"Sherlock!" Rose shouted. "My god, what did you do that for?!" She rushed to Mycroft's side but was gently ushered aside by John, who was now in full doctor mode.

"He hurt you terribly and that was wrong," Sherlock explained in a dull tone.

"So you break his face?"

"No, no, not the whole face. Definitely the nose and Mycroft is out cold," John interrupted. "He'll need to go to hospital and get an x-ray. You've got a hell of a right hook Sherlock. Poor Mycroft is going to be very colorful looking in a few hours."

"Is everything alright dears?" Mrs. Hudson asked sweetly, appearing in their doorway. "I heard a thud and… Oh my." She sighed. "Sherlock dear, is that your brother on the floor?"

"Yes, it is, and Sherlock broke his face," Rose grumbled shaking her head.

"I thought for a moment Sherlock might be shooting the wall again, but since there was only one loud noise, I decided to come up. Is he going to be alright?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "Should I call an ambulance?" She bent over the oldest Holmes, tutting a bit.

"Shooting the wall? You shot the wall?" Rose asked, turning a dark look on her brother. "Oh, aren't you one to talk! Scold me for throwing a tea pot when you shoot walls?"

Sherlock groaned. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," he ground out. "I was trying to relieve boredom between cases." His tone clearly implied that such a choice should not only be obvious, but make complete sense.

Rose lightly smacked his arm. "You're a bloody idiot, you know that?"

"Help me get Mycroft downstairs," John directed his friend. "And into a cab. He'll be fine, but he needs an x-ray just to make certain he's alright."

"Don't you think you're exaggerating things a bit?" Sherlock asked.

"You knocked him to the floor and he's lost consciousness," John pointed out with a scowl. "So no, I don't think I am. And perhaps an ambulance is for the best. I don't think he'll be pleased to see any of us when he wakes up. Please, do call Mrs. Hudson."

The landlady hurried downstairs to call an ambulance and a short time later, Mycroft was on his way to the hospital. After spending a few hours in the emergency room, the eldest Holmes was discharged with a packed nose and returned home. It had never felt emptier than it did that night.

'Are you alright?'

'Do I sense some concern, brother? M'

'It's Rose. Got worried.'

'I'm happy to hear from you. M'

'You didn't answer my question.'

'I have a very colorful face today. Keep getting sympathetic looks. M'

'What do you tell people?'

'Tripped over the rug. M'

'LOL. Not very original. I need a mobile; Sherlock will have a hissy about me using his.'

'Your account at the bank is still open. And what does "LOL" mean? M'

"Give me that!" Sherlock growled, snatching his mobile back.

Rose rolled her eyes and huffed, leaning back on the couch. "If I invite Mycroft over for a talk, are you going to attempt to break his face again?"

Now Sherlock was the one doing the eye rolling. "You're ridiculously over dramatic. I did not attempt to break his face. I was trying to express what an arse he was for what he said to you."

"Duly noted. But you're thirty-one. Use your words, Sherlock, like a big boy," Rose replied, attempting to sound stern.

"My way was much faster and more pleasurable," he ground out through clenched teeth.

Rose sighed softly. "Hitting him didn't make me feel better."

Sherlock's eyebrow quirked.

"Ok, maybe it did for two minutes, but he's my brother. Our brother. If Mycroft and I don't talk about what happened, what he said, it's going to become this huge cavernous divide between he and I and nothing will ever be the same," she explained quietly. "And there was little point to my coming home if all it does is make you two fight even more than you already do."

"Mycroft and I have never gotten on well together, and that started long before you were born," Sherlock admitted. "Don't try to fix us, it won't work. And stop sounding so grown up and mature. Makes me feel… old. And that is unpleasant."

Rose laughed softly, getting up from the couch to help herself to Sherlock's lap as he sat in his chair. "I am trying. I did learn some things while I was away; even if I still throw things at people who vex me. Oh, and I need my passport back. My legitimate one," she commented before pecking his cheek.

Sherlock gave her a stern look. "Out of the question."

"I'm not planning on leaving, but I need identification or the bank won't issue me a new card for my account. All the other IDs I have are fake names. Like my Luxembourg driver's license. I can drive a stick shift now!" Rose grinned, quite proud of her achievement. "But my account isn't under the name Nora Charles and I need a mobile since you won't share yours."

"You make a valid point. However, I'm not giving it to you," Sherlock said firmly. "I will remove it from my deposit box at the bank, hand it over to whomever will issue you a new card, and then it will go straight back in the box."

"It's a crime to keep someone's passport from them, you know," she pointed out with a sigh.

"I'm quite sure, given your history, that Lestrade will ignore you completely if you attempt to report me," Sherlock retorted. "Let's go to the bank, shall we?"

There were noises everywhere, accompanied by the inane chatter of lesser intelligent beings. Considerably lesser intelligence from the sounds of it. Ring tones, giggly teenagers, blasting music with indiscernible lyrics, electronics scattered everywhere in the most obnoxious array of bright colors.

"How did this happen?" Sherlock hissed. "This is like hell on earth. There is too much stupid in this building and it is unbearable."

