"Mycroft!" Rose squealed in delight. She hopped up from her chair and ran over to her brother, throwing her arms around him.

The brother in question was caught very off guard and hesitated slightly before wrapping his arms around her. "That is quite the welcome Rose. I don't think you've ever greeted me with such enthusiasm."

Sherlock stalked across the sitting room and took a firm hold on Rose's ear, pinching hard and tugged on it. "Don't flatter yourself Mycroft," he grumbled. "Back to the chair and back to your lines," he directed Rose, pulling her by her ear across the sitting room and into the kitchen. Sherlock added a few good smacks to her bottom along the way.

"Ow! No! Ow!" Rose protested, allowing herself to be taken back to the kitchen.

Once inside the kitchen, Sherlock released her ear and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. "This. Will. Stop. Immediately," he growled. "If you get up just one more time, I will spank you, set the lines you've completed on fire and make you start all over again. Am I making myself clearly understood to you, Rosenwyn?"

Set her lines on fire? The very idea of it was ridiculous, but Rose didn't dare laugh. "Yes, yes you are Sherlock, I promise," she promptly responded. "I'll be good, I swear."

Sherlock released her chin and stood there towering over her, arms crossed over his chest, watching as she eased herself onto the chair with a wince before turning away.

"Having a delightful afternoon I see," Mycroft quipped, taking a seat on the couch.

"You don't know the half of it. You truly don't," Sherlock said, returning to his chair and flopping into it. "You were just now her latest excuse to get up from that chair before she finishes her lines. For the last ninety or so minutes it's been "I need to use the loo" or "I was just hungry!" as if no one else was here in the flat and could get her some damn biscuits. Then it was "Shall I make everyone a cuppa?" and "My legs are cramping." John fell for that one," he grumbled.

"I won't ever again," John vowed.

Mycroft watched this entire exchange take place and then began laughing; and laughing; and laughing. When he finished his hysterical outburst, he found both John and Sherlock glaring darkly at him. "My apologies," he muttered after clearing his throat.

"Sherlock, can you come here? Please?" Rose called out hesitantly. Given her brother's present mood, and the fact that she was the cause of it, there was good reason to be hesitant.

Letting out a sigh, Sherlock crossed the room and looked down at her.

"I'm being completely serious here, not mucking around," she began. "I can't… It hurts so bad. I can't keep sitting here for so long. That's why I keep getting up, not just to be a pain and drive you mad. Please, please can I have a cushion? I promise I won't get up again for anything short of the flat being on fire if you'll just let me have one."

"I told you to give her one," John added from the sitting room. "And I've told you the last 90 minutes she'd stop all that if you gave her one."

"You promise?" Sherlock said seriously. "You won't say a word and stay right here and finish your lines?" When she nodded, he relented and let her up to find a cushion for the chair.

An hour later Rose finished her lines without further incident. It was very unclear who, exactly, was most thrilled by that fact, Sherlock or Rose. "Anyone want a cuppa?" Rose asked. "I can make one now, right?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, you're released. We all feel an in exorbitant amount of joy at the completion of your task."

"Not from resting! You're still resting today," John clarified. "If you want to dance tomorrow, that is."

Mycroft couldn't help smirking at the whole lot of them. It was all very amusing when you weren't the one having to play Rose's keeper!

It was well after 2am that night before Sherlock crawled into his bed. Throwing the covers over himself haphazardly, adjusting his pillow just how he liked it, the man closed his eyes, intent on getting a few hours sleep; hours he hoped wouldn't be interrupted by Lestrade with another body. He wasn't sure how long he had laid there, eyes closed, sleep descending upon him before he heard it.

"Sherlock. Sherlock?" A sleepy voiced called out.

It was, of course, none other than Rose, who had been asleep on the lie-low when he'd come in. Or at least he'd thought she was.

"What?" he answered back.

"You asleep?"

Sherlock frowned. What sort of question was that? "Yes," he answered firmly.

There was a little pause before he heard her speak again. "Good, I want to talk to you."

The room went silent again for a moment. "Fine, come up here then," he relented.

Getting up from the lie-low, since both Sherlock and John had insisted she stay so they could ensure she rested, Rose sat on his bed, leaning against a pillow, looking at him with sleepy eyes.

"I thought you were asleep," he murmured.

"You woke me up."

"Then why did you ask if I was awake?"

"Well, it had been a few minutes. You could have been sleeping by then," Rose rationalized.

"Oh Rose," Sherlock said tiredly. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"About earlier."

"Define earlier."

"Earlier when I was writing lines."

Sherlock could hear the hesitation in her voice, as if she wasn't entirely certain she wanted to bring that up again. "I remember that portion of the day vividly."

Rose sighed. "That's why I wanted to talk about it."

"Go on then," he encouraged quietly.

