Rose watched as Sally stormed out of Greg's office and sat down at her desk with a huff before shooting a look of death in her direction. Rose quickly looked away, focusing on her work but expecting any moment to be called back into Greg's office. It was oddly reminiscent of the many times she had been sent to the office at school, to be scolded, given detention, or wait to be collected by someone. Though her stomach was full of butterflies, Rose kept calm and composed, unwilling to let Sally see that she was nervous.

"Rose, come in here a minute. Bring those witness statements with you if you're finished," Greg requested.

Taking a deep breath she gathered the corrected witness statements and went into Greg's office, shutting the door behind her. She sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk and handed Greg the papers. "Here you go sir. They're all finished. Again, I'm really sorry about all of this."

"It's alright," Greg assured her. "There's no reason to be all formal with me now. You've handled yourself well today and I'm pretty pleased about that. Owning up to your mistake, apologizing and then making it right- there's a lot of adults that wouldn't do that."

"Wow," Rose murmured, feeling a bit surprised. "Thank you. I lost my head a bit, but I didn't want you to think I didn't respect you or this job. It was the right thing to do. Every once in a while I give evidence of the fact that Mycroft made a reasonable human being out of me," she told him with a grin. "With Sherlock's help of course."

Greg laughed loudly and shook his head. "I still don't understand any of it. But they did a fine job, however they managed to. One of the great mysteries of the ages," he teased. "Speaking of Mycroft… Well, I decided what I would do about today."

"Oh god," Rose moaned. "Please tell me you didn't call Mycroft!"

"I did, yeah. I didn't tell him what to do with you, I have no idea for sure what he's planning, but I thought he might do some good in a way that I can't. I can't put both you and Sally in the archives, I'd have blood on my hands if I did." Greg explained.

Rose knew all too well what Mycroft would do with her and she had no idea how she would manage to hide her injuries from him. It would be horribly painful to go over his knee just then, yet she wouldn't be able to explain why it hurt. What a mess!

"I really don't think it's going to be as bad as all that," Greg said, trying to reassure her. "I text him and put in a good word for you."

"Lots of good words, I'll need all the help I can get," Rose told him with a sigh.

A few hours later Rose was walking through Whitehall on the way to her brother's office. She'd received a text requesting her presence and had agreed to come since she and Alfred had already decided to forego practice in order to spare her rib. Mycroft apparently was too busy to speak with her at home, but had time between meetings to see her at work, which made Rose very nervous. If he planned to spank her, would he do it here?

Unfortunately, Rose was forced to admit to herself that it wouldn't be the first time and it would be all the more humiliating now than it had been at age six. Taking a deep breath and pushing the unpleasant memories of that particular day out of her mind, she entered the area where Mycroft's office was located. Anthea was, surprisingly enough, not at her desk when Rose arrived, forcing her to knock on Mycroft's office door.

"Come in Rose!" Mycroft watched as Rose entered the room and closed the door behind her before promptly leaning back against it. She was essentially the embodiment of anxiety, her eyes looking everywhere but at him. When it became clear she wasn't going to say anything or come any closer, he sighed heavily. "Come here Rose. I'm not going to carry on a conversation with you standing all the way. Tea?"

"Tea?" Rose repeated, looking confused.

"Yes, tea. And biscuits," Mycroft told her, indicating the plate on his desk. "Come now, I'm not that frightening am I?"

She blushed bright red and shook her head, quickly crossing the room. "No, not really," Rose assured him. "I just wasn't sure what to expect, that's all. You and your biscuits and cake," she teased, accepting a cup of tea.

"You and your ice cream and chocolate sauce," Mycroft responded in kind. After handing her a cup of tea he moved away from his desk to sit on the small couch, bringing the biscuits with him, and motioned for her to join him. "Well sister mine, light of my life, plague of my existence, whatever am I to do with you?"

Rose giggled. "Light of your life? That can't possibly be accurate. Are you feeling well Mycroft? Should I be concerned?"

