'Can I be casual today? Since its only half-day for me.'

'You imposed your dress code kid, not me. G'

'But I want to be a good representative of your department!'

Greg chuckled as read Rose's text message. It pleased him that she took her job so seriously, but short of a press conference, which she would most likely not be any part of, he wasn't overly concerned.

'Alright, since you're so insistent on getting things right, I'll give you a dress code. G'

'Hit me with it!'

'The dress code you need to adhere to is: clothes. Wear some and you're fine, kid. G'

'There's a very large loophole in that dress code Greg.'

Greg could practically hear her snickering over her phone as she sent that and smiled at his phone while responding.

'Fine, amendment to the dress code: if you don't want Mycroft to see it, don't wear it here. Happy? G'

'"amendment to the dress code" LOL!'

'Behave. Also, don't forget my macchiato. G'

'Will you coo at it like you did yesterday? If so, must record for posterity purposes.'

'I did NOT coo. G'

'You did.'

'Did not. G'

'DID!'

'See if I buy you coffee. G'

'My sincerest apologies, dearest Greg.'

'Dearest Greg? G'

'Dearest, darling, whatever endearment will get me coffee later.'

'I see how it is. Just get your arse in here already kid, I need my macchiato. G'

'LOL! Off to find food next door. Ttyl.'

No matter how long he lived, John Watson was certain he would never understand a single, solitary member of the Holmes family, including Rose. Prior to the kiss, which he had taken to calling 'the incident' in his head, he wouldn't have included Rose in such musings. Now, however, he could only watch in complete and utter confusion as Rose went on with her life as if nothing had ever happened.

It was 28 December and they had been back in London for two days now. During that time Rose had been her usual sunny self, acting as if she had not a care in the world. If she looked a bit more tired than usual, well, John could attribute that to nightmares, which were only natural given what she had been through. He couldn't actually blame it on potential inner turmoil over 'the incident'; that seemed to be his territory and his alone.

"Morning!" Rose called as she showed up in their flat after dressing for the day. Sherlock murmured a greeting, never looking up from John's laptop, which John had given up trying to get back from him already this morning.

"Morning love," John greeted her with a smile, trying to sound as welcoming and warm as usual without sounding suspicious to his flatmate's ears. How he'd got back to London without Rose's brothers finding out and tearing him apart John had no idea, but he was determined to try and be his normal self in order to continue breathing. He gave Rose a smile and received a genuine one in return. "Coffee's up."

"You're the best John," Rose decided as she fixed a cup and sat down with her breakfast across the table from him.

"You look nice today," John commented before he could stop himself. "Casual but nice." She was wearing a periwinkle colored top with white lace sleeves, and a pair of skinny jeans that emphasized the soft, slight curves of her petite frame. Those endearing curls that always escaped when she put her hair up were as present as ever and John realized that he loved those escapee curls, and… God what was wrong with him?!

"Thanks," Rose replied, giving him a dazzling smile.

Though he'd often complimented her before, would it be suspicious to continue to do so now? Would it make her uncomfortable? John had never felt as damnconfused in his entire life as he had the last few days. They'd agreed never to talk about the incident and initially John had thought that was the best plan of action. Now, however, he wasn't entirely convinced that it was. At least not if he continued to feel so out of sorts, while Rose just pranced in and out of the flat as if nothing had ever happened. That was what he wanted though, wasn't it? For them both to pretend it hadn't happened? He closed his eyes and groaned.

"John?" Rose asked, looking concerned. "John, are you alright? You almost look like you're in pain. Headache?"

It was something like a headache, John thought to himself. "Uh, yeah," he replied, not opening his eyes.

"Alright, keep your eyes closed, I'll be right back," Rose said soothingly. She got up from the table and wandered off down the hall, coming back with a wet flannel that she put over his eyes. "That will help. Keep that on for about twenty minutes, then take four ibuprofen and drink copious amounts of caffeine. Works every time," she assured him.

For about ten seconds that sounded like good advice; then it sunk in and John took the flannel off, looking far less then pleased. "Excuse me?! How many ibuprofen?"

Rose's mouth formed a little 'o' as she looked at John for several seconds before conjuring up a response. "Did I say four? I meant two; definitely two."

"No, you meant four, didn't you? Just how many of those do you take at a time, Rosenwyn Holmes? And how often have you done it for that matter?" John inquired, glaring at her.

"Just a couple times!"

John's mouth became a thin line as one eyebrow rose.

"Or maybe lots of times… John, I'm a dancer, we do mean things to our bodies all the time," Rose amended. "There's no time out for aches and pains in dancing. You drug up as needed and move on."

"Sherlock, are you listening to this?" John asked. "Is this true?!"

"Probably. But she hasn't died yet; dull." Sherlock gave Rose a wink, hiding a grin from the thoroughly flummoxed John.

