"Sir, I've been thinking," Benchley began as she brought Mycroft a cup of tea that Friday morning.
"Dangerous habit that," Mycroft replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "What have you been pondering Benchley?"
The capable PA sat down in one of the chairs placed in front of Mycroft's desk. "Well, Rose is growing older now…"
Mycroft chuckled and nodded. "I know she is! Whether I want her to or not. I find it difficult to believe that she will be twelve in just a few months and it rather terrifies me. Rose is inching ever closer to those teen years and god help us if she takes up the sort of rebellion Sherlock did. Or god help me rather," he amended. It didn't strike him as odd that Benchley would ask about, or discuss, Rose. In the months since Maud had passed away, there had been times Mycroft had counted on Benchley for things that he was either not equipped for, like clothes shopping, or simply too busy for. Sherlock could be relied on, of course, but only to a certain extent.
Benchley nodded and flashed him a smile. "Precisely! She may, now and again, have some… uncomfortable questions," she continued, choosing her words very carefully. "Or experience changes that she might find alarming and I wanted to see if-"
At that precise moment the German chancellor's number flashed on Mycroft's desk phone. "I'm certain whatever your idea is that it is an excellent one," Mycroft told his PA with confidence. "So I'll leave it in your capable hands to take care of, with my great appreciation."
Nodding, Benchley rose from the chair and returned to her own desk as Mycroft answered his phone. In a way she was incredibly relieved that they had been interrupted. The conversation might have taken a very unfortunate turn and ended up embarrassing them both. It was simply easier to take the initiative herself and, since Mycroft had given his blessing, and Bethany Benchley would do just that!
That night was an ordinary Friday night at the Holmes household. Mycroft was heating up the supper left by the cook/housekeeper while he awaited the arrival of his siblings, basking in the blissful silence. After a long day at Whitehall there was nothing that Mycroft appreciated more than silence in his own home. It wouldn't last, as it was neigh on 7 and his siblings were due back at any moment. He hoped that Sherlock had remembered to collect Rose from the dance studio. Once or twice he'd got so wrapped up in cases he'd missed collecting her and Rose had taken it upon herself to take the tube home. That might be fine for other people's children, or siblings, but not Mycroft's. Not with what he did for a living. The dangers of the world were well known to him and he much preferred to shield Rose from as many of them as was possible.
All at once the silence broke as his siblings arrived, sounding like a herd of elephants. Laughter and the jingle of keys was accompanied by heavy pushing on the front door before it burst open, the knob hitting the wall as it did so. Stepping out of the kitchen enough to see them, Mycroft raised his eyebrows as Rose and Sherlock stumbled through the door. "Don't damage the house please! And are you trying to raise the dead with all that noise?" He rolled his eyes and went back into the kitchen when the pair merely laughed and ignored him.
Moments later, Rose bounded into the kitchen. She dumped her book bag near the table on her way to the fridge, plucking a juice box from its depths. Only when she'd opened it and drunk some of its contents did she turn her attention to her big brother. "Are you cooking?" she asked, eyeing the pots on the stove with suspicion. "I'm not sure if I want to eat supper if you're cooking it. I might get poisoned," Rose said, her face quite serious.
Mycroft rolled his eyes and gently elbowed Rose away from the stove. "I may not necessarily be renowned for my cooking skills, but I would like to think I can manage stew and corn bread!"
"Yes, well preferring to think that you are capable of that does not, by rule of law, translate to actual capability," Sherlock commented as he swept into the kitchen. He grabbed the coffee pot and raised it, giving Rose a look.
"Please! Two cups," Rose responded at once. "And Sherlock is right you know. Thinking and actually doing are two very, very different things. It wasn't very long ago you completely burnt Christmas dinner. We're lucky the house didn't go down in flames!" A cheeky smile tugged at her lips and Rose just barely missed Mycroft's palm as he reached out to lightly swat her bottom.
"You're both impertinent brats," Mycroft decided. "In any case, it is not poisoned and it is not even my cooking ability, or lack thereof, at stake. I'm merely warming up the stew Cook made and put her cornbread in the oven."
