The ride back to the Holmes residence was relatively short and predominantly silent, lasting just long enough for Mycroft to reign in his temper. Once he had that under control- and he was determined to keep it that way- Mycroft found himself almost uncertain how to best proceed with Rose. The more he thought about what he'd seen, the less any of it made sense. Rose didn't fight randomly; every fight she was ever involved in had a motive of some sort behind it. Perhaps ridiculous motives, but motives nonetheless. And what exactly had she been doing over there? Why Carlsson of all people? He looked at Rose out of the corner of his eye, trying to discern the answers to those questions but came up empty. He did not, however, miss the bruises forming on her right hand, or the tears that she stubbornly refused to let fall. Something wasn't quite right here and he was determined to find out what that something was.
"Go into my study," Mycroft said once they entered the house. "I'll be there momentarily." The look on Rose's face told him she expected the worst, but surprisingly enough she gave him a curt nod and did as she was told.
Inside the study, Rose curled up on the couch as best she could in her dress and kicked off her heels. Mycroft was much calmer now, and that was a huge relief for her. It meant they might be able to discuss this mess like adults rather than Mycroft deciding to spank first and ask questions later. She could only imagine the spanking she'd receive if he didn't believe her, and grimaced at the mere thought of it. It wouldn't be a spanking; it would be the cane if that was the route things took.
A bit lost in her contemplation, Rose didn't immediately notice Mycroft enter the room with a tray until her brother put it down on the end table.
"Coffee, just for you," Mycroft murmured, handing her one of the two cups on the tray.
Rose gaped at him in complete and utter confusion, holding onto the cup with her left hand. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" she blurted out.
"I am your brother, same as always. I have the feeling I'll accomplish very little indeed if I start shouting at you," he admitted.
"I'm not drunk!" Rose exclaimed rather defensively.
Mycroft frowned at her. "I know, I was watching. You only had one glass of champagne, which only adds to my overall confusion about what happened. But, first things first; hand."
Still looking a bit confused, Rose nevertheless held out her right hand. She watched as Mycroft began examining it and then picked up some other items from the tray.
"This might hurt a bit, but it'll help," Mycroft warned as he wrapped an ice pack once in the towel. He then placed it on her hand and tied the edges of the towel together to keep the ice pack in place without having to be held.
Rose couldn't help wincing, her hand protesting the weight of the ice pack with sharp, shooting pains. "That is really, really painful," she admitted. "I don't generally brawl, so my hand is rather upset with me presently for using it to bust someone's face."
"So you have brawled on occasion, then?" Mycroft asked with a significant lifting of his brows.
She retaliated with a raised eyebrow of her own. "If and when the situation calls for it, yes, I have and will. Tonight definitely called for it," Rose admitted before drinking her coffee.
"So what did happen tonight? One minute I was looking for you on the dance floor and couldn't find you anywhere and the next there was a disturbance. I thought to myself 'Dear god, please don't let it be my Rose' and then there you were," Mycroft said with a sigh. "A curtain billowed away and Carlsson stumbled away from you with a significant amount of blood spatter and you were shaking your hand, grimacing."
"That explains a lot," Rose murmured. "That's why you were so angry with me. I was really confused and then you wouldn't let me explain."
"Well, now is your chance to fill me in," Mycroft encouraged, trying to keep an open mind.
Rose explained the whole incident from the beginning, starting with the issues at the table that culminated in her being waylaid on her way to the loo. "I'm not sure how much English he spoke or understood and I didn't know any Swedish. I was stuck there and it was so gross and unwelcome." She shuddered a bit as she recalled the invasion of her space and unwanted advances. "I didn't have a choice My, nobody was around that I could see and the reception was noisy. I hit him and then you know the rest."
By the time she finished, Mycroft's expression had gone from a frown to a positively frightening look of thunderous anger like nothing Rose had ever seen before. Good lord he was going to murder her. "My, I'm really sorry! I didn't have a choice, I swear. The last thing I wanted to do was embarrass you tonight, promise. Please don't spank me!"
