The letters had been coming daily for two weeks. They were always in the same pale blue envelope with no return address, written in block letters. Each time, there was only one line in the letter, alternating between being threatening and attempting to be romantic.
Do you think you're above me?
I can make you love me.
Don't you want me?
We'll be together forever.
Every night, Rose opened the letter to read it before sticking it into the desk drawer. She had almost told Sherlock about them, a number of times over the last two weeks, but she just couldn't bring herself to. Three more women had been found murdered, bringing the total to seven. Rose couldn't distract him or John, or Lestrade.
Nothing bad is going to happen, she kept trying to reassure herself. As soon as the murders were solved, Rose vowed to tell her brother about the letters and let him sort it out. Telling Mycroft wasn't even a possibility, she admitted to herself, because he would overreact and insist she move back home where he could scrutinize her every move while he solved the matter. No, everything would be fine so long as she took reasonable precaution.
"Alright girls, we are all done for today! Everyone did fantastic work, I'm so proud of you," Rose told her ballet class that Friday afternoon. A dozen 3-5 year old aspiring ballerinas smiled at their teacher and scurried out of the room. A couple of them stayed back and John watched from the side of the room as the little girls took their turns having a hug. A chorus of "Bye, Miss Rose!" rang out when the two stragglers went on their way.
"That was adorable," John said out loud. The smile on his face quickly turned to a frown when Rose gasped, spun around, and looked like she'd seen a ghost. "You're really jumpy lately," he pointed out needlessly.
"I'm sorry. I didn't see you come in at all," Rose admitted, her face flushing. "Gave me a fright." She crossed the room to where he stood and picked up her water bottle from the table beside him.
"Is everything alright?"
John's tone was quite serious and it made Rose's stomach clench a bit. No, everything was not in fact ok. "Yes, I'm fine," she assured him.
He gave her a stern look. "You'd tell me if something was wrong, yeah?" When she nodded, John continued. "Promise?"
"Promise," Rose said softly.
"That's my girl," John said with an affectionate smile.
"Now, are you ready for your last lesson? A refresher on everything we've covered?" Rose asked, trying to turn the conversation somewhere else as quickly as possible.
"Very ready. I'm so glad I won't embarrass Sarah tomorrow night." He sounded genuinely relieved and that made her smile.
"You are a dancer, John Watson. Get used to that fact. All the girls will be jealous, I'm certain of it. Now, let's run that waltz first."
They worked hard for just over two hours, before Rose called it a night. "Let's get home," she decided. "I'm ready to have a night in. Or as much of a night in as I can get, considering it's already 8pm."
"Have you eaten? We should get takeaway," John suggested.
"Sherlock can fend for himself," she decided suddenly. "I could use a treat rather than a meal, and I know the perfect place. If we can manage to get there before it closes!"
"You have never experienced a cupcake like this," Rose assured John. They climbed the stairs and entered 221B, heading straight for the kitchen.
"They look very good," John admitted, watching her open the box of cupcakes ever so carefully. "How did you find that cake shop?"
"A university friend's mum owns it. We haven't seen each other in an age. Got banned," Rose explained. "Get some plates, please?"
"Banned? Banned from a friend?" he asked.
"Okay more like forbidden. Strictly forbidden. I was not going to cross either of my brothers after that one time I was out all night. I should have made a plea for the police to protect me when Sherlock finally located me. Sadly, he brought them with him, so I doubt it would have done much good. Mycroft made me a virtual prisoner at home; or more of one than usual," Rose admitted with a sigh.
"I think I'd like to hear this story sometime," John told her. "Do you ever see this friend anymore?"
"Here and there, not too often. I should really look Beth up now that I'm back and have my own place. Mycroft can hardly order me to stay away from people in my own house; not that I wouldn't put it past him to try it just the same."
Rose carefully removed his cupcake and put it on the plate. "Chocolate butter cream is so plain. Where is your sense of adventure?"
"Plain? Do you see all this frosting, miss? That's the best part, the gobs of frosting," John retorted. "I'm not impressed with your chocolate mint concoction."
"Good, then I don't have to share with you." Rose stuck her tongue out at him and plated her own giant cupcake. She took it back to the couch and plopped down, almost losing her cupcake in the process.
John chuckled. "Very graceful, that was."
"Shush! Now, eat the deliciousness. You will be amazed, I promise!" Rose took a big bite of hers, smearing frosting over her lips and nose in her enthusiasm then laughed hysterically when John managed to do the same with his.
"You should see your face," John laughed. "Really, go look at yourself."
"Oh you go look at yourself!" She flicked some of her frosting in his direction, laughing as it landed on his jumper.
John's eyebrow quirked. "So that's the way it's to be, hmm?" Before she could say a word, he reached across the couch and smashed his cupcake on her forehead.
