Today was the big day of her coffee date with Owen. Rose was, surprisingly enough, excited about it. She'd been back and forth with her feelings on it all week, sometimes feeling terrified, others mildly panicked, and others still determinedly resolute to keep her date."Alright, let's not try too hard. Can't give the wrong impression. Fun, confident, not fast and loose with my virtue," Rose murmured to herself as she surveyed her make-up collection.

She paused and frowned, thinking on what she'd just said. "Alright, must stop reading those historical romances for a while. Could lead to alarming uses of nineteenth century terminology and frighten him. It's good to be smart, but not too smart. Especially when you're a Holmes. I'm really over thinking this, aren't I? And why am I having this conversation aloud with my reflection? I need a pet so this wouldn't seem quite so odd." It was a good thing she lived alone.

While Rose fussed with her make-up, hair and clothes, Sherlock and John were hiding in an alley across the street. "She's going to have our heads if she catches us Sherlock," John pointed out. "Especially mine! I'm supposed to be on her side and prevent you from doing this."

"She can hardly blame you for that," Sherlock countered. "After all, I'm the one that laced your tea with a chemical to make you more pliant for questioning."

Two Days Prior

"Tea?" Sherlock offered as John entered the flat.

"You made tea? You never make your own tea," John responded, frowning.

"Of course I do, John. There's just little point in doing it if someone else will do it for me. You weren't here until a moment ago, so I had no choice. Mrs. Hudson didn't answer when I called for her."

John laughed. "That's because she's not our housekeeper, Sherlock, and you know that."

"Do you or do you not want tea?"

"I do, thanks." John accepted the cup of tea and sat down in his chair, ready to relax after a long day of runny nosed children and their cranky mums.

Sherlock returned to his work but glanced over at John on occasion to assess how much tea he'd drunk. When the cup was finally drained, he left his microscope and went to sit in his chair, examining his flat mate with his eyes.

"John."

The man in question looked half asleep but managed to open his eyes and try to focus on Sherlock. "Feel weird."

"You're fine, I'm a graduate chemist," Sherlock reassured him. "What's going on with my sister? There's something going on, I know it, and I know that you know what it is."

"Nothing. Don't know nothing," John slurred, closing his eyes.

Sherlock clapped his hands loudly, causing the other man to jump. "Concentrate John! What is going on with Rose?"

"Can't tell you. Distract you," he murmured.

Sherlock grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Now we're getting somewhere. When were you supposed to distract me?"

"Friday."

"From what?"

His only response was a snore. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock got up and gave John a bit of a shake. "I'll let you sleep it off if you tell me. What are you supposed to be distracting me from?"

John tried halfheartedly to push Sherlock away, but Sherlock wouldn't budge. "Coffee date. Having coffee."

Sherlock frowned. "That's hardly something I need to be distracted from. She drinks coffee constantly and has many friends she drinks it with. Louise for example. Details John! I need details! And quickly, you're going to pass out within the next sixty seconds. Who is she having coffee with?"

John's eyes began rolling back in his head as he murmured, "Army man."

Sherlock immediately released his grip on John, letting him pass out and begin snoring in his chair.

Present

"This is wrong Sherlock. You know it's wrong," John scolded. "We shouldn't be here doing this. It doesn't indicate trust in Rose if we do this."

"It's not about trusting her. It's about the boy, obviously John," he replied, sounding impatient. "And I won't stop you if you want to leave. Suit yourself, leave, and go back into the flat or to the pub."

John scowled darkly. "You know I can't do that. I have to stay here and keep you from not only making a complete idiot out of yourself, but ruining your sister's first step at getting back to normal."

"Then stop complaining and pay attention."

"Alright, casual. I told him casual. Not likely to show up in a uniform. So that means I need to be casual too. This is casual, but not too casual. Really need to stop talking out loud to myself," Rose huffed.

She took a good look at herself in the mirror and was pleased with what she saw. Hair-up in a messy bun, not too messy, just the right sort of messy. Check. Light make-up, soft pink lip, freckles covered. Check. Best pair of jeans, her pretty red jumper that looked so nice with her dark hair, check and check. Last but not least, a pair of shoes with just a little bit of a heel, but still understated. Never hurt to feel a bit taller!

