NOTE: This chapter got crazy long because I didn't want to split up the Christmas stuff into too many chapters and also couldn't find a good place to cut it off, even if I wanted to. So here is a crazy long chapter for your enjoyment!
As the odd little crew gathered for supper, John discreetly carried a small pillow with him into the dining area, sliding it onto Rose's seat without alerting anyone other than her to its presence. Having spotted him doing so, Rose immediately crossed the room to hug him tightly.
"You're my favorite," she whispered, giving him a grin.
"You're my favorite too," John replied just as quietly before giving her a kiss on the cheek.
"John, you're unhelpful," Sherlock decided, though he gave Rose a wink as he said it. He certainly wouldn't begrudge her a pillow.
Mycroft smirked at his younger brother. "Now you know how I've always felt. There couldn't possibly be a less helpful co-parent in the entire world than Sherlock Holmes."
"Now, now, let's not get into arguments about who was or is better at that," Rose said loudly. "Just to warn everyone, Greg assisted in making our meal this evening. He's got some mad skills, so I think we're all safe."
"How about some wine to accompany our meal?" Mycroft asked, opening a bottle.
"Me too! Oh please say me too!" A brilliant smile accompanied the request.
Mycroft gave his sister a withering look. "Do exercise some discretion, Rose. Also, don't sound so excited about alcohol, it worries me." He wasn't at all surprised when Rose responded by sticking her tongue out at him.
Decorating was as much of a disaster as Greg could have hoped for. He was certain he hadn't laughed this hard in a long, long time.
"Rose, why do you insist on running around wearing tinsel?" Mycroft asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm getting into the character."
"What character?"
"God you're so slow Mycroft. The character of Christmas of course," Rose replied with a dramatic eye roll.
"Christmas is a holiday, not a character," Sherlock pointed out.
"Shut up and put the angel on the tree," Rose instructed. She gasped in horror as Mycroft removed said angel from its box and tossed it across the room at Sherlock.
"MYCROFT!" Rose shrieked. "That's Mum's angel, I'm going to murder you!" She stormed across the room and smacked her brother's arm none-too-gently. "I know you hate Christmas but don't ruin mine. God, brothers. Whoever thought they were a good idea?"
Sherlock frowned. "If the world intends to continue producing human beings brothers- since they are men- are somewhat important, given their involvement in the process of creating said humans. Must we have the sex talk Rose? Mycroft didn't you have that talk with her? It might be time."
Mycroft and Rose both looked absolutely horrified, but for very different reasons.
"You are seriously far less than funny Sherlock," Rose hissed. "Yes, yes, smirk delightedly if you must. I am not in need of any talk of any nature relating at all to that subject, thank you so much! I'm twenty, in case you forgot!"
"You're not?!" her brothers said in unison, looking simultaneously horrified and relieved.
"Just precisely what were you doing while on your extended, illicit holiday, young lady?" Mycroft asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"This is the strangest conversation I've ever heard," Greg commented, shaking his head. He decided to put decorations on the tree, rather than stare at the lunatics known as the Holmeses.
"I need coffee, I can't handle you two," Rose grumbled. "For your information, my dear brothers, Eleanor discussed all that with me ages ago, because she thought it might go terribly wrong if she left it to Mycroft."
"She might have at least asked first," Mycroft decided, scowling.
"Why? You would have said no and a girl can't exactly grow up without knowing… things… about… things," Rose responded, carefully avoiding mentioning what 'things' she meant.
"Who's Eleanor?" John asked.
"Louise's mum. She was very helpful with that sort of thing, practically a second mum," Rose responded. "Now please, let's change the topic of conversation before I actually die of embarrassment. I don't know what I did to deserve you two for brothers but clearly I was a very bad person in a former life to have earned this."
John chuckled and moved to pick up a basket of greenery. "Rose, what do you me to do with- ah, mistletoe."
"Why did you get mistletoe?" Sherlock asked. "Do you not realize that you're the only person of the female variety here?"
"Person of the female variety?" she echoed. "Do you know how odd that sounds? And what does it matter that I'm the only girl? I find that to be an upside, because then I get all the kisses," Rose grinned. She laughed at the look of horror on Sherlock's face, and had no doubt Mycroft had a similar look.
"You worry me Rose," Mycroft commented as he collected the mistletoe from John. He'd put it up, despite being less than thrilled with the idea of it, but only for Rose and only because it was Christmas.
Late that night, Rose was pulling back the covers on her bed when she heard a light knocking on her door. Crossing the room, she opened the door and found Sherlock on the other side.
"Come to tuck me in?" Rose asked with an indulgent smile.
"Don't smile at me in that manner," Sherlock grumbled good-naturedly. "That's the way you smile at people who are morons that you merely want to want indulge for sentimental reasons."
Rose stared at him for several seconds before giggling softly. "Oh Sherlock," she murmured, opening the door wider so he could come in. "Seriously though, are you here to tuck me in?" Not that she'd ever admit it to anyone, least of all her brothers, but Rose did miss being tucked in every now and then.
Sherlock shook his head, though he wouldn't turn the chance down if she asked him, and held out his hand which held John's jar of arnica cream. "I come with a bit of a peace offering."
