Bravery was much easier to think of and imagine having than actually being brave enough to do something. Rose had always considered herself to be a rather brave sort of person, particularly since one had to be to survive in the madness that was the Holmes family, but she'd spent the entire day of 29 December 29 being far more fearful than brave. Her self-imposed deadline to tell John how she felt was running out as the morning of 30 December now dawned unusually bright and sunny for a winter's day, finding one Rosenwyn Holmes anything but bright and sunny.

Lost in her own thoughts, she became vaguely aware of someone loudly saying her name and snapping their fingers near her face. Blinking, Rose looked at her breakfast and then up at the person who seemed intent on annoying her so early in the morning. Naturally, that person was John.

"There you are. What is going on with you?" John asked, giving her a look full of concern. "You've been staring at those fried potatoes you insisted on having for five minutes straight and haven't touched even a drop of your now lukewarm coffee." Reaching into his pocket he retrieved his pen light and began examining her eyes.

"John you're ridiculous," she grumbled, trying to push his hands away. Tired blue eyes met worry-filled brown ones.

"No, I'm not," he responded, easily catching both of her wrists with one hand to stop her from pushing him way. "Now let me look you over; you've got me worried. Or is something bothering you rather than a medical catastrophe waiting to happen?" John thought he'd become rather good at reading Rose, but she was a Holmes and one should never assume when it came to a Holmes.

Rose sighed heavily. "Alright, let me over to your heart's content. But I really am fine, just… daydreaming."

"That was the blankest daydreaming look I ever saw," John decided, releasing her wrists. "A zombie more like, minus the whole flesh eating bit."

"And the decaying corpse-like appearance as well I hope," Rose giggled before holding relatively still while John examined her a bit. "Do I pass muster?"

"Hmm, barely," John decided, pocketing his pen light once more.

"You worry a lot for no reason," she replied softly, shifting her gaze to her lap.

"On the contrary, I think you give me plenty of reasons to be worried. You look a bit pale and tired, but aside from that I believe you're alright," John commented. He reached over to cup her cheek in his hand, stroking his thumb over her soft, lightly freckled skin. "Just take good care of yourself, love. And if you can't manage to do it for you, then do it for me," he whispered.

Maybe, she didn't need words, Rose decided as she looked up and leaned into his touch. Maybe actions really did speak louder than words after all, as the old saying went. Taking advantage of his close proximity to her, Rose moved even closer to John. His eyes lit up and she smiled shyly as he leaned towards her. Oh yes, they were going to kiss. She closed her eyes in anticipation and then…

"Rose, stop ignoring Mycroft!" Sherlock called as he opened the door of his bedroom, completely oblivious to the sudden moment of chaos in the kitchen as John and Rose jumped away from one another. By the time they were within his view, Rose was fixing a fresh cup of coffee and John was diligently consuming his morning meal.

"Mycroft? What's he want?" Rose asked, trying to look and sound very casual.

"He sent me a dozen texts, stating he'd texted you ten times and received no response, could I please make certain you weren't incapacitated," Sherlock explained. "Only I was sleeping."

"For once," John muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Now I'm not. John, make me tea," Sherlock asked in his own special way of 'asking', while stealing food from Rose's place.

"Clearly not incapacitated, just enjoying breakfast and coffee." She took her seat at the table and picked up her mobile. Sure enough there were ten texts from her eldest brother which she promptly deleted. Naturally it would be Mycroft that would annoy Sherlock and cause him to get out of bed and interrupt something as important as she and John almost-kissing. There was nothing more guaranteed to kill the mood- almost any mood for that matter- as the mention of Mycroft.

"What's he want?" she asked again, deciding to get the short answer from Sherlock.

"You've been summoned to his office and there's a car waiting downstairs. What have you done now, sister dear?" Sherlock inquired, arched eyebrow and all. He smirked delightedly when Rose's eyes widened in alarm.

"Nothing! Nothing that I can think of!" Rose exclaimed. She suddenly found herself wishing that she hadn't deleted those texts out of hand without even reading them. Sure, she hadn't done anything recently but that didn't mean there wasn't something a bit less recently for Mycroft to have a fit about. A vast number of things, if she was really honest about it.

"I highly suggest you don't keep our dear brother waiting any longer Rose," Sherlock said firmly. "It's best to go straight in, get the dressing down over with; you know making him wait never makes it any better."