Rose grabbed her purse, locked the door of her flat behind her, and headed downstairs.

"Hmm," Sherlock mused as he watched his sister exit the building. She entered the café and selected a table more towards the back, which made him scowl because it would be much harder to see her over there. Too much traffic in that part of Speedy's.

"What's "hmm"?" John asked.

"Make-up, she rarely wears it, trying to impress but its light, so she wants to appear natural and get rid of those freckles."

John frowned. He liked her freckles! Just a little dash right across her nose and cheek bones. He'd always found them endearing and had never understood why so many women hated their freckles.

"Red emphasizes her dark hair and makes her eyes appear brighter, so she clearly wants to dress attractively without being obvious about it," Sherlock continued, unaware of John's thoughts. "Slight heel on her shoe; being a little taller, even just a bit, gives her more confidence. Despite her hair being that messy sort of up-do, and appearing to be a very effortless, it's been carefully arranged and secretly pinned into place under her curls so it doesn't come undone. In short, dressed to impress but styled in a way that makes that fact less obvious."

John was silent for a moment until Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at him. "I'm trying to decide if you really deduced that just now, or if you know your sister well enough to know all that already."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked over at the café again. "I wish she'd sat elsewhere. I won't be able to make out what they're saying from here."

"You're not going in there Sherlock. Don't even think about," John said firmly. "You can't ruin this for her and you know that's exactly what you'll do."

"I will do no such thing," Sherlock retorted. "Other than in the course of my brotherly duties, naturally."

John rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on already. This was going to go terribly wrong and he knew it.

"Ah, I do believe our mystery fellow has arrived," Sherlock commented.

Unable to quell his curiosity, John moved closer to his flat mate to get a better look at the young man in question. He was tall, a good bit taller than Rose, with dark features, and walked with that military bearing John knew so well. He frowned, though he couldn't put his finger on why. Something felt off; really off in fact. After all, he couldn't possibly be jealous. That would be completely ridiculous! No, most definitely not that. It had to be something else, John was certain of it.

"His right leg is just over one inch shorter than his left," Sherlock stated.

"What? How can you possibly know that?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You see, but you do not observe John. Look at his shoes."

"They're expensive."

This time he let out a sigh of frustration. "They're expensive because they're specially made. The right sole is thicker than the other, not by a huge margin, but definitely noticeable if you're paying attention. There's a lift in the shoe as well to even him out."

They watched as the young man entered the café and looked for Rose. Spotting her, he headed for the table. Rose stood up and they greeted one another warmly, shaking hands, then took their seats.

"He didn't even pull her chair out for her," John said, frowning.

Sherlock chuckled. "I'm not entirely sure Rose cares about those things. It's generational, they know better than to expect young men to be gentlemen anymore."

"It's disgraceful just the same," John decided. "And it doesn't make me feel very confident about the coming generations."

"Be Mycroft for an hour and you will really despair over the continued downward slide of humanity."

"Owen! So glad you made you it," Rose greeted, getting up from her chair.

"I've been looking forward to it," the young man admitted. He shook Rose's hand when she extended it before taking a seat at the table. "When you said casual you really meant casual."

Rose blushed a bit. "Yeah. I live next door," she admitted. "So it's sort of home turf."

"Oh, I'm not complaining, promise," Owen assured her with a smile. "It's nice to be out and about dressed like a civilian."

"I bet! I'm sure you don't enjoy your uniform as often as women enjoying seeing one," Rose quipped.

"Very true!" Owen laughed. "Although that part has definite perks," he admitted. "So was it the uniform that convinced you to give me your number?"

"Hardly. You weren't the only uniformed man at the ball," she told him with a grin. "But you were charming and an excellent dancer and I really appreciate good dancers. Plus we had some nice discourse as well."

Owen snickered. "Discourse?"

"Yes, discourse," Rose mumbled, blushing.

"I'm teasing! Promise," he hurried to assure her. "Smart girls are sexy."

Now she was really blushing! "I'm glad you think so. I try not to be obnoxious about it," Rose admitted.

