'Is Rose with you? M'

'No, I thought she was visiting you. SH'

'She left. Things did not go well. M'

'Why does that not surprise me? SH'

'She threw a tea pot at my head, had to have stitches. M'

'You probably deserved that. I'm at a crime scene, try John. SH'

John's mobile went off several times in a row as he and Rose stood in line at the coffee shop. "They're trying to figure out if I'm with you or wandering around," she murmured. "You should respond, before Mycroft sends police."

'Relax, she's with me. Things went poorly with Mycroft, she's upset. Having coffee,' John texted Sherlock. To Mycroft he sent, 'Yes, she is with me and upset. I'm not bringing her back. Sort it out on your own.' He wasn't Rose's keeper after all, and if she didn't want to go back to Mycroft's office, there was no reason why he should make her.

"John, I just realized I don't have any money. I didn't think to bring some, since I was only going to see Mycroft," Rose whispered, prompting John to turn his attention from his mobile back to her.

"Don't worry about it, my treat," he answered easily. Ordering a coffee for himself and a chai latte for Rose, he paid for and collected the drinks, then directed Rose to a table near the large front windows of the store.

"You know," John said quietly as they sat down. "I'm a rather good listener. If you want to talk, that is. Don't feel like you have to."

Rose smiled at his offer and took a sip of her latte before responding. "Thanks, I appreciate that."

"Things are rather complicated between you and your brothers aren't they?" John asked.

She nodded. "Very complicated. There's a considerable age gap between us, with Mycroft being a whole twenty-two years older than I am. I'm quite sure I wasn't planned by my parents," Rose admitted. "Mum had been advised not to have any more children after Sherlock because pregnancies were so difficult for her. She was rather fragile. Father was never really interested in any of us, I've been told, and in any case, he died when I was two. Since Mum's health was poor, Mycroft really took over raising me. I don't even remember Father at all, but I remember Mycroft, as far back as my memories go. And there's lots of good memories with him too," Rose added, smiling thoughtfully.

"Things became more difficult when Mum died. I was eleven and Mycroft became fully responsible for me and Sherlock as well I guess. Even though Sherlock was an adult by then, he's always worried Mycroft to a considerable extent."

John laughed. "He still does. Mycroft offered me money to spy on Sherlock for him when I moved into 221B."

She rolled her eyes. "That doesn't surprise me at all. But I think it was very stressful for Mycroft, worrying about Sherlock and trying to raise me. I admit I wasn't the easiest of children." Her face blushed a bit at that admission.

"I don't think children are ever easy. They all worry their parents or guardians and act out as they grow up," John commented thoughtfully. "Were you and Sherlock close?"

"Yes, very! Always have been," Rose confirmed with a grin. "Though I'm not entirely sure when he made the transition from just being my older brother to becoming a second guardian, more or less. But I followed him around a lot when I was small." She laughed softly, thinking back to all the fun they'd had then. "The more Mycroft became involved in the government though, the more they shared taking care of me, which brought Sherlock and I even closer. I think he's always understood me better than Mycroft, who is very, very traditional." Rose sighed and drank more of her latte.

"He wants what's best for me, and I really do know that, he's just very overbearing about it. That's why I had to get away. I couldn't stay in law school, I was so completely miserable there. I wanted to be an adult, get out in the world and see new places, meet new people, and really establish myself as independent. Maybe, in retrospect, it wasn't my brightest decision ever." Rose whispered that admission, as if confessing a secret to John.

"To be honest, I'd have to agree with that. Not the brightest idea. I admire the boldness of it," John admitted. "Everyone needs to get out there and have some adventures when they're young. It's not especially adult to vanish in order to do so, leaving family members worried sick about you." His tone was lightly scolding and he hoped Rose would take his words to heart and think twice before ever disappearing again.