Naturally, Rose responded in kind.
Sherlock arrived back at 221B feeling exhausted. He was sleeping less and less lately it seemed. Not that he ever slept much in general, but less of a little wasn't great. He finally had a lead on the murders of those young women that he could use. He would have had it sooner had Anderson not hoarded the evidence like an idiot, believing he could find something and get a one up on the world's only consulting detective! Anderson's stupidity truly knew no bounds.
He entered his flat having two things in mind: a shower and his bed. What he found, however, left him momentarily speechless. There were John and Rose, wearing a copious amount of assorted frostings, with cake bits strewn liberally around them, throwing perfectly good cupcakes at one another. In fact, while he stood there, Rose grabbed another one and tossed it at John, trying to catch him in the face, but he managed to dodge it. The cupcake hit a book on the shelf, leaving behind chocolate frosting in its wake as it fell to the floor.
"Those are my books you just hit with that cupcake Rosenwyn!" Sherlock thundered.
His sister spun around to look at him with wide eyes. She opened her mouth once, then closed it and shook her head. Nope, there really was nothing at all to say when you were standing in a sitting room, covered in frosting and cake. Not a thing at all.
"Hello Sherlock. We bought cupcakes," John said pleasantly, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary going on.
"Hmm. I'd managed to deduce that much John. Thank you for stating the oh-so-very obvious as always," the other man grumbled. "That does not explain why… why…" He raised his hand in a sweeping motion. "Why this is happening, whatever it is!"
"Well…" Rose began, trying to think quickly on her feet. "We bought you cupcakes! Two of them, your favorites! Raspberry Bubbly and Turtle!"
"And did you manage not to horribly mangle them? Or is that too much to ask?"
"No, we saved those out," John promised. "We just mangled the rest of them."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "How many of them?"
"I can't decide if you're pleased or displeased or merely confused," Rose murmured.
John looked in the box of cupcakes. "Well, ten of them, apparently."
"Oh my, no!" Rose squealed before dissolving into laughter. "We never really got to eat hardly any of them!"
John shrugged. "We'll go back and get some another day." His nonchalant air only made Rose laugh harder. "Don't look at me, she started it."
"Did not!"
"You flicked frosting at me!"
"And you smashed your cupcake in my face!"
"ENOUGH!" Sherlock bellowed. "Get cleaned up and restore our sitting room to its previously cupcake free status before Mrs. Hudson comes up here and sees this mess! I don't see her being pleased at the idea of having frosting all over her wallpaper or the baseboard."
That thought sobered John and Rose momentarily.
"At least we didn't shoot the wall," Rose pointed out.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. "Don't you have a home you can go to?"
Rose nodded her agreement. "Yes, but I can't very well clean your flat from my flat."
"Fine. I'm showering in your flat then while you two sort this mess out. It had better look somewhat improved by the time I come back in here," he stated firmly.
"Yes, Daddy," Rose snickered.
"Rosenwyn Holmes, you are a plague upon this earth," her brother responded with a groan.
At 930am the following morning, Rose stumbled into 221B, eyes half open, curls wild, feet bare.
Sherlock looked up from his tea as she entered, unable to keep a smirk from his face. "You look quite awful, do you realize that?"
"Hate you," she muttered, not meaning it at all. Rose fumbled for a few moments with the coffee maker before Sherlock got up to assist her.
"Are you certain you want to be awake right now?" he questioned, pushing her gently into a chair.
"Still hate you."
John entered the kitchen, the consummate morning person: dressed for the day, hair sorted out, and a smile on his face.
"Rose is quite grumpy this morning," Sherlock warned.
"Hungry, love?" John asked, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. "You've got that look on your face again. That sleep deprived look. I'm becoming less and less convinced you're sleeping properly."
"This is the part where she says she hates you," Sherlock mock-whispered.
"No, I just hate you more Sherlock, and possibly for real. If that's the last of my cereal, I'm going to smack you," Rose decided.
He rolled his eyes. "If you like it so much that you cannot share, why is it in our flat?"
She groaned. "Because I eat breakfast here every day. Routines, Sherlock Holmes, are the key to our existence."
"Never mind the cereal," John interrupted before the playful banter between siblings turned into hurling actual insults at one another. "I'm going to make you a proper breakfast. That'll be just the thing to wake you up, love. Now come get your coffee before I drink it first."
"Why is it John calls me such nice names, and you never do?" Rose inquired of her brother as she poured her coffee.
"I do call you nice names. I call you an insufferable brat on a regular basis and mean it with the greatest of affection… most of the time," Sherlock countered. "On occasion I call you Rosie but I tend to reserve that for when you're..." He paused trying to come up with the appropriate word.
"Adorable?"
"Hardly! You stopped being adorable the moment you could talk."
