NOTE: Rose and Sherlock have some fun with languages in this chapter. English translations provided, appearing in brackets and italics. Example: [Words].
'Hi. You awake?'
'I am. Why are you? Its half eleven. M'
Rather than receiving another text in response, his mobile rang. "Why do I have this strange feeling that you're either going to tell me something that will cause me great displeasure or that you want something you already know I won't give you?"
"Ha! None of the above," Rose replied.
Mycroft could hear a smirk in her tone and rolled his eyes.
"Actually, I just wanted to say thanks for coming over today. I really needed that cuddle and it meant a lot to me, especially since you didn't scold me terribly for what I said," Rose explained.
"We most certainly did not cuddle," Mycroft responded, sounding a tad bit annoyed. He scowled when he could hear her snickering.
"If that was not a cuddle, which pretty much anyone but you in the world would call it, then what was it?" Rose asked.
"A thoroughly frightening exercise in sentiment in which you imitated an octopus and attached yourself to my person. I merely held on to you so that you didn't fall on the floor and injure yourself."
Rose tried to suppress her giggles but her efforts ultimately failed. Instead, she giggled infectiously which, unbeknownst to her, made her eldest brother smile. Eventually she regained control of herself and resumed their conversation. "That made a very interesting mental picture, just so you know. I wish I could draw well enough to put that on paper. And I love you too, Mycroft. Um… am I still allowed to come with you to that diplomatic thing?"
Mycroft sighed heavily on the other end, more for show than anything else. "Are you going to drunk yourself into a stupor?"
"No," she immediately replied, her tone very sincere. "One drink at the very most. I promise I won't do anything to embarrass you."
"Then yes, you may still accompany me. Will you please go to bed now?" Mycroft asked.
"I am in bed, right this very second, snuggled under the duvet." Her tone was practically a form of verbal smirking and it made Mycroft roll his eyes.
"In that case, will you please go to sleep you obnoxious hoyden?"
"I suppose, if you insist," Rose decided.
"I do insist," Mycroft assured her.
"Fine, fine, fine," Rose pretended to grumble. "I love you My. Goodnight."
Mycroft smiled at her words. "And I you. Goodnight Poppet."
"Ah, there she is," John commented with a smile when Rose stumbled into their flat the next morning. "We were wondering if you'd ever get up. Coffee will be ready in a tick, love." He got up from the table to start her coffee.
"John was wondering, I was unconcerned," Sherlock clarified. He grunted and gave his little sister a look of a displeasure when Rose plopped into his lap, effectively sitting on the journal he was reading. "Did you not see I was reading that?"
"Do you not see I don't care?" Rose asked. "I'm feeling clingy, let me cling." She smiled as Sherlock wrapped his arms around her.
"No, you're not 'clingy' as you put it. You're trying the patented 'I'm so cute and sweet, how can you possibly think of spanking me?' maneuver to try and persuade me not to blister your bum today," Sherlock stated. "That ceased to be effective with me after your little adventure in the bookstore." He smirked when Rose began blushing.
"It wasn't exactly an adventure," Rose grumbled. "You're such a meanie. John, Sherlock's being mean to me!" She called out teasingly.
"Now, now, don't make me put you two in separate corners," John replied with a laugh as he came out of the kitchen. He gave Rose her coffee and sat down in his chair by the fireplace with a cup of his own. "You two are a handful."
The siblings pointed accusing fingers at one another, indicating who they thought was the actual handful out of the two of them. When John ignored them completely they began physically poking one another, looks of fierce determination on their faces. The poking became more and more aggressive in nature until he was worried they might actually injure one another, or at the very least spill Rose's precious coffee. "Very mature you two," John commented, picking up one of several newspapers that were delivered daily. He then proceeded to try very valiantly to focus his attention solely on the newspaper and leave the Holmes siblings to… well, whatever it was they were doing.
