Sherlock would never understand how normal people could sleep for so long each and every night. So many hours were wasted with little brain activity and no knowledge gained! And when he was waiting for someone who was normal to awake, it felt as though that person never would. In particular, he was waiting for John to wake up, and had been for the last hour. He'd gone to bed for two hours after his late night texting with Mycroft, but now he was wide awake and waiting for one John Watson to manage to rouse from a deep slumber.

Finally, at 7:30 he could hear John coming downstairs, his familiar footfalls a sound well ingrained in Sherlock's mind. "Would you care to tell me what precisely you did to my sister?" he asked the very second John entered the kitchen.

His mind still fuzzy from sleep, the doctor simply frowned at Sherlock as if waiting for the gears in his head to begin turning once more.

"She was crying in her sleep last night while holding the bear you gave her," Sherlock enlightened his sleepy friend. "Mycroft is concerned and so am I. What did you to do my sister, John?"

Now fully awake, John grasped for a response. "Well, we fought obviously when she walked on in Sarah and me," he began. "As for the crying… She has nightmares, Sherlock, about when she was attacked. Weren't you aware?"

Sherlock frowned and shook his head. "That's just like her though. Or just like her now at any rate. She's become very reluctant to share her problems with people." He sighed heavily before continuing on. "Whatever the problem is, you need to solve it. Whether the tears are because of you, as I suspect they are but cannot prove, or from nightmares, your actions caused her to leave Baker Street. You will get her back here John."

Would Rose come back? Recalling the wounded look in her eyes, John wasn't so sure.

"Cupcakes," Sherlock commented, interrupting his friend's thinking.

"Sorry?"

"Cupcakes John. She requested that I pass on the message that cupcakes should accompany your apology."

John smiled a bit. "Sounds just like her," he admitted. "I'll give it my best effort Sherlock."

"Today," Sherlock directed.

The doctor had no delusions that the simple word 'today' was anything less than a not-so-subtle order. "Which cupcakes are her very favorite?"

"Chocolate. If there's more than one kind with chocolate, buy one of each of the chocolate ones and don't expect her to share them," Sherlock warned. "You're reasonably intelligent John, more than the average person at any rate, so I'm sure you'll think of a suitable apology."

If only he was as confident about it as Sherlock seemed to be, John grumbled to himself.

The following morning, Greg hummed with delight as he sipped his macchiato and pointedly ignored the snickers of his young assistant. "Have a seat, will you Rose?" he asked. "I need to talk to you about something."

Rose sat down, her face clouded with concern. She'd never been good at wearing a blank mask the way her brothers were. "I'm not being sacked, am I? I thought I was doing a really good job," she said sadly. "Whatever I did, I can fix it and it won't ever happen again."

"What? No, no, of course you're not getting sacked! Best employee I've got," Greg told her sincerely. "The rest of 'em fight with me and each other like cats and dogs and whine about who gets what high profile case or why do we need bloody Sherlock Holmes… Annoying is what they are." He gestured out at the rest of the floor, rolling his eyes while he did so.

Now thoroughly confused, Rose's look of concern became a frown. "Then what do we need to talk about? Or I did I do something wrong but not wrong enough to get sacked?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Greg cautioned. "I wanted to give you a heads up, or a warning of sorts. Sally Donovan is going to be back in two weeks. She just finished her undercover assignment and is taking a well earned holiday before returning to her regular duties here." When Rose looked at him blankly he continued on. "The woman you ruined a crime scene with."

Rose's face immediately flushed red at the reminder of that particular event. "What precisely does that mean for me, Greg?"

"Just… try to be nice to her, alright? And I'll inform her of exactly what I'll be expecting in terms of her treatment of you. I really don't want any trouble between you two ladies-" Greg paused to give Rose a look when she snorted. "I want you to both to work hard at getting on together and not giving me a headache on a daily basis. Not that I anticipate you causing trouble, but I rather thought you'd like the heads up before she just wanders in here."

"I can't promise we'll be besties Greg, if that's what you're after," Rose cautioned. "But I can promise that I will do my best not to interact with her any more than is absolutely necessary and will keep said interactions civil."