"Well not anymore you're not, Rose. That's not safe, that's nowhere near safe. You're a very small person," John scolded, ignoring her indignant squeak at being called 'small.' "You don't weigh nearly enough for that to be at all advisable. You won't sit for a month of Sundays if I ever hear of you doing that again after this conversation. Do you understand me?"

Rose nodded, looking rather dismayed at the prospect of getting into that much trouble for something she normally did without thinking about it. The look passed quickly, however, and she saluted him with a cheeky smile. "Oui, mon capitaine!"

"You're impossible, you know that?" John asked, unable to resist returning her smile while throwing the flannel at her.

"You too," Rose laughed as she threw it back before digging into her scrambled eggs. "Il est trop bon à cette chose de gronder. Vous êtes une mauvaise influence,"she accused her brother in French.**

"Non, vous vous comportez simplement mal," Sherlock answered, smiling deviously at her.*** The smile disappeared when he was kicked, albeit lightly, in the shin.

"Oy, you two, let's stick to English this early in the morning, alright? You're nightmares to live with, the both of you!" John complained half-heartedly.

"Oh, thank god," Greg said emphatically when Rose arrived in his office. He accepted his macchiato from her and took a drink, murmuring as he did so.

"See? You coo, at the coffee. Next time Mycroft is all 'stop drinking so much coffee Rosenwyn' I'll tell him it could be worse, because I could be like Greg and coo over it," Rose said with a smirk. She flopped into one of the chairs in front of his desk and dangled her legs over one of the chair arms.

"Well, just make yourself at home, kid," Greg laughed.

"Don't mind if I do," Rose commented, giving him a wink. "We need to talk though, about all this 'kid' business. I'm not entirely sure if I appreciate it."

"How unfortunate, because that's what I call you, and I'm the boss." Greg took a long drink of his macchiato and sighed happily.

"But why?" Rose asked, frowning.

"Because to me you are a kid. I'm more than twice your age. I'm probably older than Mycroft," the detective inspector pointed out.

"Age; dull. You seem to be making your way into this collective of people who alternately fuss at me or over me. Like I need more of those! 'Kid' is the beginning of a slippery slope, I think. But, for you, I'll let it go," Rose decided, giving him a grin. "Just be aware if it was anyone else, like Sherlock or John, I'd hit them and mean it."

Greg chuckled. "So I should consider myself special then?"

"Very," Rose agreed. "Just don't let it go to your head. Outside of work I'm under no obligation to listen to you," she warned with a cheeky grin.

"Duly noted," he commented. "Now go get to work, kid." Greg chuckled as Rose rolled her eyes and exited his office.

Rose watched with wide eyes as Louise began choking and sputtering, nearly spraying her with the coffee her friend had been drinking. "That was not the reaction I anticipated you'd have about John kissing me," she admitted.

Louise coughed a few more times before getting herself under control. "I think I need to stop drinking for this conversation," she decided, pushing her cup away. "Alright, details, details, details!"

"There's not a whole lot of a detail, it just sort of happened," Rose replied. "I'd had a nightmare and he was up, not sure why, and cuddled me close like he's done loads of times before. But it was different. It just felt different, even before he kissed me."

The other girl rolled her eyes. "That's not what I'm looking for and you know it. Don't be shy, there's nothing left to be shy about anymore between us," Louise pointed out. "Did you like it? Was he good at it? Where were his hands? Where were your hands? Where was John buried?"

Rose laughed loudly. "John wasn't buried anywhere! As far as I'm aware neither of my brothers know, which is good. And I did like it, a lot actually. It was so different from any other kiss I've had, slow and sweet and soft. Most guys are all 'Rawr, I'm gonna eat your FACE!' about it and that's such a turn off for me."

"And that's why I am postponing drinking my coffee for the entirety of this conversation," Louise snickered. "That's hysterical. "Rawr, eat your face!" Sadly, that's all too accurate most of the time. I think they're copying stuff from films, all that hot and heavy kiss kiss business and people are always so gung-ho about it that it's like they are eating the other person's face," she mused. "So, soft and sweet, huh? That's so you. Answer the other questions!"

"He was really good at it, but it wasn't a planned thing, it just sort of evolved. He kissed my forehead and my nose and then we were just kissing-kissing. He had a hand behind my head, the other around my waist and I put my arms around him," Rose recalled. "Then we were like 'Oh damn! What is going on?!'"

Louise giggled. "What do you mean?"

"It was like we suddenly got very confused and didn't know what was happening. Then he started apologizing," she admitted. "I wasn't even sure what to do or say. I couldn't tell if he was apologizing out of reflex or actual regret for doing it and John looked so uncomfortable. I suggested that we never talk about it ever and then went back upstairs."