"You didn't steal that from John, did you?" Rose asked, giving him a stern look.
"As if you're one to talk, miss, considering you steal his jumpers on a regular basis," Sherlock replied. "But no, I asked him. He glared at me in response and handed it over. I find his behavior quite odd: he has no problem at all spanking you when the occasion calls for it, yet every time I do, he glares and complains about it."
She laughed. "Touché! And I, for one, enjoy that bit, when he scolds and scowls at you and I get extra cuddles. He's very protective of me, it's sweet. John and his behavior aside, I would very much like some of that cream, though you don't have to make it a peace offering. I'm not mad at you, you know."
"Alright, bare your bum then and lie down on the bed," Sherlock instructed. He waited until she was ready and then sat down beside her on the bed. "Not as bad as I'd anticipated," he murmured as he gently began rubbing the cream on. "Is it terribly sore, still?"
"Not too bad, to be honest. It just stung like there was no tomorrow during, but it's got a bit of an ache left over," Rose told him honestly.
"Was I too hard on you? I was worried I might have been."
"Ah, thus the reason for your appearance with the lovely arnica cream," Rose mused. "No, you weren't. Not that it wasn't terribly painful or that the nasty sting faded straight away, but you weren't. I should have known better than to keep it. Sometimes… like, I know I'm smart, even brilliant at times, but there always seems to be loopholes to my brilliance that trip me up. This was one of them."
Sherlock nodded. "I'd agree with that assessment. Try to think on things a bit more, you'll get into less trouble that way," he suggested.
"I know I was in the wrong," Rose assured him once more. She was starting to sound rather drowsy. "And if I'm being honest, Mycroft would have made that seem like a baby spanking had he been the one to discover the license. So if it had to be someone, I'm glad it was you."
When Sherlock finished applying the cream, Rose put her clothing to rights and then laid out on her stomach once more.
"You're about ready to fall asleep, I can see it on your face," Sherlock murmured, gently combing his fingers through her curls. "Now that you're all relaxed, you'd best get into bed. If you fall asleep on top of the duvet, you'll be half frozen by morning."
"So you do want to tuck me in then," she replied quietly. "I'd like that actually."
"I can any time you'd like, you know," Sherlock commented, frowning slightly as he 'read' his sister. Things had changed a bit since she'd been attacked, though not enough for the ordinary person to notice, aside from the sudden obsession with John's jumpers. Her sleep was more restless and Rose had moments where she was almost clingy, in a way. The number of times she'd mentioned being tucked in indicated she was, in some way, feeling vulnerable just then.
Rose rolled onto her side and looked at him. "Don't deduce me Sherlock. And I'm twenty, why would I need you to tuck me in?"
"Shouldn't make it so easy then, Rosie. I also have no idea why you might or might not need to be tucked in some time, other than now when I'm already conveniently here." He got up from the bed and waited for her to slide under the covers. Once she did so, Sherlock tucked Rose in snuggly and sat down beside her. He leaned over to kiss her head before he resumed stroking her hair gently, humming a bit as he did so. Rose hadn't asked him to, but Sherlock felt the need too, for some inexplicable reason. He waited until she was fast asleep before turning off the lights and leaving the room.
Christmas Eve was a flurry of activity at the Holmes country house once everyone had vacated their beds. Presents were secretly being wrapped in various rooms before being placed under the tree and Rose and Greg were baking up a storm together. Pies, pastries, fresh bread, you name it, they were making it.
"Mycroft Holmes, you may not have any more cookies," Rose said sternly when Mycroft attempted to sneak into the kitchen. Attempt being the operative word. "You've already had eight and that's just the ones I've see you take, that's more than enough for the next several hours."
The siblings squared off there in the kitchen, Mycroft looking stern and forbidding, Rose looking resolute with her hands on her hips as she attempted to stare down her much taller brother.
"I'll smack your hand if you steal anymore cookies today and I seriously mean the My. Don't cross me," she warned.
"Wait just a minute here. I'm supposed to make the rules and you're supposed to follow them without so much cheek. If I want cookies in my own house, cookies I will have," Mycroft informed her before reaching for yet another one… Only to have his hand lightly smacked by the stirring spoon Rose was holding.
Rose looked at him defiantly. "You were warned."
Mycroft yanked her arm, pulling her closer, and firmly swatted her backside. Rose yelped in response and smacked his bum in return, though the look on his face quickly informed her that that was a bad choice and she decided to duck for cover.
"Greg! Protect me!" she shouted, quickly moving to hide behind the stunned detective-inspector. "I'm about to be murdered!"
"Alright, alright, enough you two. Everyone stop smacking everyone else and Mycroft, leave the cookies alone," Greg said in a firm, authoritative tone. "You're both going to end up hurting each other or creating a disaster in here, so let's avoid it, yeah?"
Rose grinned and shouted, "Yeah!"
"And that's enough out of you too, kid," Greg added, looking over his shoulder at her. "Your brother is in shock I think."
"Then he should have a blanket because smacking me is a poor substitute for one," Rose grumbled, glaring daggers at Mycroft. When her eldest brother smirked at her and turned to leave the kitchen, she tossed the spoon at his head and… luckily for her, she missed and only received a glare for her efforts.
