John sat in stunned silence as Rose flung her accusation at Sherlock. That couldn't possibly be true, could it? Sherlock might be reckless with his own health and safety, far more often than John was comfortable with, but get high anywhere near Rose, let alone overdose? That didn't make any sense at all, but clearly the accusation hit home as Sherlock turned away from his sister and exited the flat without once looking back at her. This was very, very bad; far and away trumping the issue of alcohol consumption.

John watched Rose sink to the floor and pull her knees to her chest before beginning to cry. Before he even realized he'd left his chair, he was at her side, wrapping his arms around her. "He just needs a breather love. He needs a breather, just some time to wander and think. You know how he is," John tried to soothe. Was that true though? Was it just a need to wander, think and walk off some steam or had he just witnessed an irreparable rip in what had been a very dysfunctional but ultimately loving relationship between Sherlock and Rose?

"I hurt him, John, I really hurt him," Rose sobbed. She leaned into his touch and wrapped her arms around him in return. "I hurt him very, very badly and I didn't mean it. I didn't mean a word of it, I was so angry and it came right out, just out of nowhere. What if he doesn't come back?"

"Of course he'll come back love. He lives here, and where else would he go? Not to Mycroft certainly," John reminded her gently. "He'll come back and then you can say you're sorry and the two of you can have a good long talk about all of this. Trust me love, he'll come 'round. He loves you too much not to and you know that." He began rocking her gently in his arms as they sat there on the landing, part of him hoping that they wouldn't disturb Mrs. Hudson; another part of him wishing they did because her scones made everything better.

Scones, however, were not going to be enough to fix this, John was forced to acknowledge, Mrs. Hudson's or otherwise. Rose's frantic crying became deep heartfelt sobs that wracked her body and quite frankly scared the hell out of him, sounding so very desolate and full of anguish that John physically ached for her. "I know you're upset and I won't tell you that you shouldn't be, but you've got to stop crying love. You're going to be sick again and your poor body has had enough being sick after last night," John said firmly. "You have to stop crying. Can you try? For me? Come on, deep breaths now. When you're calm we sort this mess out, I promise."

Only because she didn't really want to throw up anymore, Rose did as John asked and struggled to take some deep breaths in order to calm down. It took far longer than John was comfortable with, but at long last her breathing and heart rate returned to normal. "Right; good girl," he praised, kissing her forehead. "Let's find somewhere else to sit while we sort this out." He gently nudged her off his lap and stood up, stretching his back a bit. Between the nighttime trips to the loo with Rose and sitting on the landing just now, his back was a bit unhappy with him. Wrapping an arm around Rose's waist to pull her close, John took her back into the flat.

"Alright, first order of business is you," he stated in a firm tone as he guided her into the kitchen. "Between being sick last night, the amount of alcohol you consumed, and crying, it's time to get some liquids in you before you get dehydrated. You should really try to eat something too. Do you remember the last time you ate?"

Rose shook her head and let John gently push her into a chair. "Lunchish yesterday I think," she admitted softly. "Around 3 or 4 probably. I don't know." She picked up her mobile, having located it there at the table, and began sending off a series of frantic texts.

'Come home, please, please come home.'

'I'm so sorry, Sherlock.'

'Sherlock, come back right now.'

'I didn't mean it, I swear. You're the best brother in the world.'

"And there is half your problem last night," John replied, giving her a stern look before turning to open the cupboard. "Don't drink on an empty stomach like that. You and I are going to have a good long conversation about what is and isn't safe drinking after everything else is sorted out."

Rose ignored him completely, her fingers still tapping away at the keypad of her mobile.

'Please Sherlock, please.'

'I take it all back. I'm so sorry I hurt you. Please come back!'

'Answer me Sherlock, please!'

'Come home, I'm begging you.'

He popped a couple pieces of bread into the toaster, waiting for Rose to sputter indignantly, have a sarcastic comeback or snort derisively; none of which was forthcoming. Instead, he got a quiet and uncharacteristically cooperative, "Okay."

Rose jumped when John set the plate of toast with jam and a cup of tea in front of her. "You didn't hear a word I said, did you?" he asked.