"God I wish I knew what they were saying! She's blushing, look at her," Sherlock directed, thrusting the binoculars at John. He didn't notice that John didn't bother to look. "How long are they going to be in there?"

"They just got their drinks, Sherlock. And does it really matter how long they're in there? As long as she's alright, that's the important part."

"I don't like this. I really don't. Why did she feel as though she needs to keep a coffee date from me?" Sherlock questioned. "I'm not unreasonable."

"Probably because she knew you'd do this," John pointed out. "And if not you, then Mycroft, if not the both of you. Have you always been this way with her?"

"What way? Protective, wanting to make sure she only sees appropriate men? If that's what you mean, then yes, I have always been this way."

John watched as his friend stood up and moved out of the alley. "Wait! Where are you going?"

"In there, obviously John."

"Sherlock, no! Don't do that! She won't thank you for it," John stated firmly. "You know she won't."

"Well, considering she kept the fact that she was being stalked all to herself for well over two weeks, I would prefer to judge her safety myself," Sherlock said in all seriousness. "And if she can't protect herself, I'm more than happy to act on her behalf. I'm not convinced that young man's intentions are honorable."

It took little effort to convince the on duty manager to let him pose as a server. He and John were the café's best customers and when Sherlock mentioned it was for a case, they were more than happy to help. Within a few minutes, Sherlock was dressed in a spare uniform, wearing a borrowed pair of glasses, and a cap on his head.

John found himself at a loss. Should he stop Sherlock? And would his efforts to stop the man actually do any good? Should he try and slip into the café unnoticed and try to keep the chaos at a minimum? In the end, he slipped into the café and took a seat at a table as far from Rose as he could and prayed Sherlock wouldn't do anything stupid.

"I can't believe you like musicals! I've never known any guy who likes musicals. So really, the most pertinent question then is this- Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly?"

Owen grinned. "Fred Astaire. Not that I don't appreciate Gene Kelly's talents by any means, but he's a much more… athletic dancer, if that makes sense. Couldn't pull of the top hat and tails, which Astaire does to perfection."

Rose beamed as if he had handed her the moon. "That is precisely how I feel! Two completely different styles but I'm-"

"Refill? Ready to order something to eat?" A voice interrupted.

Rose turned her head and looked up, shocked to see a familiar face. Her whole body tensed as she surveyed her brother, wearing a server's uniform, cap and glasses in a ridiculous effort to disguise himself. This was low even for Sherlock, who could disguise himself quite effectively when the occasion called for it.

"Actually I could use some more coffee," Rose responded, an eyebrow quirked.

"We could order something to eat, too, if you'd like," Owen offered. When she nodded, he gave his order and watched as Rose gave hers.

"Everything alright? You got really tense just now," he asked when the server departed.

"Yes, I'm just fine," Rose hurried to assure him.

"Is it hard, being out and about? I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry," Owen decided, blushing.

"No, it's alright. It's sort of the elephant in the room, isn't it? I've been a bit jumpy all week, to be honest. That probably won't go away any time soon, but I'm trying really hard not to let my fears keep me from living," she confided.

Owen looked thoughtful as he considered her words. "You're very open, aren't you? Honest I mean. I really like that."

"I've never seen any reason to be otherwise. It serves no purpose to hide away who you are," Rose explained. "I like who I am."

He smiled in return and reached for her hand. "I'm enjoying getting to know you. I hope if things keep going well, we can do this again."

Rose jumped a bit when he touched her hand, but relaxed and allowed him to hold it. She smiled when he squeezed it gently. "I feel very comfortable with you, and that's step one, so I think there's a definite chance of another little date." The smile he gave her made her heart flutter.

"Let's take it one step at a time, then," Owen decided.

At just that moment Sherlock stepped up to the table and saw them holding hands. They'd only been there for twenty minutes! Much too fast for his taste. The coffee he had been about to pour into Owen's cup went all over Owen instead. And not just one cup's worth, the entire pot.

Owen cried out in shock and pain as the hot liquid was poured all over his chest and lap.

"Sherlock!" Rose shouted. She had no doubts whatsoever that that had been completely intentional. She pushed her brother away and got up, moving to Owen's side. "Oh my god, are you ok? I'm so, so sorry." She tried desperately to clean him up a bit with the napkins, but Owen moved away.