Rose blushed, looking a bit ashamed of herself, clearly agreeing with John on a certain level. "I know," she said quietly. "And I do feel badly that I worried them. Sometimes I really missed them terribly. At the same time though, it was such a freeing experience! Police weren't called to look for me if I was thirty minutes late, I wasn't followed around by people under the guise of protecting me. A person has to fall flat on their face sometimes, learn from the experience, and move on, right?"

John nodded. "That's true enough," he agreed. "Life is often a series of trials and errors, and that's what gives us character and makes us who we are. So what exactly were your big plans that you proposed to Mycroft today? I'm assuming he didn't agree with them," he added.

As Rose detailed her plan for him, he found himself thinking it might actually be for the best if she took that empty flat in their building. While she had achieved quite a lot at a young age, it was very clear to him that Rose was still transitioning from teenager to adult and didn't know everything. It wouldn't hurt to have her close enough for Sherlock to keep an eye on, while still allowing some independence.

"What kind of dancing do you want to do professionally?" John asked. He smiled as he watched her face light up when she talked about dancing. It was clearly something very important to her, that she was passionate about, and he personally didn't see the harm in letting her try to make a go of it. Then again, Rose wasn't his sister either.

"Ballroom dancing in particular, just because it's such a big deal right now," Rose explained. "I'm rather good at it and I've done it for a quite some time. I think if I found the right partner, we could do competitions and I could get my name out there. Ballet and ballroom are by far my strengths, but I've had training in jazz, tap, you name it. I think I'd like to have my own studio some day, but that isn't likely to happen without a professional reputation."

"All very good points to consider. Try to give Mycroft some time, maybe he'll come 'round," John advised. He personally doubted it, but one could always hope!

After spending the better part of two hours chatting at the coffee shop, John and Rose caught a cab back to Baker Street. Sherlock had already returned from the crime scene he'd visited and was busy in the kitchen, doing an experiment on some fingers he'd been keeping in the fridge.

"You know, I grew up watching him do experiments, but seeing him do stuff like that just never becomes normal," Rose murmured to John.

"And let's hope it stays that way," John said, laughing. "I might begin to worry about us if we stop being bothered by it." As a doctor, John didn't mind the blood or dismembered body parts he often saw Sherlock experiment with, it was more the fact that it was done in their kitchen where they cooked meals that bothered him. Somehow, he'd learned to put that aside, at least most of the time, after living with Sherlock for over a year now.

"Rose, did you throw a tea pot at Mycroft's head?" Sherlock asked, never looking up from his work.

"Skipping the pleasantries, are we?" Rose asked quietly. "Yes, I threw a tea pot at his head and he deserved it. He said something very, very hurtful."

"Oh my god. You're completely serious, aren't you?" John asked, his eyebrows raised, looking between brother and sister.

"Damn, I was hoping Mycroft was exaggerating to gain sympathy from me," Sherlock muttered. With a long-suffering sigh, he put down the finger he was working with and looked at her. "Come here," he said firmly, crooking his finger at her. "Now."

With the tragic air of someone on their way to be executed, Rose shuffled across the sitting room and entered the kitchen, stopping next to her brother.

"First, let me say that I love you dearly," Sherlock said quietly. "However, I am compelled to ask if you are completely insane?" His only answer was a dark scowl, so he merely continued. "You are so illogical at times it's almost inconceivable. I don't even know what to say to you. A tea pot; at his head. That is childish Rosenwyn, not to mention dangerous. Mycroft required stitches! When are you going to outgrow this nasty habit of throwing things at people? And I'm not talking about your slipper this morning, which was done in jest I know, but when you're angry. At some point you simply must stop throwing things at people just because they've vexed you. Even when they deserve it, and I have no doubt Mycroft did deserve a tea pot to the head, that does not make it acceptable behavior."

The longer Sherlock scolded, the redder her face became, until Rose decided her shoes were much more interesting to look at. Perhaps what bothered her most was that she couldn't really disagree with anything he'd said, as much as she wanted to.

"How old are you, Rosenwyn?" Sherlock asked sternly. When Rose didn't answer, or even look at him, he reached out to tip her head back up. "I suggest you pay attention to what I have to say, miss. Answer the question. How old are you?"