"That's good enough for me," the detective-inspector agreed. "Just make certain you keep that promise."

"She won't be my boss though, will she?" Rose asked, more than ready to quit if that odious woman was going to become her supervisor. A girl had her limits of what she could tolerate!

"No, you're still my assistant and no one else's. However, just like with anyone else here, if she asks you for a certain file or document that you have access to, provide it for her and you'll type up any reports as usual. She'll have no more claim on your time and efforts than anyone else on this floor and I'm the one who makes the calls on what you do and don't do," Greg clarified.

Rose let out a sigh of relief. "Alright, this is do-able then. I can make it work. I do have one request though. Please make it very clear to her that she is not to make any derogatory comments about my brother where I can hear them."

"Done," Greg agreed. "Now then, on to what I need you to do today…"

While Rose busied herself with the typical duties of her day job, John sat in his office at surgery, working his way through a long shift. More than a little distracted, he fought to keep his attention on the tasks at hand. Locum work was by and large rather routine and boring; at least in comparison to what amounted to crime fighting with Sherlock. Still, John was certain he had never been more distracted, out of focus, and generally on edge as he was today. He only hoped his patients didn't notice it!

"John? John, is everything alright?" Sarah asked, jarring him out of his thoughts. "I knocked on the door and you didn't answer for the longest time. You ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," John hurried to assure her. "What's up?"

"Well I was wondering if you wanted to go out again; tonight. Maybe go back to my place instead of yours," Sarah offered. "Where we won't get interrupted."

John coughed a bit and shifted in his seat. A part of him wanted very much to say yes, while another part of him was completely uninterested. "Uh… You know, that's a really great offer," he finally responded, forcing himself to smile. "But I already have plans for tonight. Rain check?"

Sarah nodded and smiled. "Sure. You've got my number. Anyway, looks like your next one's ready." She indicated the light on the desk's communication device. "I'll let you get to it. Better answer before Jane comes to investigate."

Giving her a bit of a wave as she left, John pressed the button to connect him with the receptionist. Time to put his fractured thoughts aside and focus on the patient; who hopefully would not be another person with the common cold!

Several hours later, Rose and Alfred had just finished a run through of their flawless cha-cha routine to Michael Buble's 'Dance With Me' when the practice room's doors opened. "Hey Rose?" Louise called, sticking her head inside the room. "You've got a visitor. Can you take a break or should I eat your cupcakes for you?"

Rose immediately knew that her visitor was John, given her conversation with Sherlock the day before. More than a little exhausted physically, she wasn't entirely certain she was up to having a conversation with John but cupcakes were a good sign. "No, you can't eat my cupcakes," Rose replied. "Let's take fifteen Alfred and then go again. Can you, uh, make yourself scarce for a bit?"

"Sure. I'll get something to eat and hang out in the locker room," Alfred offered. "Shout for me when you're done."

All three exited the practice room, Louise taking over the front desk once more while Alfred headed for the locker rooms. For a moment Rose and John just looked at one another, before finally Rose spoke. "Um, let's go in the practice studio, alright? Bring the cupcakes." She gave him a small smile and held the door open.

Once inside the studio, face to face with Rose, John found himself tongue-tied. He held out the box of cupcakes as a peace offering while he attempted to put his thoughts back together.

Taking the box, Rose slowly sat down on the floor, her body stiff and aching, earning herself a questioning look from John. "Don't go all doctor mode on me, please? It's perfectly fine if I'm a bit stiff and sore. Either Alfred and I are going to be brilliant in a few weeks or I'm going to break in half from our occasional lack of coordination. But I'm fine."

John sat down as well and then reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "You'd tell me if you weren't, wouldn't you? No matter how mad at me you are?"

Rose couldn't imagine anything she'd like less just then than John's hands all over her, checking for, and soothing, every ache and pain he could find. "I would," she lied. "Hi. This feels awkward by the way."

He chuckled and let go of her hand. "Hi to you too. It does feel very awkward, and I hate that more than anything. We've missed you at Baker Street. I've missed you at Baker Street. I don't have anyone to make coffee for anymore and the entertainment factor that you and Sherlock provide is very much lacking." As apologies went, even he knew it wasn't the greatest start of one.