Mycroft had been about to respond verbally when his mobile vibrated. Taking it out of his pocket, he saw the ID and smiled. "An old friend making a Christmas call," he murmured and immediately exited the kitchen to answer the call.
"Tell the Queen I said happy Christmas!" Rose called.
"You're a brave girl Rose; either that or a bit deranged. He's not a man I'd throw things at," Greg commented.
"I always throw things at him. It's practically tradition and wouldn't be a proper holiday if I didn't," Rose informed him with a grin.
Ever since the mistletoe had been put up, Rose had been nothing but a problem. She managed to just slide into place conveniently with someone underneath it and then demand her kiss. It annoyed Mycroft to no end, which was half her motivation, but Rose also loved being the center of attention for that brief few minutes, even if it only gained her a kiss on the cheek.
The best fun, however, came after supper on Christmas Eve when the Holmes brothers, who had carefully been avoiding the mistletoe as much as possible, somehow managed to be underneath it at the same time while one entered and one exited the kitchen.
"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Rose started shouted from the living room upon discovering this development. "You have to kiss now!"
Sherlock scowled darkly at her and looked towards John and Greg for help. "It is tradition," Greg pointed out, smirking in the most irritatingly gleeful manner. The brothers looked at each other blankly for a moment before turning their attention to Rose.
"We're not kissing each other, you horrible brat," Mycroft stated. "But come here and we'll kiss you instead."
Rose readily agreed and bounded across the room to receive a kiss on the cheek from each of her brothers. "You're enjoying yourself far too much, Rose," Mycroft grumbled after giving her a kiss. "I should really just take it down."
"Grouch. You're awful and ruining my holiday," Rose whined before giggling crazily. It wouldn't be a proper holiday if they weren't bothering one another and the mistletoe was just part of the game!
A few hours later that Christmas Eve, Mycroft looked up at the sound of a light, almost hesitant knock on his study door. "Come in Rose," he called. He'd know that knock anywhere.
Sure enough, Rose entered the room with a small tray and kicked the door closed behind her. "You've been in here a long while and I wasn't sure if you were just tired of people or if the world was about to end and thought you could use tea either way. I also thought a couple of cookies wouldn't hurt either," she gave him a smile as she placed the tray on his desk.
"I'm allowed to have some now, am I? I think you forget your place in this family: you're the littlest," Mycroft commented, though without any hint of scolding.
"Oh, I know I'm the littlest," Rose assured him. "But the kitchen is my kingdom, because I'm awesome." She giggled hysterically at the look on Mycroft's face at her reasoning.
"That is debatable, sister mine. I only see one tea cup here, best go get one if you're going to have tea with me," Mycroft pointed out. When she grinned and bounded out of the room, he smiled a bit and then immediately stopped smiling when her footsteps drew near the study once more.
"You know this means you'll have to share those cookies with me? And that Sherlock is going to start teasing you about being fat again, while adding cookies to the cake fetish he seems to believe you have?" Rose asked as she poured them both tea.
"Mmm," Mycroft murmured a non-committal noise. "Did you know that I wasn't even certain you drank tea anymore? I only see you with coffee these days, or whining about coffee or dreaming about coffee or screaming at John to make you coffee…" He was promptly cut off when Rose threw a cookie at his head.
"You are very poorly behaved my dear," Mycroft grumbled while Rose smirked at him.
"It's almost 11pm; even I don't drink coffee this late at night. Not if I want to sleep sometime tonight," Rose explained. "Besides, I hadn't planned to be invited to have tea with you. That was very nice." She rewarded him with a pretty smile.
Mycroft took a sip of his tea and raised an eyebrow. "I had an ulterior motive, so do contain your excitement."
"And now comes the interrogation! Where were you on the 20th of November in 1912?!" Rose said dramatically, trying to deepen her voice.
"It is an interrogation of a sort, if you choose to view it in that way," Mycroft said slowly. "It occurred to me earlier today, after the great cookie fiasco in the kitchen- and I still think you're a brat, by the way- that I have no idea what you did for Christmas last year. Upon realizing that, I decided I would like to know, if you choose to share the details, because…" he paused and drank a bit more tea.
"Go on," Rose encouraged. "I'm not stopping you. Say what's in your heart My, I know you can do it. Just be brave!" She grinned delightedly when her brother looked horrified.
"Oh for god's sake Rose," Mycroft retorted, giving her a decidedly unhappy look. "Where did I go wrong with you?" Rather than continuing, he began eating a cookie.
Rose took full advantage of his cooking eating induced silence. "You're wondering what I did last Christmas, considering it's my favorite holiday, but more importantly, you're subtly trying to figure out a few things. One: What did I do? Two: Was I happy? Three: Did I miss you? Four: Was I safe while having my 'extended holiday' as you referred to it earlier. Five: Am I happy to be back, or was I happier where I happened to be last year?"
"Don't do that. Don't deduce me Rosenwyn, I won't have it," Mycroft grumbled.
"You taught me! A little late to be thinking about the unpleasant bit of that now, dearest brother," Rose quipped. "I'll answer all those questions, provided you tell me honestly what you did last year."