Mycroft made a non-committal noise, neither confirming nor denying the validity of the statement. "I hear you've been quite… creative at work of late. Care to explain all that?" He gave her an expectant look before drinking his tea.

Between biscuits and sips of tea Rose told him the whole of it, from Sally's jabs to the dressing down in Greg's office earlier that day. "So there you have it," she said with a sigh. "Please keep in mind I have a competition tomorrow."

Mycroft couldn't help but admire her creativity, though of course he would never say such a thing aloud. What to do with her, however, he wasn't certain just yet. "Have you learned anything from this?"

Rose nodded. "It was a poor choice. I sunk to her level of nastiness and I'm not proud of myself for that. I should have thought about it more and realized that getting even would bring only momentary satisfaction and the potential to impact me professionally. I like working for Greg, I like it a lot. It's a good job, I feel useful, it helps me be more financially independent and I might have ruined it. What I did inconvenienced Greg and thankfully he's a cool guy-"

The eldest Holmes rolled his eyes at Rose's description of the Detective-Inspector.

"And was willing to let me put things to rights," Rose continued. "It mattered that I took responsibility for what I did and it made me realize that I'm better than that. Greg deserves better than that from me. It was inappropriate and unprofessional and I don't want to have that kind of reputation. So I apologized and I've stopped. No matter what Sally does to me from here on out, I won't retaliate. I'll tell my boss and let him sort it out because that's his job. That's what I learned."

Mycroft rewarded his sister with a smile, leaning over to kiss her forehead and tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "Then I don't believe there's anything more that needs to be said on the matter," he decided. "Provided it never happens again. No, no, don't pounce on me!" Mycroft warned when Rose looked ready to do so.

Luckily for him, instead of pouncing she merely leaned over and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight. "I love you My," Rose said sincerely. "Thank you."

"And I you," Mycroft replied. "I'm glad things didn't have to be unpleasant. However, I really must insist that you stop growing up behind my back, it's quite disconcerting. I worry you won't have need of me anymore," he said, only half-teasingly.

"I'll always need you!" Rose assured him. "Who else will disappear my enemies? But be honest with yourself, you're only disconcerted because it makes you feel old, and, well, you are old." She flashed him a cheeky grin, her eyes alight with mischief.

He reached out and tugged on her ear warningly, causing her to squeak. "Horrible brat. I share my biscuits and you call me old. As much as I would enjoy keeping you here and torturing you for that comment, I have a meeting in fifteen minutes that I cannot avoid. Now you're sure I cannot come tomorrow? I wouldn't be able to come for the whole competition anyway, but you're certain that if I had some free time I cannot come?" Free time, Mycroft thought. What a lovely and deluded concept. He had rare moments of peace between headaches and international crises, very little of which was actually free.

"Very sure," Rose told him emphatically. "It's for your own wellbeing, I swear it. I promise to call and give you all the details if I don't fall asleep from pure exhaustion right afterwards." Getting up from the couch she hugged Mycroft tightly once more and whispered, "Love you, you old Mycroft," in his ear before kissing his cheek and leaving the office.

'She still won't let me come. M'

'And I care because why? SH'

'Take videos. M'

Rather than receive a text response, the mobile in Mycroft's hands rang. "Yes, Sherlock?"

"Let me get this straight. You want me to take videos, presumably on my phone, of her dances. Are you well Mycroft? Experiencing a fever? Hallucinations?" Sherlock asked.

"I am very well, though I do thank you for your concern," Mycroft retorted. "Is there a problem with wanting to see Rose dance since I have been forbidden to attend?"

"You're turning into one of those parents and I find it frightening. I'm not certain I should contribute to your downward spiral."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "This is very important to Rose and I am very proud of her hard work, dedication and skill. She's a beautiful dancer and there's nothing wrong with wanting to see part of her performance, is there?"

"Normally no, but this is rather out of character for you, Mycroft. You, who missed every recital and competition from ages thirteen to seventeen," Sherlock pointed out.