John took a deep breath and continued on, feeling Rose watching his every move with interest. Would he say it right? Would she accept his apology? "I didn't do that to hurt you Rose. I don't ever want to hurt you like that and I hope you know that. My head just got away with me, too wrapped up in the moment and I didn't think past… well… what was going on."

"That much was clear," Rose chuckled. She opened the box of cupcakes and helped herself to one. "My favorites; all my favorites actually. Good job." The nervousness was coming off John in waves and knowing how difficult it was for him, for them both really, she tried to be encouraging. "Want one?"

"I ate three of my own earlier," John admitted, getting a bit red in the face. "I'm… I'm not apologizing for being with Sarah-"

"I know," she interrupted. "And I wouldn't expect you too. We aren't together and so there's nothing for you to apologize for in regards to enjoying the sexual favors of other women. Sarah's nice anyway. You could do worse." Rose shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.

John cringed at the way she said 'sexual favors,' almost as if he had been unfaithful where no faithfulness had been required. "Am I making a muddle of this?" he asked, sounding a bit defeated.

"We make a muddle of everything lately, you and I," Rose admitted. "Feeling and acting more like silly teenagers than adults. Or at least that's the way I've felt. I can't deny that it hurt though, to see you with Sarah, and whether or not that's the teenager or adult side of me that felt hurt, that's the truth of it."

"I've felt that way quite a bit myself. It's a really awkward place to be, especially at my age. Honestly though Rose, I never meant for you to see that. I wasn't with her to hurt you or anything of the sort. That's not the kind of man I am," John told her earnestly. "I meant to move upstairs with her, before you came home. We got carried away and I lost track of time."

Rose looked thoughtful as she continued to nibble on her cupcake. "So it wasn't a concerted effort on your part to make a point? It wasn't a preplanned thing?"

John shook his head. "No. God no! I would never purposely hurt you like that Rose, ever. I care too much about you to do such a thing. I hope you know that, really and truly know that."

"I was very angry, and I really did believe that was what you had done," Rose admitted. "But what one thinks in the heat of anger generally isn't the most sensible thing. You're not a cruel man, John and I know that."

He squeezed her hand once more, giving her a smile as he did so. "I'm glad. But I really am sorry that you saw what you did and were so hurt by it. I should have been more respectful. Since the moment you arrived, our flat has been as much yours as ours. You're also a creature of habit, something I believe you share with Mycroft, and habit dictated you would come in for a bit of a chat as per usual."

She nodded, confirming his suspicions about her similarity to her eldest brother, and squeezed his hand in silent encouragement.

"I hope you accept my apology, and my promise to keep things that should be private, private. In reality that had no real place in a sitting room when one has a flatmate," John admitted.

"How can I not forgive a man who brought me cupcakes?" Rose murmured, smiling a bit. "I really care about you John and I don't want to be at odds with you. I'm glad you came and I do accept your apology and your promise."

John let out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. "Good. So you'll come home to Baker Street then? To Sherlock and me? Please say yes. It's not been the same without you there, for either of us."

Rose hesitated to agree to go home. It was home, her home, and though she and Mycroft had enjoyed their time together, the townhouse really wasn't home anymore. Baker Street was home; Sherlock and John were home. Yet as much as she tried to hate John over the last several days, Rose found herself completely unable to. Somehow she knew she wouldn't give up hope that John would change his mind about the two of them. But really, what mattered the most is what made her happiest and home, Baker Street, was the place where she was happiest.

"Yes, I'll come home. But not tonight," Rose cautioned. "Mycroft texted earlier and said he'll likely be gone until the wee hours of the morning. I don't want him to come home and discover I've gone off in the dead of night. If it's serious enough he's going to be that late, I'll not bother him with a text. Tomorrow, after practice, I'll come home."

John found himself feeling happier than he had in days. Lighter even, now that his apology had been accepted and Rose was coming home, even if she delayed her return until tomorrow. Giving her a genuine smile, he pulled Rose into his arms and kissed the top of her head.