Wordless poking progressed to wordless pushing, with Sherlock slightly perplexed at how Rose managed to say seated on his lap despite his best efforts to dislodge her. No doubt it was some shifty dancer skill, but he saved the questions for later. Rose, in an amazing amount of foresight that she rarely seemed to possess, hurriedly put her coffee down before she spilled it all over the place just as Sherlock pushed her hard enough to finally send her spilling out of his lap and onto the thud with a floor.
The thud was promptly followed by some banging from below accompanied by a "BOYS!"
John shot up from his chair at the sound of the thud and momentarily couldn't decide what to do first: check on his possibly concussed patient or strangle his flatmate. The potential patient settled the matter, however, by beginning to giggle crazily, causing the doctor to look back and forth between the two siblings. "Yeah… No, I'm just not going there," he decided. "You two just kill each other if you want, but don't come crying to me for medical treatment. You can bleed all over the floor for all I care if you're going to push each other around like a band of hooligans." John ended his diatribe with a huff as he sat back down and opened the newspaper once more.
The Holmes siblings, one on the couch the other on the floor, looked at one another and burst out laughing once more. Despite his announcement at being done with their antics, even John couldn't keep from joining the laughter. Putting down his newspaper, the three of them enjoyed a few moments of deep belly laughs before catching their breath and calming down.
"You might want to help your sister up from the floor," John finally said. "Be careful with her, or you really will hurt her one of these days."
"Hurt Rosie? Never!" Sherlock protested vehemently. He stood up, his legs on either side of Rose's torso and easily lifted her onto her feet as if she weighed no more than a feather. "I didn't actually hurt you at all, did I?" he whispered in her ear.
"No, of course not," Rose assured him, hugging Sherlock tightly. "Though I for one consider myself sufficiently punished for my alcohol related activities, since I was ruthlessly thrown to the floor by my big brother who has a sworn duty to protect me from all harm. Apparently that vow clearly does not include himself as a potential bringer of harm."
She smiled and took a deep breath. "Well, I feel like I've learned something very, very valuable from this Sherlock and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your care and concern. And now I'll leave you gentlemen to your… whatever you have going on today and will dash back to my flat to get dressed." Rose quickly turned away from her brother and began sprinting across the flat, so very, very close to freedom.
Sadly for Rose, the only satisfaction she would gain from her clever little speech was the fact that she threw Sherlock off for a moment before he could respond. "Rosenwyn Aramantha, come here,"he ordered in a very stern tone.
The youngest Holmes stopped mid-step, one foot in the air, freedom in the form of escape to her own flat so close and yet so far.
Sherlock watched her, dark eyebrows slanted as he frowned while she continued to stand there in a perfect imitation of a statue. "Yes, I'm very impressed with your ability to stand on one leg for an extended period of time Rosenwyn," he finally spoke, his tone full of exasperation. "That is a skill that will undoubtedly take you far in life-"
He paused to glare at John who was presently chuckling as he entered the kitchen and began attempting to clean up the woefully messy room. Giving John a look, he turned back to Rose. "Yet, oddly enough that's not what I asked you to do, is it?"
Rose sighed and put her foot down, barely feeling a twinge in her other leg. Slowly she turned around and walked back towards Sherlock. "I was holding out hope for a stay of execution," she explained. "Can't blame a girl for trying, right?"
"I just want to add, for the record, that was an excellent try at talking yourself out of trouble," John commented, outright laughing now.
"Yes, thank you so much for your invaluable assistance John," Sherlock commented in a dull tone. He didn't spare the other man a glance this time, keeping his eyes on Rose, who was now standing in front of him. "We're not going to argue about this every step of the way, are we?"
Immediately Rose thought about their fight the day before and her gaze shifted downward. "No, sir, we won't."
Sherlock made a face indicative of having tasted something particularly sour when he heard Rose's choice of words. "Please don't do that. Yes, sir or no, sir me. I'm not Mycroft; I don't want, nor need, that. A simple yes or no in whatever language we both know will suffice," he replied in an even tone, keeping his gaze steadily on his sister.