"Nineteen; twenty just before Christmas," she answered in a meek tone.

"Your actions today do not reflect that you are of legal age or that you are a fully capable adult that can make intelligent decisions." Sherlock knew his tone was quite harsh, causing Rose to cringe, but she needed to hear this. "If your plan was to convince Mycroft that you're old enough to decide where to live and what sort of career you'd like to have, I'd say you failed spectacularly at that, because adults. Don't. Throw. Tea pots."

Tears gathered in her blue-gray eyes and began to silently trail down her cheeks, but to her credit, Rose nodded to indicate she understood him. "Sherlock," she whispered, her breath hitching. "H-h-he said…"

Sherlock had intended to continue scolding her but something in her eyes told him to wait and let her get what she needed to say out.

"He said 'I m-m-most certainly didn't ask for you to be born and become m-m-my responsibility,'" Rose whispered through her tears.

The look in her eyes was absolutely heartbreaking and Sherlock immediately wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. He was stunned by what Mycroft had said to her, and very, very angry. He hugged Rose tighter still when she began to sob.

For John, who had been sitting in his arm chair and overheard the entire exchange in the kitchen, Rose's behavior earlier suddenly made sense. It was no wonder she'd been lashing out at him; anger was always much easier to deal with than the kind of hurt Mycroft's comment must have caused.

Without a word, Sherlock picked Rose up and carried her over to the couch where he could hold her better than he could in the kitchen. Settling her on his lap, he began rubbing her back gently as she cried. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm so sorry he said that."

When her tears eased up, Sherlock tipped her chin up to look at her. "He didn't mean that Rose," he assured her earnestly. "I know he didn't because I was there the day you were born and Mycroft was absolutely enamored of you. As was I," he added, pausing to kiss her forehead. "He loves you very, very much and I know he didn't mean it. And I will make certain he knows how out of line that was. But I promise you, he loves you and has never once in the last nineteen years ever uttered a word of complaint or unhappiness at raising you. We're very proud to call you ours, you know that? Whatever you do, you'll always be ours and we will love you through it all."

The depth of emotion in Sherlock's words took John by surprise and he knew without a doubt that his best friend meant every word he said. Rose was a lucky girl, to have Sherlock, and Sherlock was lucky to have her, John was sure of it.

"I will make this right Rose, I promise," Sherlock vowed. "John," he asked, turning his attention to his friend. "Would you get me some tissues and a cool cloth?" He continued to soothe and reassure his sister that she was very much loved and wanted as he waited for John to return.

"Alright, time to dry your eyes," Sherlock told her. Using the tissues, he gently wiped away Rose's tears and dried her face. "Lean back against the arm of the sofa, I'm going to put this cool cloth over your eyes. They look very sore."

Rose did as he asked and closed her eyes so he could put the cool cloth over them. "Thank you," she whispered. "I love you."

Sherlock smiled, despite her inability to see it. "I know you do," he replied, kissing her cheek. "And I love you as well. I'll make certain this is resolved, you have my word. Just rest, let me take care of everything, Rosie." He held onto her tightly for several minutes as she began to relax and finally fell asleep. Removing the cloth from her eyes, Sherlock carried her into his room and tucked her into the bed.

"I'm going to murder my brother," he told John emphatically when he returned to the sitting room.

"Well, you're likely the only person I know who could actually get away with murder… if your brother wasn't the British government," John pointed out. "You might want to rethink that plan."

Sherlock scowled; how he hated it when John was correct! "Horribly mangle him then."

"That gets messy," John quipped. "Mrs. Hudson won't want pints of blood spilled all over in here."

"I'll mangle him elsewhere then," Sherlock decided.

This time, John actually looked up from the newspaper he'd been reading. "You're not going to throw Mycroft out the window, are you?" he asked in all seriousness. "I don't think Lestrade is going to let that slide a second time, considering Mycroft isn't a "house breaker.""