"The word you're looking for, Sherlock is 'cuddling'. You call her that when you give her a cuddle. You're not the only one that observes around here," John commented.
The detective scowled darkly.
The sound of a mobile ringing interrupted their conversation. John answered it and gestured for Sherlock to take over the scrambled eggs as he stepped out of the kitchen.
"Don't burn them," Rose warned Sherlock.
He ignored her completely and finished the eggs. "Do you want a plate?"
Rose frowned. "What sort of question is that? My god, do you eat out of a pan when I'm not around? I worry about you, young man, I truly do." She shook her head, attempting to look oh-so-concerned.
"They'll go on your head instead of a plate in a second."
"And then Captain Watson will get you after he treats my burns."
"What am I doing?" John asked, coming back into the kitchen. He nodded when Sherlock offered him some eggs and sat down at the table and sighed.
"Uhoh. My favorite morning person is no longer his sunshiny self," Rose commented. "Explain."
"That was Sarah. Her mum's taken ill and she's off to see her," John said.
Rose sighed sadly. "That's rotten luck, the day of your charity ball. Are you still going?"
John shrugged. "I'm not sure. It would be nice to see everyone again, but I don't want to show up without a date."
"You could ask Molly," Sherlock suggested. "Granted she would rather go with me than you, but she's biddable enough. She'd go."
"I'm not certain she dances. I'd like to put my lessons to good use."
"Lestrade's wife? He'd be thrilled if you borrowed her for the evening."
"That's unkind, Sherlock," John scolded. "Who else do we know?"
"Mrs. Hudson?"
"Not with that hip, no."
Rose sat back in her chair, watching the exchange. "It's like I'm not even here. I was pretty sure I'm here, since I'm eating eggs right this second, but I could be mistaken."
"What are you on about?" Sherlock asked.
"You two are missing the very obvious solution. Which is me, in case you haven't deduced that part yet."
"You?!"
"Thank you, Sherlock. That horrified look on your face right now was fantastic." Rose rolled her eyes. "If not somewhat insulting. Brothers!"
John leaned forward in his chair. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Of course I am. You want to go, don't you?"
"Yeah, I do. Quite a bit actually."
"But not without a girl right?"
He nodded. "Preferably."
"Last time I checked, I was still a girl," she told him.
"What does that mean?" Sherlock asked, frowning at her. "Last time you checked."
"I was being facetious, you idiot. And pointing out the obvious, that I'm a girl, and I'm a girl with no plans tonight, with the added bonus of being a dancer," Rose responded with a put-upon sigh.
"You wouldn't mind? Really? Don't feel obligated love. You might not even enjoy yourself," John pointed out. It was sweet of her to offer, but he wouldn't hold her to it if she was just offering to be kind.
"It's a military dance, yeah?"
"It is," John confirmed.
"Uh, men in uniform? I'm pretty sure I'll enjoy myself plenty, thanks," Rose decided, giving him a cheeky grin.
Sherlock promptly choked on his cereal.
John took a good look at himself in the mirror; a really good look. It had been a while since he'd worn his dress uniform and luckily for him, it still fit just as it should. He let out a breath and nodded at his reflection. To say he'd been surprised at Rose's offer to accompany him was an understatement. Aside from the obvious reason she'd pointed out, he couldn't imagine why she'd want to go with him and be around all sorts of people she didn't know. He was determined to make sure she enjoyed the evening.
Downstairs, Rose checked her hair and make-up one last time before putting on her very favorite shoes- her Speakeasy Does It heels. "I feel tall now," she told Sherlock with a laugh. "What do you think? Will I pass muster?"
She stood and spun around slowly for him, waiting anxiously for his approval.
"You look far too grown up," Sherlock decided. "Ah, here's the Captain now." He indicated John, who was descending the stairs.
"I… oh… You look…" John struggled to find the right word as he caught sight of Rose. "You look lovely," he finally decided.
"Think so?" Rose asked, blushing.
John nodded. "Give us a twirl, love," he instructed. He smiled as she complied. "I can't believe you found something that fit you so well so quickly. I wasn't sure you'd manage it."
Rose flushed a bit. "Well, it isn't new; it's a couple years old. I always have to have formal things tailored and I doubted I'd find anyone willing to do that today for an event tonight!" Her dress was in a light shade of purple, almost lavender. It had an empire waist, delicate lace sleeves just across the top of her shoulders, and a neckline that was low, but not too low. She'd gone to a hairdresser and had her long dark curls fashioned into a pretty chignon, with just a few stray curls left out.
"Well, we should get going. Put your coat on and we'll find a cab."
She carefully put on her coat, not wanting to brush against her hair, and followed John out of the flat after giving Sherlock a wave.