"Not really no," she admitted, blushing a bit. "He won't answer me."

John brushed some errant curls out of her eyes, tucking them behind her ear. "He needs some time, love. You know how he is; he's got to have his pout. It hasn't even been all that long Rose. I'm sure he'll text you soon. Can you put your mobile down and eat, or do I need to hold on to it for you?"

"I'm not hungry John; or thirsty either. Unless it's coffee," Rose amended.

"You are hungry, you just don't know it and your body would like some liquids that are not alcohol or caffeinated. Give me your mobile and do as you're told," John said sternly. "I'll not have this 'I'm too emotional to eat' or any other excuses you Holmes lot always have in ready supply."

"You're so bossy. If this didn't cost an arm and a leg, I might throw it at your head," she grumbled, handing the mobile in question over to him with a dramatic eye roll. Rose immediately winced. "Rolling my eyes while hung over; bit not good."

John pocketed her mobile and gave her a smile. "Complain all you want; I know you wouldn't have me any other way," he responded with a wink. Inwardly he shouted for joy when he got another little smile from her.

"I suppose not," she admitted. "But only because I'm used to you. Too much work to get used to someone else." This time her smile lasted a little bit longer before disappearing once more.

One hour became two, and then three hours since Sherlock had left 221B was right around the corner. Rose felt terrible in many senses of the word, not the least of which was being sick, the worst of which was the realization that she was the most horrible sister in the world. John's assurances to the contrary did little to soothe her growing anxiety that Sherlock might not come back, or, if he did, never talk to her again.

'I'll do anything to make it up to you.'

'I was obscenely out of line.'

'I've learned my lesson, I swear, I'll never be so horrible again.'

'Please come home.'

'Please don't leave.'

After watching Rose spend another few minutes sending out frantic texts, John placed his hand over Rose's mobile in order to get her attention. "Why are you so convinced he won't come home, love?" he asked gently. "That he won't forgive you?"

"Because that's what I'd do John," Rose whispered. "That's what I did. Mycroft and I had one row too many and more than enough hurtful words and I left. Speaking of Mycroft is going to have my head and you know what? He can. I think right now I'd hurt less if I lost my head."

John looked rather alarmed for a few seconds before it dawned on him that she was due for more ibuprofen. "Well that's not going to happen. What's going to happen is you're going to take something for that head of yours, lie down with a cool cloth over your eyes, and let me see if I can locate Sherlock." Surely if Rose knew he hadn't gone far she'd rest easier and be able sleep off her hangover rather than exacerbate it by being so tense and upset.

"Coffee?" she asked quietly. "Please John? Please?"

The doctor in him said no, she should really drink something that wouldn't dehydrate her but John couldn't look at her pleading face, so very pale, etched with worry and fear, and tell her no. "Promise me that for every cup of coffee you have today you'll have two glasses of something better for you, like water or juice. Or milk if you have some in your fridge. Sherlock keeps doing weird things to ours so I never even touch it anymore. You won't be doing yourself any favors if you get dehydrated."

"I promise!" Rose replied enthusiastically. She waited practically with her mouth watering until she had a mug of coffee in her hands.

John kept up his end of the bargain and began texting people to find out if anyone had seen Sherlock. Really, there weren't many people to text, but text them he did.

'Hey Molls. Have you seen Sherlock today?'

'Hi John! He sent a text earlier but I didn't have any bodies or bits for him.'

'Alright. If he texts you again or shows up, tell him to call his sister, will you?'

'Sure! 3'

Greg Lestrade was happily catching up on some action films he'd bought but not yet watched when his mobile chirped, indicating someone had sent him a text. Flipping the mobile open, he read the text from John.

'Any idea where Sherlock is?'

Greg frowned and sent a response. 'No… Was it my day to be his minder? -G'

'No, but he's gone missing.'

'Missing as in I need to come in on my day off and find his arse? -G'

'Only to have him tell me I bungled up some sort of plan of his or ruined an experiment? –G'

'No, not yet anyway. Took off earlier. He and Rose had a big row.'

'How long's it been? –G'

'About 3.5 hrs'

'Still sulking I'm sure. –G'

'If you hear from him, tell him to call Rose. She's rather frantic.'