"Easy for you to say!" Rose grumbled as she got up from the table. "Not your arse on the line. I hate you right now."

Sherlock shook his head. "Temper, temper. Hate you too, though." He smirked as Rose stuck her tongue out at him, located her purse and jacket- which rarely seemed to find their way to her flat- and hurried down the stairs. The moment he could hear the door downstairs close Sherlock began laughing.

"What's so funny?" John asked, shoving a plate of food in front of his flatmate.

"Mycroft wants Rose and Anthea to go shopping today for that diplomatic reception coming up," Sherlock explained amid laughter. "The look on her face! And the confusion that will be on Mycroft's face when she shows up and begs forgiveness for any number of things!"

"That's a bit cruel Sherlock," John attempted to scold. He failed abysmally as he started laughing as well.

Across town twenty-minutes later a number of people began giving side-eye looks as a young woman, who clearly didn't belong there, hurried along the various corridors of Whitehall. In a world full of suits of varying quality and price tags and persons with impeccable hair and make-up, Rose couldn't possibly stick out anymore if she actually tried to. Her wild curls were loose and seemed to move of their own accord in time to Rose's hurried walking, and she was dressed about as casually as one could be. A green jumper that had the word 'hello' scrawled across the front of it in white, a pair of boot cut jeans with one frayed knee and a pair of pink and green sneakers completed her look. For the normal person on any London street, she wouldn't have looked amiss; in Whitehall, she looked like she had no business being in the building!

Luck seemed to be with her, at least for the moment, as Rose made it to Mycroft's office area without being stopped. "Whatever it is, I didn't do it," she announced as Anthea let her in. "And if I did, I'm sure I'm very, very sorry about it."

"What exactly are you talking about Rosenwyn?" Mycroft asked in his 'I'm-already-tired-of-this-conversation' tone.

"Sherlock said he you wanted to see me and you were upset about something. I couldn't figure out what it might be, so I thought I'd just begin with plausible deniability and then apologize in advance for the things you could prove that I did."

Mycroft gave her a penetrating look and remained silent long enough for her to start squirming in her seat. "And what have you done of late, sister mine?"

It suddenly dawned on Rose that Sherlock had played her as expertly as he played his violin. Damn him! "Well when I get home I'm going kick our brother but other than that, nothing at all! Absolutely nothing at all. I've been absolutely delightful."

"You're never delightful."

"And you're always mean."

The siblings stared at one another, eyes narrowed, for a full minute before moving on with the task at hand. "Anthea is going to take you shopping today. The diplomatic reception is coming up soon and since there's never anything that exists in your size I thought it best you select your gown and then we'll have it made properly for you."

"Shopping? Sweet," Rose grinned, relaxing in the chair. "I like the sound of that. Money is no object, as we agreed, yes? I'll also need shoes and a clutch, probably a shawl as well."

"You may spend the necessary amount to find what you need, but if you're thinking about purchasing some ridiculous pair of heels worth one thousand pounds, think again," Mycroft warned. "Anthea will have strict instructions on what is and isn't appropriate price tags. If I don't spend a thousand pounds on my shoes, you don't need to either."

Rose huffed a bit, but nodded. It wasn't her money, after all. "Any other rules I should know about?"

"The usual. Be appropriately covered, be appropriate to the occasion, and before you ask, no shoes with spikes on them. I will trust Anthea's judgment in all matters regarding your attire for the event, particularly in light of what you're presently wearing. It's a miracle you weren't stopped by security." Mycroft's eyebrow rose and he gave her a questioning look that summed up his every thought on the way she was dressed.

The youngest Holmes rolled her eyes. "I was still eating breakfast when you summoned me, brother dear, and it's my day off. This is what I like to wear when it's my day off. You would understand the concept should you ever have one of those."

Mycroft sighed heavily. "I'd really prefer it if you didn't dress like ordinary people, Rose. Anthea will be instructed to assist you in selecting some more appropriate attire for everyday wear," he decided. Secretly, he didn't mind her outfit, even if it wasn't particularly well suited for visiting the office. Calling her out on such clothing, however, gave him a good excuse to let her pick out some new things. It had been quite a while since he'd last replenished her wardrobe.