Mycroft sighed unhappily. "I suppose that's reasonable. You first." Rather than launching into what he suspected was a fabulous holiday, probably spent half drunk somewhere with misfit teenagers, he watched her look at her cup of tea in silence. He let silence fill the room for a few moments before breaking it. "Tea can only be drunk through one's mouth, not one's eyes. Additionally, I am not, despite what some may tell you, telepathic, so you'll need to use your words and communicate verbally."
Rose took a fortifying drink of her tea before setting the cup down on the tray and looking at her brother on the other side of the desk. "It was miserable, every single minute of it. I wasn't alone, in a sense. I was staying with a family in Geneva at that point; they owned the restaurant I worked at. I told them I was a homeless orphan and they hired me on the spot and even rented a room to me in their home for a ridiculously cheap rate," she began.
"They were lovely, lovely people and they included me in all their Christmas celebrations. I went to church with them and had dinner with their family. They even got me a present, a royal blue scarf with daisies on it. I brought it back with me." She paused once more and reached for her tea, praying Mycroft wouldn't notice the slight tremor of her hand.
"I almost called you, to beg you for the money to come home," she said softly. "But I was afraid of what you'd say if I did. I called Sherlock, I had a burner mobile so I knew you couldn't trace the call, but the second he answered and I heard his voice I hung up. After supper that night I said I had a headache and went to my room, listened to sad music and cried myself to sleep."
While his face may have remained impassive throughout Rose's retelling of her miserable Christmas, inside, Mycroft's heart was contracting painfully in his chest. It hurt him far more than Rose would ever know to think that she'd been desperate to come home but wasn't certain he'd want her back. Maybe she hadn't put it quite so bluntly, but the emotion in her voice said it for her.
"Come here."
The sudden, rather loud command- and it was indeed a command- startled Rose, who was trying to put her teacup down, causing her to spill some tea onto the tray. For the first time since she'd begun telling him about last Christmas, she looked up at him. "What? Why?" Rose's mind raced as she tried to think of something she may have done to cause him to use that particular tone. She couldn't think of anything, but that didn't mean there hadn't been something for him to be upset with her about.
"Rosenwyn, come here. In case you're confused, I mean right now and not five minutes from now when you've finally decided you haven't actually misbehaved," Mycroft said firmly. "I'll not ask a third time. Come here."
Swallowing audibly, Rose got up and went around the desk, biting her lip nervously. Mycroft reached over and gently tapped her lips with his finger. "How many times must I tell you not to do that? When you were little, you'd chew on your lip so hard you'd split it open. Do you remember that?"
"That was random," Rose decided.
"But effective. You stopped biting your lip," Mycroft pointed out almost gleefully. He now reached for her hands and held them gently in his own, which were considerably larger than hers. Where Rose's petite stature had come from he had no clue, but what Rose lacked in size she made up for with tenacity and a true fighting spirit. Sometimes too much of a fighting spirit.
"I would have come got you," he said quietly. "Had you called, I would've been on a plane in a heartbeat to bring you home. Well, depending on what time you called I may not have been capable of moving at that sort of speed, but I would have come nonetheless. While you were listening to sad music in your rented room, I was at home in London, completely in my cups. For the second time in a week."
Rose's mouth fell open in shock. "You were drunk? You? That… that doesn't make sense in my head. I might push all your buttons and make you lose your temper but you never ever lose control like that."
"I spent my Christmas day with an expensive bottle of scotch, trying to drink away the hurt of you not being there. Because it did hurt, horribly, terribly, every day that you were gone. But your birthday and Christmas were exquisitely painful, to a degree that I hadn't realized I was able to hurt. I forgave you the moment I found your letter and the words finally sank in," Mycroft told her. "For everything, for things I hadn't even realized I'd not forgiven you for yet. At the end of the day, Sherlock was right, though I won't ever admit it to him. You just wanted him to come home and you were doing your best to make it imperative that he did, weren't you?"
She nodded. "It didn't feel right without him. I know he was old enough, more than old enough, to live on his own but… You two are such opposites and I needed him to balance you out and vice versa. You weren't very affectionate anymore, largely because you weren't home much and I get that now, but I didn't before. The more I pushed, the more you pulled away so I kept trying to push even further so you couldn't pull away or so Sherlock would feel obligated to move home."
"And I was too busy being annoyed by your completely outrageous behavior that I didn't stop to think about your motivations. You were never a stupid child; I should have known you weren't just trying to be like every other moronic teenager on the planet. I mentally kicked myself every day for not seeing that in time. Though you really did pull out all the stops," Mycroft admitted, shaking his head. "Being brought home in police cars, nearly being excluded from school, you were quite desperate to prove I couldn't parent you as well on my own as I could with Sherlock."
"Pretty much," Rose confirmed. "Until the night you said you didn't want to see my face anymore and sent me out of your study. Then I knew I'd gone too far, and felt there was no going back. After that you disapproved of everything and any attempts I made to try and be better, behave properly, make it up to you, you found suspect."
"I did and those were a few very rotten years. I'm glad you still had Sherlock though; he took good care of you, soothing the hurts that I didn't know were there. Don't you dare tell him that, by the way!" Mycroft told her sternly as he pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her tightly.