"I'm sorry; really sorry. I shouldn't have done all that mucking about," Rose responded just as quietly.

Sherlock reached out with one arm and drew her close, hugging her tightly. "I appreciate your apology," he responded, kissing the top of her head.

"I'm not even sure why I did all that, other than it hurt to sit. Although I really was hungry that one time. Would you really have set my lines on fire?"

The man chuckled, his rich baritone laugh rumbling quietly in the room. "You'll never know! And I believe you know precisely why you did it, sore bottom aside. Think hard, Rosie, you'll figure it out."

The room fell quiet as she thought about it. "Why don't you tell me," she decided. "It's late, I can't think that hard."

"I think you just don't want to think about it," Sherlock told her. "But I'll spare you and say it anyway. You were punishing me."

"Huh?"

"You really are tired, aren't you?" Sherlock laughed. "Tired, but determined to make amends. But as I said, you were punishing me. You wanted to make it so absolutely maddening for me that I would decide it was far more torturous for me than it was for you and never make you write lines again."

Rose let out a little giggle. "That's… brilliant. I had no idea I was being so brilliant."

"No, you were just trying to be an obnoxious brat," Sherlock countered. "But there is a level of brilliance about that strategy. Didn't work with me though, did it?"

"No. I was disappointed," Rose admitted. "Because my bum really hurt."

"Sadly, you weren't the first person to come up with that plan. I did that to Mycroft ages ago. Worked with him. He was more ready to throw his hands in the air with me than he is with you," Sherlock admitted. "Because you're a girl."

"What's wrong with being a girl?" she demanded, sounding sleepier by the syllable.

"Nothing at all. Men just have inherent instincts to protect women, particularly those they are related to. Mycroft wouldn't forgive himself if he threw his hands in the air with you and then something bad happened," he tried to explain. "And I'm not entirely sure you're even listening to me anymore."

"I am," Rose assured him. "I'm resting my eyes."

Sherlock snorted indignantly. "Of course you are," he drawled. He laid there in silence for a moment, just cuddling her close. "Will you ever tell me where you went when you were away?" Perhaps it wasn't entirely fair to question Rose when she was clearly sleepy, but she rarely talked about it and he was dying of curiosity.

"Nowhere special," she murmured, moving to rest her head against his chest. "It wasn't always fun," Rose admitted. "Learned a lot though, 'bout myself."

"Hmm. What made you come home?" Not that he wasn't happy to have her back, ecstatic about it in fact, but Sherlock was interested in her response.

"Couldn't stay away anymore."

"Why not?"

"Needed you… and My, too. Missed you." Rose yawned, closing her eyes once more.

His heart swelled at her words. It was nice to be needed by someone. Perhaps she'd been away just long enough to realize how much she wanted and loved her family, as aggravating as Mycroft could be. He, of course, was the perfect brother, Sherlock thought with a smirk.

"Go back to your lie-low and let me sleep," Sherlock decided. "You and I both need to sleep. Someday, when you're ready, I want to hear all about your adventures; the good and the bad. Now, off my bed, brat."

His request was met by complete silence. "Did you seriously just fall asleep while I was speaking to you?" he murmured. "Oh yes, you are most definitely asleep." With a put-upon sigh, Sherlock got out of bed to carry Rose back to the lie-low. Tucking her in once more, even though she wouldn't know if he didn't, he kissed her forehead and went back to bed.

The following morning, Rose checked her phone for the first time since she'd collapsed. While she'd hoped that there wouldn't be any further texts, Rose knew that there would be. And were there ever! Her mobile's mailbox was completely full. Scrolling through them, she shuddered a bit as she watched the tone of them change from the odd statement about her to more demanding texts to wear a certain color, or look for him somewhere, or think of him when she did something.

By now she realized that this wasn't just a joke or someone being funny, or even someone texting the wrong person as she had originally believed to be the case. Rose knew this wasn't good, not at all, but still she hesitated about telling anyone. Sherlock and Lestrade needed to solve those murders before there were more young women killed. How could she take their attention away, when it might cost another person their life?

No, Rose thought, shaking her head. She just couldn't do that. What she could do, however, was figure out how to block the number from her mobile. It took a few minutes to determine how to do it, but finally she enabled the block of that number, and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. With that accomplished, she slipped her mobile into her jeans pocket and left for Scotland Yard.

"Ah, my coffee. How I've missed you in the mornings macchiato," Lestrade commented, reaching for the drink in Rose's hand.

"Nice, greet the coffee and not me," she snickered, holding it out of range.

"Glad to have you back," he said sincerely. "May I have my drink now?"

"I'm not certain you deserve it. I'm still deciding," Rose explained. "After all, you tattled on me."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "You needed to be tattled on. And I heard about that trip to hospital, so clearly I was right. Do you think I want your brother to murder me in my sleep? No ma'am. I'll tattle on you anytime I feel it's in my best interest."