"I'm not angry with you," Mycroft hurried to assure her. "Definitely not with you, though we do need to discuss a few things," he admitted. "But I'm not angry with you."
It dawned on Rose what that look meant and her mouth formed a little 'o.' "You're plotting murder right now, aren't you? Right this second, with coffee in your hand, you're plotting someone's horribly excruciating death."
"I need to make some calls," Mycroft commented, refusing to confirm or deny her thoughts as he moved to sit behind his desk. "There's more coffee in the kitchen should you want some." He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket for his mobile.
Rose was about to ask if that was a sort of dismissal from his office so he could carry out his nefarious deeds in private but was interrupted when Mycroft's mobile began ringing.
Mycroft paused when it began ringing, amid a very specific text to Anthea, and recognized the number immediately. "Damn." The glared at the mobile as if trying to will the caller to cease and desist.
"Who is it? What is it?" Rose asked curiously, getting up to look over his shoulder.
"Sit. Now." Mycroft directed without even looking at her, one long finger pointing at the sofa.
With a sigh Rose did as she was told. "I think that person wants to talk to you very, very much. Like when you called me the other day, you wanted to talk to me very, very much," she commented.
Mycroft smirked when the device stopped ringing and proceeded on with his text message, only to be interrupted once more by the same caller. With a low growl he deleted the text and answered the phone. "Your Majesty," he greeted with as much of a friendly tone as he could muster at that moment.
"Mycroft! Good heavens, you left so quickly! I do hope you haven't lost your temper with your poor sister," the Queen commented.
"No, I have not. I even made her coffee," Mycroft replied as his face flushed.
"I'm very glad I got hold of you Mycroft. I wanted to assure you that the matter has been brought to my attention-"
"Give me five minutes and I'll have the universe set to rights once again," Mycroft interrupted.
"Mycroft, take a deep breath and don't do anything silly," the elderly woman admonished. "And do allow me to finish."
Rose watched with interest as her brother went from looking ready to kill someone with his bare hands, to annoyance, to embarrassment, and was now almost looking… scolded? How she wished she could hear what the queen had to say!
"As I was saying, the dreadful matter has been brought to my attention and is being dealt with presently," her Majesty continued. "I do not take such disgraceful acts lightly and have made myself quite plain to that horrible man's superiors and everything is being handled."
Mycroft's jaw dropped. She was handling it? He wanted to handle it! He wanted to cause that man untold suffering before sending him in a suitcase back to Sweden! "Your Majesty, I really think-"
The queen merely continued on as if he'd never said a word. "Now Mycroft, if I hear of anything untoward happening to Mr. Carlsson that is not of my making, I shall be most displeased."
"Who says I would do it?" Mycroft questioned. "There could be accidental happenings that would not occur by my hand." After all, that was what he had minions for!
"Ah, of course. Let me amend my statement," the Queen decided. "If anything happens to Mr. Carlsson that is not of my making, and is caused by anyone even remotely connected to you and I find out about it, I will be very, very displeased."
Mycroft's jaw tightened in complete and utter displeasure at having his plans thwarted. There were undoubtedly racks still to be found somewhere in Europe and he had planned to find one and see if it still broke people as easily today as it had in the Middle Ages. Surely the Swedish diplomat could use a good stretching! Or he could always arrange for said diplomat to be dropped unceremoniously in the middle of Siberia…naked. The unfairness of it all! He also had at least 29 different ways of slowly killing the man who dared to touch his sister and he wasn't going to get to try any of them!
"Fine."
Rose gaped at her brother. That was quite the petulant 'Fine.' But Mycroft? Sulking? That surely could not be real! And not just any sulk, but a Sherlock-worthy sulk at that! "Why does this have to happen when I'm not holding a camera?" she muttered. Sherlock would never believe it when she told him, or if he did, he'd be very upset that he missed out on seeing sulky Mycroft.