'Will do. –G'

'Have you seen your brother? He & Rose had a bad row and Sherlock left.'

'Rather busy John. North Korea is having a tantrum. Again. M'

'The PM always seems to forget that this is their "thing" as Rose would say. M'

John's brown eyes widened as he read Mycroft's texts. 'It is?'

'About every 70 days they issue some new threat that they cannot possibly back-up. M'

'Are you sure it's always a lie?'

'I don't answer idiotic questions John. Tell Rose I'll be there as soon as I can. M'

"I don't understand how it is that your brother can sound so damn condescending in text message," John grumbled as he pocketed his mobile.

"Sherlock?!" Rose exclaimed, jumping up so fast from her chair that it toppled over. Two hours had passed since Sherlock had walked out of 221B and though she tried very diligently to hide her growing anxiety, Rose was, in fact, terrified.

"No, the more annoying one."

For the first time since she'd woken up that morning, Rose laughed just a bit. "Mycroft is the more annoying one," she admitted before righting her chair and sitting down again. The little smile and laughter melted away almost as soon as it appeared and John's heart broke just a little for her when it did.

When six hours passed, John had had about enough of his flatmate's childishness. Stepping out onto the landing for privacy, he called Sherlock's mobile and waited somewhat patiently for the beep to sound in order to leave a voicemail. "Sherlock, its John. It's been six hours now and you need to come home. As in now not when you decide you're done with your gigantic strop. Rose is terrified that you won't forgive her and she's suffered long enough. Stop being a dick and come sort this out with her. If you aren't back in an hour, I'm telling Mycroft to send people after you because this is a ridiculously long time to pout over an argument with your little sister. Please, for her sake, get your arse back here."

"You'll tell me to send people after him?" Mycroft asked, arriving at 221B that very moment.

John had the good grace to blush a bit, but wasn't deterred by a long shot. "If anyone can find him, you can. Now listen to me, before—no don't give me that look Mycroft. This time you be quiet and listen. Don't you dare rake Rose over the coals for this, I won't stand for it. She's been in tears practically all day, in addition to being sick, and she doesn't need you to make her feel any worse. Don't upset her, or I'll assist you from the building. Are we clear?"

Mycroft's eyebrow arched as he listened to John essentially warn him about his behavior, something no one had done in a very, very long time, and immediately bristled at the doctor's tone. "It is not my intention to cause Rose distress. I cannot, however, assist in solving the present problem if I don't speak with her. I still have no idea what went on this morning," he pointed out. "Now are you going to step aside and let me in, Dr. Watson, or do you need assistance in removing yourself from my path?"

The two men attempted to stare one another down, John's look no less intense or semi-threatening for the difference in height between them. Finally, however, the doctor appeared to be satisfied and stepped aside so Mycroft could enter the flat. The eldest Holmes looked over at his sister on the couch, his brow immediately creasing with worry as his clear, observant eyes took in her appearance. "Poppet, you look awful," he said quietly as he approached her. "You're not going to get sick all over me, are you? And do stop worrying your lip."

Her face colored slightly as Rose stopped biting her lower lip, a nervous habit she'd had for as long as she could remember. "Sorry," she murmured, opening her eyes and looking up at him for a moment before they closed once again.

Mycroft leaned over her for a moment, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Don't apologize, just stop doing it," he replied, his tone gentle rather than scolding. "Have you had anything other than coffee to drink today? Anything to eat?" She was far too pale for his liking and her eyes, even in those few seconds he'd looked into them, were dull and red rimmed. Whatever the problem with Sherlock was, her wellbeing was his first and foremost concern at that moment.

"Toast with jam, a chocolate chip scone from Mrs. Hudson. She came up and clucked over me earlier and even fussed at John to take very good care of me," Rose admitted. "She called me her poor little lamb."

"She's had some scrambled eggs as well," John added. "I tried to get her to drink some tomato juice, to get some vitamin C into her, but-" He chuckled as Rose scrunched up her nose and stuck her tongue out. "Yeah, didn't get anywhere with that."