Twenty Minutes Prior

John pressed the buzzer in his office to connect him to the surgery's reception. "Will you send in the next one please? Thank you." At that exact moment, his phone vibrated and John checked it to see a message from Sherlock.

'Will you take Rose to find a mobile? SH'

'I'm at surgery.'

'Later then? SH'

'No.'

"No?" Sherlock read aloud in disbelief. "What does he mean "no" ?"

'Why not? SH'

'Hate shopping. And she's your sister, not mine.'

Present

"How did this happen?" Rose repeated. "I need a mobile and you refuse to share nicely, but you're afraid to let me out of your sight or that of someone you trust. Also, John said no. How does any of that confuse you?"

Sherlock glared darkly at her. "Insufferable brat. Go find a mobile, quickly, so we can leave before my brain cells start committing suicide." He watched Rose shake her head and wander off before finding an employee. At least they were easily discernible in their bright red shirts and name tags.

"I want to put my sister on my mobile plan," he told a young man named Stan. "And I want this process finished as quickly as possible. Also, I would like to know the capabilities of the GPS locator in whatever mobile she selects, specifically how well I can track her with it."

Stan stood there for a few seconds before answering. "You want to track her mobile?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, obviously, that is why I asked. I want to be able to chart her everywhere she goes, if that is possible."

"Probably, but isn't that kind of, like, borderline stalker behavior?" Stan asked, eyeing Sherlock suspiciously.

"Yes, yes it is," Rose confirmed as she joined her brother. "He's slightly paranoid because I have a habit of wandering off on occasion."

"As in wandering to other countries unannounced," Sherlock added.

"Um… Ok. Right," Stan said slowly. "Let me check you out, and get this phone added to your plan sir. I'll also provide you with some brochures about this model's features that you might find useful in your… uh…"

Rose laughed. "I think the phrase you're searching for is "stalkerish activities," yeah?"

"Oh just hurry up!" Sherlock snapped at Stan. "And Rosenwyn, do shut up."

"Pay him no mind at all, Stan," Rose said, giving the employee a dazzling smile. "It's really not you, Sherlock just hates people in general and is chronically incapable of being polite."

'Got a mobile! It's Rose by the way.'

'Sherlock took me and had a hissy at the store. Quite humorous.'

'I'm sorry to have missed it. M'

'Should we talk, or something? Like adults I mean.'

'I think it would be best. Would you like dinner out? M'

'Yeah, sure! Come 'round and fetch me at 7.'

The one nice thing about his club, Mycroft reflected, was that no one was allowed to speak. Therefore, no one was allowed to question him about the few stitches on his forehead or the multitude of purples and reds that was his face. Silence was a most wonderful thing indeed, particularly when accompanied by some very expensive brandy.

And then his phone vibrated. 'We need to talk. No, I won't hit you again. Probably. SH'

Forsaking the large lounge where gentlemen read their papers or books in complete silence while enjoying a variety of liquors, Mycroft greeted Sherlock at the front door of the club and motioned for his brother to follow him. There was an office within the club that Mycroft often availed himself of to which he led Sherlock, where they could speak without disturbing the mandatory silence in most of the building. He typically used the office to talk with John, who was more likely to actually answer him and come then Sherlock. Not that he really gave John a choice.

Sherlock's face took on a look of abject horror when he caught sight of his brother's face. "John was right! You have a very… colorful face today."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed. "Please tell me you are not interrupting my time here to come examine my face and see how badly you damaged it."

"No, that is not why I'm here. I'm here about us, and Rose. We need to work out this… dysfunctional and untraditional type of co-parenting sort of arrangement we have," Sherlock said firmly, taking a seat in a plush arm chair.

Mycroft took the seat opposite him and nodded. "I'm listening."

"Firstly, you simply must make it up to her for what you said yesterday. She was devastated. Rose isn't like us, Mycroft. We can shut off our emotions as need be, or even shove them away for good for long periods of time, but she can't. Rose is very much like mother. Or at least when mother was in better health, that is. Free spirited. Sensitive," Sherlock explained.

"And you wish me to be more sensitive?"

"To work on it, yes. Or all the reasons why we love her will disappear and so will she, again," Sherlock said quietly. "And maybe she won't come home next time. Ever."

The thought was a sobering one for Mycroft.

"We both need to work on our relationship with her, I believe, but you in particular. I am not just being judgmental here, Mycroft, I'm speaking quite earnestly, out of concern for Rose and not because I think I am any better of a sort of parent-like figure than you are…"

Mycroft's eyebrow quirked.

"Alright, alright, so I think I do better at it in some aspects than you do," Sherlock admitted with a scowl. "But I only say that because Rose has confided in me. Apparently I'm very comforting, or something." A slightly bewildered look crossed his face as Sherlock described himself as 'comforting.'

"And what has she chosen to confide in you?" Mycroft was beginning to feel very uncomfortable with this entire exchange, fearing on some level that Rose had confessed she hated him.

"You don't hug her anymore."