"Excellent!" the queen replied, sounding more than a little delighted. "I would like to speak with your sister, if she's up to it."
"Certainly." Mycroft crossed the room and handed Rose the phone.
"Your Majesty?" Rose began. "I'm so sorry for disturbing your lovely evening, I-"
"Oh my dear girl, don't even think of apologizing!" The Queen insisted. "It is I who am calling to apologize to you. What a horribly dreadful thing to have happened, are you quite alright?"
Rose smiled, even though the elderly woman couldn't see it. "My hand has had better days, but I am otherwise unharmed."
"That's very good news. William saw part of the struggle and was coming to intervene but you handled yourself quite well I hear! He told me you have quite a marvelous right hook; well done you! I'm not one for young girls wilting like flowers in the face of a crisis. But I am very sorry that you were forced to defend yourself in such a way under my roof. Things are being handled with that odious man and my security team is undergoing some changes; they've become a bit lax," the woman said with a sigh.
"Well thank you very much your Majesty," Rose said with a bit of chuckle. She quickly sobered however, before continuing. "And thank you for taking this so seriously, that means a great deal to me."
"I hope you won't be frightened to come to Buckingham in the future. You should accompany Mycroft to tea sometime and then we could have a good chat! Of course it goes without saying that you will always be welcome as Mycroft's guest at any function he attends. I think that horrid man would have thought twice if he realized you were Mycroft Holmes's sister," the Queen told her. "But I should get back to my guests. Oh, before I forget, William sends his best."
"Please give him my best in return and thank you, again, for being so kind." Rose appreciated the Queen's support more than she could really say.
"Of course my dear. Have a good evening. Goodbye!"
"Well, what all did she have to say?" Mycroft asked, holding out his hand for the mobile.
"That things have been taken care of and she hopes I'm not discouraged from coming back. Also, the Duke of Cambridge told her that I have a 'marvelous' right hook and she told me well done for defending myself. Isn't that wonderful?" Rose gave her big brother a bright smile, feeling her spirits lifting once more.
"If the blood spatter was any indication, then you do indeed have a 'marvelous' right hook," Mycroft admitted. "Did you expect her to scold you for ruining her reception?"A deep blush told him she had thought precisely that and undoubtedly his own immediate reaction had only underscored those concerns. With a sigh he sat on the sofa again and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I apologize for assuming the worst and not giving you a chance to explain before losing my temper," Mycroft said sincerely.
Rose rewarded his efforts with a bright smile. "Thank you. It's alright," she decided, shrugging a bit. "Given my history I don't completely blame you. I've done some very stupid and silly things."
"No, I should have exhibited more faith in you," Mycroft decided. "I do, however, have one very serious complaint about your behavior this evening."
Drinking the last of the coffee in her cup, Rose frowned in thought as she tried to figure out what he might have to complain about.
"You did not ask for help, nor did you look for it. That is what I take issue with. Even the Hungarian diplomat was ready to offer assistance and you turned him down. You could have asked a server to bring me a message, written or verbal or come to me once the dancing had resumed. You did none of those things," Mycroft explained in a lightly scolding tone.
"My, I'm twenty," Rose pointed out, averting her gaze. He had a point, but she was loathe to admit that.
"Which is completely irrelevant in this case," Mycroft responded. "There is no particular age at which you no longer ever require help or should stop seeking it when necessary. This was a situation in which you should have told someone, anyone, what was going on. There's no shame in asking for help and it would not have made me think that you were any less grown up or independent Rose. I'm your big brother; please don't usurp my duties by not asking for my help when it's needed."
Seeing her rather crestfallen look, Mycroft immediately put an arm around her and drew her close, taking her coffee cup out of her hand. "You're not backpacking Europe anymore. You're home, with your family, and as long as Sherlock and I are on this earth, we will do anything and everything to help you with any problem you may have. It's alright to lean on us poppet, especially when you're twenty. No one deciphers the mysteries of adulthood upon reaching it. There's still a learning curve and I'm here to help in any way I can, not the least of which is protecting you from lecherous, drunken Swedes."