"Well…" Sherlock mused, narrowing his eyes as he feigned deep thought. "I still think that leaves considerable opportunities for you to poison and/or utterly ruin supper. I suppose we'll have to take our chances Rose. But there's a silver lining- if we're poisoned, we'll just haunt Mycroft for the rest of his life."
"I fail to see how that would be any different than life with you among the living," Mycroft quipped. "You'd simply be a less corporeal form."
By this time Rose was giggling madly at the banter between her brothers. This right here was what held the family together and she wouldn't change her brothers for the world. "You're almost like an American sit-com, you know that? Only thing missing is the laugh track," Rose pointed out. "I think I'll take my chances with dinner, simply because it smells delicious and I'm very hungry!"
"Set the table then. Sherlock get the plates down for her, please." As much as they tried to make things in the cupboards accessible to Rose, short of moving them down several inches, the middle and top shelves were generally too high for her to reach. "How was school today? I won't even ask how dance was; your smiling face says it all." Rose was never happier than when she was dancing.
Rose gave her eldest brother a bit of side-eye. "It was… fine. You know, its school." She shrugged her shoulders. "I went, I did work, I left and went to dance."
School was a contentious issue of late. Rose was bored far more often than she liked to be and even with her accelerated learning courses, she often didn't have enough to hold her attention for the day. A bored Rose was prone to getting into trouble, either from being to cheeky or creating mischief. Even a well entertained Rose could attract mischief the way Sherlock had at her age!
"It was fine," Mycroft repeated slowly. He arched an eyebrow at Rose as he carried the pan of cornbread to the table. "Fine in what way? Fine as in you made it through the day but may have been bored more often than not? Fine as in there's a note I need to read and sign? Or fine as in I should expect a call from the headmaster?"
The little girl huffed, and threw Mycroft and very Sherlock-like pout. "Maybe there's a note," she murmured. Rose flopped into her chair and turned her attention to the warm meal in front of her. It was really the perfect dinner for a chilly autumn evening and the scent of it was inexplicably a scent of home. One of Mummy's recipes that made one feel warm and cozy, just as Mummy had when she was still with them.
It had been twenty months since Maud had died; nearly two whole years. At times though, it didn't seem like it could possibly have been so long ago. Each of the Holmes children still struggled with their grief, albeit in their own way. Rose clung to the things that reminded her of Mummy: the brand of soap and bubble bath she used; favorite meals that she used to make; and on occasion could be found in Maud's bed. Sometimes Rose swore she could smell Mummy's perfume still on the sheets and pillowcases and it soothed her.
Sherlock largely ignored the lingering grief by expanding his consulting detective work, while making certain Rose made it to dance and all her competitions. Mycroft… Well, no one was really sure how Mycroft was dealing with it. Perhaps not even Mycroft himself.
As Rose tucked into her meal, clearly not inclined to discuss the note that was indeed tucked into her book bag, Mycroft let out a heavy sigh. Leaving his own meal untouched, for the moment at least, Mycroft took it upon himself to retrieve the note. Breaking the seal, he returned to the table and sat down in his place at the head of it and began to read the note's contents. Mycroft was uncertain what to expect as this was Rose and it could, quite conceivably, be any number of offenses. Rose was a good girl with a good heart; that Mycroft did not doubt. Yet she, like any other child, could misbehave at school or disregard schoolwork that did not appropriately challenge her.
"You wrote an entire book report in Greek?" Mycroft asked, raising both eyebrows at Rose. "And you somehow thought it wouldn't be problematic in any way?"
Rose raised her chin defiantly. "I did and I knew it would be problematic, as you say. It was done in protest. I was making a point."
Sensing drama on the horizon, Mycroft put the letter aside. "We'll discuss this after supper," he decided, giving Rose a firm look. It came as no surprise to him that supper turned out to be a rather quiet affair as all three siblings focused far more on eating rather than talking. Sherlock might have been considered the only exception to this as he abruptly rose from his chair and took his mobile into another room, presumably regarding a current or potential client.
