Title: Hannah and Hewes
John Watson was nervous. In fact, he was incredibly nervous and it was a feeling he didn't particularly enjoy. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt anxious to this extent. John was certain that he had been, only he was unable to pin point a time recently.
"John, you have to relax," Rose coached. "We haven't even started yet. Don't worry, you'll be just fine."
"Feel a bit like an idiot," he admitted.
"Well you shouldn't. I'm thrilled to be able to teach you how to do some ballroom dancing. I'm sure you'll do well. Now shake it off. Shrug your shoulders, move your arms a bit, and imagine all that anxiety falling right off," she advised. "You'll feel better."
He did as she asked, continuing to feel idiotic, but gave her a smile all the same.
"Relax. It'll be just like Hannah and Hewes, except in reverse."
"Who? Are you talking in riddles again? You Holmes lot just love doing that don't you?" John asked with a laugh.
"Hannah and Hewes! Easter Parade. You haven't seen that?" Rose asked. "We'll have to watch it! Anyway, Hewes loses his dance partner who wants to do her own show and, believing he can make anyone a dancer, he picks out Hannah who he sees singing at a little restaurant. She knows nothing about dancing; can't even tell her left from her right! But he does teach her to dance, and dance beautifully. It's my very favorite musical in the world. So we're Hannah and Hewes, but backwards. See?"
John frowned a bit. "I think so. You're saying I'm completely inept, but not to worry, you can fix me?"
Her face fell. "No! No no! That's not what I meant at all. Just that anyone can learn to dance and be great at it."
"I know. I'm teasing you," he assured her with a wink.
Rose promptly stuck her tongue out at him. "And people call me a brat," she grumbled teasingly.
"Because you are," John laughed. "A delightful brat, but a brat all the same."
"We'll start with the basic step. Think of it as a box," Rose instructed. "Come stand beside me and we'll do it together. Step forward with your left foot, then to the side, then feet together. Step back, then to the side, and feet together again."
When John had that pattern down, they tried it together. "Hands here," Rose instructed. "Hold mine up on this side, your other hand at my waist and we'll make the box together. You're the top of the box and I'm the bottom."
They recreated the box step several times and John found himself picking it up with much greater ease than he'd thought possible.
"You know, once upon a time, the waltz was a very scandalous dance. Because people had to dance so close to one another and touch each other for a longer period of time. Right here in Britain, people refused to allow it to be danced at social functions for ages, eventually progressing to allowing certain people permission to do it, and then finally just getting over themselves about it," Rose pointed out. "Isn't that fascinating? Two hundred years ago, we'd have been thrown out of party in London for trying to dance this."
John smiled. "That is fascinating actually. And you're a great teacher. I can't believe I haven't broken your toes or anything yet."
"I had faith in you," Rose assured him. "Now, let's make it a little more complicated!"
Two hours later, John could fully waltz: box step, the turns, every bit of it he could do and looked good doing it. Not only did he look good, he felt confident about his abilities.
"That's incredible Rose," he complimented. "You're going to be an amazing dance teacher. I don't know why Mycroft doesn't see it."
"I don't know either," she admitted. "I'm hoping after the competition, if I do really well, he'll support me better on all this. It's all I've ever done, since I was three years old. My mum signed me up. Every girl needed to know how to dance, she'd say."
John smiled. "I'm sure she'd be very proud of you."
"Let's take a little break and then we'll run through it a few more times, with music. I'll teach you a new one next Saturday, so you're not a one-trick pony, as they say," Rose told him.
"Good idea. Time to hydrate and get an energy boost," he agreed.
While they had their snack and drank their water, Rose checked her mobile. The messages kept coming, all throughout the day, intimating that someone was watching her.
'I want to dance with you.'
'Teach me to dance, too.'
'You're so beautiful.'
'Won't you dance with me?'
And on and on it went. She quickly began deleting the dozen or so texts, paying no attention to John for a moment.
"You seem to be quite popular. Lots of texts?" he asked.
"Yeah. Yeah, lots of them."
Her voice sounded strange, making him frown. "Everything alright? Who's texting you so much?"
Rose looked up, giving him a bit of a smile. "Oh, just Louise. She's chatty."
Part of her wanted to tell him about these strange texts and her suspicions that she was being followed by someone, but another part of her didn't want to say anything about it. John, Sherlock and Mycroft would all overreact and put her in some ivory tower somewhere, never to be released. Besides, whoever it was would get bored eventually, particularly since she never responded. It hadn't even quite been a week yet; maybe, if it went on longer, she'd say something about it. Or change her number.