"I'm sorry," Rose murmured, snuggling against his side. "Are you still angry with me?" The question she didn't ask was whether or not he was going to spank her for not asking for help.
"There's no need to apologize, just do better in the future. Remember that we're all here for you the next time you find yourself in need of assistance. None of us will judge you for asking for it, ever. Though I don't suppose there's a chance you would allow me to lock you away in an ivory tower, is there?"
Rose giggled. "No, not a chance Mycroft."
"Always worth a shot. As to your original question, no, I am no longer angry with you about any of it," Mycroft assured her. "You had every right to defend yourself and now you are on notice that I'll expect you to seek help when you need it, for any reason, in the future. If you do not, well…" His voice trailed off but he knew Rose would know precisely what he was implying.
Rose nodded her head in agreement. "I understand and I think that's fair. Thank you for understanding me tonight. You know, you're the only person who makes sense in my life right now," she commented thoughtfully.
Mycroft couldn't help thinking that was a very telling statement indeed. "Thank you," he murmured. "Is there something you'd like to talk about?"
"No, not really. I'm just glad I have you is all." Rose gave a contented sigh, more than happy to have a good long cuddle from her eldest brother.
"It's rather enjoyable, being the nice brother," Mycroft decided, resting his head on top of hers. "I love you poppet," he whispered in her ear. "Never forget that."
"I won't," Rose vowed. "And I love you too." For the first time in what felt like ages, her world felt sane and secure.
"Coffee?" Rose whined as she stumbled into the kitchen Monday morning.
"You're like a broken record Rosenwyn," Mycroft grumbled. "Every five minutes 'Coffee? Please, coffee?'" He imitated her voice, earning a sleepy glare for his efforts. "I blame Sherlock. He started it. It's a miracle all the blood in your body has not yet been replaced by coffee flowing through your veins in its stead."
"Cake isn't breakfast food," Rose shot back after she was given a cup of her precious, precious coffee.
Mycroft frowned at her. "Its coffee cake and you're the little one. You don't get to scold me," he reminded her.
"Coffee cake. Cake being in the title. Therefore it is cake, by its very own definition," Rose told him. "Gimme some."
The eldest Holmes rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh yes, I can see I was oh so successful at my attempts to teach you manners as a child. You're downright appalling in the morning." Despite his grumbling Mycroft put a slice of the coffee cake on a plate and set it in front of her.
"Says the man who wants to deny me the petrol on which my body runs." Rose gave him a brilliant smile and batted her eyelashes, attempting to look innocent.
"Just eat your breakfast before I decide I want to eat it myself," Mycroft threatened.
"Mine," Rose growled, almost hugging her plate. "It has coffee in its name, therefore it is mine. Brother I will tackle you and steal yours if you dare to touch mine."
Mycroft immediately moved away from her, intent on eating his own coffee cake. "An envelope came for you this morning by courier. It's on the table by the front door."
Rose immediately got up to retrieve it, taking her coffee cake with her just in case! She returned a moment later with a very official looking envelope. Leaning against the kitchen island, she opened it and found a brief missive inside.
Dear Ms. Rosenwyn Holmes,
Your presence is requested at the Swedish Embassy this afternoon at 4pm in order for us to formally apologize for the actions of Diplomatic Counsellor Carlsson this past Saturday.
It was signed by the Ambassador, with the address of the embassy provided below the signature. "Wow," Rose murmured, passing it over to Mycroft. "Should I go?"
"Of course you should go! Don't make my job any harder by offending the Swedish ambassador who I almost like on occasion," Mycroft said, giving her a stern look. "You shall go and I shall accompany you. If Detective-Inspector Lestrade has complaint with your early exit from work, he can direct it to me. He will then be informed it is a matter of the highest importance in which the good relations of two countries hangs in the balance, which most certainly overrules his need to have reports typed and filed."