Rose looked up at him and hesitated briefly before responding in Italian. "Mi sento stranamente in dovere di dire che mi dispiace." ["I feel oddly compelled to say I'm sorry."]
Her older brother chuckled. "Semel tantum est quod ad te oratio fuisset populous sic formaliter Mycroft comprehenduntur maxime ingratos." ["Let's just say that the few times I've been required to address people so formally, Mycroft included, were particularly unpleasant."] Sherlock waited for her to respond and was more than a little surprised that Rose appeared to be slightly baffled.
"I know that one!" John called from the kitchen, sounding particularly proud of himself. "It's Latin."
"Very good John," Sherlock chuckled. "You're doing better than Rose is at the moment. Are you confused, sister dear? Must be a bit rusty. And after I took all that time to teach you Latin! Tsk." He shook his head feigning disappointment.
Rose snorted in contempt, adding a dramatic eyeroll to her retort. "Deset dana nije značajna duljina vremena. To nije poput plesači imaju hitnu potrebu da se s njihovom latinskom. ["Ten days is not a considerable length of time. It's not like dancers have a pressing need to keep up with their Latin."] And you weren't referencing all the trouble you got into for buying me my own pirate ship, were you?"
John shook his head, feeling lost once again, having no clue what language that could even be.
"Croatian, impressive," Sherlock admitted with a grin. Unlike when Mycroft tried to prove he was smarter than the rest of the world, Sherlock included, he was proud to see Rose show off her intellectual prowess. This was due in large part because he'd been so involved in teaching her things as a little girl. "Nein, nicht das Piratenschiff Vorfall." ["No, not the pirate ship incident."]
"Alright, now you two are just showing off," John grumbled. "Do you even remember what you were talking about anymore?"
The Holmes siblings suddenly looked rather resigned, as if recognizing that they had gone off track and both rather regretted having to get back on it.
"Sadly yes," Rose admitted with a heavy sigh. "I suppose now is as good a time as any, right?"
"Right," Sherlock agreed. "My room then."
"Let's go next door. Bit more privacy and then John won't have to feel awkward," Rose suggested. "Please?"
Seeing no reason to refuse, Sherlock agreed and sent her back to her flat. He looked around briefly in the sitting room for an implement and, upon spotting John's slippers under the couch yet again, Sherlock grabbed one left the flat.
"Come back and have breakfast when you're finished! Both of you!" John called after them.
"Ooooh, that's gonna suck," Rose announced upon seeing the slipper.
"It will, but you'll live to misbehave another day," Sherlock promised, giving her a sympathetic look.
Rose somehow managed to give him a small smile. "Someday I will stop making idiotic decisions, right? Lie if you have to, just to make me feel better."
"Probably not," Sherlock admitted. He sat on her couch and began rolling up his sleeves. "That's the human condition Rose. You're bound to make mistakes. There's no age where you automatically stop making them. Just try not to repeat any and that will cut down on the number you make overall."
"Gee, you're so helpful," Rose grumbled, shooting him a dark scowl.
Sherlock sat down on the couch and began rolling up his sleeves, inwardly chuckling as Rose began shuffling her feet a bit and looking anywhere but at him, as per usual. "Alright, Rosie, come here," he beckoned, waving her over.
With the air of one about to be beheaded, Rose closed the distance between them and pushed her pajama bottoms down to her knees before leaning over Sherlock's lap. He made quick work of pulling down her pants and Rose cringed, closing her eyes as she waited for him to start spanking. She didn't have to wait long as the slipper began smacking across her bum, leaving a sting in its wake. Unlike other implements that worked up to an uncomfortable sting, the slipper immediately stung. Rose was rather dismayed to find that, despite being older than when she'd last been smacked with a slipper, it was no less uncomfortable and still generally awful.
"Ow," Rose whined with the first smack, feeling the sting blossom across her left cheek. As the next several swats fell and color started to rise on her bum, Rose's efforts to not be vocal fell by the wayside. She hissed, winced, and made whiny noises through the first half dozen smacks as Sherlock kept up a steady pace of crisp smacks, seemingly covering every inch of her bum in a band of stingy heat.