"Just a bit glad, hmm?" Rose murmured, unable to stop herself from melting into his arms. She took a deep breath, breathing in his scent, and gave a happy sigh.

"More than a bit glad," John admitted, whispering the words into her ears. What that said about the status of his plan to not have a relationship with Rose wasn't particularly great, but in that moment he couldn't care less. It felt so good to have her in his arms, knowing she was coming home. He had missed this, and knew Rose had too. She made it abundantly obvious by the way she so easily melted into his arms, nestling close the way she always had.

"As lovely as these cuddles are, I need to get back to work," Rose admitted after a few moments. She was more than a little reluctant to say the words, but they did need to be said and the cuddles come to an end. "The competition is coming up quickly and I'm quite determined to win this time." Slowly and carefully she got up from his lap, unable to help cringing a bit as she did so.

"You're sure you're alright?" John asked, standing up. "Just regular dancing aches and pains, nothing more?" He couldn't keep her wrapped in cotton wool, he knew, but John very much disliked the thought of her actually hurting or injured above and beyond the general complaints that accompanied any strenuous physical activity.

Rose smiled indulgently at him. "Nothing more John. Go worry over someone at surgery or something and let me be. I've kept poor Alfred waiting long enough! I'll see you tomorrow at home."

"At home," John echoed. "Good night, love." He gave her a smile before exiting the studio, leaving Rose to her dance practice with Alfred.

"Where's my sister?" Sherlock asked, not looking up from his microscope.

John rolled his eyes and replied, "Well hello to you too. Rose is at the studio still, I'm sure. She'll be home tomorrow."

This time Sherlock did look up, specifically to frown darkly at John. "Why not tonight?"

"She said she didn't want to sneak off in the dead of night. Mycroft is working late I guess."

"Ah. Good choice then," Sherlock decided, turning his attention back to the microscope. "Have you worked out whatever is going on between the two of you then?" Moving away from the instrument, Sherlock looked up and moved away from the kitchen table long enough to grab a specific mold culture. He took no notice of the fact that John was seemingly frozen in place, his jaw hanging open, staring at him.

"There's… I don't… What exactly do you mean Sherlock?" John finally managed to respond after a moment of awkward staring and stumbling over his words.

"I mean precisely what I said John," Sherlock responded in an exasperated tone. "I cannot quite put my finger on it, but there's something going on between you both and I am curious to know if it's been sorted out. I'd really prefer not to have Rose wandering willy-nilly around London, going from Baker Street to Mycroft's on a regular basis. It would make Mycroft particularly insufferable." He could only imagine the gloating of how Rose wanted to spend just as much time with him as she did with Sherlock, like some sort of very odd custody agreement.

"There's nothing Sherlock; nothing at all. I really don't have any idea what you're trying to imply that there might be," John lied in what he hoped was a very convincing and authoritative tone. He leveled at gaze at his best friend that in the army would have caused young recruits to take a step backwards, mentally if not physically.

The detective looked up at the doctor, examining the other man with a penetrating look that made John feel as if his very soul were about to be bared to Sherlock's ruthless scrutiny. The two men stared at each other, one searching for information, one hiding that information, neither willing to give up. Finally, after a few tense minutes had passed, Sherlock returned to his microscope. Something was going on, he was certain of it, but Sherlock knew it would take more than an attempt to stare down John Watson to uncover it.

Lit candles sent a glow over the large, luxurious bathroom and the faint scent of roses wafted up from the bubble-topped water in the old claw foot tub. Some might call it silly that roses were among her favorite flowers (the other being tulips) and scents (the other, more preferred scent, being vanilla), considering that was her name, but Rose could care less. It was both a lovely and soothing scent for a long soak in the tub and her body was definitely in need of some hot water therapy.

Stripping down in the bathroom, Rose looked at herself in the large mirror over the sink. Even with the flickering glow of candles as the only light source in the room, she could still see it. Or rather 'them,' if she counted the scars from being attacked. Those marks weren't the ones that concerned her just then though. Instead, Rose was a bit worried about the massive bruising on the left side of her torso. Dark, ugly, large and tender to the touch, the bruises had been there for three days already and showed little sign of healing.