"Clothes snob," Rose muttered under her breath. The cheeky smile that accompanied her muttering gave away that she was on to his little game. For all his whining and complaining about her, he rarely meant most of it and had always been that way.

"You're intolerably insolent lately Rose and I'm quite tired of it," Mycroft said with a put-upon sigh. "Do leave my office immediately."

The siblings shared a knowing smile before Rose began laughing. "I love you too. Just so you know, My, I'm going to bankrupt you." With a wink she made a quick exit from his office.

"Too revealing."

"Completely inappropriate."

"Too short."

Rose frowned at Anthea. "I'm too short for any dress to really be too short on me, unless I make it so," she pointed out.

"Never the less, it's too short." The hemline fell just at Rose's knees. "This is a formal dinner and reception," Anthea explained patiently. "If it were perhaps a meet-and-greet type of event, that dress would suffice, but this is more important than that."

"So pretty much a state dinner then?" Rose asked as she disappeared back in the dressing room.

"Essentially yes. They're not as fun and glamorous as you're imagining," the PA warned. "Most people there are incredibly boring, and there's quite a lot of smiling and playing nice."

"Mycroft is so skilled at that, it's almost frightening," Rose commented, exiting the dressing room once more. "It's long, but I can probably have it bespoke, or altered at worst." It was the twentieth dress she'd tried and playing dress-up was becoming less and less fun with each attempt.

Anthea's face lit up when she saw the dress. It was a lovely sapphire blue, a simple but elegant silhouette. The dress had the appearance of a wrap dress without actually being once, forming a lovely bodice and an empire waist. The v-neck was exquisite and covered her up while still exposing some skin. "That's the one," she said, knowing immediately that her employer would be more than satisfied with the choice.

Rose sighed heavily. "How many more dresses do I—wait, what? You approve? Finally!" She gave Anthea a huge grin and twirled just a bit, hampered somewhat by the six or so inches of excess fabric.

"Hold still, I'm going to take a photo and send it to your brother," Anthea instructed. Using the blackberry she never seemed to part with, she snapped a photo and inserted it into a text message. Once she'd taken the photo and sent it on to Mycroft, she sent Rose back into the dressing room to change into her own clothes while she went to negotiate with the dressmaker.

Half an hour later Anthea and Rose entered the mall, intending to shop for shoes and accessories to go with her dress and some new additions to her wardrobe. Rose's mind, however, was on more than just shopping.

"So what exactly is it you do for Mycroft? Do you ever turn that thing off? Are you sorting out crises into ones that require My's attention and those a minion or two can deal with? Is your name actually Anthea? Are you and Mycroft like… together? Actually, don't answer that last one," Rose decided, looking as if she'd just bit into something particularly sour.

Anthea gave Rose a smile. "I am your brother's personal assistant and do all the things one would associate with such a title, as well as other things as needed. I do maintain your brother's schedule and alert him to matters of importance. No, Anthea is not my real name, but that is the name I've chosen to go by. As for whether or not your brother and I are "together" as you put it, ask him." With any luck, Rose would ask him and Anthea would be there to see the horror on his face!

Rose made a gagging noise. "Not happening. If you won't answer, I'll let the matter rest. I was really hoping you'd laugh and say no. I'm really a bit alarmed that that wasn't your response. Anyway, basically, you're a gatekeeper with a much less awesome title, aren't you? That's good though, My could use a good gatekeeper. He's had some really idiotic PA's over the years; speaks very highly of you though," Rose admitted with a smile.

Anthea smiled at her, well aware of how much her boss appreciated her particular set of skills in various sorts of fields. Still, it was nice to know he spoke highly of her to those he cared about, few people as that was. "Isn't that the store you wanted?" she asked, indicating a shoe store up ahead.

"Yes! That's the one! I love shoes," Rose laughed. She led Anthea into the store and spent the better part of forty minutes trying on various pairs, both for the event and just for fun. No amount of pleading would get Anthea to budge on Mycroft's instructions of no shoes that cost one thousand pounds, despite how cute and perfect and amazing they were. Still, five pairs of new shoes wasn't bad and Rose certainly wasn't complaining.

As the made to exit their way out of the store a large group of people suddenly converged on that area of the mall, standing together almost as if they were in some kind of formation. "Oh my god," Rose gasped. "It's a flash mob! I've always wanted to be in one of those!" Just then the music cued over the mall's sound system and Rose bounced just a bit in delight. "It's Madcon's Beggin'! I saw this routine on youtube a couple months back at a stupidly named mall in the states. I can do this one!"