"Let's make a promise to each other that we'll never stop talking like that again," Rose suggested. "I promise not to let it happen ever again."
"I promise, too," Mycroft assured her. "You've grown into a wonderful person Rose. Still a bit ridiculous and have some growing up left to do- making faces doesn't disprove my point, you know," he added when she stuck her tongue out at him. "In any case, I'm very proud of you."
"Really? You really mean that My?" Rose asked earnestly.
Mycroft kissed the top of her head and held her a little bit closer, tighter. "Yes, really. I never meant for even a second those horrible words I said when you came back in August. I was merely angry and I lashed out inappropriately because of that."
Rose sucked in a breath as she recalled those nasty, terribly hurtful words he'd said in his office. "Well there was tiny bit of truth of them at any rate," she decided. "I doubt you were sitting around the dinner table one evening and said 'Mother, you should really have another baby, wouldn't that be a spectacular idea?'"
The tea Mycroft had just swallowed began choking him, causing quite a bit of coughing and sputtering before he could respond to Rose's comment. "You're incorrigible," he grumbled. "Though completely correct. Unlike when Sherlock came along, however, I had no thoughts about trading you for a puppy.'
She giggled and proceeded to snatch the last cookie from the tray, diplomatically breaking it in half to share with her brother. "I'm curious though. Did you know from the beginning that you'd pretty much be the one raising me?"
"I did know, well in advance of your arrival, that in one way or another I would be responsible for you. Mother's health and Father's work," Mycroft murmured. "What I didn't count on when I made this grand plan to do my very best for you was the fact that I'd care so much about you. I was completely blindsided by that one."
"That doesn't surprise me a bit. Caring is not an advantage and all that, leave it to Mycroft Holmes to think he can raise a baby without actually having to cuddle her and love her up and all that squishy normal people nonsense," Rose teased. When he scowled at her she even giggled uncontrollably for a moment.
"Unfortunately, you are entirely correct. Mother knew that would never work from the start and said not a word, just decided to let me figure it out on my own. She was a very wise woman, our mother. Much wiser than I often gave her credit for," Mycroft admitted.
"I promise not to tell Sherlock that one either," Rose quipped.
"Go to bed, brat. I've had enough of your company for one evening. I'm about to die of an overdose of sentiment," Mycroft decided. He pressed another kiss to the top of her head before practically shoving her off his lap.
Rose had been ready to protest that she didn't have a bedtime when she caught sight of the clock. They'd been talking for ages! "Alright, I won't whine about it this time," she teased as she gave him a hug. "Love you My. Happy Christmas."
"Sleep well poppet," he murmured, holding her tightly before rather reluctantly letting her go.
"HAPPY CHRISTMAS!" Sherlock shouted, throwing open his sister's door and proceeding to dive onto her bed.
Rose awoke with a start, screaming and flailing before she realized it was her brother, which she did not realize before falling on the floor. "Sherlock!"
The brother in question looked down at her from her bed, smirking. "See? That wasn't fun when you did that every single year. Now you know."
"Well I didn't exactly plan to do that this year! Bloody hell!" Rose reached up and lightly smacked her brother's arm before getting up off the floor. "I was still sleeping."
"Never stopped you," he pointed out. "And again, language."
"Rosenwyn watch your language!" Mycroft shouted from the hallway. "Would someone please explain to me why there is screaming and people falling on the floor at 730am? I was sleeping for once, and so was the rest of the house!" He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his siblings.
"Happy Christmas?" Rose offered with a grin. "Sherlock started it all."
"Happy Christmas and I hate you both," Mycroft replied, rolling his eyes. "Someone had best make me breakfast or I'm going to be very cranky all day. In case it wasn't clear, 'someone' does not include Sherlock, because the last time he made me something to eat, I lost seven hours of my life that I can never get back and he did god only knows what to me during those hours."
Rose's eyes widened. "Oh god, I remember that. You recruited me!" she scolded Sherlock, smacking his arm again, this time a little more forcefully.
"Yes, well, you were five, adorable, and gave evidence against me. So really, I'm the aggrieved party here, because I got one hell of a smacking," Sherlock grumbled.
"Precisely, so for your own sake Sherlock, stay away from the food, particularly food that's mine," Mycroft warned.
"You wouldn't!" Sherlock and Rose shouted in near unison.
"Don't test me. I want breakfast and I hate Christmas and we don't have a gift for Gregory, since you secreted him here Rose. It's rude not to have gifts for Christmas visitors, so I'll let you explain that one." Mycroft turned on his heel and stalked off down the hallway, grinning deviously as soon as his back was turned to his siblings.
"I want breakfast and I hate Christmas," Rose mimicked. While she couldn't give a good impression of Mycroft, her attempt to do so was funny enough to make the siblings giggle loudly together. "Come on, I suppose I better make food for Sir Crankypants before he ruins everyone's Christmas with all his whining. Will you be eating this morning, or is it a 'bodies are transport' day?"
"Depends on what you're making. Will there be biscuits and sausage?" Sherlock asked.
"I think I can manage that. Come on, let's head down before Mycroft starts all his whining," Rose replied with a giggle. She grabbed her dressing gown and put it on, tying it in the front, before heading downstairs.