"Hates tomatoes, always has," Mycroft said, a hint of fondness in his voice. "Other than in marinara sauce she won't have them. Has she given you quite a hard time? You've never been a very good patient, poppet." He kissed her forehead again before sitting down on the couch, not even remotely surprised when she moved closer to him for a cuddle. Putting his arm around her, he pulled her just a little bit closer to his side.

John smiled and shook his head. "Rose has been a wonderful patient this time around and even agreed to trade cups of coffee for plenty of water and juice to keep hydrated."

"That's quite remarkable," Mycroft admitted, looking pleasantly surprised. "And here I thought I'd have to come scold you for drinking so much and then being a poor patient. I'm glad I don't have to. It's rather refreshing to be the nice brother for a change and let Sherlock handle the messy things. Speaking of our dearest brother, what happened earlier?" He immediately felt her tense up as he attempted to casually ask the question.

Before Rose began her recap of the argument, John excused himself to go thank Mrs. Hudson for the scones. Figuring it was best to leave the siblings to sort things out, he hoped the sweet landlady wouldn't mind if he dropped in for a visit.

Mycroft listened in silence, not at all surprised to hear Rose had been obstinate, cranky, and ill-mannered. She was on a good day, why wouldn't she be while suffering the ill effects of too much alcohol? No, if he was honest, Rose was typically feisty but sweet, a girl he was proud of much of the time, even if her judgment left much to be desired at times. That was why her admission about how the argument had ended took him so much by surprise. It was very unlike Rose to be cruel.

"Oh Rose," he said quietly, his tone heavy with disappointment. "How could you?"

"I really didn't mean to, and I didn't mean a word of it, I swear," Rose said earnestly, trying to make him understand that she hadn't intended to hurt their brother. Guilt, heavy and solid, had been settled in her chest all day.

"If you weren't so clearly remorseful, I'd scold you for being a completely thoughtless brat," Mycroft admitted, wrapping both arms around her now. "You have no idea what sort of price Sherlock had to pay for that night. I wasn't even aware you knew the truth of what happened."

Rose took several deep breaths, trying to stave off yet another round of tears, before she responded. "I was ten, not stupid My. There was a needle near where he collapsed and the EMTs specifically directed the officers to collect it. Greg tried his best to shuffle me away from all that and shield me but he wasn't entirely successful." The Detective-Inspector, before he was promoted to the position he currently held, had been among the first responders on scene that night and done a marvelous job of giving her a good cuddle before Mycroft had got home.

"I should have known better than to try and keep you in the dark." In truth, Sherlock had begged him not to reveal his addiction to Rose and Mycroft, already feeling rather guilty at having to evict him from the family home, had readily acquiesced.

"It's been hours and hours Mycroft and nobody's heard from him," Rose admitted. "John keeps telling me of course he'll come home but I'm not entirely convinced that he will. I don't know if I'd want to look at me either after what I said."

"Try not to worry; we can track him if it becomes necessary. I had him chipped," Mycroft said casually.

She looked up and her eyes widened. "You're kidding," Rose responded, hoping that was the case.

Mycroft's eyebrow rose. "Am I?"

"You have to be kidding. I'm pretty sure that's illegal."

"And your point would be what precisely?"

Rose frowned. "Um… None I guess?"

"Indeed." Mycroft smirked happily to himself as Rose looked quite alarmed.

"He's not serious," a voice spoke up from the doorway of the flat. "I'd know if I was being drugged and that's the only manner in which someone could put a dog chip in me."

Rose nearly fell off the couch in her eagerness to get up and hug Sherlock. Her fast, jerky movements quickly caught up with her though and she stopped halfway between the couch and the door. "Oh god, that was such a bad idea," she moaned. "Fast is bad; very, very bad." She closed her eyes which somehow only made it worse. Before she could consider how best to do a face plant on the floor, strong arms circled her and easily kept her upright.

"Well, this is bound to get disgustingly sentimental within a matter of minutes so I shall take my leave. Do endeavor to play nicely, children," Mycroft commented condescendingly before slipping out the door.