Before Anthea could say a word, Rose shoved the bags of shoes into her hands and ran out into the crowd. She watched, uncertain if she should be horrified, concerned, or just enjoy the impromptu dance fest. Rose seemed to come alive before her eyes, blending in with the group at large with such precision and enthusiasm, in addition to spot-on timing, that fellow onlookers were pointing, commenting, and filming what appeared to be a flash-mob crasher. Imagining her boss's reaction if he saw this made Anthea smile, chuckle and wonder, not for the first time, how exactly Mycroft had raised someone like Rose.

Several hours later, after shopping had been completed and Mycroft's personal bank account had been depleted to the tune of nearly 1500 pounds, Sherlock felt his mobile vibrate and retrieved it from his pocket, all by himself for once, John noted happily. The barrage of texts sent Sherlock's heart racing.

'Help!'

'Studio now.'

'Help me.'

'Please!'

Sherlock jumped out of his chair and retrieved John's gun, shoving it into the ex-soldier's hands. "Rose is in trouble at the studio, we have to go now. Call Lestrade, I'll contact Mycroft."

Within minutes three separate vehicles and four rather frantic men were in their cars racing to Rose's dance studio, minds racing at what sort of scenario they'd show up to find.

"Owwwww!" Rose wailed, rolling onto her back. A hand went to her side and began rubbing it. "Alfred, in case you haven't noticed, I don't have a whole lot of padding and it really, really hurts when you drop me like that! Can't you be more careful? It's like you've never done lifts before."

"I haven't all that much," Alfred admitted, going a bit red in the face.

"Even more reason why I called in reinforcements. Sherlock can help you sort yourself out so I don't die during practice before we even get to the competition! He should be here soon. Help me up, yeah?" She held an arm up and smiled when Alfred helped her up from the floor. Just as Rose got to her feet the door to their practice studio was thrown open and four men rushed inside. Her eyes widened as she took in their slightly panicked appearances.

"Where is the emergency?" Mycroft asked, taking in the clearly mundane scene in front of him.

Rose frowned. "I didn't say there was an emergency. I just required Sherlock's assistance."

""Help! Studio now. Help me. Please!" Those are not the words of someone who merely requires assistance," the eldest Holmes ground out.

"So there's no emergency? None at all?" Lestrade asked as his heart rate returned to normal. "I was ready to call in for back-up!"

"I didn't mean for that to be interpreted that way! I thought Sherlock would know I needed his help in a dancing capacity," Rose hurried to explain. "I'm, so, so sorry, I never meant for everyone to be so alarmed and overreact." The moment the word 'overreact' left her mouth Rose wished she could take it back. Mycroft looked ready to murder her himself!

"Excuse us for a moment," Mycroft ground out. He approached Rose and took her by the ear, leading her towards the exit.

"My! My, we're in public. My, seriously, we're in public. Mycroft!" Rose protested. When they were outside of the practice studio he released her and she immediately began trying to soothe her now sore, red ear.

Mycroft was not impressed with her sad looks as she rubbed her ear. "Do you have any idea at all how frightened we were, receiving that message? Sherlock called me in a panic, telling me you were in trouble and forwarded your text. John called the detective-inspector. Can you please explain your thought process to me, because I fail to see that there was any thinking involved at all."

Rose had the good grace to blush. "I didn't think about it in those terms. I thought Sherlock would know," she repeated.

"If you ever send another text like that and it is not in relation to a genuine life-threatening emergency, I can promise you that your life will be in danger from me and you will very much regret such an unfortunate choice." Mycroft watched with satisfaction as her eyes widened in alarm. "Do you understand me, young lady?"

"Yes! Yes, sir, I very, very much do and I am profoundly sorry," Rose hurriedly replied.

Mycroft nodded curtly in response. "Go make apologies then to everyone else then, young lady."

"I'm really sorry I frightened everyone," Rose said sincerely when she reentered the studio. "I didn't stop to think how those texts could be interpreted to mean an emergency situation. I promise to do a bit more thinking before I send out texts calling for help in the future and be explicit about what kind of help I require."

Greg shrugged. "It's alright. But I'm going to stay and see Sherlock dance," he decided. "That alright?"