"But you're deleting them, not responding," John pointed out.
"Can't respond to all of them. I'll text her back in a bit. I need to finish up with you and then Alfred is coming in. She'll understand." Rose gave him what she hoped was a reassuring look and placed her mobile back in her duffle before ushering John back to practice.
"This is a great little flat," Louise declared upon visiting Rose at Baker Street. "Your dining set is absolutely stunning. How did you ever get that?" She ran her hands along the gleaming cherry wood dining table.
"Mycroft. He let me take whatever I wanted from the house. There is so much unused furniture, between the rooms and storage and the attic. Otherwise I wouldn't have any furniture," Rose admitted. "Sit down, sit down. Pick out a DVD and I'll pop popcorn."
"God, it's been forever since we had a night to chat and watch a film," Louise said with a smile. She perused the extensive collection of DVDs and selected one of their favorites, queuing it up on the DVD player.
"Alright, we have our film, our popcorn, we need blankets. Can't curl up and watch a good movie without a blanket," Rose stated. She disappeared into the bedroom and located an extra blanket from her closet, then returned to the sitting room.
Twenty minutes later the door of the flat burst open so hard it banged the wall behind it. "Rose, I need to…" Sherlock stopped in his tracks at finding the two snuggled under blankets in front of the telly.
Rose was familiar with the look on his face. His 'I'm deducing you' look that often made people uncomfortable. "Sherlock this is Louise. You should remember her, from dance way back."
Sherlock nodded and opened his mouth to say something when Rose cut him off.
"Sherlock Holmes, what is that container you are holding? Is that a human kidney?" Rose demanded.
"That's gross," Louise murmured, uncertain what to make of this development.
"It is gross. Sherlock, please leave the body parts in your flat, we've had this discussion thirteen times and I've only lived here three weeks," Rose pointed out. "Out. Out out OUT!"
"I need to refrigerate-"
"No, oh no you don't. Not in my fridge Sherlock. Get that out of my flat immediately and don't bring anything else over here. The answer is no and will remain no until my dying day."
The detective let out a put-upon sigh and turned to leave the flat, slamming the door behind him.
"I'd forgotten about your brother being all odd," Louise admitted with a giggle. "And those experiments of his. Does he really keep that stuff in a fridge? With food?"
Rose nodded. "His body part experiments are the bane of my existence. I really need to lock my door. That would at least slow him down for a few minutes while he located the key to let himself in." She shook her head and turned her attention back to the film.
Back in 221B John rolled his eyes as Sherlock practically flung himself into his arm chair and began to sulk. "I told you she'd say no. I don't understand why you keep asking. She's very serious about her fridge."
A few nights later, Rose let herself into 221B just after midnight. She was surprised to find John, who tried to sleep like a normal person, still awake and her brother nowhere in sight.
"Everything alright?" John asked, motioning her over to the couch.
She nodded and settled on the couch beside him. "Where's Sherlock?"
"Asleep for once. I'm in amazement," he admitted. "Couldn't sleep?"
"I did for a while. Had a nightmare" she admitted.
"Want to talk about it, love?"
Rose shook her head. "That's alright. But is it okay if I sit here for a little bit? I don't really want to be alone."
John wrapped his arms around her. "Want me to wake Sherlock?"
"No. This is good," Rose assured him. "I'll go back to bed in a bit."
She'd begun having nightmares about the person who was texting her and following her. While she'd never gotten a good look at the man's face, there was definitely a man stalking her. He always dressed the same and Rose saw him everywhere she went. Doorways, across the street from the Yard, around the studio. She knew she should tell someone, but with all the uproar over the recent murders, Rose didn't want to distract Sherlock or any of the police from solving the case. They were getting closer, it was really only a matter of time before the killer was well and truly caught and that was when Rose would tell him.
He nodded, kissing the top of her head. "I'm watching this awful old movie on the telly. The budget for it must have been less than one hundred pounds. Just awful, but in an amusing sort of way." John fell silent and rubbed her back soothingly as they watched the telly. Half an hour later, Rose was fast asleep him his arms.
"You're white as a sheet, do you know that?" Greg asked the following morning. "Everything alright?" He accepted his coffee from Rose, giving her a hard look as he did so. "You look just about done out."
