You two are incorrigible," Mycroft grumbled when just Sherlock remained. "Get up off the floor already, brother mine!"

Unable to keep from grinning, Sherlock got up and helped himself to a chair near Mycroft's desk. "Did you find out what was wrong? She looked so…" He struggled to come up with the proper word. "Desolate. She looked outright desolate when we left the store and she wouldn't tell me anything. A million miles away from the giggly little pseudo-criminal who bounced upstairs a moment ago." It filled him with indescribable relief to see Rose smile and laugh again, compared to her demeanor hours earlier.

"We have a problem, brother mine," the eldest Holmes admitted. "Not least of which is the fact that the store closest to us will not be carrying Mother's soaps and bath paraphernalia anymore, hence Rose's upset at the store. I've already sent Benchley a text directing her to order ten cases from wherever she can get them, cost be damned."

"So she went straight to Mother when we returned home," Sherlock supplement. "I assumed that's where she went the last few times, but she wouldn't tell me. I'm glad to know it was just that. You told her we were willing to take her whenever she wishes to go, correct?"

Mycroft nodded. "I did indeed. Rose is uncertain, however, that we should celebrate her birthday or Christmas this year because without Mother we will starve and there will be no Christmas dress or things for her Samantha doll."

Dismay clouded Sherlock's face. "We can't let either of those things go by without celebration. Not the baby's birthday and very favorite holiday! Surely we can come up with something. We aren't Mother and can't be her, but we're clever and can make new traditions." It went without saying that he hoped this year would be more cheerful for Rose than the last, with Mother so ill and directing the show rather than lively participating as she had in the past.

"My thoughts precisely," Mycroft agreed. "We'll need to do some thinking and plotting to make sure they are the best days we can absolutely give her. At present I have no ideas, but if we put our heads together something will come to us. In fact, why don't you start thinking on it? I had best go up and see to Rose."

The brothers both went upstairs and then parted ways, Sherlock to his experiment room and Mycroft to Rose's room. Knocking firmly, he then opened the door when given permission to enter. "All ready for bed I see. Teeth brushed as well?" Mycroft asked.

Rose nodded and put her book down on the nightstand. "Did my King have time to deliberate?" Her little smile faltered when he didn't immediately respond and she bit her lip before continuing. "Are... are we going to your study?"

Rather than answer directly, Mycroft sat on the bed and pulled her close. He let her nestle against him and held on even tighter, beginning to rock her slightly in his arms. "Your King has thought long and hard about what to do with the wayward princess Rosenwyn," he murmured. "The princess is a good girl, who made a very poor decision and should, by the rules of this land, have her bottom soundly paddled with the spanking spoon." Mycroft wasn't the least bit surprised when Rose whimpered and pressed her face against his chest.

"However, the King is aware there are extenuating circumstances that made the princess Rosenwyn very distraught, which caused her to disregard the rules that are meant to keep her safe. In consideration the King…" Good lord, Mycroft reflected, what is my life coming to?

"I, your King, will accept from you, princess Rosenwyn, a solemn vow that this naughty behavior will not be repeated. If you give this vow, your bottom will be spared a trip to the… to the…"

"Dungeons," Rose supplied, peeking up at him. "You're doing a good job My, promise. I'll never tell a soul either."

"You'd best not!" Mycroft exclaimed. Clearing his throat, he resumed his ridiculous role in this silly game, for which Sherlock was completely responsible. He narrowed his eyes at Rose when she giggled. "As I was saying. If the good princess Rosenwyn will give me such a vow, there shall be no trip to the dungeons this night. However, if the princess breaks her vow, god help her when the King gets his hands on her because the spanking spoon will be the least of her problems."

"Princess Rosenwyn gives her most solemn vow to the good King Mycroft that she will listen to safety rules and woe-be-unto-me if I don't," Rose assured him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek. "I really mean that you know," she whispered. "Not just for play. I won't do it again and I know that if I do break that rule, I'll be in very big trouble."

"You will indeed. It makes my life that much better when I know you are safe," Mycroft admitted. "And don't ever expect me to play along with such silliness again!" This declaration was said without any real vehemence at all, making Rose giggle rather than hastily agree, and he would certainly rather hear her laugh than cry.

"What are we reading this evening?" he asked, reaching for the book on her nightstand. "Ah, Don Quixote, a work that is both long and excellent. Should we read a little bit before we turn out the lights? Did you know, Mother wanted to name you Dulcinea?"

Rose gasped, her eyes going wide. " No! Really? That would be an utterly awful name!"

Mycroft laughed. "That was my sentiments on the matter as well. I was much happier when she chose something else, even if it is a rather silly name."

"Silly like Mycroft," Rose challenged as she burrowed under the covers. Scooting over more in the bed, she waited for Mycroft to sit beside her, immediately snuggling up to him when he did so.

"I suppose it is," he murmured. "I can't imagine you being called anything else though. What if you had been named Nancy? You wouldn't fit in at all."

"Ugh! That'd be even worse than Dulcinea! What did you want to name me?" Rose asked curiously.

"You know, I didn't have anything in particular in mind. You weren't mine to name, after all, though Mother did solicit opinions every now and again. Rosenwyn must have been chosen at hospital because I didn't hear it prior to meeting you," Mycroft admitted. He paused, thinking of what he might have named her had the choice been his.

"Something pretty and classic," he finally decided. "But I don't know if Victoria or Sophia or Georgiana would have worked as well. You'd be the odd one out again, so it's a good thing I didn't name you." Mycroft smiled and kissed the top of her head. "On to Quixote then?"

When Rose nodded, he opened the book and picked up where she had left off, regaling her with the adventures of the silly knight, his even sillier squire, as they travelled Spain attacking windmills and sheep alike. All the while, in the back of his mind, Mycroft began plotting for some brand new traditions to join the old.

NOTE: I keep setting out to write these short stories and then suddenly they grow into monsters! What will the Holmes brothers come up with to make their first holiday season without Mother special for Rose? What new traditions will be added to the old, and which old ones will be kept? Guess and make suggestions in your comments!