"Aw, Mycroft, you didn't start any coffee for me!" Rose whined upon entering the kitchen.
"I don't support your addiction to caffeine, so why would I make you coffee and contribute to your detrimental habit?" Mycroft asked.
"Because your brother woke me and the whole house up too blasted early," Rose grumbled.
"Our brother, and you started it, I remember that very clearly. Three years old, screaming about Christmas and diving onto my bed. I was less than appreciative," Mycroft countered. "You thought it was hilarious and then did it every year thereafter, despite my threats to spank and/or throttle you."
"Yeah, yeah, promises, promises," Rose replied in a sing-song voice as she started the coffee maker.
It wasn't until after their Christmas feast, for which Greg produced one of his gifts to the collective group, a particularly nice bottle of wine, that all the present giving took place. Gathered around the sitting room, Rose took it upon herself to distribute the gifts to everyone before sitting down with her own pile of goodies to open.
"Such a spoiled child. Not worthy of any presents at all. Can Christmas be over yet?" Mycroft grumbled as she sat beside him on the couch. He was completely ignored by everyone, except for Lestrade's odd looks at the man every so often.
As per usual, Sherlock and Mycroft exchanged no gifts whatsoever, in honor of their hate/love/mostly hate relationship and additionally because Mother wasn't around to scold them for being mean to one another anymore.
"Here My, open the one from me first," Rose decided, shoving a large box into his arms. She sat there, grinning delightedly as he unwrapped the box.
Mycroft, however, was far less than delighted when he pulled a huge ugly teddy bear out of the box. His eyes went wide as he took in the ugly face, insipid color, and the three-piece suit the stuffed toy was wearing. He hadn't even known a teddy bear could actually be this ugly.
"Isn't it fantastic?" Rose gushed. "I saw the suit and said "Gosh, that's Mycroft! It's a Mycroft bear!" and had to get it for you!"
"It's…. lovely," Mycroft began, keeping his voice even while averting his eyes from the hideous creature. "Very unique and…lovely." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rose's face fall.
"You don't like it do you?" she asked in a small, sad voice. "You hate it. Oh well, Christmas is stupid anyway." Rose turned away from him, hearing Mycroft groan as she did so. A tense moment passed in the room as Sherlock struggled with not getting up and killing his brother and Mycroft couldn't figure out how to convince Rose he did like the monstrosity.
"Kidding!" Rose suddenly shouted. She took the bear from her brother and threw it across the room. "That wasn't your real gift, I just couldn't resist getting it just to drive you crazy," she said, laughing hard. "Here's your real gift!"
Mycroft tugged on her ear but was far happier with his real gift: a lovely new tie.
They went around the room, everyone taking turns with their gifts, some better received than others. John was thrilled with the soft, warm- and expensive- scarf Rose gave him, comparing it already to Sherlock's and finding it to be much better.
Sherlock rolled his eyes in response and opened an envelope from Rose. "It's a picture of some sort of miniature refrigerator," Sherlock pointed out, holding up the piece of paper. "What is the point of this?"
"Sometimes you're very slow," Rose giggled. "I bought you one of those, but I wasn't going to drag it all the way out here! It's hidden in my flat. More space for all your icky things to be kept cold, hooray, right?"
"This is my favorite Christmas," Sherlock declared. "And you're my favorite sister."
Greg frowned. "Isn't she your only sister?"
"Doesn't mean she can't also be my favorite," the consulting detective replied.
Rose was by far the most enthusiastic gift opener. She squealed and crossed the room to give Greg a hug when she unwrapped the polka dotted raincoat. She giggled hysterically when she unwrapped the entire series of Downton Abbey from Mycroft, envisioning him entering the store and purchasing it. She was horribly disappointed when he stated that Anthea had been the one doing his shopping.
Greg received a large gift, handpicked by Rose to include an item from each of them. Rose gave him an expensive tie, from Sherlock and John a very nice tie pin, and last but not least a book from Mycroft. Greg extracted the book from the bottom of the large bag, examined the cover, and frowned at Rose. "Is this a commentary on my leadership capabilities?" he asked, holding up the brand new copy of Machiavelli's The Prince.
"Wait, what?" Rose asked, crinkling her nose. "Of course not! You're wonderful just as you are. I know Mycroft loves his copy and it seemed a very Mycroftian thing to get-"
"Did you just make my name an adjective?" Mycroft asked, an eyebrow raised.
"Yes, and it's rude to interrupt," Rose scolded lightly. "It seemed like something he'd get for someone, especially someone that he considers reasonably intelligent like you. More than all that though, it's a very interesting read and I thought you might enjoy it. Machiavelli is pretty cool."
Despite the fact that being called 'reasonably intelligent' might be offensive, were it anyone but Mycroft Holmes's opinion, Greg was well satisfied with Rose's explanation and gave her a smile.
Sherlock's gift to John was far less well received than perhaps even the gag gift for Mycroft. "All your music from those CDs are preloaded on here for you," Sherlock explained as John examined his new ipod. "Then I tossed them in the bins, and your CD player, since you won't need them anymore. You'll have more room for other things."