Rose tried very, very hard to look at him sternly, but that last commented made her laugh. "Fine, fine. Your concern is duly noted." Handing over the drink, she plopped into one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"In all seriousness, you're doing better now, yeah? You look better; got some color in your cheeks again," Lestrade commented.

"Much better," Rose promised. "And happy to be back. Resting is boring."

"Sound just like your brother when you say 'boring' that way," he decided with a chuckle. "I'm going to keep an eye on you though, make certain I don't work you too hard. I know you've got other commitments. So speak up if you need a break or a day off, alright? I didn't put any certain timeframe on completing your hours."

"I appreciate that," she told him sincerely. "I really do, especially after all the trouble I made for you."

"You've been working hard to make up for it, and I appreciate that very much," Lestrade replied, giving her a smile. After handing over a flash drive and a stack of handwritten papers that needed to be typed, he directed her to the desk she'd been using.

When four o'clock rolled around, Rose made her trip to the coffee shop down the block. The officers were thrilled that she was back and that they could count on her for that afternoon pick-up me up they often desperately needed! Holding her coat tightly against the wind, Rose entered the shop and looked around. Spotting Louise, she waved and waited in line for the register.

"Feeling better?" Louise asked when Rose reached her to place the orders.

"Yes, finally. My keepers released me this morning," Rose told her, rolling her eyes. "Say, I don't see Mark anywhere. Day off?" It was strange not to see him there as usual.

"He was in a right foul mood today," Louise admitted quietly. "The manager finally asked him what was the matter and he told her he wasn't feeling well. She dismissed him for the day, a couple hours back. Will you be able to get these all back to the Yard alright? I could ask for a few minutes to help you."

"That's too bad about Mark. I hope he feels better soon. And if you can be spared, I would really like your help. I don't think I can manage them all this time, there are fourteen of them," Rose admitted with a giggle. "And I hate to ask for an officer to come down and help me bring them back."

Louise smiled and hurried off to speak with the manager, who readily gave her consent. "The Yard's become our best customers, and you're a regular too," the manager told Rose. "Can't promise it every day, but today you can have Louise if you send her right back."

"I will, I promise! Thank you so much, I really appreciate it," Rose promised.

When the order was finally ready, the two girls left the shop and walked back up the block. Louise insisted on bringing her half of the drinks up to the proper floor and Rose readily relented, certain Lestrade wouldn't mind.

"You bringing back strays now from the coffee shop?" Lestrade asked with a smile.

"No! Louise bravely volunteered to help me bring everything back and is just here for a second," Rose assured him.

Lestrade held out his hand. "Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Louise Gardner, nice to meet you," Louise said, shaking his hand. "I've got to get back to the shop. See you at the studio Rose?"

"Yes! I'll be there with whistles and bells," Rose assured her. The girls embraced before Louise headed back to the lift.

"I hope it was alright she came up. There were more coffee orders than I thought I could handle and my regular helper wasn't working today," Rose explained to Lestrade.

Lestrade shook his head. "No, no, that's quite alright, in and out like that. Thanks for making the run." He gave her a smile before disappearing in his office once more.

John Watson opened the door of the dance studio and stood there in the doorway. He wasn't even fully inside the building, and it already felt awkward. It hadn't before, when Rose had booked a room for them to practice, but this was different.

"Hello! May I help you?" A female voice asked. John looked to his right and discovered someone was sitting at the reception desk. He entered the studio fully, letting the door shut behind him.

"I'm John Watson, Dr. John Watson. One of my patients is a dancer here, Rose Holmes?" John started.

"Oh yes, Rose! Gave us a fright when she took ill a few nights back," the young woman stated. "I'm Jeanne, by the way. Um, so are you here to just make sure she's alright?"

"Nice to meet you," John responded politely. "And yes. I'd sort of prefer she didn't know I was here. Doesn't like being hovered over." Oh yes, this was very, very awkward.

"Oh that's no problem! There's a small viewing room attached to the studio she's in. Not sound proofed, mind you, but unless you're loud, she won't even notice you're there. Window's real small," Jeanne assured him. "This way, if you'll follow me. Rose has an audience tonight I guess. It's nice."

"An audience?" he asked.

Jeanne opened the door to the viewing room, revealing Sherlock, who was already seated and keeping an eye on his sister.

"You too," Sherlock commented.

John nodded and took a seat on the bench where Sherlock sat. "I was worried. Her first day back and I don't want her to overwork herself."

"She's done well so far. Had a snack, drank quite a bit. Don't talk too loudly, she won't notice us if we don't make any noise. I'm not certain she'd appreciate our presence," Sherlock admitted.

"That's why we didn't ask, isn't it?"

Sherlock smirked. "Indeed."

The men fell silent as Rose cued up the music and got into hold with her partner Alfred. The two began gliding over the floor, or so it seemed to the spectators.