The two remaining siblings, youngest and eldest, sat there quietly together after Sherlock left. Neither said anything for several moments until their spoons were scraping the bottom of their dishes. Finally Mycroft rose from the table and took his plate to the sink. "I think I could use some coffee. You will, no doubt, want a cup?" He looked over at Rose, unsurprised to see her nod.
"Dinner is done now," he continued on as he located the coffee grounds. "I think we should talk about your note. I'd prefer if we skip the drama and defiant attitude you had earlier. None of that will do you any favors." The unspoken part of that sentence, 'when we go to the study for your spanking', hung in the air as silence fell once more.
"I asked Mrs. Hadley for a different book," Rose finally spoke up. "I asked very nicely and she said no. I tried to tell her why and she told me if I was going to take her class I was going to do the book assigned. If I didn't, I would fail the assignment. I tried to explain myself and she said I'm not special."
"You're not special," Mycroft repeated slowly. Given that Rose was a sensitive child, perhaps the instructor had not meant those words the way they'd been taken. At least Mycroft hoped that was the case! The school was one of the most prestigious in London and had done very well accommodating Rose's accelerated learning thus far. "What do you think Mrs. Hadley meant by those words?"
"That I don't get special accommodations because I'm not different than anyone else in class," Rose answered at once. She gave Mycroft a small smile that didn't reach her eyes when he rejoined her at the table, bringing the coffee with him. "But I am different." Rose reached for the coffee cup and wrapped her hands around it, letting it warm her hands.
"The school has made many special accommodations for you Rose," Mycroft reminded her. "We cannot continually ask for things when you are able to make do with the work you are given. You already receive extra courses than your classmates and have been accelerated in other courses to where you are on par with students older than yourself. Is that the argument you were trying to tell Mrs. Hadley? That you were too intelligent for this book…" Mycroft paused to try and find a title on the note but one had not been provided. "Whatever it was?"
The little girl shook her head, making her curly hair sway as she did so. "I know I can't always switch books because I don't like one or find it droll," Rose assured him. "But Mrs. Hadley was wrong." Tears began to burn her eyes and she worked hard to blink them away. She didn't want to be a baby, but Mrs. Hadley should have understood. "I read the summary on the back of the book and…" She took a deep, shuddering breath to try and steady herself. "And it's all about a family where the mum is dying of cancer. I wasn't asking to be special, but I am different, because I'm the only person in class whose Mummy died." As the words left her mouth, Rose lost the battle to keep her tears at bay. They began to slide silently down her cheeks as she looked long and hard at the coffee in her cup.
Mycroft let out a soft sigh as Rose began to cry. He stood up with his coffee in one hand and offered the other to her. "Let's find somewhere else to talk," he suggested. "Bring your coffee and we'll go to the sitting room." It would be much easier to comfort and cuddle Rose in the sitting room and her dishes could wait and be put in the sink later. When Rose put her hand in his, Mycroft squeezed it gently before leading the way to the sitting room. The moment he sat on the couch, Mycroft had a lap full of Rose, whether he was ready and willing or not!
Nestling against him, Rose rested her head against her big brother's chest as her tears continued to fall silently. She wasn't ready to talk yet and somehow Mycroft seemed to know that. Rather than try to force her to do so, Mycroft began to gently rock Rose as he held her. He couldn't help but be reminded of all the times he'd rocked her and soothed her in the years since she'd been born. Mycroft also couldn't help wondering whether or not Rose was getting too old for such babying. After all, hadn't he been telling Benchley just that morning that Rose would be twelve in a few months?
In this moment and this situation, though, Rose would never be too old for comforting. The death of their mother was a wound that would not quickly heal, if it ever did at all. At best, the wound would metaphorically scab over and on occasion break open before scabbing again. Neither of them knew how long they sat there quietly together but finally Rose got her tears in check and reached for her mug of rapidly cooling coffee.