Bruises had come and gone along both sides of her torso, as well as her hips, as she and Alfred worked on their new routines. Sherlock's assistance had helped cut down the number of times she was dropped but Rose knew she'd made the choreography of three of their numbers particularly strenuous and intricate. The more skill required, the more likely she was to fall, either from her own fault or Alfred's and falling she had been. For a while the tumbles had abated, but a few bits in particular continued to trip them up. Knowing the routine was a winning one if they could pull it off, she refused to change it.

Her fingers ghosted across the skin, causing her to wince when they crossed particularly tender areas. Rose couldn't help wondering whether or not she was close to breaking ribs yet. Maybe some padding might help protect them a bit, she thought. Though that idea presented problems of its own. Her outfits were already custom made and did not have room for any additional padding. And really, wouldn't she be hurting above and beyond stiffness, aches and some mild pain if she was actually close to bruising or breaking her ribs? Surely she'd know, her body would tell her and she could address the problem then.

"No use borrowing trouble," Rose told herself. Turning away from the mirror, she climbed into the tub and sank into its heavenly soothing warmth, sighing with contentment.

"I'm heading back to Baker Street today," Rose announced at breakfast the next morning. Or at least while she attempted to get breakfast from her eldest brother who had a bad habit of hogging all the scones and coffee cakes that his cook made.

After she poked his arm repeatedly, Mycroft reluctantly passed a scone over to her. "Pest," he scolded. "So, you're going back to Baker Street. Does that mean you're ready to tell me why you invaded my home with no prior warning?" His tone was causal but his look was piercing.

"No," Rose responded defensively as she headed for the coffee maker. "There's nothing to tell. There was never any problem, I just needed a break."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed as he frowned at her back. "A break that I believe was precipitated by something that upset you and was not caused by an overload of our dear brother and his appalling habits."

"It's hard to rest and relax there sometimes. It's much quieter here and maybe I just wanted to spend some time with you." Rose gave him a smile as she crossed the room with her scone and coffee. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"As much as I would love that to be the truth, I know it's a lie," Mycroft countered as he sighed with exasperation. "Did we or did we not just discuss a few days ago that you are not required to handle problems on your own? That you should ask for help if you need it? You don't just decide to come home on a whim, Rose. I've been hoping you would confide in me, but since you're departing without any clear intention of doing so, you've left me no choice but to be very direct with you. Is there a problem at Baker Street that I should be aware of?"

A finely shaped eyebrow arched as Rose met her brother's gaze, before giving him an overly sweet smile. "We did indeed have that talk Mycroft, and I won't quickly forget your kind assurances that I have resources such as yourself at my full disposal should I have need of them. Aside from that, dear brother, I frankly have no idea what you're talking about. There is no problem and there has been no problem. If such a problem existed, would I really go back to Baker Street? You worry far too much, Mycroft. Your concern is very sweet."

Mycroft was well aware that her look of wide-eyed innocence was merely a smoke screen, one designed to reassure and flatter him while ultimately distracting him from the truth. "If I find out there's something going on that I should have been made aware of but wasn't, I promise you, young lady, there will be a very sore bottom waiting for you. Omitting the truth is still a lie and I detest lying. Is that understood?"

Rose looked down at the coffee in her cup, shuffling her feet ever so slightly, feelings of guilt and exasperation playing across her face. She was exasperated at her brother's insistence that something was wrong and refusal to believe nothing in particular had driven her from Baker Street, yet she felt just a bit guilty for knowingly keeping something from him. But really, there wasn't a 'thing' to keep from him at all. She and John had patched things up and there was nothing more to be said about any of it.

"I understand," she finally responded, looking up at him with grim resolve. "Please don't interrogate me My. Please try to trust me. I'll ask for your help if I need it, but I don't have any need of it presently. And for future reference, unless it is an emergency situation, pushing me is by and large counterproductive."

Her tone was quiet and respectful, but Mycroft could hear the edge underneath the softness. Suddenly feeling concerned that his pressing of the issue would make her reconsider coming home- or coming to him- in the future, Mycroft quickly crossed the room. Taking her coffee and scone and setting them aside, he wrapped his arms around her.