"He apologized and rather than clarify what he was apologizing for specifically, you just swept it under the rug?!" Louise asked. "Girl that's not gonna work. You have to talk to him about it. Unless you don't like him?" She smirked when Rose began blushing. "So you do like him."

Rose nodded. "I didn't know until then, until that happened and something just clicked. I mean, I've always rather adored him and all his fussing over me. I knew he was special and I couldn't imagine him not being around, I just didn't know it was more than that."

"You have to tell him how you're feeling. He might be feeling the exact same way, overwhelmed by such a sudden shift in his thinking about you and uncertain how you feel about it," Louise pointed out. "Honestly, it's a win-win situation for you both I think."

"How so?" Rose asked, taking a long drink of her chai latte.

"Your brothers are lunatics so whoever you end up with in life is going to have to put up with them and understand they are what they are. John already knows them, puts up with them, and even likes Sherlock. John's going to need someone who understands the whole detective and his blogger relationship and be willing to put up with it and Sherlock," Louise explained. "It makes complete sense, doesn't it? You're already both in a situation that accommodates all parties you just need the love part to get going, yeah?"

Rose paused and frowned in thought as she mulled over her best friend's words. "God, when did you get so wise, Lou? Bit scary."

"I'm brilliant, but I keep it undercover so I can keep everyone on their toes," Louise grinned. "Or I just share my wisdom with my kindred spirit only. Mostly that one."

Rose grinned and hugged her friend tightly. "You're the best!"

"Talk to the man, Rose. Seriously, you two need to talk about this before things get super awkward or the moment passes completely. Be prepared for your brothers though, they don't have a good track record when it comes to your potential romantic interests," Louise reminded her.

"What if he doesn't feel the same way though?" Rose asked, frowning once more.

"There's a million what if questions you can ask and you'll never be able to answer any of them at all until you talk to him. Find a good time to do it and just do it. You're brave, I know you can handle it Rose. I wouldn't send you into battle if I wasn't sure you could hold your own," Louise said seriously.

Rose gave her a small smile. "What if he says no? Or doesn't even remember it?"

"What, like sleep-walking? He was sleep-kissing you? Doubtful dearie." The girls giggled over the idea of sleep-kissing before growing serious once more. Louise grabbed Rose's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "If he says no, I'll kick his arse."

"Promise?"

Louise grinned deviously. "You know it! What do you think he's like in bed?"

This time it was Rose's turn to cough and sputter the latte she'd been drinking while Louise smirked. "Funnily enough that hasn't come up, nor is it likely to!"

"How does that not come up?" Louise murmured. "Don't you ever see him with anyone? Didn't he have a girlfriend a while back?"

"How is that supposed to come up? 'Oh hey John, thanks for making breakfast. By the way, are you a good shag?'" Rose replied, rolling her eyes. "Highly unlikely."

Louise laughed. "That could definitely happen! And if he's had a girlfriend over than you should know, considering how often you're over at Sherlock's."

"People don't bring girlfriends home when they live with Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock doesn't suffer fools- which is basically the entire population of the earth- and I've always got the impression that sex alarms him. John's smart not to bring anyone to the flat for sex, and rarely does he bring anyone over for purely innocuous reasons," Rose explained. "Not to mention the fact that it only just occurred to my brother, both of them actually, that perhaps it was time for 'sex talk'." She recapped the incident over Christmas which sent Louise into hysterics.

"We have to stop giggling like crazy people," Rose laughed, blushing a bit as they drew the attention of other patrons.

"But that's insanely funny! And so like your brothers. You're lucky Mum thought about that and spared you from the Mycroft Holmes version of sex ed, which would have been either completely confusing or absolutely hilarious," Louise decided. "Or so completely traumatizing that you decided to join a convent or something and be celibate."

"Me? Join a convent? You're mad," Rose snickered. "Utterly mad."

"That's half my charm!" Louise replied with a grin.

Rose smiled and shook her head. "In any case, thank god for your mum. I would have been scarred for life! You know, sometimes you and I have the strangest conversations."

Louise merely grinned. "It's true. I blame it on knowing each other practically forever. And since we have, I know you won't be offended when I say that if you and John do become romantically involved, it'll be good to see you with a nice, normal guy for once. Your track record with men is sort of rubbish."

"You're rude," Rose muttered, putting her head down on the table. "Must we talk about this?"

"We should. I worry about you, always picking the wrong ones," Louise said sincerely. "And then I have to beat the shit out of them if your brothers don't do it first."

Rose would have laughed had she not known Louise so well. Louise had been beating people up on her behalf since primary school. Naturally, Rose always returned the favor. At one point, every six-eight year old in their school was terrified of them. Mycroft had not been amused. "Still rude."

"Still true though. There was that one boy in our first year of primary school that only used you for the treats Sherlock put in your lunch."

"Sherlock still makes the best biscuits of anyone around, even Mrs. Hudson, so really, that was understandable. I would've used me too," Rose giggled as she sat up again.