Mycroft bristled. What kind of accusation was that? "So she sat on your lap and gave you these wide, begging eyes and said 'Mycroft is so mean! He won't even hug me anymore," he asked, doing an imitation of a whiny teenager.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "No. I asked her why she came to Baker Street when she returned to the country, rather than go with your men in the car to see you, knowing either way she'd be in serious trouble for disappearing. Aside from the fact that you have a cane and have used it, which I do not approve of, by the way, she told me she came to Baker Street because at least she knew I'd comfort her afterwards."

Instead of feeling picked on, as he had been just a moment ago, Mycroft now felt confused. Comforting? Was that really such a problem? She kept saying she was an adult and had long ago grown past the stage where she needed to be cuddled after being disciplined. Hadn't she? He had stopped accepting cuddles around eleven or so. Isn't that what everyone did when they started to grow up and near their teenage years?

"Yes, Mycroft, but she's not like you. She's a girl and a sensitive one at that," Sherlock stated.

"I hadn't asked a question or even say anything out loud!" Mycroft explained.

"You were thinking very loudly. It was becoming irritating, so I interrupted you in order to lead you more quickly to the appropriate conclusion," Sherlock responded, sounding irritated.

"Alright, I'll work on it," Mycroft snapped back. "And the co-parenting issue?"

"Rose told me you had agreed to let her move into the empty flat next door, prior to her throwing the tea pot at you. Which, by the way, if you punish her for, I actually will "break your face," as Rose says. You deserved that and the broken nose for saying what you did. You had better make that up to her and mean it Mycroft," Sherlock threatened. "Are you still willing to allow her to do so?"

"If it keeps her from running off again, yes, because at least she'll be nearby one of us. We can keep an eye on her that way," Mycroft explained. "Why?"

"When she moves in then, I think it is only appropriate that I become the main disciplinarian. As much as I would like to think I won't need to take her over my knee again, we both know that it will happen at some point. If she is next door to John and I, it's my rules and I do the disciplining when she breaks them. Though I will keep your concerns in mind, provided they aren't ridiculous," Sherlock offered. "Is that an arrangement you can live with?"

"Yes, I believe I can. Though I still want to be involved, I'm not shedding all my responsibilities, but it does logically make more sense for you to set the rules since she'll more or less be living under your roof, in a manner of speaking," Mycroft agreed.

"Excellent," Sherlock said. "I'll take my leave."

"Tell Rose to dress up, we're going out to the very best restaurant in town," Mycroft said. "And if she doesn't have suitable clothing, make sure that is taken care of."

With a nod, Sherlock left the club to return to Baker Street.

'Molly, I require your assistance. My sister is in need of some sort of evening wear and presumably make-up. Will text you her size. SH'

Never had Molly Hooper been so delighted as when she'd received that text from Sherlock, asking her to help! Within forty-five minutes she had arrived with three dresses, three pairs of shoes, a purse and make-up, ready to loan them to Rose who just happened to be about the same size. There were all sorts of annoying giggles and girl chattering and talking of shopping dates, almost to the point of being beyond endurance. Sherlock was sure he'd never been so relieved to see Molly leave as he was just now.

John arrived back at the flat shortly after Molly left, having been kept at surgery later than usual. He found Sherlock had turned his chair towards the bathroom and was watching his sister rather intent, his hands steepled. Following Sherlock's gaze, all John saw was Rose in her brother's robe, applying make-up and fixing her hair.

"Something wrong?" he asked. "Want tea?"

"Yes. And I'm… gathering data," Sherlock answered, never averting his eyes.

"What kind of data? She's getting ready to go out, that's not mysterious you know," John pointed out.

"She's singing again. I'm trying to deduce whether the lyrics are some sort of musical news bulletin I should be aware of or not," Sherlock responded.

"I'm looking for trouble. I'm going to throw the book away. Be unpredictable from day to day, in every way I can," Rose sang, blissfully unaware that she was being very intently scrutinized by her brother.

"Sounds fine to me, just a song Sherlock. Not everything is something you need to deduce." Knowing Sherlock was unlikely to take his opinion seriously, he went into the kitchen to make some tea.

"I'm gonna find me a lover, wear him with pride. One who can show me a real good time," Rose sang.

"Rosenwyn!" Sherlock thundered. "That's obscene!"

Rose put down the eye shadow she'd been looking at and turned to face Sherlock. "I haven't even put on the dress yet, how do you know whether it's obscene or not?"

"Not the dress! That song, it's obscene. You shouldn't be singing about… about…" Sherlock huffed. "About lovers! Frankly, it's disgusting," he informed her.

Rose looked completely confused for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Oh my god, you are a very strange duck, you know that? Seriously strange." And naturally, just to be contrary, she began singing that very song again from the beginning.

"Rosenwyn Aramantha, I will confiscate your ipod if I hear anymore music of that nature coming out of your mouth!"

Rolling her eyes, Rose picked up the eye shadow, singing the lyrics in her head rather than aloud.

"Stop that! You're singing it again," Sherlock said, scowling darkly.

"How did you know?!" Rose turned to look at John. "He still does that? That 'I know what's going on in your head' bit and accusing people of thinking too loudly?"

"All the time," John confirmed.

"I ought to rethink moving next door, he's going to turn this place into a madhouse," Rose muttered, not meaning a word of it. "Or, at the very least, it's going to be a very interesting adventure."