Sherlock carefully led Rose back to the couch and immediately pulled her into his lap when he sat down. Not that Rose would have given him much chose to do otherwise, considering the way she was suddenly half wrapped up in his jacket while he was still wearing it, clinging onto him as if she might never let go.

"You came home," she whispered, looking truly surprised and yet incredibly joyful. "You've been gone for ages and ages, I was so worried!"

"Obviously I'm home, I live here. And…" Sherlock paused to consult the clock on his mobile. "Seven hours hardly qualifies as an "age."" It really wasn't possible to cuddle her any closer, but Sherlock tried just the same, resting his cheek on top of her head as he held on tightly.

"Sherlock, I'm so sorry. Please, please forgive me for being so horrible to you. That was completely unforgiveable and I can't even offer a good excuse other than I was completely hung over, still am in fact but-" Whatever else she might have said was cut off as Sherlock gently clamped a hand over her mouth, only to recoil a few seconds later.

"You licked my hand!"

"I'm aware. You had your hand over my mouth."

"Because I wanted you to shut up and that was the quickest way to accomplish that. You don't even know where this hand has been," Sherlock pointed out.

"Sure I do. It was attached to you for the last seven hours." A smile tugged at her lips, making it hard for Rose to keep a straight face.

Sherlock didn't even try. He chuckled, the sound rumbling deep and rich in her ear, before kissing her forehead. "If you can manage to keep quiet for a few moments I have something to say," he stated once he'd grown serious again. "I'm not angry with you or upset or even mildly disgruntled at what you said earlier. You had every right to say-"

"No, no I didn't. And I'll lick it again," Rose threatened as he made to cover her mouth once more.

Sherlock settled for a firm pinch on her thigh. "Make a small attempt to behave yourself, if you please. Though I would have preferred we converse about your very valid point, that doesn't take away from the fact that it was entirely valid. Who am I, indeed, to lecture you about alcohol, in light of my history?"

Rose's face grew red, her eyes downcast and Sherlock paused to cup her chin and gently tilt her head up. "Who I am is your brother who loves you very much," he said softly. "And because I love you not only do I want you to make safe choices, but I don't want you to make the choices I made. If anyone owes someone an apology it is me, because I…" He was suddenly tongue-tied and stopped speaking until he was certain he could do so with an even, controlled tone. "Because I'm your big brother and I failed you miserably that night. Completely and utterly failed you, when you were still fragile after Mother's death.

"I left this morning not because I was wounded by what you said, but by the realization that you knew I failed you. Your words brought to mind many memories and feelings I thought I'd deleted, the worst of which was guilt. I didn't know that you knew and I hadn't ever wanted you to find out that I'd so completely and utterly failed you, not only by my actions but by my forced exile from the house while I completed a rehab program."

Sherlock paused once more and took a deep breath before continuing, his eyes never leaving hers. "I know my absence caused you pain. I heard it in your voice every time we talked on the phone while I was away, I heard the question that you bravely never asked me: When will you come home Sherlock? Please… forgive me for causing you that pain and for not being there when I should have been. Please."

Rose was silent for thirty seconds, as she quickly considering the words she wanted to say before actually saying them aloud. "I don't get you call you an idiot and actually mean it very often, but today I mean it. Sherlock, you're an idiot. I knew that night exactly what you'd done. I saw the needle and Mycroft told me you couldn't come home for a while because you were sick. As I told Mycroft earlier, I was ten, not stupid.

"I was never angry with you for being gone that month and honestly, there's nothing to forgive," she said, her tone both serious and earnest. "You came back and something like that night never happened again. That was all that mattered, that you were okay and you were back home. Have you seriously been walking around- or whatever it is you've been doing for eight hours- wondering if I'd forgive you for something I've clearly known about for ten years?"

A hint of pink crossed his cheekbones and Sherlock huffed a bit before responding, "Well, when you put it that way…"

"When I put it that way it seems a bit silly. Especially when I've been here crying almost all day long. John's very upset with you, by the way. He didn't say it in front of me, but I heard a lot of muttering about someone being a dick, and generally when he says that, it's you," Rose pointed out.