She shook her head, giving Lestrade a brave smile. "No, I'm fine, honestly. Late night, that's all. Things are really busy right now. John's becoming quite the dancer and my competition is next month. Long days and sometimes I'm so tired I can't get to sleep as early as I should." None of that was really a lie, Rose rationalized. She had just left out the more important bits!
Lestrade's eyes narrowed, making Rose squirm a bit. "I'm keeping an eye on you. I'm not convinced by your story. I won't object to a day off if you're in need of one, you just have to say something. So would you like to say something?"
Rose shook her head no.
The man sighed heavily, rolling his eyes upward, as if silently asking what he had done to deserve this. "Then I'll say it for you," Lestrade decided. "Get out."
"Get out?" She frowned darkly. "What does that mean?"
"It means I'm dismissing you for the day. Go home Rose. I'll not have you collapsing under my watch," Lestrade told her sternly. "Get your arse out of this building and back at Baker Street where it belongs for today. If I see you in here today, I'll…" He paused.
"You'll do what exactly?" Rose challenged, hands on her hips.
A devious smile crossed Lestrade's face. "I will call your brother."
"Sherlock never takes you that seriously, you know that," she said bluntly.
"Not the brother I had in mind."
Rose's mouth formed an 'o' in surprise for several seconds before she scowled again. "That was well played. But for the record, that was also completely unfair. You know how he overreacts."
Lestrade nodded. "So why are you still in my office, young lady? Out! Do you need an escort? I'm about to dial Mycroft right now." He reached for his mobile and then proceeded to watch in amusement as Rose hurried over to her desk, threw her coat on, and ran rather frantically in the direction of the lift. Satisfied that he had at least scared her away for the day, Lestrade decided to reach out to someone just the same. Instead of calling Mycroft, however, he decided to send a text instead.
'Dr. Watson, you've got a reluctant patient waiting at your home office.'
'Which one this time?' John responded. Lestrade could practically hear the man sigh through his text.
'The little one. I don't want her back here until she gets some sleep.'
'Get your behind in a cab and come to surgery.'
Rose rolled her eyes. At least John was a welcome change from the stalker's texts.
'No. I'm fine. Will take a nap.'
'I didn't offer you an option Rose.'
When John received no reply from his petulant patient after five minutes, he sent a text to Sherlock instead.
'Go find your sister and bring her to surgery, willing or unwilling.'
'Why? SH'
'Greg sent her home. He's worried she'll collapse.'
'On my way. SH'
Rose did not prove difficult to find. She'd followed Lestrade's instructions to return home, going straight to 221C where she curled up on her couch with a huff. Pulling the Mycroft card had been a low blow, but an effective one, she had to admit. She was searching for something interesting to watch on the telly when Sherlock let himself into the flat.
"John would like you to come to surgery. He's worried," Sherlock said, getting straight to the point.
"He's ridiculous and so is Greg," she replied with a long-suffering sigh.
His eyes narrowed as he closely examined her. "Not ridiculous at all," he decided. "Your paler than normal, the veins near your wrist aren't their normal size which indicates some dehydration, you attempted to cover the dark circles under your eyes with concealer, and I can practically see that your head aches. In short, you're exhausted and I'm going to listen to John on this one. Let's go, off to surgery." While Sherlock may not take John's protests about his habits seriously, namely going days without any sleep at all and forgoing eating while working on cases, this was Rose. And he wasn't going to allow his baby sister to get away with that nonsense, no matter how hypocritical that made him.
She groaned. "How can you possibly tell that my head aches?"
"You're squinting, as if your eyes hurt; also the lights are dimmer than you usually have them," Sherlock summed up. "Get your shoes and coat on; we're going to see John."
"No. I'm just going to relax here. I'm fine Sherlock," Rose replied firmly. She had the nagging suspicion that if she went in to surgery that John was order her to rest and she didn't have time to rest. Not with a competition coming up!
Sherlock scowled. "He said to bring you, willing or unwilling. Surely you'd prefer to walk down to a cab on your own two feet, rather than be dragged down the stairs and shoved into one."
She threw a pillow at him.
Twenty minutes later, Sherlock walked into the surgery with Rose slung over his shoulder. He completely ignored the gasps and staring of the other patients, acting as it was completely normal that he should carry someone inside in such a fashion. Rose, on the other hand, was horribly embarrassed and wished she hadn't put up such a fuss about coming in. Sherlock had been right; much better to walk on your own two feet.