"Whether or not you like to admit it," Sherlock began lecturing. "You have a habit of making choices that result in circumstances where your safety is at risk. This is a dangerous habit Rose that you must curb and do that now. You have to think first before acting. If not for your own sake, then for mine!" Satisfied with the color of her cheeks, the slipper moved down to her sit spots, working on painting them as pink as her bum.
"Ow! Sherlock, seriously, owwwww! Stop now, I get it," Rose protested, beginning to squirm over his lap.
"No, you don't "get it"," he contradicted. The slipper was rather an efficient implement, the cumulative effect of the swats making Rose wriggle like an eel. Sherlock tightened his hold on her waist, unwilling to risk Rose wriggling her way off his lap. "Don't be concerned, however; I'll continue to help you until you do "get it.""
"That's not comforting!" Rose wailed, tears heavy in her voice as her right hand flew back to try and protect her hot, throbbing bum.
Sherlock paused to catch her hand and rubbed the palm of it gently with his thumb. "There are limits Rose and when you choose to consistently push them or willfully ignore them that is something I'm not going to tolerate. I truly don't have a problem with you drinking, provided you can be mature enough to recognize there are limitations and it comes nowhere near a substance abuse issue."
Feeling as though he'd given her enough of a break to catch her breath and shore up some bravery, Sherlock decided it was time to continue. "We have a ways to go yet," he admitted, raising the slipper once more. "Because I really don't want to teach you this lesson more than once, so I'm going to make it a very memorable one." Skillfully he used the slipper to drive home the important points in his lecture with sharp, heavy-handed smacks. "However, I will if I have to."
Rose almost immediately resumed squirming over his lap, twisting her hips in an effort to move her bum out of the line of fire, kicking with abandon. "Sherlock! Please, please stop! Owww!" After the slipper fell particularly hard across her sit spots, she began to cry and threw her left hand back as well, desperate to thwart his efforts to soundly spank her.
Sherlock caught it and didn't bother to pause this time, merely pinning it to the small of her back as he had the other. "You will have some respect for yourself and know what you can and cannot do, and that's not limited to alcohol alone." He stopped briefly to pull Rose closer to him and then restrained her legs a bit by hooking his right leg over them, more than a little concerned she might just squirm right off, thanks to her kicking and wriggling. "If you can't manage todo that, then this is what will happen every time until you can. If you can't remember your limits, then I'll remind you of them and make sure you don't like it in hopes that next time you'll give a bit of thought to your choices. Does that make sense to you?"
Her sobbing seared his heart and he winced in sympathy at how very red her bottom and sit spots were. The slipper was effective achieving in about two and a half dozen moderate smacks what would have taken him much longer using only his hand. Though it was completely deserved, that didn't make it any easier for Sherlock to be the one making her cry. "Alright, we're going to have a break and then finish up, alright? Though not with the slipper." Sherlock released her hands and carefully righted her clothing before helping her up from his lap.
"Sorry, sorry, 'm sorry," Rose repeated through her sobs. When he stood and wrapped his arms around her, she leaned against his chest while both her hands went back to rub her hot, stinging bottom.
"I know you are darling," he whispered in her ear. "I know. You were such a brave girl, I'm so proud of you. That was a nasty one," Sherlock commiserated. He rocked her gently as they stood there, until finally her hands left her bottom and Rose clung to him.
"Wanna be done, Sherlock, wanna be done!" Rose's sobs were so deep and heartfelt they practically racked her insides. "'m so sorrrrrrrry."
Sherlock held her tighter and closer, kissing the top of her head as he tried to decide what to do. He had planned to put her over his knee again and give her upper thighs some attention from his hand. Looking at her now, however, clearly miserable, shoulders shaking, pleading for leniency and Sherlock just couldn't bring himself to do it.
