Things were supposed to be back to normal. Things were not supposed to be complicated, or painful, or difficult to navigate. In short, Rose and John were supposed to be the way they'd always been, minus the new found desire to snog one another senseless; a desire that should have gone away by now. But of course it hadn't because life was complicated. That, and in reality, it had only been four days since John had very emphatically invoked the 'bro code.'
"Are you going to sit and eat, or stare at your coffee all morning?" John asked casually. When Rose looked up at him, he gave her a smile. "Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm fine," Rose replied hurriedly. "I'll eat, just because you'll have a hissy over it if I don't, but I'm not sitting." For as much as her bum still ached this morning it almost would have been nice to have bruises to show for it. Almost; or even just some tread marks or something, a battle scar. Her bum had fought the good fight and lost, here is the proof! It really just wasn't fair that the muscles ached from John's stupid slipper, yet her bum looked perfectly fine, as if she hadn't been in trouble at all the day before.
John dropped a kiss on top of her head as he moved past her to sit at the table with his own breakfast. "I'll put some arnica cream on for you before you go, so you're not miserable all day."
"I said I'm fine John and I meant it," she replied, sounding a bit exasperated.
"Yep, you're quite fine. So fine you won't sit in a chair and funnily enough that's precisely what you do at NSY, sit in a chair all day long. Best let me doctor you up love," John said, a hint of firmness creeping into his tone.
Lovely, John was in an 'I-won't-take-no-for-an-answer' mood. "It's really not your job to worry about the state of my backside unless you're the one that injured it."
The doctor was immediately alarmed. "Injured? You're injured and you didn't tell me?!" He supposed one could bruise from a spanking with a slipper, if it was used hard enough and long enough; maybe even blister a bit as well. John really couldn't imagine Sherlock spanking her that hard though! And it really hadn't looked anywhere near that badly the day before!
Rose rolled her eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. "Of course not! I'm sore, but I'm certainly not injured. I was merely trying to make a point."
"Which was?"
"My bum is my business, not yours."
John's eyebrows went up. "I'm a doctor Rose; your doctor. Technically speaking, your whole body is my business when it hurts or requires treatment." He paused, frowning as that statement brought some very unwanted mental images to mind.
"If you said that to anyone but me you'd probably get smacked across the face," Rose stated, unable to keep from giggling. "'Your whole body is my business.' Good thing Sherlock isn't here or that might not have gone well for you."
John chuckled, very thankful his flatmate had sprinted off an hour earlier to collect some tongues and a scalp from Molly. Who would have thought he'd ever in his life be thankful that someone he knew was gone picking up human tongues? Getting up from the table, John headed upstairs and returned a moment later with the jar of arnica cream.
"Didn't we just have this conversation?" Rose asked incredulously. "While I very much appreciate your attempts to keep me in reasonably good health, I said I was fine and I meant it." When John merely frowned at her, she sighed once more and held her hand out for the jar. "Fine, I'll put some on."
The doctor went still for several seconds as his mind processed her words. "You don't want me to put it on?" John finally asked, sounding rather confused.
Admittedly, he hadn't ever thought about the reason why he always doctored her bum after a spanking, outside of the fact that he was a doctor, nor had he attempted to decipher Rose's reasons for allowing him to do so. Perhaps it was very soothing to have someone fuss over her for a few minutes, or an inability to apply it effectively on her own- that could potentially involve some awkward angles, after all, or merely because it had become routine after that first time he'd spanked her. John knew perhaps better than anyone how comforting routines could be, particularly when one was already feeling a bit out of sorts. Whatever the reason was, the last thing John had expected was for their well established routine to be interrupted.
"Can I ask why? You let me yesterday," John pointed out quietly. He tried hard to keep the disappointment out of his voice as he spoke. Yet he couldn't quite put his finger on why he felt disappointed at Rose's sudden reluctance to let him doctor her.
Rose frowned a bit and looked down at her plate, studiously avoiding looking anywhere near John. "Maybe I shouldn't have, considering where we stand with things."
"Where we…" John paused, trying to grasp her meaning. "The arnica cream… Look, I haven't done that because I've been attracted to you. I did it the first time, and every time after that, because I cared. It doesn't sit right with me to see people hurting and not do something even when I can only offer a little something like cream. I didn't like seeing you hurting, Rose, even when you've more than earned a spanking, because I care about you. This has never been about… about…" His mind suddenly blanked as he searched for the proper way to phrase what he was trying to say. God how he hated it when his grasp of the English language lapsed at the worst possible times.