"It's gonna be boring, lots of repetition," Rose warned.

"Yeah, but we didn't know he could dance," John said with a grin. "So we're definitely staying!"

"That okay Sherlock?" Rose asked. "Are you staying as well, My?"

When Sherlock nodded his consent, Mycroft smirked delightedly. "Oh I'm definitely staying, just to bother Sherlock," he decided.

Rolling her eyes, Rose shooed the three men off to chairs on the side of the room. Once they were seated she began explaining the choreography to Sherlock and walking him through it slowly. Just as they were about to give the dance a run through, with Alfred watching closely to see the proper way to lift and support one's dance partner, Louise burst into the studio.

"ROSE! You're on youtube and it's so brilliant! You have 10,000 hits," she squealed, waving her phone in the air.

"Youtube?" Mycroft echoed, looking slightly alarmed.

"You know what that is right?" Greg asked. "Random people put up videos of everything and anything. Rabbits eating bananas, kids jumping off roofs of garages because they think it's funny, parodies of shows on the telly, music videos."

"Music videos? Aren't those on that ridiculously named channel that originated in the states?" Mycroft asked, frowning slightly.

"Mtv? Mycroft, you're really, really old. That stopped being about actual music ages and ages ago," Rose pointed out, giving him a bit of a concerned look

"Ages! Before we were even born I think," Louise agreed. She shoved her phone at Rose after cueing up the video in question. Sure enough, there was Rose among the other flash-mob dancers, dancing hip-hop to Madcon's Beggin'.

"I do look awesome! That was so much fun, happened on it by accident. The look on Anthea's face when I jumped into the crowd, it was perfect," Rose giggled.

"Let me see!" John called. He came over to join the girls, watching Rose perform the choreography just as well, if not better, than everyone near her in the video. Within minutes it had been passed around to every person in the room leaving Sherlock indifferent while John and Greg impressed.

Mycroft looking somewhere between confused and displeased. "I'm so happy to see all the years of classical dance training that cost me a small fortune have gone to such good use," he quipped. "That is not music and that is certainly not dancing. Who are all these people around you?" He cued the video for a second look and found it just as appalling on second viewing as it was on the first.

"It's a flash mob," Rose said. "I didn't know any of them personally."

He gave her a hard look, an eyebrow raised. "So you randomly joined a group of marauders bent on criminal activity in the mall?"

"Oh my god, oh my god," Louise. "Dude, you're seriously hilarious! Oh… wait, you're serious, aren't you?" she asked.

"My name is not 'Dude' and yes I am completely serious," Mycroft replied, giving his sister's best friend a stern look. "Please behave yourself, Louise."

Rose snickered as Louise stood up a little straighter, her face going a bit pink. "Sorry, Mr. Holmes. My bad."

"My bad?" Mycroft repeated. "Your generation is quite frankly terrifying. It's no wonder my job is getting harder and harder as the overall intelligence of society continues to decline at a rapid pace. I still don't understand why you were joining a group of potential criminals Rose."

"Mycroft, it's not a mob, it's a flash mob. A group of people who make a plan online to meet up at a certain time and place to spontaneous burst into well rehearsed choreography. That's what I joined, a flash mob of dancers. I'd seen a different group do that dance so I didn't see any reason not to join in," Rose tried to explain. "Plus I actually really like that song." She cued up the song on Louise's phone, handed it to John after turning the volume up, and the girls began mimicking the dance choreography.

"Please do cease and desist already," Mycroft grumbled, annoyed that the girls so obviously enjoyed bothering him. "I don't know where you learned to do… things like that…" he said, indicating their hi-hop moves. "Knowing you I don't want to know. And that is not the meaning of the word "mob" by the way. Why is there a constant issue of people your age misappropriating words and giving them new meanings that are completely ridiculous?"

"Aw, don't worry Mycroft. Give it a few years and that definition will show up under "mob" in the dictionary as well," Rose promised.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I've lost all faith in the dictionary since it labeled "conversating" a word. It's not a word, nor is it grammatically correct. What was wrong with "conversing?""

This time it was Greg's turn to look confused. "Conversating? What the hell is that?"

"My point precisely, detective-inspector."