"Wow," John murmured. "That's really fast paced and intricate." He knew his comment sounded ridiculous, and not just because Sherlock let out one of those sighs, but he was genuinely intrigued. "What song is it they're using?"

"Quickstep; has to be fast. They've been working on this since I arrived and it looks better every time," Sherlock admitted. "They have to remain in that hold once they assume it, and there are a requisite number of runs and step sequences that should be included in the choreography.

"The song, I believe, is by Ella Fitzgerald, which I'm certain pleases Rose to no end. Typically, those in charge of competitions provide the music in advance so the dancers can choreograph and, in theory, be perfect by the time of the competition."

"Has Mycroft seen this? Seen how good she is? Because this is bloody impressive," John stated emphatically. He'd been impressed by Rose's talent during his own lessons, but watching her dance like that, practically float across the floor and move precisely to the music, was a whole other level of impressive.

Sherlock shook his head. "No. I believe the last time he saw her dance was a recital when she was thirteen. She's improved since then, significantly, and I can tell she kept up with things while she was away. They paired her quite well with this Alfred fellow. He's not too tall, but tall enough to compliment her height. How she ended up so much smaller than Mycroft and I, I haven't a clue."

When they finished their run through the dance, Rose and Alfred stopped for a drink break. Or at least that was their intention, until the sound of loud clapping could be heard coming from someone.

"I think we've got an audience. Know those blokes?" Alfred asked, gesturing to the viewing room window.

There was John, clapping enthusiastically, and Sherlock, still seated, rolling his eyes.

"I do," Rose said with a sigh. She was a bit embarrassed and could feel a blush on her face.

"Want to go say hello? We're due for a bit of a break," Alfred pointed out.

"I suppose." Rose led the way out of the studio and to the viewing room door, opening it and sighing exasperatedly at the two men inside. "I. Am. Fine. Promise!"

"We're aware," Sherlock drawled. "But still concerned."

Rolling her eyes, she ushered Alfred into the room. "These are my keepers," she told him. "My brother Sherlock, and his flat mate, John Watson."

"Alfred Mellor, pleasure to meet you both." The young man extended his hand and shook both Sherlock and John's hands. "Are you the one sending 'round a car for Rose at night, Mr. Holmes?" he asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, that would be our eldest brother."

"I've been glad of it. We work quite late and I wouldn't feel right taking the tube home if Rose wasn't situated," Alfred admitted.

John beamed at Rose. "I like him," he decided.

"We're taking plenty of breaks now, too. It was quite a shock when she passed out the other night. It's better for us both to take care of ourselves," Alfred added. "So try not to worry on that account, yeah? I'll take good care of her while she's here. That's what partners do, right?" He looked at Rose for confirmation.

The girl in question's face was getting quite red, but she nodded her agreement just the same.

"Alright, I really like him. Well done, Alfred," John congratulated the young man. He chuckled when Alfred began blushing as well.

"Never mind us," Sherlock stated, deciding to end Rose's torture. "Is Mycroft coming later?"

"No, he's busy, but he's sending his car. You two can leave, I'll be fine. Honestly!" Rose insisted.

Sherlock nodded his agreement. "We will. I'm satisfied. Are you satisfied John?"

"Yes," John confirmed. "Keep up the good work Alfred!"

"They seem quite nice," Alfred decided after the two men had left.

"Yeah, they are. When they aren't obnoxious and overprotective anyway," Rose agreed. "Back to it, yeah?"

A few hours later, Rose was dropped off at Baker Street by Mycroft's driver. She was sweaty and exhausted, but it had been a fantastic practice. They were going to be absolutely perfect by competition, she was sure of it! At least with their quickstep; the waltz and tango needed a bit more work.

Putting her key into the mailbox, Rose retrieved her mail for the day before heading up the stairs. She knocked briefly on the door of 221B before opening it and stepping inside. "I'm home," Rose announced. "You two were embarrassing, you know that? Please don't come 'round and do that again."

Sherlock smirked. "Make certain you stay in good health then. I won't have to worry that way. Or at least not about that." He was certain there would always be something he'd have to worry about where Rose was concerned.

"Alfred seems like a nice fellow," John piped up.

"He is," Rose agreed. "But don't be so… enthusiastic about it, alright? This is a dance partnership, not a romance or drama on the telly or something. But anyway, I just wanted to say I was home. I'm off to take a shower and go to bed." After bidding them goodnight, Rose returned to her flat.

Before heading for the shower, she decided to look through her mail. A pale blue envelope caught her eye and she examined it: her name and address in block lettering, no return address. Frowning a bit, Rose opened it and a single sheet of notebook paper fell out. Unfolding it, she read the brief missive: How dare you?

Feeling more than a little frightened, she quickly shoved the note back into the envelope and put it into the top drawer of her desk.