"About getting a peek at my bum because you think it's cute or something?" Rose asked. She tried to pass it off as an attempt at humor but it fell a little flat, as did the accompanying smile that was tinged with sadness.
John blushed bright red, his whole face and neck feeling hot. "No, it's never been about that at all and still isn't. Look, I thought we were going to be normal. Be the way we were before I kissed you and mucked all this up." He wasn't entirely sure when he'd fallen in love with Rose but John wished more than anything in that moment that he could go back in time and decide not to kiss her that night because nothing had been right in his world since then and he could only imagine that Rose felt the same.
Rose's face took on a pained expression as she struggled to keep from losing her temper, her jaw visibly clenching briefly before she responded. "If we're not "normal," and I admit I'm floundering a bit to readjust to this new version of what is normal with you, don't you dare look at me as if it's my fault. As if I'm suddenly being strange or something. I'm trying very, very hard to think everything through so I don't pass on a false message or do something with some sort of underlying meaning so that you don't get all disgruntled with me because I'm trying to make you break your stupid bro code or something."
She paused to take a deep breath, the tremulous hold on her temper slowly slipping away. "I'm trying to be respectful of what you want. Do you have any idea how freaking complicated this is? If we're weird, it's your fault, John Watson, not mine."
"Do you think I've not been trying to be normal? Do you have any idea what it's like to live in fear of the British Government coming to…to… castrate me or something for touching his sister? That's really intense Rose, and honestly I'm trying to treat you the same way as I always have because you're important to me. Couple or no couple, you are important to me," John told her earnestly, wishing he could erase the lines of worry creasing her forehead.
"You're important to me too," Rose whispered. "You always have been and you always will be. But it's only been a few days and it's going to take me some time to stop feeling awkward about this; stop worrying that I'm implying something I don't mean to every time I do something. Be patient with me John. Please."
Without waiting for his response, Rose grabbed her things and made a quick exit from the flat. It would get better, she knew it would, and they'd be just the same as they'd always been. Those kisses would fade into distant, dream-like memories and the sooner that happened, the better.
Of all the Holmes siblings, Rose was the one most likely to be wearing a smile and when she didn't it was immediately noticeable by those who knew her well. One such person was Greg Lestrade, who could tell by the look on her face as she exited the lift that Rose was not having a good day, despite having likely only been up a few hours. In fact, she appeared to be fighting with someone on her mobile, which was also very unlike her.
"No, no, Louise. Just no," Rose said firmly. "You're not setting me up with anyone; I don't have time for this nonsense."
"Well, you've still got two options then," the voice on the other end of the line told her. "Since your rebound didn't work there's still…"
"You can't possibly be serious," Rose hissed into her mobile as face colored fiercely. "No, you really can't be, because I'm about the last person in this world to have any idea how to seduce anyone. And no, no, that was not an invitation for you to give me a tutorial."
Greg watched from his office as Rose's face grew dark and could practically hear her tone becoming terse, in spite of the fact that his office door was closed.
"Louise, sometimes you really, really frighten me. I'm not having revenge sex or seducing anyone, for heaven's sakes. Please, just let it go. It is what it is and I don't have the energy to attempt to make it different," Rose replied as she dumped her purse at her desk.
"Alright, alright, just think it over," Louise said. "I'm just trying to help. And by the way, your brother is on my black list. He called Mum."
Rose had been about to ask her best friend which brother she meant, but only one of her brothers would dare to call someone's mother on them. "Well, I'm sorry. I'll handle it. Yeah, don't even talk to me about how she lectured you for hours and hours, I would have happily traded for that, trust me," she said, entering Greg's office. "I gotta go."
Wordlessly Rose handed Greg his coffee and shoved a bag in his general direction before flopping into one of the office chairs. Immediately she winced and had to fight the urge to jump back out of the chair and try seating herself more gently. Rose finally settled for shifting her position a bit before typing a text on her mobile.
'Tattling on Louise? That was a dick move My, even for you.' Before stopping to consider her word choice, she hit send and put her mobile down on Greg's desk.
"Bribe?" Greg asked, holding up the pastry bag. "Bad day, kid?" Greg hoped Rose wouldn't explode at him for daring to ask what was wrong. His ex-wife had been the sort of woman who didn't want anyone to even acknowledge her presence let alone address her when she was in a mood and Greg hoped that Rose was different and would not bite his head off for showing some friendly concern. He watched her slump down in her chair and nod.