"Oh, do shut up John. You're ruining my fun," Sherlock retorted darkly, flopping into his chair. "And yes, I'm seriously considering doing just that. His remark was cruel and served no purpose other than to hurt her, and in that he very much succeeded! Oh, I know she's quite good at getting him worked up, and vice versa, but he has never lashed out like that. The reason for it is irrelevant, however. He is twice her age and should have been able to control himself."

Sherlock reflected on the matter for several minutes before hurrying downstairs to see Mrs. Hudson and directing her not to let Mycroft up under any circumstances. Once he had her agreement, he returned to his flat to plot the slow, horrible murder of his brother.

Several hours later, Rose was awake and a bit more cheerful, or at least attempting to be so. She recruited John to help her clean up the kitchen, lightly scolding her brother about all the body parts stuffed in places around the kitchen. "Disgusting Sherlock, truly. Try and disinfect… well, everything would you, John? I'm certain we'd all like to eat this evening, but that won't happen until all the nasty bits are put away."

Sherlock laughed loudly. "Nasty bits, hmm? Some respect for science you have, young lady! Those nasty bits could save a man from decades of unjust incarceration."

"Or they could completely contaminate our dinner and kill us," Rose retorted in a huff. She flashed Sherlock a smile, to assure him she was teasing, before thanking John for his help and ushering him out of the kitchen. After popping her ear buds in and turning on her ipod, Rose set about to make what she hoped would be an impressive dinner.

Sherlock watched her, utterly fascinated by the level of skill she demonstrated. "She couldn't do that before she left," he told John. "It was a miracle she could make tea and spaghetti all on her own. This is one of the moments that makes me think she really has matured since her disappearance. Then there are moments like the tea pot throwing, which was completely justified in my opinion, that are evidence she is not yet ready to be on her own. Oh, she managed, clearly, on her own while "adventuring" as she calls it, but there is a world of difference between essentially backpacking through Europe and being a successful adult in London. Rose is nearly there though, I'm sure of it."

The note of pride in Sherlock's voice made John smile. "She seems to be a very special girl. It's unfortunate what happened today with Mycroft."

"It is. I hope he understands how badly he hurt her," Sherlock murmured. "Despite today's events, I am very relieved to have her back. It was a bit frightening, imagining her out there all alone, with no one to watch over her."

As the two friends talked, Rose began humming along with her music, and before long, began singing a song that gave Sherlock pause, causing both men to stop and listen.

"Come to me, my melancholy baby," Rose sang, unaware she had an audience or even that she was singing aloud and not in her head. "Cuddle up and don't you be blue…Smile, my honey dear, while I brush away each tear. Or else, I shall be melancholy, too."

The sound of clapping that accompanied the end of the song startled Rose, causing her to drop the spatula on the floor. Pausing to stop her ipod, she then picked the utensil up and tossed it into the sink.

"Wow, that was really great," John said appreciatively.

Sherlock, however, said nothing, instead getting up to enter the kitchen and hug her tightly. "That was lovely, Rosie," he whispered in her ear. "Sadly, I think you sang it much better than I ever did when trying to get you to sleep."

Rose laughed and pecked his cheek before turning back to the food. "Your singing capabilities weren't the important part, Sherlock. The fact that you did it was."

"You sang lullabies?" John asked, looking slightly bewildered.

"Not a word to another living soul, John Watson. Not. A. Word," Sherlock commanded.

"And in any case, Melancholy Baby isn't really a lullaby," Rose added. "But it was soothing all same. Sadly though, Sherlock was no Dean Martin, but he…" She suddenly stopped speaking and the color began draining from her face while John coughed uncomfortably.

Sherlock turned to see what had bothered Rose and discovered Mycroft standing in the sitting room. His eyes narrowed and he advanced on his elder brother. "Leave. Immediately."

"I'm here to apologize," Mycroft said quietly. "I want to speak with her Sherlock."

Both Rose and John gasped as Sherlock's fist connected with Mycroft's face and sent him to the floor, blood spattering everywhere.