"Unwilling then, I see," John murmured as they entered his office. "Put her on the exam table and go wait in the other room."
"The room with all the people?" Sherlock asked, frowning.
"Of course, where else would you go wait?"
The idea of sitting out there with all those people, particularly after carrying his sister into the building in such an outlandish fashion, was not high on Sherlock's list of things he wanted to do. In fact, it made no appearance on the list at all.
"You won't be expected to make conversation," John promised. He hid a chuckle when Sherlock fairly stormed out of the office.
"I haven't seen much of you over the last few days. I know you've been very busy with practice and such," John began as he turned his attention to his patient. "Lestrade was right, you look terrible."
"Just what every girl wants to hear," Rose replied, sighing loudly.
"You're very much like your brother in neglecting to take care of yourself and that's a bad habit to get into. If you don't take care, Rose, you really will collapse one of these days. Now stop your eye-rolling and let me examine you," John said sternly.
Deciding it was in her best interest to cooperate Rose did exactly that, hoping that John would not confine her to Baker Street for the remainder of the day.
Unfortunately for her, that was precisely what he did. "I'm writing you a script for some pills that will help you sleep, but don't take it until later on today. You need to go back home, eat a hearty meal and drink drink drink before you end up in hospital on fluids," John instructed her. "And you will rest; really rest. No more activity today, just resting and drinking."
"But I can still go to practice tonight, yeah?" Rose asked, sounding hopeful.
"Absolutely not. Not until you're better hydrated and have some good meals inside your belly," John said, shaking his head. "If you're good today and do what I tell you, you'll be just fine tomorrow to dance to your heart's content. No practice tonight, no teaching, no volunteering."
"But John! That's so unreasonable! The competition is next month," Rose whined. "I can sleep when I'm dead and I'll drink all day long I swear. And eat. I have to practice."
John resolutely shook his head no. "No buts. You're too much like your brother; willing to run yourself into the ground without a thought to your health."
He exited the exam room for a moment, waved Sherlock back inside. "She's to go straight home and get fluids in her and some food as well. Just rest, she shouldn't go anywhere or do anything strenuous right now. Her body isn't up for it. Can you mind her?"
When he had Sherlock's assurance that he would keep an eye on Rose and make certain his instructions were followed, John let her go with the prescription for a sleeping pill. This time, Rose walked out of the building, unwilling to exit the same way she'd entered.
His phone rang, right when he was splicing a kidney on the island in the kitchen. Sherlock scowled, removed his gloves, and looked at the screen. He didn't know the number but answered it all the same.
"Yes?"
"Is this Mr. Holmes?" A young man's voice inquired.
"Sherlock Holmes, yes. Who is this?"
"I'm Alfred, Rose's dance partner and-"
"And what is it you want?" He didn't bother to hide his exasperation, his tone fairly oozing of it.
"She's sick. Rose, she passed out and hit her head. The director called an ambulance, they're taking her to hospital," Alfred explained.
After getting the name of the hospital, Sherlock promptly hung up the phone and looked around the flat. It was just past 6pm. How had that happened? And he had just been talking to Rose!
The detective paused before groaning loudly. He'd done it again, that thing he always did with John. The 'I don't notice you've left, so I keep talking to you, paying no attention to the fact you never respond' thing that John was constantly going on about. Without intentionally doing so, he'd created the perfect scenario for Rose to sneak away right from under his nose.
Grabbing his phone again, Sherlock quickly sent a text before hurrying out of the building. 'Rose has been taken to hospital. SH'
John, in a cab on his way back to the flat, received the message and felt an overwhelming sense of frustration… and a sudden sense of camaraderie with Mycroft. God only knew what his siblings had put him through over the years. He gave the cabbie the new direction, alternately feeling concerned for Rose and absolutely infuriated with her as they headed for hospital.
'Rose is headed for hospital. SH'
'Lovely. M'
'There's moments when I feel completely unqualified to deal with her. SH'
Mycroft was taken aback by the admission. That was so unlike Sherlock.
'I've felt that way for years. She's never dull. M'
'Do you feel an urge to bang your head against a wall at times? SH'
'More often than I care to admit. M'
'She's too much like you. Makes it more difficult. M'
'I think you just insulted me. SH'
Mycroft chuckled as he responded. 'For what it's worth, I think you're just what she needs. M'