"Yes, that is a bribe and since you know me so well, I know that I don't have to tell you why I am bribing you and what I want with said bribe. If I had a hat, I'd pull it over my eyes and wish that someone would put me out of my misery," she admitted.
So, not like his ex then. "Want to talk about it?" Greg offered. Just as he asked, her mobile began ringing and Rose suddenly went deathly pale.
"Oh god," Rose groaned. "Think first, Rose, think first," she muttered, staring at the mobile with a grimace.
Greg felt confused, but that was rather the norm when one spent time with a Holmes. "Are you going to get that?" He looked at the ID display and saw Mycroft's name on it.
Rose shook her head emphatically and waited for her mobile to stop ringing, letting out a sigh when it did. Unfortunately, it began ringing again thirty seconds later.
"Want me to get it?" Greg offered, not missing the pained look on his young assistant's face.
"Not unless you want to deal with an angry Mycroft. God, I'm such a moron sometimes," Rose admitted, just the hint of a whine in her tone. "Can I duck out?" she asked, reaching for her mobile. When Greg waved her out of his office, she stepped out and shut his door behind her before answering the still ringing mobile.
"Since when do you speak to me in such a disrespectful manner?" Mycroft asked, skipping any pleasantries. "And before you get smart and say that you were texting and not speaking, I consider that to be two sides of the same coin. Cursing at me in any format, verbal or written, is unacceptable."
Rose's face flushed. "I'm having a bad day and my brain temporarily went offline. I'm sorry I said that, it was inappropriate. Though I am rather put out with you on Louise's behalf," she added. It wouldn't do if Mycroft thought she wasn't actually disgruntled with him.
"Be that as it may, being upset with me does not give you license to curse at me," Mycroft stated in a tone that was heavy with disappointment. "You've never been allowed to speak that way to me, nor will you ever be. It indicates a very serious lack of respect for the person you are speaking with when you use such vulgar terms. I would like to think you'd have at least a grudging respect for me."
The fact that he wasn't angry with her surprised Rose and actually made her feel worse. "I'm sorry, truly. I wasn't thinking and I didn't mean to make you feel as if I don't respect you. It's just… been a day. Forgive me?"
"You've only been up two and a half hours, that's hardly a day," Mycroft commented. "But yes, of course I forgive you. Just note going forward that the next time you curse at me, verbally or in written form, I'll wash your mouth out with soap."
Rose cringed as a particularly distasteful memory suddenly surfaced in her mind. "Got it; won't happen again. By the way, I don't know how you know I've only been up two and a half hours but please stop being all creepy."
"How about I'll stop being 'creepy' as you call it, as soon as you start behaving? I believe that's an excellent deal for us both," Mycroft replied, his tone filled with amusement.
"Ha, ha, Mycroft, ha, ha. I need to go. I think Greg would like me to actually start working sometime today." The two siblings said their goodbyes and Rose finally turned her attention back to her boss, entering Greg's office once more, sitting down more gently this time than she had moments ago.
Greg opened the pastry bag and removed a large, fresh blueberry scone with a grin. "These are my favorite! How'd you know?" he asked.
"You ate every blueberry muffin I made over Christmas and it's really not that much of a stretch from muffins to scones," Rose pointed out, smiling for the first time since she entered the department.
The DI broke the scone in half and pushed one of the halves in her direction. "Want to talk about it?" he asked before biting into his scone.
Rose let out a big breath and slumped down in her seat once more. "Where do I start? My life has turned into a soap opera, my best friend is trying to get me to seduce someone, men are stupid and so are their codes of honor nonsense, my brother just threatened to wash my mouth out if I ever use the word 'dick' in reference to him ever again and there is absolutely no sane person in my life to ask advice from and why, why on God's green earth is my New Year starting out so awful?"
She slumped down in her chair again and sighed. "Pretend there's a hat on my head and that's what I'm pulling over my eyes," Rose murmured, gesturing as though she was doing just that. "Or, alternatively, a blanket and I'll wake up in an alternate universe. Somebody told me your twenties were your glory days and they were such a liar. If I remembered who that person was, I would go hit them."
Greg stared at Rose for a moment, his mouth gaping as he processed all the information that came tumbling out of her mouth. "Okay then. I never thought I'd say this, but I'm really glad I'm not twenty anymore," he admitted, grinning when he got a little smile out of his dejected assistant.
"Gee, that just solves all my questions right there. Tell me again why I haven't come to you for advice before?" Rose teased.