"Language," Sherlock scolded, pinching her thigh again. "I think you're the silly one, sitting here thinking terrible thoughts all day when you were already feeling poorly." He kissed the top of her head. "Did you really think I wasn't coming home? Seriously? Even Gavin was texting me. Budge up so I can get my coat off."

"His name is Greg, Sherlock. Greg. As in short for Gregory," Rose scolded before carefully moving back onto the couch. Sherlock tossed her his mobile and she began scrolling through the messages.

'Sherlock, you're wanted at home. –G'

'John keeps texting me asking if I've seen you. I don't want to see you. –G'

'Alright, apparently Rose is upset. Can you go home already? –G'

'Your brother is now texting me. How do I always get caught up in your nonsense? –G'

'Mycroft sent me another text. In case anyone is confused you're NOT my division. –G"

'Unless I was head of the 'pain in people's arses division.' In which case YOU would be on the receiving end of a 'discussion'' –G"

'Sherlock, you berk, GO HOME! And tell Mycroft to lose my number! –G'

Rose smiled, returning the mobile to Sherlock when he sat back down. "I'll have to thank him when I go back to work. Not just anyone can call you a berk, after all."

"Very true, and you're not one of those people," he warned. Sherlock tried not to smile when Rose helped herself to his lap once more. "Did you really, sincerely believe I wasn't coming home?"

"Yes. Because if Mycroft had said to me what I said to you, or something of a similarly terrible nature, I wouldn't have come home," Rose whispered.

Sighing heavily, Sherlock wrapped his arms around her as if he could anchor her to the UK by doing so. "That's not allowed anymore darling," he whispered. "You simply cannot get rid of us."

"Well this is much better," John decided as he entered the flat. "Everything sorted out?" He could tell by the contented look on Rose's tired face that she, at least, was feeling significantly better.

"Mostly everything. We still have a discussion that needs to take place, don't we Rose?" Sherlock looked down at his sister, an arched eyebrow indicating that he was expecting her to agree.

The youngest Holmes sighed heavily. "I'd roll my eyes but that hasn't worked out well for me today. So just take note that mentally I'm rolling them at you because that is the dumbest euphemism ever and completely unnecessary, considering everyone in this room knows exactly what you mean. Even Greg knows what that means now," she pointed out, referencing one of the detective-inspector's texts.

Sherlock frowned at her in mock exasperation, though he doubted Rose would be able to discern if he was actually exasperated or not and deliberately kept his tone even when he replied. "Always complaining. Would you prefer me to say 'Rosenwyn, you've been very naughty and I'm going to spank you until you howl' instead?"

Rose stood there, tongue-tied for a moment as she tried to discern if he was teasing her or actually frustrated with her. "'Discussion' is good," she squeaked. She tried to cover the squeak up with a few coughs and both men allowed her to think she'd succeeded.

"I thought so too," Sherlock quipped, looking far too satisfied with himself.

"Before all… this… gets any further," Rose began. "And please don't think I'm trying to be a pain, but I would very much like to postpone any discussion for tomorrow. I'm a bit better than I was this morning, but I think my last meal might make reappearance if… well… you know." A very unwelcome blush crept into cheeks as she diverted her gaze from her brother's.

"If I put you over my knee, you mean?" Sherlock couldn't resist teasing her sometimes, but regretted it almost immediately when a pained expression settled on her now scarlet face. "I'm glad you said something," he admitted. "I'm sure John doesn't want to clean that sort of a mess up."

"And why, exactly, would I be the one cleaning it up?" John asked with an impatient tone. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Sherlock a penetrating look.

"Oh, I know that look. Best acquiesce Sherlock, or he's going to go all Captain Watson on you," Rose teased, a smile lighting up her face.

"Because you're a doctor, that's why," Sherlock continued, ignoring Rose's warning.

"Right. I went to med school to learn how to clean up someone's throw up. Grow up, Sherlock, for god's sake." John rolled his eyes and went to make tea while the Holmes siblings snickered behind his back.

"He rhymed," Rose giggled before pressing her face against Sherlock's shirt to stifle her laughter.

While John couldn't see their laughter, they also couldn't see the smile on his face that gave away how pleased he felt that everyone was home and things were to set rights once more in Baker Street.