"If I stop now and this ever happens again, I will use that slipper on your behind every night for a week and no amount of tears or pleading or anything else will dissuade me from following through on that threat if I have to. That's how serious I am Rosenwyn. Do you understand me, young lady?" Sherlock tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. When Rose nodded enthusiastically and continued to cry, Sherlock hugged her tightly once more, swaying slightly in a soothing rocking motion as they stood there. "That's my good girl," he murmured in her ear. "My good girl."
While Sherlock did his best to soothe his well spanked sister, John was busy writing up his and Sherlock's latest case. Something was distinctly missing, however, to complete his comfort while sitting at the desk. It wasn't the chair, which was recently refurbished after one of Sherlock's more destructive experiments. He had a fresh cup of tea so it wasn't that. Arm wasn't hurting; his belly was full, what was missing? Oh yes! His slippers; that's what was missing.
Rising from the chair, John crossed the room and looked under the couch. "That's odd," he said aloud. "I've only got one. Where'd the other one go?" He'd worn them both at the same time, taken them off at the same time, as every normal slipper wearing person does. The other one must have gotten kicked somewhere else in the flat. Or, Sherlock had stolen it for some sort of evil purposes, possibly even just to be an annoying dick. That would be very like Sherlock, to take something and get a rise out of him; anything to combat boredom! It was a wonder John had any belongings left at all, let alone that their flat managed to have proper furniture on a regular basis. "On a slipper hunt I go then," John commented, more than a little irritation in his tone.
"Ready for breakfast?" Sherlock asked as he finished wiping her face with a cool flannel.
"I want coffee," she replied in a dull tone.
Sherlock make a tutting noise at her. "John will make you eat food."
"Coffee."
"No, he'll insist on the food part of it."
"Well as long as there's coffee," Rose grumbled, rolling her eyes dramatically.
"You'd be a very easy target for torture, sister dear. Just take away your coffee. In approximately eight hours you'd tell them everything they wanted to know." Sherlock smirked at the look of annoyance that flitted across her face before Rose practically stalked out of her bathroom. He followed right behind her as headed next door in search of coffee.
Upon entering 221B the Holmes siblings looked puzzled for a moment as they surveyed John hunting rather intently for something. "Sherlock what did you do with my slipper? I've been looking…" The doctor's voice trailed off as he turned to look at his flatmate and spotted the object in question in the detective's hands. "Oh there it is! Oh… oh," he murmured, realizing that his slipper had been absconded with for disciplinary purposes.
Sherlock handed the slipper to its owner and then threw Rose a look brimming with mischief. "Rose, tell John thank you for loaning us his slipper." He wasn't at all serious but knew the reaction would be spectacular; he wasn't disappointed.
The youngest Holmes turned to face her brother, her blue eyes practically impaling him. Other human beings could give looks that, if it were possible, put people six feet under. A Holmes, naturally, had to be above such things and this Holmes in particular had a look that told people she wished there was a spike nearby on which to impale said person or persons. "Bite me," Rose ground out.
"Now, now, now," Sherlock began. "That's hardly the way to talk to someone when you've already got a sore behind, is it?" He approached her with a look of determination on his face, as though he intended to add a smack to the said behind.
Uncertain whether or not Sherlock was just teasing her or had actual intent to swat her, Rose squeaked and jumped behind John. "No, no, no, I'm too sore," she protested, her voice thick with tears that threatened to start falling.
"Sherlock! Be nice," John scolded, giving his flatmate a scathingly reproachful look. "I'm sure she's plenty sore and sorry, there's no need to give her more or even tease her about more." Turning his attention to Rose, he wrapped an arm around her waist and nudged her in the direction of the kitchen. "C'mere love, I'll make you some coffee and eggs."
"Bacon too please," Rose responded. "And I'll stand to eat, thank you. Also, I hate your slipper, so I might burn it later, fyi."
"That bad love?" John asked, handing her a cup of coffee fixed just how she liked it. He shot his best friend a glare, his instinct to protect kicking into high gear.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and flopped rather dramatically into his chair.