"I think your life feels like crap telly because you're a Holmes, but unlike your brothers you're the normal one. When things throw you off course, it seems quite major because you like the formality of things, the familiar. Fix whatever is out of sorts and you'll move on from the crap telly stuff," Greg advised. "What was next? Oh, right, your best friend. Yeah, don't do that. Don't ever do that. And if you do… seduce someone, please don't ever tell me about it. I'd like a promise on that."
"Alright, I promise," Rose told him with a laugh. "And just so you know, I told her absolutely not. Now let's not talk about that again, agreed?"
"Definitely," Greg agreed. "On to men. Men are stupid a lot of the time, I can't explain why that is, we just are. Usually not intentionally either. If you're looking for one that isn't stupid, good luck with that, we all have our moments. Codes of honor, however, are actually rather important. Don't date someone without one."
"Seriously? Why?" Rose braced herself for some kind of ridiculous justification of the bro code or some other version of stupid male codes.
"Because what a man holds as important enough to have a code for it tells you whether or not that man is a good man. It sounds old-fashioned, but it's really true. The world is full of codes and it isn't just men that have them. But if you're with a man who doesn't have a code that defines him, what he believes in and stands up for and views as morally right, find someone else. Better yet, find someone who will defend your honor in addition to all the rest," Greg told her sincerely. He waited for an explosion of feminist indignation from Rose, but it never came.
"That actually makes a lot of sense," she finally replied. "That's also a much better answer than I'd get from either of my brothers. I hadn't thought about it like that before." Suddenly she had felt as if she could understand John's position a little better. Not the age thing, that one Rose would never agree with, but loyalty and friendship and other characteristics of John's that created his own John-specific code.
"For what it's worth, I consider myself to be reasonably sane and also rather reasonable. If you need an ear or some advice…" Greg's voice trailed off and he shrugged his shoulders.
"Just not seduction, sex or womanly problems, right?" Rose asked with a grin.
"Exactly!"
"So you don't want to hear about my miserable cramps? And if I run out of, shall we say, "feminine items," you're not the person to call and beg to go buy me more?" She burst out laughing at the look of horror that crossed Greg's face. "I'm teasing! I'm teasing Greg, seriously. I would never ever do that to you."
Greg scowled darkly at her. "Sometimes I wonder why I even like any of you Holmes lot."
"That's a special Holmes power. People are drawn to us and have no idea why, and yet they can't quit us when we annoy them," Rose quipped. She gave him a cheeky grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "If it makes you feel better, you're my favorite boss and I have no idea why."
Greg snorted and gave her an incredulous look. "I buy you coffee every afternoon, that's why. On with the filing now, if you don't mind. You'll be on your feet all day; that won't be a problem will it?"
"And that's why you got a scone," Rose told him. "Also why you're my favorite boss." Happy to be up off her sore bum, she got right to work, feeling a bit better about life.
John Watson was just as confused about life as Rose, though with a different set of problems. He'd made it clear, he was too old for Rose and he wouldn't violate Sherlock's trust by dating his little sister. Yet ever since he'd said that he'd been bloody miserable. The fallout over breakfast three days prior hadn't helped him figure out anything else either, other than the fact that Rose was just as conflicted as he was. This was madness and they just couldn't keep going on like this. The solution was staring him right in the face.
The solution was also boring as hell. Boring, boring, she was so boring! Perhaps what was more alarming than the fact that this beautiful woman sitting across the table from him was so very boring was the fact that he heard Sherlock's voice reverberating in his head each time he mentally said the word. Beth shouldn't be boring. Beth Kelly was beautiful and getting tipsy, which was fine with John who was happily buzzed himself. However, what should have evolved into a 'your-place-or-mine' scenario was slowly turning into a disaster.
Rather than take his mind away from Rose, the woman Mike Stamford had set him up with made him think about little else. Beth's hair was straight, not a curl in sight, let alone cute little errant ringlets determined to escape. In fact, not even one of Beth's strands of hair was out of place.
Beth also didn't have freckles. Not even one little freckle. John wasn't sure he even knew how much he liked freckles until three seconds ago when he realized Beth didn't have any. Didn't Mike know how important freckles were? Well, in Beth's defense, maybe she had some under all the make-up she had on. Rose hardly ever wore make-up, now that John thought about it. Maybe that's why he always noticed her freckles and was now wishing for his date to have freckles as well? Well, she'd worn make-up here and there, but it was always feather light, which was perfect because Rose didn't need it. Rose didn't need anything at all, she was perfect just the way she was.