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you," he whispered. "No problem I wouldn't solve, no person I wouldn't eliminate, no situation I wouldn't resolve. It's my job to worry about you and just because you're twenty doesn't mean I stop worrying. In fact, it means I worry more because you're not here at home. You wouldn't come home the way you did for no reason and if the problem was Sherlock, you'd happily tattle on him," Mycroft pointed out. "Therefore, I am worried. I wish you would tell me, but I can see that you won't disclose what is bothering you. If it's the nightmares, I already know."

Rose stiffened in his arms, immediately feeling betrayed. The only person who knew she had them was John! She'd never told anyone else about them at all. "Who told you?" she demanded angrily.

"You did."

Her head shot up, eyes wide, confusion written loudly all over her face. "No I didn't!"

"You were crying in your sleep night before last," Mycroft explained in a soothing tone. "Do you understand now why I'm concerned? Why I think you might be keeping something from me?"

"I didn't realize I'd done that," Rose said honestly, a frown settling on her face. "I suppose it was to be expected after what happened at the reception. Sometimes I don't remember having them or don't wake up. Sometimes I do wake up from them. They'd been better lately, but I really didn't know I cried the other night." She didn't remember any dreams or nightmares at all the last two nights, but chances were she had one or had been dreaming about John and been upset by that but not woken by it.

"Ah," Mycroft murmured. "That makes sense. But you'll tell me if there's anything at all, in or out of Baker Street?"

Rose nodded, giving him a bit of a smile. "I will, promise. Try not to worry too much." She would keep her promise, too, but really, love and broken hearts fell far out of a big brother's purview!

Had Mycroft known what she was thinking, he would not have agreed.

Did they think he was stupid? Sherlock was beginning to think that was precisely what his sister and his flatmate thought. Ever since Rose had returned to Baker Street almost two weeks ago, they'd both become insufferable. Perhaps it wasn't that they thought he was stupid, but that they themselves were stupid. In any case, it was becoming ridiculous.

Oh, they carried on much as they always had, Rose and John, but little things were different. Just little things, here and there, that he couldn't help but notice. Though clearly stiff and sore, Rose gently rebuffed John's attempts to doctor her and none of John's scolding thus far had changed her mind. Sherlock wasn't convinced it was just normal dancer wear and tear but he certainly wasn't going to force Rose to let John examine her. It was very curious though!

That wasn't the worst of it, as far as Sherlock was concerned. Every once in a while John's and Rose's hands would touch and then move away from one another quickly, as if some sort of electrical shock had occurred. Then there was the looking. So much looking. Lovelorn looks, adoring looks, wanting looks. They did not look at each other, because that would just be too easy. No, no, they looked at one another when the other couldn't see them.

John's face lit up whenever Rose entered the room and his eyes followed her around the flat. The doctor thought it wasn't noticeable, hence Sherlock wondering if they thought he was an idiot. John watched her leave with a bit of longing, reluctantly let go of her when hugging occurred, looked away when Rose turned in his direction with a hint of pink crossing his face. Many adoring, loving looks, looks John had never shown before but clearly found impossible to hide. Either that or John didn't realize he was giving those looks.

Rose was little better. She was the one with lovelorn looks and wanting looks, as if gazing upon something she wanted but could not have. She blushed bright as a cherry when John caught her looking at him and a moment of awkwardness would pass between them. Rose leaned into John's hugs more than she had before, yet did not seek them out as much as she previously had, which was quite odd for his very affectionate and cuddly little sister.

Sherlock may not have any experience when it came to the idiotic thing called love but he certainly knew what it looked like and all the indicators were there between Rose and John. If they were trying to keep it from him they were doing a particularly terrible job of it. If they were unaware, then they were in fact lovesick idiots. Sooner rather than later all this nonsense would begin to affect The Work as well, something Sherlock didn't want or need. His blogger needed to be clearheaded and as ready to rush into dangerous situations as always.

Could they really not know, Sherlock wondered. And if they didn't, how much longer would it take for them to figure it out? As far as Sherlock was concerned, they better sort it out before it drove him completely mad.