"In all fairness to my brother, though why I'm defending him I haven't the faintest idea, you scolded me earlier John. And threatened to spank me as well, so really, you're the last person to get all glary about it."
"But I didn't, did I?" John asked, turning away from the stovetop to look at her.
"Well, no, but still," Rose admitted, a blush appearing on her face.
"In that case, I am well within my rights to glare at your brother. Particularly since I am the nice one in this flat, out of the two of us," the doctor explained.
Sherlock, who had been ignoring them completely after John's first scathing look, was suddenly focused on them once more, his head having shot in that direction with rather a look of alarm on it. The nice one? The nice one? That sounded far too much like his own 'I am the nice/good/fun brother' argument he always lauded over Mycroft. "No, you're not," he finally ground out in a dangerously steely tone. "Now you're simply annoying me John and you do enough of that on a regular basis. And do stop looking so pleased with yourself."
John shot him a bemused look, having far too much fun having a go at his flatmate.
"Well," Rose began. "You technically really aren't the fun one in this house anymore. John spanks me less, so clearly, he's more fun. Really though, I think we all need to work towards less spanking. We can even make a game out of it!"
Her older brother snorted. "Nice try, Rosenwyn, but no. Your little attempts to make me feel badly for you aren't working because even if you think John is nicer or more fun, I'll still always be nicer than Mycroft."
Rose looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, that's sort of debatable, brother dear. He's spanked me far fewer times than you since I decided to return so your position as the fun or nice brother is actually in jeopardy at this point. In fact, you are now the mean brother."
For several long seconds, Sherlock looked absolutely devastated at her pronouncement before he could school is features into his trademark look of indifference. "If I am, it's entirely your fault, my dearest and darling sister," he decided. "I will never admit to such a reversal in our family dynamics, particularly in light of the fact that I am not the brother who reclaimed you from the lap of your latest amour at a dance club."
Her face instantly went scarlet in color. "Please do stop throwing that in my face," she demanded. "No one even uses the word amour like that anymore Sherlock. Try to keep up with the 21st century, if you please. Besides, I don't even know that guy's name, so he was hardly an "amour." I don't even remember his name."
"I'm pretty sure it was Billy-Bob. You seemed to really like saying his name after Mycroft brought you home," John supplied, setting a plate of food in front of her. "Eat. Sherlock, you come eat too."
"Oh my god," Rose said, a hint of anxiety creeping into her tone. "Is that guy still alive? I wasn't responsible for someone's death… Right?" She looked to Sherlock for confirmation, her face full of horror at the possibility of what Mycroft could have done to the poor guy she'd been snogging. "My wouldn't actually kill someone, would he Sherlock? Not really. He probably doesn't have the authority to really make people disappear without threats to national security or something, right? Sherlock, tell me I'm right, please!"
The fact that Sherlock hesitated before answering his sister made John's jaw drop. He looked back and forth between the siblings, searching for a hint that Rose was only teasingly asking such a thing, but no such hint was there to be found.
"I don't know, sister dear," Sherlock admitted. "You might want to contact Mycroft and make certain he hasn't done away with whatever boy you were randomly exchanging bodily fluids with."
"Oh. My. God," Rose replied. "Do you even understand how disgusting that sounds Sherlock? Seriously?" She emphasized the disgust of it by making a gagging noise.
"Excellent!" Sherlock decided, grinning far too brightly for anyone's liking. "Then you'll want to do it les if you think about it in such terms. My job is complete now."
"You know," John interrupted. "I keep thinking the longer we're all living together like this that I'll come to understand you both more. But I need to stop thinking that because that's obviously not true. If anything, I just get more and more confused."
Rose giggled, her whole face lighting up as she did so. "Poor John. Don't worry though, if you stick around long enough we can assimilate you! Make you an honorary Holmes. It'd be awesome, yeah?"
At just that moment, across London, Mycroft Holmes walked with determination though the halls of Parliament and suddenly shivered.