"Sherlock, you threw out my things?!" John shouted. "This is great, don't get me wrong, but you cannot just throw out my things like that! It's not the same and some of those CDs were sentimental!"
"Ah yes, I did find some very random ones with odd mixes of songs and little hearts drawn on the CDs themselves," Sherlock admitted. "Those were from people?"
"Yes Sherlock, from people I like and cared about. How many times do we have to talk about how my things are mine and are not yours to do anything with, not even touch! In fact, don't look at anything that's mine from now on," John ground out.
Sherlock paused and looked thoughtful for a moment before asking, "So you don't like your gift then?"
"Wait! Wait John! Before you murder him!" Rose shouted just as Greg got up to abort John's attempt to tackle Sherlock. "I salvaged your CDs, they're in my flat! Couldn't find the player though. So please spare my idiot brother who understands nothing about things that are personal in nature, or concepts of personal space and privacy outside of his own concerns."
"Is it over yet? Can we be done with Christmas now? It's been Christmas for practically a year by this point," Mycroft began whining. "Aren't we done yet?"
Rose gave him a look. "And you tell me I'm dramatic and childish. Do go get yourself a cookie and hush for a bit, will you?"
"Don't speak to me like that," Mycroft hissed.
"Then don't whine like a five-year-old," Rose hissed back. "Or pout, because it's certainly not any cuter on you than it is on Sherlock. I, by far, have the cutest pout, because I'm practically adorable when I do it."
"No you don't!" Sherlock contradicted, glaring at her from his chair near the fireplace.
"Yes, she does," John interrupted. "Though it's far less effective than you think Rose, adorable or not."
"Can I come next year? This is hysterical," Greg piped up, grinning at everyone. "Who argues about who in a family of grown people- or supposedly grown people- has the best pout? I don't understand any of you, but it's downright hilarious and I need more fun in my life."
"Alright, alright, I have two more presents left so everyone shut up so I can open them," Rose demanded. "Honestly, this is beyond ridiculous I hope you all know that. Why can't I ever have a nice holiday? Every year, every year," she grumbled while unwrapping a present from Sherlock. Her grumbling ended in short order as she found herself with a lap full of Downton Abbey inspired jewelry from her favorite jewelry line.
Last but not least was her present from John. Rose tore away the wrapping paper to reveal two Fred Astaire musicals and two jumpers, one in a forest green color, the other a light blue. She looked over at John, confusion written on her face.
"I'm giving you those specifically so I can get my jumpers back from you, young lady. Those are exactly the same as mine, size and all. You've got your own now, so leave mine be," John said, shaking a finger at her playfully. "Or else."
"Or else what?" Rose inquired with a pout. "If it's nothing terrible, I'll probably just risk it anyway."
"You'll find out if anymore of my jumpers go missing, won't you?" His tone was stern but he struggled to keep from smiling as he teased her. It was mostly teasing anyway. Though he actually did wish Rose would stop stealing all his jumpers.
"But I like yours better! They're so soft and smell lovely," Rose pouted. "You have these; I'll keep all the ones in my flat. Deal?"
"Really, Rose? Still stealing people's clothing? She used to take Sherlock's button-ups with her to primary school. Snuck them into her bag and then I'd get a call about her being out of uniform and refusing to take it off," Mycroft commented and shook his head.
"I'd get handed the phone and Mycroft was all "Rosenwyn Holmes, you will stop being ridiculous this very second and take that off now. If I have to come to your school, you will be a very, very sorry little girl,"" Rose said, impersonating her brother's imperious tone.
"I never understood what their problem with it was. She wore it over the uniform," Sherlock stated. "When I posed that question to them, they never had a good answer for me, so I simply hung up."
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "That's why they stopped calling the house and called me instead."
"Well, happy Christmas all!" Rose announced, grinning happily as she changed the subject. "Given the fact that we're Holmeses, this has been rather successful, Mycroft's whining aside. There's hope for us yet, even if Mr. Crankypants is determined to derail the merriment."
The eldest Holmes scowled at the littlest Holmes but could not, in fact, deny how appropriate that moniker was.
That night, for the first time in a long while, John awoke with a start, his heart beating wildly in his chest and tears prickling his eyes. The nightmares had subsided for the most part and he was surprised to have had one, particularly after the relatively calm day they'd had. Or rather, as calm a day life with the Holmes siblings could be. John blamed it on sleeping in an unfamiliar place. There was little chance he'd fall asleep again at this point so, despite the fact that it was just past 3am, he decided to go in search of tea.
As he made his way downstairs and headed in the direction of the kitchen, John was both unsurprised and a bit annoyed to find a small light already on in the kitchen. "Sherlock, I'm not even kidding, you need some sleep," he grumbled as he entered the room, only to discover it wasn't Sherlock at all.
Sitting on the floor near the entrance, a cup of tea in hand, sat Rose. "I'm fine. It's all fine," she said quietly before he could even react.
His own nightmare and its resulting upset were quickly pushed aside as John knelt next to Rose. "Love, what's going on? You're not hurt, are you?" John's discerning doctor's eye looked her over, noticing that she was wearing his oatmeal colored jumper again, saw the slight trembling of her hands as they held the tea cup, the redness around her eyes, and the evidence of tears on her face. His ears heard the sniffles that she tried to hide.