"Jimmy when you were eight," Louise began.

"I still maintain that it was an accident. I don't think he purposely pushed me off the slide to break my nose," Rose said firmly, finally sitting up again. "I think Mycroft might've disappeared Jimmy if you hadn't broke his nose first."

"I may look cute, but I'm so not," Louise replied with a devilish grin. "I kick arse and take names and look pretty damn fantastic doing it."

Rose choked on her latte again but really couldn't argue with the statement.

"Who else? Who was that boy when you were nine?"

"Philip," Rose recalled. "You called him Philly and soon the whole school was doing it. Sometimes you're a genius."

"Lots of times!" Louise grinned. "But he sucked too. Shoved you in a locker. You were really heartbroken over that one; you really thought he liked you."

"He just wanted answers to homework but I don't facilitate cheating. Are we going to talk about all of them?" she questioned. "And really, before age 12 it's not as though it's serious, it's just play."

"I'm trying to make a point," Louise said gently. "You deserve the best but you rarely pick out the best specimens of the male sex. John's a good one and you should give it a go. That's all I'll say on the matter for now, though I expect daily updates. Or hourly if appropriate," she told Rose with a grin. "But, moving on to other topics: still game for partying New Years Eve?"

Rose grinned and nodded. "Most definitely! Come on, we gotta head to the studio and be brilliant dancers. No rest for the wicked."

"I'll get you my pretty! And your little dog too!" Louise responded, wicked witch voice and all. The girls laughed together and exited the café arm in arm to walk to their studio.

While it may have seemed to John that Rose had completely put 'the incident' and any feelings regarding it aside, that was far from the case. In addition to discussing the matter with her best friend, Rose spent a significant amount of time contemplating the matter. She was willing to admit that Louise was right: she had a bad track record of falling for guys who were interested in something other than herself, culminating in Mark. No matter how many times people told her there had been no way to know he was a killer or even simply a stalker, Rose couldn't help but think she should have known. There should have been a sign, something; she was a Holmes after all! Or had she willingly turned a blind eye to obvious signs? If that was the case, what in heaven's name did that say about her judgment?

She mentally wrestled back and forth as she considered Louise's advice. Should she talk to John? What if he'd just been tired and not thinking about? Or hadn't meant it? Or didn't like it? There were so many ways this could go wrong, yet there were so many ways it could go right. John was special and he had been since the moment she'd come to 221B. He was kind and gentle, funny, strong, affectionate. They'd taken to one another almost instantly and before long it felt as though he was one of the family.

Rose thought of all the times he'd made her feel special and cherished and realized there were so much more of those moments than she'd actually acknowledged. The way he fussed about her health in that odd combination of caring and scolding that John seemed to have down pat. He'd made her tea when she was sick; the way if felt when they danced together; how much it meant when he'd said he was proud of her the night of the charity ball they'd attended. The way he'd saved her life. In the most terrifying moment of her entire life, he was calm and collected and made her believe against all odds that she'd be okay, that she wouldn't die; more than that, he wouldn't allow her to die. The times he'd cuddled her close, the way he dropped kisses on top of her head, their playful bantering, and his fierce protectiveness.

She'd known that she loved him and he loved her. But did all that mean he actually loved her? Was the kiss just a nighttime fluke or truly indicative of how he felt? While Rose had admittedly been thrown off by it once the kiss ended, she didn't regret it, she just wasn't sure how to respond and at the time it seemed much easier to just pretend it never happened. John had been all too quick to agree and almost looked ashamed in a way as she hastily exited the kitchen that night. Had he been ashamed? Or was it embarrassment? Or was he, like her, rather overwhelmed by the sudden rush of feelings?

Talking to him was the only way to answer these questions and Rose well knew it. But talking could reveal it hadn't meant nearly as much to him as it had to her. If he turned her away, if he said it was a mistake, could she take the rejection? More importantly, could they continue on as they had pre-kiss, or would everything be completely ruined?

Rose closed her eyes and tried to fight the rising panic while simultaneously gathering her courage. "I'll do it," she spoke her vow aloud. "I'll do it before the New Year. I've got two and a half days. I can do it, I can do it, I can do it." Perhaps, if she said it enough times, she might just manage to convince herself it was true.

"I won't say a word," John murmured out loud as he lay in bed that night. "I'll not say a word unless Rose brings it up and I'll stop thinking about her… About her curves and her curls and the way she fits in my arms. Not going to think about it, because it's inappropriate. I have the will power to stop thinking this way. I have it and I will use it."

Only John wasn't entirely convinced he wanted to use it. Things were no clearer in his mind then they had been since the moment he'd kissed her. What a bloody awful mess he'd made…

** "He's too good at this scolding thing. You're a bad influence."

*** "No, you simply behave badly."