"Alright, enough bashing of my generation and further examples of its intellectual decline and more dancing, if you all don't mind," Rose decided. "I've got a lot of work to do with Sherlock and Alfred here, so if you're going to stay, have a seat please and let us get on with our work."

"You sounded just like Sherlock," Greg decided with a grin.

"Insults will get you nowhere Greg," Rose quipped.

"Insults?! I'm very insulted by your implication that sounding like me is an insult!" Sherlock exclaimed, feigning outrage.

Mycroft smirked. "It is an insult Sherlock."

"This is better than telly, you lot," Louise decided. "I'm going to watch as well. My tappers went home an hour ago and all this bantering is like my bread and butter." She took a seat between John and Greg, smiling brightly at the two men. "Waz up boys?"

"Does your mother know that you speak in such an unintelligent manner like a common hooligan, Louise?" Mycroft inquired. "If she's not aware, perhaps I should warn her."

"You have a very poor sense of humor, Mr. Holmes. May I please remind you that unlike dearest Rose, I do not live at home or within a close enough proximity to my parents to be at all considered under their jurisdiction in my daily life," Louise pointed out. "But consider your concern duly noted and know that I will take it under advisement at my earliest convenience. The matter will be given every due consideration." The serious demeanor she'd adopted while responding to the eldest Holmes slipped away, revealing a cheeky grin.

"You never change, Louise Gardner."

Louise continued to grin. "Neither do you, Mycroft Holmes; neither do you. Which is comforting in its own way, so do carry on." She gave him a wink and promptly burst into giggles at the horrified look on his face. If only her own family could be so very interesting!

By 11pm that night the party had dwindled down to just Sherlock and John, both of whom were intent on making certain Alfred didn't injure Rose any further than he already may have. Rose continued to brush away their concerns for the whole two hours they were there but neither man was completely convinced that she hadn't been somewhat banged up from her multiple falls to the studio floor.

Just as they were getting ready to leave Sherlock received a text from Lestrade. "There's a case," Sherlock announced, pocketing his mobile after reading it.

"Go on you two," Rose said with a smile. "My sent his car back for me, I can get home just fine."

Sherlock shook his head. "Take her home John and make certain she isn't going to be completely black and blue tomorrow," he decided, shooting Alfred a hard look. "Then you can join me if I'm still at the crime scene."

The group parted ways with Rose and John returning to Baker Street. "So what hurts most?" John asked after retrieving his kit and the arnica cream.

"Everything, everywhere it seems like," Rose admitted, flopping onto the couch on her stomach. "Especially my back and my sides. I don't think I'm too badly bruised though, it didn't seem like it when I showered and changed before we left."

John nodded and sat on one end of the couch. "Sit up and let me examine you then. Make sure there's obviously wrong. Did you hear any crunching noises or anything that might indicate you broke a rib?"

"No, nothing like that. Just the sound of my body slapping the floor," Rose chuckled. "But I don't think anything is broken." She sat up and patiently waited for John to check her over and satisfy himself that she wasn't broken.

"You take very good care of me, you know that?" Rose murmured, giving him a smile. "It's quite nice."

John just grinned at her. "Well, someone has to. God knows what would happen if I didn't."

"I managed just fine while I was away."

"And then promptly stopped once you came home," John scolded lightly. "I'll always fuss at you about it. It's important and I care."

"You're almost too good, John," Rose decided as she got up from the couch. "Want some tea?" When he nodded his agreement she went into the kitchen, intending to have some herself, only because it was late at night.

John followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the counter while she started the tea. "What do you mean I'm almost too good?"

Rose just grinned at him. "Exactly what I said. First off, you're quite tidy and even do the dishes. Secondly, you cook reasonably well for a man-"

"Hey now!" John laughed. "That's rude!" He tugged on her arm and pulled her to him, lightly smacking her bum before wrapping his arms around her. "What am I going to do with you, hmm?" He gave her an adoring look before kissing her forehead.

This was just the moment Rose had been waiting for. They were alone, she was already in his arms, and they were enjoying each other's company. It was now or never. Smiling shyly at him, Rose wrapped her arms around his neck and stood up on her toes a bit. She pressed her lips against his, gently at first, but gained more confidence as John responded by holding her even closer.