Rose responded by saluting him, which earned her a pinched arm in return. "Beastly child," Mycroft chided. "The car is waiting for you, whenever you're ready to depart."
"I can take the tube, the station is quite close," Rose countered.
Mycroft's eyebrow quirked. "You will take the car and you will like it."
"I will take the car and I will like it," Rose mimicked in a high-pitched tone. "Fine, I'll go in your car if it will make you happy, you awful bossy person you."
"It will make me blissfully happy indeed," Mycroft assured her. "I'm always happiest when I know you're safe. Also when you're very far away from me and I can't hear your near-constant whining about coffee."
"I don't whine."
"Oh, you do," Mycroft assured her, looking particularly smug.
Rose stuck her tongue out at him. "Not."
"Too."
"NOT!—OW!" Rose yelped. She gave him a scowl while rubbing her bum with the hand not holding her coffee cup. "That is cheating Mycroft Holmes. You're a dirty cheater. See if there's any coffee cake left for you in the morning, you git." Yet for all her complaining, she let him kiss her head as he left for the office.
Just before noon a familiar coat swirled dramatically as its wearer entered the homicide division. Rose chuckled softly under her breath as she saw his theatrical entrance; in the right light, Sherlock and that coat could make him look like a bat or a vampire, swooping onto the scene.
Ignoring everyone around him, Sherlock made a bee-line for Rose's desk. When Lestrade made a move to come greet him, Sherlock lifted an eyebrow at the man, giving him a bland look before turning his attention back to Rose. "Come home."
Rose sighed heavily and looked up at her older brother. "This is my place of work Sherlock, I'm not entirely certain this is appropriate."
"Lestrade does not appear to object presently," Sherlock pointed out. "Come back to Baker Street. You've spent enough time pestering Mycroft."
"And why would I do that? What is so important that I should come back to Baker Street?" Rose asked with a serious tone.
"We're going to starve to death if you don't."
Rose snorted and shook her head. "Really? Is that the best you can do? You hardly even eat when I do cook for you and John. Besides, this is London, you can find takeaway all over the place. Your sustenance is hardly a reason for me to come home."
Sherlock took it as a good sign that she still referred to Baker Street as 'home.' "I'm bored."
"When are you not bored? My being around won't make cases materialize for you, nor will I be a subject of experimentation of any sort. I bang myself up enough as it is dancing, I don't need further assistance in being injured," Rose pointed out. "Nor will I allow you to experiment on my things, or put icky things in the refrigerator. Speaking of which, there better not be anything in there at all ever and if there is at this precise moment, it better be gone and that thing scrubbed with bleach before I get back. Next irrelevant reason."
The middle Holmes sighed heavily. "If you do not return home by midnight tonight, I will find you, spank you, and drag you home by your hair." Sherlock issued his threat with an air that gave away the fact that he was uncomfortable and trying to find a way to tease her about it without noticeably joking.
Rose burst out laughing, knowing the real sentiment behind such a silly threat. "You're such a liar! You would never do that. Sherlock, I know you too well. Now, there are certain things I want to hear before I'm going to come home. Has John deputized you to come and make nice in his stead?"
Sherlock shook his head, causing his raven colored curls, so like her own, to sway slightly with the movement. "No, he has not. John doesn't know I'm here." He cast a furtive look around them to ensure that they were not being scrutinized by any of the officers. When he was certain they weren't being watched, he leaned closer to Rose and said softly, "Come home… I miss you."
Knowing what it took for him to make such a public declaration of sentiment, even if the words were said so quietly that no one else could hear, Rose's heart melted a bit. She stood up from her desk and hugged him tightly. "I miss you too," she whispered. "Though god only knows why."
"Because I'm the fun brother?" Sherlock asked hopefully, giving her a bit of a smile.
Rose grinned widely in return. "Something like that anyway." Her smile then faded a bit, which only served to disconcert her brother. "I can't come home yet Sherlock."