"Why didn't you come to me Rose? When Mrs. Hadley wouldn't listen? That's a very valid reason to ask for another book," Mycroft pointed out, his tone gentle. "I'd have contacted her and settled this for you. We've talked before about you trying to shield me from thinking about Mother. I am happy to talk about her whenever you like, and will readily explain our loss to the school's faculty as need be. You didn't have to try and solve it on your own and end up in trouble," he reminded her.
"I'm sorry," Rose murmured between sips of coffee. "How much trouble am I in?" She looked up at Mycroft, her eyes searching his as she waited for an answer.
Unfortunately, the answer was not so easily had as that. Mycroft had originally intended to spank her for being disrespectful of both her teacher and her schoolwork, but that was before he knew the whole story. Now that he did, a spanking seemed much too harsh. "You are in trouble," Mycroft confirmed. "But how much remains to be seen. If you did not read the book, what exactly was written on your book report?"
"Nothing bad," Rose said. "It was a protest letter in a way. It wrote it in Greek just to make a point, not to get away with say things I shouldn't. I'll show you." Slipping off his lap, Rose went to retrieve her book bag, which had been left by the front door as usual. She dragged it into the sitting room and placed it on a chair so she could easily look through it. "Here!" Rose said, pulling the paper out after a moment's search. "You can read it."
Mycroft accepted the paper from her and scanned it briefly. Rose had been truthful with her description of the report. It was a letter that explained about Mother's death and that Rose was 'very distraught' at the idea of reading a book that would hit so close to home for her, hence the decision to write this letter. "I think you should write this in English and give it to Mrs. Hadley," Mycroft decided. He folded the paper and handed it back to Rose. "I'll call and speak with the school in the morning and see if we cannot get an alternative assignment for you, given the circumstances. You shouldn't be forced to read something like that. I'm certain something can be worked out.
"As for being in trouble, I think an early bedtime will suffice. You do not need to take things into your own hands. If you spoke to Mrs. Hadley and it did not go well, your next recourse is me. Not writing a letter of protest in Greek, knowing it will annoy your teacher." Mycroft could only imagine it had annoyed the woman a great deal, and he couldn't blame her on that score. "An hour earlier bedtime, which means you should run upstairs and get ready for bed. You don't have to sleep if you aren't tired, but you will be in bed."
"No spanking?" Rose asked, sounding surprised.
"Not this time. If it happens again, there certainly will be," Mycroft warned. He was completely unsurprised to find his arms full of Rose once again, and gave her a tight squeeze. "Go on up and get ready for bed," he instructed after a moments cuddle. He smiled a bit as Rose bounded off towards the stairs to do as she'd been told.
Bouncing up to her room to change into her pajamas, Rose stopped short when she spotted a brightly colored gift bag sitting on her bed. Frowning, she moved closer to it and tried to deduce what it was, aside from the obvious. There wasn't much to deduce though—the bag was largely plain with simple yet brightly colored stripes as the pattern. No tag accompanied it, no fancy ribbons, and no balloons. In fact, there wasn't even a card! Just tissue paper put into the top of the bag so the present could not immediately be seen.
One of her brothers had to be the one to leave it for her, though Rose couldn't think of anything she'd done recently to earn a gift. Perhaps it was a 'just because' gift? Shrugging a bit, she grabbed the bag and headed downstairs, following the sound of her brothers voices in the kitchen. The two men were finishing off the coffee when Rose bounded in. "I got a present!" she announced, putting it on the table. Almost at once she began to pull away the tissue paper to find out what was inside the bag.
Mycroft's lips thinned in annoyance, certain that part of Sherlock's disappearance from the supper table was attributed to the present. "A word brother mine," he demanded. He turned at once to exit the kitchen, expecting Sherlock to follow. He was pleased to see that for once Sherlock knew how to obey! Mycroft led the way out to the sitting room before saying anything to his brother. "Sherlock, I really must protest giving the Baby gifts on the same day that a note comes home," Mycroft said, giving his brother a dark look. "It seems counterproductive and certainly makes *my* job-"
"As the mean brother," Sherlock interjected.