"That was deliberate!" he shouted at the server. "What is wrong with you? I've been burnt!"

"You're a bit fast for my sister, young man. Keep your hands off her and you won't be hurt. She's a lady and she'll stay that way, thank you," Sherlock growled.

"Sister? He's your brother?" Owen shouted.

"Unfortunately, yes," Rose admitted. "My idiot brother who I am unlikely to speak to ever again. I'm so sorry Owen. Let's get a taxi and take you in to surgery and get checked out." She looked over towards the door and that's when she spotted John who was hurrying over towards him.

"No, no! I don't want anything to do with anyone who has a psycho for a brother! I'd like to live to see a few more years of my life, thanks." Owen grabbed his jacket and stormed out of Speedy's to hail a cab.

Rose turned her attention to her brother. "Are you proud of yourself? How could you do that Sherlock? He hadn't done anything wrong and you likely burnt him badly for absolutely no good reason."

"It's my job to protect you," Sherlock stated firmly. "He was too fast."

"It was just my hand and I could have pulled it away! Sherlock, my god, you are so impossible! And I am so angry with you, I can't even find the words! This is Bobby Sanders all over again."

Eight Years Prior

For a twelve year old attending high school, it was incredibly flattering that one of the school's best athletes wanted anything to do with her, Rose thought. She didn't think much beyond the fact that she felt very special and grown up and never for a minute considered how her brothers would feel about the matter.

Bobby walked her to class, carried her backpack, made sure she wasn't picked on by anyone. It was nice and it made school nice, which was often a rare occurrence in recent years. Then it all came crashing down one day.

"I'm going to miss you over winter break," she told Bobby, looking up at him adoringly.

Bobby grinned. "I'll miss you too. Think I might be able to come over?"

"Possibly. I'll have to make sure no one else is home first," Rose admitted.

"Call me, alright?"

She nodded and her heart began to beat wildly as Bobby's face moved closer to hers. Oh my god, Rose thought, he's going to kiss me! She didn't even know how to kiss anyone! He took her chin in his hand, leaned down and she closed her eyes, waiting for the kiss.

Instead Rose heard an unmanly shriek and the whooshing of air. Opening her eyes, she watched Sherlock tackle Bobby onto the pavement before punching his face. She could practically hear his nose break on contact.

"Sherlock, oh my god! Sherlock, get off him!" Rose shrieked, trying to pull her brother off of her poor beleaguered beau.

"You don't touch her! You don't ever touch her! Your intentions are not honorable!" Sherlock shouted at the young man. "Stay away from her, or I'll break every bone in your body!"

A few more good swings connected with the boy's gut before Sherlock got off him and was greeted with his own punch to the face from Rose.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded.

Sherlock didn't bother to answer her. He merely seized her wrist and began pulling her away from the scene.

"He was fine! I was fine with it! We weren't doing anything wrong!" she protested.

"You're twelve."

"Obviously, but what is your point? That was completely ridiculous!"

"You are not allowed to date or interact with boys. You're only twelve," Sherlock said sternly.

"We haven't even gone on an actual date! And I know how old I am you git!" Rose shouted.

"Excellent. Don't plan on dating before you're 30, let alone allowing anyone to kiss you before then."

Rose's mouth dropped open as he shoved her into a taxi. "You cannot be serious. Sherlock, that's completely unreasonable. Even Mycroft isn't that bad!"

"No, he wouldn't have tackled him," Sherlock admitted. "He would have abducted that fast young man and then broken bones, rather than make it a public spectacle. I wouldn't count on support from him."

"I'm being raised by lunatics. Absolute lunatics. Do you not know how hard school is for me Sherlock? People don't like me! Bobby kept people from picking on me and he liked me! You're ruining my life!" Rose gave into her tears and turned away from Sherlock as the cab took them home.

Present

"And don't think I'm any happier with you, John Watson. Don't think I didn't see you come in here. I was just hoping you were keeping a very discreet eye on things. It never occurred to me that you were in on this charade of my brother's," Rose told the doctor.