"She had you there," Mycroft replied after a brief pause.

"She did, but it was you she wanted."

Mycroft could hear the words that Sherlock hadn't said. You cannot make up for the past. He struggled to swallow the lump in his throat that had suddenly appeared without his permission. Sentiment; so obnoxious.

The pause between responses was longer this time as both brothers, unbeknownst to one another, shifted in their seats. Sherlock found himself frustrated to feel a sliver of guilt for pointing out Mycroft's mistakes to him, along with the general discomfort of engaging in a conversation of this sort, the openness of it unnerving them both.

Finally Mycroft sighed. "I did my best Sherlock. And don't act like she doesn't adore you! She always has."

"Clearly, and with good reason," Sherlock replied with an edge of arrogance to his tone "But I'm not the same, thank god for that. If you're certain you want to become one of those parents, then I suppose I'll film a dance or two for you, even if I do find it a bit silly. Also it might prove helpful should I wish to blackmail you." There was no hiding the glee as he mentioned blackmailing Mycroft.

"You're a horrid boy Sherlock. Always have been," Mycroft commented in a tired tone with just a hint of affection. "I must go, I have a meeting."

Sherlock made a noise of dismissal before ending the call.

"How are you holding up?" Louise asked as she slipped into Rose's flat.

"Surprisingly well. I've taken a lot of ibuprofen though. John would have an epic fit if he knew," Rose admitted, flushing just a bit. "Thank you so much for agreeing to help. I can't have Alfred in the loo and I can't wrap myself up either."

Louise smiled and nodded, joining her friend on the couch. "No problem! It'll be fun to be in charge of your hair and make-up tomorrow. We'll practice tonight, right? I'm surprised Mycroft doesn't hire a professional for you."

"I'd rather have you, or do it myself. Someone I trust. You know as well as I do that the presentation is an important element of the overall dance. What if someone came and did a horrible job and I looked like some Cheapside doxy or something?" Rose asked, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

Louise snorted. "You and your telly, always picking up words and phrases like that. Or your books if it's not telly. Though Ripper Street is a good one," she admitted. "I still can't decide who is hotter, Reid or Jackson?"

"You're a Jackson girl. You like the rough edges, Reid is too polished for you," Rose pointed out.

"True enough. Though you might just be saying that because Reid's prose and lovely Victorian cant makes your heart flutter," Louise teased.

The girls had a good laugh, or at least attempted to, before Rose clutched her side and moaned. "Laughing, bad. Very bad," Rose murmured, her face pinching with pain. After breathing very slowly and keeping quite still for a few minutes, the pain eased.

"You know, when I was googling how to wrap you up, they don't do that anymore," Louise pointed out carefully. "It can restrict you too much and can contribute to contracting pneumonia while healing. Are you sure you want to do that tomorrow? It wouldn't look bad if you pulled out Rose, broken ribs are a serious injury. Bonnie and everyone would understand."

Rose shook her head. "No, I have to do this Lou. After all this hard work and all the spills and pain, I have to do it. I'll make it through. I'll only be wrapped for a few of the dances."

"Four of them," Louise corrected. "Look, I'll help you, you know that. Just… you'll go in and get it looked at after, right? It looks so bad."

"I will. I just need to get through tomorrow. Luckily my costumes will all hide it, except the one, even if I can't be wrapped for all of them." The rumba costume, thankfully, opened on the opposite side of her injury. The samba costume had very little skin showing between the top and skirt and what did show could be covered by copious amounts of make-up.

"Alright, let's practice wrapping you then before we match make-up and hair to your outfits," Louise suggested.

Back at the Met with the evidence all in order for delivery to the crown prosecutor's office the next day, Greg and Sally were finally packing up to leave. Things had been a bit tense since Greg had sentenced Sally to spending the day in the archives tomorrow, a very boring and tedious task that had come in handy quite often for disciplinary purposes. But now he noticed that Sally wasn't looking tense so much as she was… worried? Confused?