Rose was also just the right size. Beth, had she been wearing heels, would've been taller than he was. Even when Rose wore heels, they were perfectly matched. Because Rose was perfect just the way she was.
Rose… was perfect. In every way. Wait; was that really his thought, or something from a movie? John frowned a bit as he tried to place it. Ah, now he remembered! 'Mary Poppins: Practically perfect in every way.' Though Rose was basically perfect in every way that mattered; admittedly, however, one could always hope she'd get herself into a few less scrapes and take better care of herself but in all the ways that really mattered, she was perfect.
And he, John Watson, was getting desperate to get the perfection that was one Rosenwyn Holmes out of his mind before the British Government that was her big brother came to kill him.
The first full week of January slipped away. Sherlock and John were busy with on two new cases, one for Lestrade and one private case, both of which kept them out in the greater part of London more often than not, though they generally managed to wander home about the time Rose returned from dance practice. While Sherlock was excited for the cases to get rid of his boredom, John was happy for two reasons. One, Sherlock-on-a-case was not destructive, which was always a plus; two, the cases kept him from thinking about women. Any women at all, including Rose, as he fell into bed exhausted at the end of every day between half-shifts at surgery and the rigors of crime solving.
Knowing there was little to nothing for her to do to change John's mind about them, Rose threw herself into both jobs and particularly her dance practices with Alfred. She had better things to do than be some sort of lovelorn romantic novel heroine who, despite all the odds, would somehow end up with the man she wanted and live happily ever after. Life didn't come with happily ever after. Happy moments, yes. Ever afters? Definitely not. But that was just fine as far as the youngest Holmes was concerned. Her life did not revolve around men, be it John or her brothers, and dance was her passion.
With the newest competition right around the corner she and Alfred still had plenty of work to do and Rose could be an exacting taskmaster. Sherlock had been in a second time to coach Alfred through the lifts and those were vastly improved, which made their practices much easier. Four of the five competition dances contained multiple lifts in the choreography and Rose didn't want second place again.
"You're a hard taskmaster Rose," Alfred complained one night. "We've been here…" He paused to consult his watch. "Seven hours without a substantial break. I think it's time to call it a night, yeah?"
Rose shook her head. "I want a clean run through with the jive without either of us missing choreography, falling or dropping." Alfred wasn't the only one to blame for their issues with some of the lifts in the jive. Even Rose struggled with it, tripping herself almost as much as Alfred dropped her but considering how they'd started, Rose knew the pair had come really far and, if they could just perfect it, had a serious chance of taking top prize.
Their last run of the night turned out to be perfect with no one getting hurt or messing up anything. More than happy to call it a night, Rose parted ways with Alfred and headed for the girls locker room, intending to take a shower. It was a good thing very few people were there this late at night Rose thought as she stripped down, otherwise they'd think she was being beaten within an inch of her life. Bruises of varying shades and stages of healing dotted her hips that always took the hardest hits, while her bum and back sported a few as well. Dancing was not a profession for the weak or those with a low pain threshold. Blood, sweat, bruises and tears were often the invisible uniform of every dancer and Rose was no different, despite how talented she was.
After emerging from a refreshing shower and dressing in her street clothes once more, Rose headed out to the car Mycroft had sent to collect her. Baker Street was a short ride away and her body was screaming for a good night's sleep. Usually she would pop into Sherlock and John's flat and visit for a half hour or so, catching up on the latest case and talking about her day over a cup of tea before she'd head off to bed. Tonight, however, Rose was too exhausted to have a chat or tea and she had every intention of telling Sherlock she was home and going straight to bed.
Opening the unlocked door of 221B, Rose stepped into the flat and kicked off her favorite pair of sneakers and hung up her coat on the hook that had effectively become hers and dropped her purse beside the sneakers. The flat was oddly quiet and as Rose turned to look at the sitting room in full, the reason for that became very clear.
There on the couch were John and Sarah, from surgery, their limbs intertwined, essentially attempting to inhale one another's faces. A half-empty bottle of wine and boxes of takeaway sat on the floor beside the couch and Sherlock was nowhere in sight. Rose stood there, mouth hanging open, completely frozen in place, wondering what kind of fresh hell this was that she'd stepped into.
NOTES: Don't give up hope on John and Rose; when a Holmes is involved, nothing is ever simple and these two are standing on the precipice of dangerous waters. But don't give up on them (or the story!)