"Why not?" he asked, holding her at arm's length.
"Because John owes me an apology. A big one at that and he knows why and he knows what he needs to apologize for. Until I get that apology I am not coming home," Rose said in a firm, even tone, leaving no doubt whatsoever that she was entirely serious. "You may pass that message on to him. Additionally, tell him that cupcakes would be a good starting point."
"You're really that upset?" Sherlock asked. "I mean-" Again he paused to look around briefly before continuing. "I know you're inexperienced and that what you walked in on must have upset you but… Did it truly upset you that much? Or is there more than I am aware of?"
Rose blushed bright red as he whispered about lack of sexual experiences, her mind racing as she tried to come up with the appropriate response to soothe his big-brother-senses that were clearly tingling. "It's complicated Sherlock. Please just pass my message on to John. I would like to come home, don't get me wrong on that score, but John needs to do his part. You can't apologize for him," Rose said gently, rather surprised to feel tears gathering in her eyes. Quickly she averted her gaze, hoping Sherlock wouldn't see how much emotion played into her refusal.
Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he began scrutinizing his sister. All the signs were there that something was wrong: avoiding long periods of eye contact; rigid stance; contemplation before speaking; lack of details; subtle shifting of her weight from one foot to the other. Oh yes, those signs and many more screamed at him that there was far more going on than he was aware of and whatever it was, John Watson stood at the heart of it.
Rose bit her lip as he easily deduced her emotional status using cues that she was unable to hide. Hide from others, definitely. Hide from Sherlock? Unfortunately not. "There's not a bigger picture here," she tried to protest. "Really, there isn't. Been a rough couple days is all. John very much upset me, but he can put it to rights, he just needs to apologize and I'll come home. That's all there is to it."
"I don't believe you," Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. "But I can also tell that you won't give me anything more than I've already gleaned from you. I won't press the matter, but I do expect you to tell me if there is anything at all that I can do for you. Is there something I can do?"
"There is not at this point in time. I promise to let you know if there's something you can do though. Is that enough?" Rose was thrilled that her brother was giving her so much space, rather than demanding answers that would only lead to the complicated story that was her and John as of late.
Sherlock sighed heavily. "I suppose that will do for now. I will notify John of your demands." With one last glance to make certain no one was paying close attention to them, he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. He then made a departure as equally dramatic as his entrance.
At precisely 3:30 that afternoon, Mycroft Holmes swept into the homicide division of NSY, cutting quite the figure of authority in his three piece pinstripe suit with a smart red tie and paisley pocket square. He walked with the air of a man on a mission whose demands, no matter how small or improbable, would be fulfilled. The contrast of this well dressed man who looked as though he could make your very nightmares become reality with the youngest Holmes's bright smiles, playful nature, and less than intimidating stature was one that always made DI Lestrade inwardly chuckle. It rather reminded him of Superman, in this case Mycroft, with Rose as the kryptonite. No one could rile up or unravel the British Government like Rose could.
Mycroft stopped beside the desk of his young sister, who looked him up and down before smiling. "Ah, into battle we go then," Rose commented.
The eldest Holmes merely rolled his eyes at her commentary, though it was, in a sense, accurate. "Detective-Inspector," he greeted Greg. "I trust Rose has explained the need for an early exit this afternoon."
"Mycroft," Greg replied. "She has. Makes me wonder whether or not you're trying to turn her into a politician and steal away my very best worker."
Rose snickered at the horrified look on Mycroft's face. "My sister would undoubtedly cause me endless problems if she took up politics. I can easily envision her being far more trouble than North Korea and Russia combined."
Lestrade laughed and shook his head. "She'd be far too much like you, you mean. Smile charmingly and lull people into a false sense of security, all the while making elaborate plans to bring them to their knees." He winked at Rose and then picked up the folder they'd been examining. "Have fun kid, see you tomorrow."