"Take good care of her, young man, and bring her home by curfew!" Sherlock teased John.
"Are you ready?" Rose asked John when they arrived at the venue. "Nervous?"
He nodded. "A bit. Been a while since I've seen a lot of these chaps." In fact, the last time he'd seen some of them was just after he'd been shot in Afghanistan.
"I bet they'll be quite glad to see you," she commented thoughtfully. "And I know I'm excited to see how you do dancing tonight! That's the real test of any teacher: how does her student do when released in the wild?"
John laughed. "The wild?"
She just grinned. "Come on, let's get out of this cab and get our dancing shoes on."
Hopping out of his side of the cab, John hurried around and opened her door, offering his arm to Rose when she emerged. Sharing a smile, they headed inside.
Rose was an unmitigated success at the charity ball. She danced nearly every dance, had every young man in the place asking if they could bring her a drink or something to eat while openly vying for her attention. She didn't say yes to just anyone though and made a concerted effort to draw out the soldiers less likely to dance: those that were awkward and shy, or those that were injured. Within a few hours she had won many hearts and given out her number to a few of her conquests.
"You're a popular young lady," John chuckled as he caught up with her. She hadn't missed a single dance that night and he was amazed at her seemingly endless energy.
"I am! I'm a terrible date, I've been dancing with too many other people," Rose said, her cheeks turning pink.
"Well I've hardly been sitting off to the side myself," he pointed out. "We've both been rather popular. I'm claiming this one though." He took her hand and pulled her out to the dance floor.
"This is our fifth dance together, did you know that?" Rose asked casually as they began waltzing.
"Yeah?"
She nodded. "About two hundred years ago, you'd have been expected to show up at Mycroft's tomorrow and ask for my hand in marriage. Gentleman weren't supposed to show such partiality for a lady unless their intentions were completely honorable."
John chuckled. "And if their intentions were not honorable?"
"Pistols at dawn."
"That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?"
Rose giggled. "Yes very! And highly illegal actually."
Just then someone attempted to cut in and John graciously surrendered her to a handsome young soldier who was missing one arm. He smiled proudly as he watched her chat pleasantly with the young man, putting him completely at ease. Not even for a moment was she awkward with him and John admired her for it. He knew that not everyone was able to act normal around those who were permanently injured.
"So, how many boys did you give your number to? Should Sherlock and I start guarding your door?" John teased as they left to catch a cab.
"You cannot tell Sherlock that I gave out my mobile number out," Rose said firmly. "But, between you and me… five. What can I say; I like a man in uniform."
John laughed. "Our secret then. Thank you for coming with me tonight. I really meant a lot to me," he admitted a bit more solemnly.
"Anytime, for anything. Truly," she said softly.
John wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, dropping a kiss on top of her head. "You really are a sweetheart, you know that? I was so proud of you tonight."
Rose looked up at him and smiled. "What for?"
"You really gave those men a boost. The ones you were dancing and chatting with, who'd been injured. Acclimating back into civilian life was tough for me, but I didn't have a permanent injury. I was still whole, more or less. I can only imagine how tough it has been for those that aren't quite whole anymore," John admitted. "I just bet it made their night to have such a pretty thing as you paying attention to them."
Blushing at his praise, Rose waved for a cab.
Before long, they were back at Baker Street. "I'm going to get my mail and change," Rose told John. "I'll be over in a few minutes. I'm sure Sherlock will want to hear all about it. And if he doesn't, that's too bad."
"Alright," John agreed. He headed upstairs, leaving Rose to get her mail.
There was another pale blue envelope. Rose hurried up to her flat and let herself in before ripping it open. There was only one word.
'Tonight.'
She shuddered; her breath quickened. This couldn't go on any longer. Not even a minute longer.
Retrieving the other letters from her desk drawer, Rose shoved them into a larger purse and hurriedly added the items from her little clutch into the purse. Then she picked up her mobile and made a call.
Mycroft Holmes was enjoying a very late, but delicious, supper when his mobile rang. Frowning, he glanced at it. That frown deepened when he saw it was Rose. She never called.
"Rose? Is everything alright?"
"No, no it's not," Rose blurted out.
Mycroft could hear the panic in her voice. "Tell me where you are," he said firmly.
Rose started to cry. "Mycroft, I'm in so much trouble and I'm so scared. I need you."
Ice cold fear spread through his chest. "Rosenwyn, tell me where you are and I will come get you."
"Baker Street."
"Go wait for me in the entry; I'll be there in a few minutes." Mycroft hung up the mobile and practically ran out of the house.
Picking up her purse, Rose left her apartment and went back downstairs to wait for Mycroft. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she was trembling. How could she have been so stupid? As she stood there berating herself someone walked up behind her and wrapped one arm around her torso while the other hand held a knife to her neck.