"I can explain, I-"

She cut him off. "I'm sure you have a perfectly logical explanation for all of it but I don't care to hear it. Not now, probably not ever." Rose whirled around to look her brother. "And you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, I am never speaking to you again!"

Grabbing her things from the chair, Rose ran out of the café and back to her flat.

"Hey, that bill needs to be settled," an actual server spoke up. Sherlock dropped some pounds on the counter and exited, intending to go after Rose.

Rose, however, had anticipated such a thing, and locked her door behind her. That did little to stop Sherlock, who merely ducked into his flat, retrieved the key, and let himself in.

"Get out of my flat Sherlock! Now!" Rose demanded.

The tears he saw trailing down her cheeks gave Sherlock pause.

"Out right now! I swear to god, you best leave right now or I'm not responsible for what I do to you!"

"Rose, I-" Sherlock's words were cut off by a resounding slap across his face. He stood there in shock for a moment before rubbing his now reddened cheek.

"Get out," Rose reiterated. "Or I'm going home."

He frowned. "You are home."

"Home home. Get out Sherlock!" She pointed at the door as if he might be confused about where the exit was located.

"There was no reason to slap me Rosenwyn!" He paused and took a deep breath. "You're menstruating right now. You're always irrational and overly sensitive when you're menstruating. That's the only logical reason why you're so upset and slapped me."

Rose's mouth dropped open. "You've deduced when I menstruate? Oh my god, Sherlock! That's… that's really disturbing! There are just some things you shouldn't deduce about your sister and that is most definitely one of them. Do you seriously not understand why I'm so angry with you?"

"I think we should talk about this, without any further slapping," he said firmly, using his 'I'm your big brother and you better listen to me' tone. That usually got Rose's attention, but instead she turned and went into her bedroom without a word. He heard the click of the lock on the door.

Swiping angrily at her wet cheeks, Rose retrieved an overnight bag from her closet and began throwing clothing inside it. Pajamas, unmentionables, socks, another pair of pants and several tops disappeared inside the bag. She unlocked the door and opened it, allowing it to slam against the wall. Sherlock was still standing there in her sitting room and Rose breezed past him, slamming the door behind her as she left.

"Wait, wait, where are you going?" John asked, meeting her on the stairs.

"Home. Home home," Rose said. "Otherwise I'm going to kill my brother. I'm less angry at you than I am at him, but I'm disappointed in you John. Very disappointed. Now please move aside."

John stepped to the side, allowing her to continue down the stairs and exit the building. The raw hurt on her face hit him like a punch in the gut. He proceeded up the stairs to find Sherlock still in Rose's flat.

"She hit me," Sherlock said with a whine.

"I told you to leave it be," John commented quietly. "She's really hurt Sherlock."

"She hit me John. Which part of that confused you?" Sherlock retorted, still rubbing his cheek.

"I don't care Sherlock! This is exactly what she'd wanted to avoid, what she had enlisted my help to avoid. Instead, you drugged me and I told you everything and we made a mess out of her date. We hurt her Sherlock. I care a lot more about that than I do the fact she smacked your face."

It wasn't until the taxi dropped her at home that she realized she didn't know the code to get inside. Each time she'd been here since coming back to Britain Mycroft had been at home to let her in.

Rose sighed heavily and trudged up to the front steps to examine the alarm keypad. "Might as well try the old one, see if it still works," she muttered. Carefully she punched in 1-2-2-0 and entered the code. Much to her surprise, the code was accepted and the alarm was disabled. Rose smiled and shook her head; Mycroft could be quite sentimental when he wanted to be, using her birth date as the code.

She put her key in the lock opened the door. Stepping inside, Rose closed and locked the door before setting the alarm again. The house was quiet and dark, meaning Mycroft wasn't home, which wasn't very important. Rose knew he wouldn't object to having her stay a night or two.

After dropping her bag off in her old bedroom, Rose headed downstairs to the library and pulled out her mobile to text Mycroft.

'I'm at your house.'

'Why? M'

'Sherlock and I had a row.'

'He'll probably call and whine because I smacked him.'

'You smacked your elder brother? M'

'I did. It's a long story.'

'And undoubtedly a very interesting one. M'

'How late will you be?'

'I'll be home in a few hours. M'

'Ok. I'll explain it all then.'