"Anthea purchased a dress and shoes for you," Mycroft said. "But I think you might be just fine with what you have on. Stand up and let me look." Embassies had dress codes, generally rather bland that always included a knee length requirement for dresses or skirts. Rose had her own eclectic style, largely retro infused with patterns and bold colors liberally strewn throughout.
"I checked on the dress code before I dressed this morning and think I'll be alright," Rose commented as she stood up. She'd chosen a simple shamrock green dress with a rounded neckline and a belt that was tied in a double knot on the left, rather than the center. It was paired with white 1920s inspired Mary Jane pumps with a low heel, giving her an overall professional yet comfortable look.
"That will do just fine," Mycroft decided after giving her a quick look. "Excellent choice and precisely within the dress code." He appreciated her effort, particularly since she had only arrived at his home with less than a week's worth of clothing. "Get your coat and we'll be off."
A short time later, Mycroft and Rose were ushered into the Swedish ambassador's office. "Mycroft," Axel Gustavsson greeted with a smile and a handshake.
"Axel," Mycroft replied, inclining his head and shaking the man's hand. "Allow me to introduce my sister, Rosenwyn Holmes."
"A pleasure, Miss Holmes," Gustavsson murmured, shaking her hand. "Can I interest you both in some tea?"
"Coffee?" Rose asked, taking a seat in front of the ambassador's desk.
Mycroft barely resisted the urge to snort at Rose's all too predictable request. "Nothing for me, thank you."
"Certainly! One moment." The ambassador disappeared and returned a few moments later with coffee for both himself and Rose. "It is quite unfortunate that we are forced to meet one another under such unpleasant circumstances."
Rose accepted the cup of coffee and sipped it delicately. "Unpleasant is rather an understatement," she challenged in a soft, yet edgy tone.
Gustavsson coughed a bit. "It is. My apologies for the poor word choice. The sentiment remains the same, however. I am very pleased that you could come this afternoon, Miss Holmes. And of course it's always pleasant to see your brother."
Mycroft gave a polite but not particularly pleasant smile.
"As you can well imagine, I asked you here today, Miss Holmes, to offer you a formal apology for Counsellor Carlsson's bad behavior this past Saturday. We take such issues very seriously and of course have no wish to cause an incident between our two countries. Myself and my government offer you very sincere apologies for your discomfort," Gustavsson continued.
Rose settled back in her chair a bit, one eyebrow quirking in a rather ominous manner. "I'm not particularly inclined, at this time, to accept your apologies, Mr. Gustavsson. Your word choices give me reason to believe that you do not take the matter as seriously as you should. "Bad behavior" and "discomfort" are words that would be better applied to something much less serious than an attempted sexual assault," she pointed out.
Mycroft watched his sister out of the corner of his eye, feeling tense but not letting it show. She was skating on a thin edge between being justifiably displeased and outright insult.
Gustavsson paused momentarily to choose his words a little more wisely. "I am not trying to make light of your ordeal, Miss Holmes; far from it in fact. It is not my intention to insult you further and sincerely regret that you take issue with my choice of words. Mr. Carlsson's behavior was appalling in the extreme, particularly in light of your relationship to Mycroft and-"
"So it would be less appalling to you if I were related to no one in a government position that could cause you great discomfort? It is appalling merely because Carlsson should have thought twice before making advances against the sister of Mycroft Holmes?" Rose challenged. She kept her voice even, but it was clear she took great exception to the ambassador's attitude.
"His behavior should be completely appalling whether or not it was committed against my person. Assault is assault is assault, no matter who the victim may or may not be. All women deserve the respect of those around them and should not feel unsafe because they don't happen to be related to someone like my brother. Is your government merely sorry because they potentially angered Mycroft? That is the impression I am getting and it makes me very, very displeased. If that is not the case, I suggest you rethink the remainder of this conversation so that it illustrates that your government does not tolerate behavior of Mr. Carlsson's ilk."