"…As the eldest and generally the only one instilling discipline around here," Mycroft continued on. "That much harder when you continually put me in a bad spot by spoiling her. That's where the 'mean brother' comes into things, because now the 'mean brother' is going to take away her present. Little girls who get notes sent home about poor behavior do not get presents."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed at Mycroft, affronted by the accusation that he spoiled Rose. It was a charge quite regularly levied at him, it seemed. "I don't understand why you're lecturing me about this. I didn't get her a present and, quite clearly, neither did you. I believe, brother mine, it behooves us to find out who did."
It was just about that time when both Holmes men realized that it was unusually quiet in the house, particularly with a present involved. Ice-cold fear ran began pumping through Mycroft's veins. He ran towards the kitchen, uncertain what he would find but, considering what he did for a living, it could literally be anything at all.
Anything, that is, except what he found.
As Mycroft entered the kitchen, his eyes caught the sight of two small boxes on the table, one labeled 'tampons' and the other 'pads.' Sitting alongside the boxes were two booklets, one of which was titled 'Hello Flo- Her First Period- Get Ready Guide for Parents.'
None of which had ever entered the realm of possibilities that had raced through his mind a moment ago as to what could be contained in the gift bag. "What in god's name is...this?!" Mycroft demanded of no one in particular.
"Woman things," Rose said confidently, not looking up from a book she was scanning. "This one is for you." She pointed at the parents' guide but was not surprised when Mycroft did not immediately pick it up.
"I am very, very confused and alarmed," Sherlock announced as he joined his siblings in the kitchen. "What is all this, where did it come from, and can it go away please?" Of course he knew what they were, both he and Mycroft did. The problem was that he did not want to think about his baby sister needing items associated with menstruating. Nor did he want to see her with said items!
Ignoring Sherlock, Mycroft looked at the other items on the table. Not the pads and tampons, but the other slim books that were visible. Each of them had some sort of title regarding body changes, periods, and 'growing up stuff,' as one book oh-so-eloquently put it. He couldn't help cringing at the very idea of even discussing this with Rose. Where would he start? It wasn't as if he couldn't explain the science behind menstruation and other body changes that came with puberty. The issue came more from the fact that he could not offer any personal experience or confirmations that such and such a thing was perfectly normal because he, being a man, would have absolutely no insights to offer Rose as their mother surely would have.
"Where did this come from?" Mycroft asked. His tone was firmer this time, trying to draw Rose's attention away from the book she had in her hands.
Sighing heavily Rose put the book (Girls' Life Head-to-Toe Guide) down and reached into the bag once more. "From Bethany. I found a card at the bottom of the bag."
"Isn't that your PA?" Sherlock asked as he began to spread a tablecloth over the offensive womanly items on the table. He simply could not look at them! "You should fire her," he decided. Much to his regret, he was completely ignored by his siblings.
"I guess she thought I might need some... things soon," Rose explained. "She wasn't sure if you'd know what to get or if I'd even be comfortable asking you, so she got me some books to answer any questions. And also the things so I would have them when it was time."
Mycroft stood there for a moment, simply looking at Rose as his face flooded with color. He couldn't decide whether or not he was horrified or incredibly relieved that Benchley had taken it upon herself to provide Rose with the items associated with womanhood. Ultimately, he was relieved beyond measure and found that this morning's abbreviated conversation, interrupted by the German chancellor, now made far more sense.
Knowing he should say something to make this feel normal for Rose, Mycroft had to clear his throat before he could do so. Even then, he wasn't certain what to say! Finally he went with a generic response that he hoped would be sufficient. "Naturally, if you have any questions…" Mycroft prayed she would never, ever ask him questions about this, even if she did have them!
"You are the last person on the entire planet I would ask," Rose responded, her tone deadly serious. "Bethany said I could call her anytime and I will, if I need to."
The eldest Holmes let out a massive sigh of relief. "Thank god for that! Upstairs with you; pajamas and bed. I'll be up shortly." Mycroft sent Rose on her way with a light smack on the bottom and watched as she thundered up the stairs with the gift bag. Once she was out of view, Mycroft retrieved his mobile from his pocket to send a text.
'Thank you. M'
'No problem sir. B'