As they kissed, Rose was overwhelmed by the feelings that washed over her and the heightening of all her senses. Her heart raced, beating loud and fast within her chest and she closed her eyes, her world narrowing to just the two of them. Rose could even smell John, that unique combination of aftershave, the fabric softener he used to wash his beloved jumpers, and something she could only describe as man.

Suddenly she felt herself being pushed gently but firmly away from John and her eyes opened, widening in confusion. He looked flushed and decidedly uncomfortable and Rose had no idea why he would feel uncomfortable.

John took several seconds to get air back into his lungs and let his heartbeat slow down before he spoke. "This is wrong, Rose," he told her quietly.

The young woman frowned in confusion. "Wrong? Am I doing it wrong?" One would think there wasn't actually a wrong way to kiss but maybe there was! Rose hadn't dated all that much so perhaps she wasn't as good at it as she'd originally believed.

Now he looked pained. "No, you're not doing it wrong," John replied. "You were doing just fine but… This is wrong, we can't do this. We can't keep doing this."

"Well why the hell not?"

He should have known this wasn't going to be easy. John only hoped his spelling it out for Rose wouldn't hurt her too deeply. "For many reasons. First off, I am way too old for you. I'm 34 soon and you're only 20. That's too much of an age difference. You should really be with someone your own age, not someone so much older."

"Age is dull John," Rose decided with a sigh. "I don't consider it important."

"Plus it's just not done. You don't date your best mate's sister, ever."

Rose scowled darkly. "And why not? What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you Rose!" John exclaimed, beginning to sound frustrated. "But it's not done, it's against… against… well, the male code of honor you might say. Don't date someone your mate is trying to date or currently dating or have previously dated and don't date family members, especially sisters."

"Male code of honor?" she echoed. "What the hell is that and why should it matter?" The words left unspoken were why it should matter if he loved her, but Rose couldn't bring herself to add that.

"I wouldn't betray Sherlock in that way Rose. It wouldn't be right and like I said, the age difference is too much. You need someone your own age, and I'm not a cradle robber. You can do much, much better than me," John added quietly, realizing for the first time that not only was that true but he actually believed it.

Rose took a deep breath and closed her eyes for several seconds, trying to ward off tears. "What if I don't want better? What if there isn't better? And what is wrong with you anyway other than your hang-up about age."

"I'm an ex-soldier, I'm set in my ways, I live mostly off an army pension and work at the surgery which isn't always regular and isn't the best paying job a person could have," John pointed out. "Your brothers would not approve, not in a million years, and it's not worth tearing your family and friendships apart. I'm not worth that." The hurt that flashed in her eyes went straight to his heart and he nearly took it all back, nearly begged for her to forget he'd ever said anything.

The pain Rose felt at his mention of tearing family and friendships apart was exquisite. Did he really mean that; might it tear her family apart? Or was he more concerned about his friendship with Sherlock? And did she have a right to ruin Sherlock's one and only true friendship? That was easier to think of, sacrificing herself for Sherlock's well being and happiness.

"Where does this leave us, then?" she finally asked.

"The same place we've always been. Great friends, I'll fuss at you about taking care of yourself, scold you when you don't, let you steal my jumpers and give you a cuddle any time you need one, just because you need it. I care about you Rose, very much," John assured her. "But we can't go past what we've always been and become… involved. We just can't."

"So I don't need to consider moving back in with Mycroft then? Things will just be… normal again?"

"Right," John confirmed. "Back to normal. Definitely don't go moving back with Mycroft, we'd miss you terribly."

Rose nodded, looking thoughtful. "Then that's what we'll do. We'll resolve to be normal and never talk about this again. I accept your boundaries and your reason for them- just the Sherlock, reason, mind you. Not the age. But there was nothing wrong with how things were before, right?"

Rose gave him the saddest little smile John had ever seen and all he wanted to do was hold her tightly and beg her forgiveness for hurting her. But he couldn't. "Right," he quickly agreed.

"Then that's all there is to say," she decided. "I think I'll skip the tea. It's been a long day and I'm completely exhausted. Good night John, sleep well." Without waiting for his response, Rose made a quick exit from his flat. When her own door shut behind her the tears she'd so bravely held back began to fall.

NOTE:
You can find the routine Rose and the other flash mobbers did here on youtube;
search for Studenovski Madcon-Beggin. I picked the song because it's one of my
recent favorites and because hip-hop types moves would most certainly gain
Mycroft's disapproval LOL