Mycroft was growing tenser by the second, but was well skilled at hiding it. Rose was completely right, but if she pushed too hard she might do more harm than good. He watched with great interest as Gustavsson's face went through several color variations before settling on the vivid red of embarrassment and the man squirmed slightly in clear discomfort.
"I fear I have made quite a muddle of this and I apologize for giving you the wrong impression," Gustavsson finally responded. "We, both the embassy and my government, take all cases of assault equally seriously, particularly those against women and have no tolerance for the way Mr. Carlsson treated you. It was disrespectful in the extreme, it was criminal, and he will be severely disciplined by the government back home in addition to being stripped of his diplomatic status. Our response is the same we would have should any woman be assaulted in such a manner, regardless of the existence, or lack thereof, of their relations.
"It was never my intention to insinuate that we took this incident more seriously because of Mycroft or to play down the seriousness of it with my poor word choices," Gustavsson continued. "I hope, Miss Holmes that you will accept the Swedish government's apology and our assurance that the matter has been appropriately responded to. Please also accept my sincere personal apologies for the outrageously inappropriate behavior of one of my subordinates."
"Gladly," Rose replied, clearly very pleased by the ambassador's latest apology attempt. "I don't hold this against your embassy or the government by any means, but sincerely appreciate your swift response to the matter and the due seriousness with which you have treated it." She stood up and placed the empty coffee cup on his desk and held out her hand. "I'm certain you're a very busy man, Mr. Ambassador, and would hate to keep you from your work. Thank you again for your time and apology."
Gustavsson shook her hand and Mycroft's before bidding them a good day and seeing them to the door of his office. The Holmes siblings collected their coats and exited the embassy.
"My dear, I'm very glad you're a dancer," Mycroft told his sister as they made their way to his car.
"Oh yeah? Why?" Rose asked, sounding surprised.
"It took you all of three minutes to make that poor man completely uncomfortable without once stepping across the lines of courtesy," he explained, looking down at her with a smile. "You'd make a dangerous and formidable politician, my dear and I for one do not want you on the opposing side."
The Holmes siblings parted ways after the visit to the embassy, with Mycroft returning to the office and Rose heading off to the studio to teach and then practice. As per usual, Rose returned to Mycroft's completely drained of energy. Finding the house empty, meaning Mycroft might be involved in a bit of crisis management that could take all night, Rose skipped dinner entirely, showered and went straight to bed, falling asleep almost instantly.
Mycroft did manage to return home around 3am, more than ready to have a brief night's sleep and then start the rat race all over again come morning. It was a miracle that the amount of stupidity in the world had not yet caused it to completely implode itself. Before retiring however, he opened the door of Rose's room to peek in on her, the same way he had when she was a tiny baby. She was in bed, asleep, just as he had expected, but, much to his great concern, she sounded as though she were crying in her sleep.
Entering the room, Mycroft hurried over to her and discovered that yes indeed, she was crying softly in her sleep, squeezing the hell out of a bear dressed in a nurse's uniform. Carefully he sat down on the bed and began rubbing her back, murmuring soothingly until her tears stopped and Rose appeared to be sleeping peacefully at last. He dropped a kiss on her forehead before exiting the room.
'Any further thoughts on what is bothering Rose? M'
'Nope. SH'
'She was crying in her sleep, holding a nurse bear. M'
'I'm growing concerned. M'
Sherlock scowled down at his phone. Nurse bear? That sounded familiar. Hadn't John purchased her one, which sat on her nightstand? Getting out of bed he retrieved the key to Rose's flat and let himself in, heading straight for the bedroom. Sure enough, the bear that usually sat on her nightstand, that she'd dubbed 'Johnbear' for reasons he didn't quite consider to be sound ones, was gone.
'I may be on to something. Will investigate and get back to you. SH'
'Thank you. M'
Locking the flat behind him, Sherlock went back to his own room and began searching his mind palace for what in the world would make his sister hold her stupid bear and cry in her sleep and what role John might play it.