"I'm fine, really," Rose replied, though she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince more: herself or John. "I had a nightmare, but I'm fine. Just going to drink my tea and go back to bed."
"You don't look fine, love," he contradicted her gently while taking the tea cup from her hand. Without hardly any effort at all, John sat down and pulled Rose into his lap, wrapping his arms around her. "Want to talk about it?"
Rose shook her head and promptly buried her face against his shoulder, beginning to tremble all over, as if suddenly allowing herself to feel frightened in order to make that feeling pass. Tears weren't far behind the trembling.
"See? This is not fine love. This is scared, this is upset, and those are okay things to feel, yeah?" John said soothingly. "There's no reason to be scared all by yourself either. Do you want me to get Sherlock, or Mycroft?" He was surprised to feel rather thrilled when she shook her head no.
"Then I'll stay with you. You don't have to be afraid all on your own. I'm here and I'm always here for you," he murmured, rubbing gentle circles on her back. "Cry it all out love, I won't let you go." John cringed when her tears became open sobbing. It was shocking how much her tears made his chest ache and he wished more than anything that he could take away whatever had frightened her so badly. Finally, after moments that stretched on for what seemed like hours, Rose's tears began to subside once more.
"I hate it when this happens," Rose whispered, taking her face out of his shoulder and resting her head against it instead.
"Was it a nightmare about...that night?" John asked very gently. He began drying her tears with the pad of his thumb.
She nodded. "I keep dreaming that I'm there alone, that you're not there, and he kills me. I'd be dead right now if you hadn't been there John. What if you're not there next time and I'm all alone and-"
"What next time?" John interrupted, frowning a bit at her. "There's not going to be a next time, love. You aren't going to become a target of people like that over and over again because it happened once. You're smart and you'll stay safe and you'll ask for help if you need it."
"But what if it does?" Rose whispered, looking away from him.
Unwilling to let her look away, John gently took hold of her chin so she would look at him again. "Then I'll be there. I will always be there for anything you need, always. I won't let anyone hurt you ever again and god help anyone who might even remotely think about trying to," he told her vehemently.
"You can't promise to do that forever," she contradicted.
"I can and I will. I mean it Rose. There is nothing I wouldn't do to keep you safe," John reiterated. "I don't care how many people I have to kill, how far I have to go, or what it costs me, I'll always keep you safe."
"That's why I've been stealing your jumpers, you know," Rose whispered, her face coloring a bit with embarrassment. "When I've had nightmares and feel… well… vulnerable, I guess, I steal one and wear it. You saved my life with a jumper and even though it isn't at all logical, it makes me feel better."
John smiled at her. "Don't know why I didn't think of that. Makes perfect sense to me love, and you can take them as often as you need one. But you can also come have a cuddle from me, you know." He kissed her temple, cuddling her closer, silently marveling at how perfectly she fit there in his arms. "You don't have to settle for the jumper."
Rose returned his smile with a little one of her own. "You could come to regret making that offer, John. I'm sure you've got plenty of other things to do than cuddle me every time I feel that way."
"And what if I want to? Did you think about that? What if I want to cuddle you every time you feel frightened or upset?" John asked.
She frowned slightly as she considered his words. John wasn't her brother; he didn't have a duty to make her feel better the way Mycroft and Sherlock did. "Why?"
"Why, she says," John chuckled. "Because I love you, you silly thing."
"You do?" Rose asked.
He nodded and kissed her forehead, one hand caressing her cheek. When Rose smiled and leaned into his touch, John kissed her nose. His hand gently cradled her head and suddenly John captured her lips with his own. Just as his mind started screaming 'what are you doing?!' Rose responded. Her arms went around his neck and she leaned in closer, returning his kisses. Rose's lips brushed against his, warm and soft, offering tender, slow kisses that matched his own.
Everything was still and silent and practically perfect until they were forced to break apart enough to breathe. That was when it hit them and almost in unison, Rose and John looked at one another with horror written across their faces.
"Oh god, Rose-"
"I'm so-"
He shook his head. "No, my fault completely, I-"
Rose took a deep breath as if to steady herself and got up from his lap. "We shouldn't have done that. Let's…let's never talk about it."
"Good plan. Let's not talk about it," John quickly agreed, standing up as well.
She nodded, pleased he'd agreed. "Good night," Rose said softly before fleeing the kitchen, leaving John standing under the mistletoe neither of them had realized they were under.
"Oh god," John murmured quietly. "What have I done?" He was discomforted by the fact that he'd kissed someone who was practically his little sister. Though she wasn't actually his sister, just sort of like a little sister, yet not really. Had Rose really been okay with it? She seemed to be, responded as if she was, had been endearingly hesitant yet eager, but was she really okay with it? He was practically her brother! Except that he wasn't, though he often acted like he was... except when he didn't.
The more his mind raced as he stood there in the kitchen, the more confused John felt and the more reasons why this had been a very bad thing became evident. Suddenly, his confusion and discomfort were replaced by fear. He'd never make it back to London alive if Mycroft and Sherlock ever found out what he'd done!
NOTE: Please don't hate me for the way this chapter ends!