"Everything alright Sally?" Greg asked as he put his coat on.

"I've got the strange feeling I need to do something before I go but I can't remember what it was. Going to bother me all night until I remember it," Sally admitted with a sigh.

"I'm sure you will, and it's really not like you to forget anything of great importance anyway," Lestrade reassured her. "Have a good night."

Sally waved him off and stayed at her desk for a few moments longer but, still unable to remember, she left with a sigh just as the janitor was walking through.

The janitor was a kindly fellow, a Mr. Philips, getting up in years that had been working there for a couple decades now. His work was always impeccable, he was kind to everyone he interacted with, and always very eager to assist when there were any sort of janitorial emergencies that came up. Sometimes he tinkered around with office furniture that was causing problems: screws that needed tightening, providing the bit of oil needed for the height adjuster to work properly, and similar other tasks.

Tonight, he had one such task that had been given to him that morning. Crossing the room, Mr. Philips approached the desk of the young girl who assisted the man in charge. Sally Donovan, who had the desk nearby had mentioned to him that the young girl's chair was having problems moving and asked if he could loosen one of the wheels for on it. It had seemed a strange request, but the sergeant had been quick to assure him that the young lady, Rose, had no wish to bother him and didn't want to mention it herself.

Turning the chair over on its side, he inspected each wheel and found none that had noticeable difficulty moving, though he suspected one was being a touch finicky and unscrewed it a few times as the sergeant had asked. Once that was finished, he pushed the chair into the desk and got on with the rest of his work.

"You have the best outfits in the studio, you know that right?" Louise asked. She stood at the door of Rose's closet, carefully fingering each of the six dresses that had been custom made for her best friend.

"Well, helps that I'm tiny and therefore unlikely to fit in anything the studio already has without making it look weird or tacky with the adjustments," Rose responded. She was lying on her bed, icing her left side.

"How did you get so tiny? Your mum wasn't short, don't know about your dad, but Mycroft and Sherlock are tall," Louise pointed out.

"A recessive gene, I suppose, that decided to make a reappearance. I did some genealogical digging one time and there are some shorter Holmes family members back a couple generations. I think they married tall people and the tallness took over," Rose explained. "Which one is your favorite?"

"Not a fan of the slinky rumba number. It's flattering on you, but the pale blue shade isn't my favorite. It opens on the right, rather than the left, I see, which is a bit unusual. Worried about your scar on that side?"

Rose nodded, reaching up to finger the scar on her chest. Sometimes she swore it still hurt, but knew it was only phantom pain, and only when she was really anxious about it being seen. "The scars hardly show anymore, right? Or at least not as noticeable if you aren't up close?"

"They've lightened up considerably. You had a good surgeon. Don't worry about them Rose, okay? If you get anxious, we'll cover them," Louise offered. "Your samba outfit is adorable; this yellow is perfect with your coloring." She took out the hanger with the bikini-like top and little skirt with layers of ruffles. "And naturally you must have your pink!" She smiled as she fingered the short fringy cha cha dress. "Also the polka dots, Rose Holmes, you are practically a polka dot all on your own." She swished around the puffy skirt of the jive outfit, a blue polka dot skirt with a red sash and plain yellow top.

"Naturally! I really like all my outfits this time around. Latin is really my favorite of the ballroom styles I think," Rose mused. "Lou… I can do this tomorrow, right?"

"In terms of pain or making it worse? That's something I can't answer," Louise admitted. "In terms of coming over pain through sheer determination and stubbornness? I think you got it made, so l think that as long as Alfred doesn't drop you, you're going to place really high. If he drops you though, Sherlock is going to drag your arse off the floor and have an epic fit about how injured you are. But, you wouldn't be a Holmes if you weren't as stubborn as the day was long."

The girls playfully stuck their tongues out at each other before Louise returned the garments to the rack in the closet.

At 7am the following morning, the Baker Street clan, plus Louise and Alfred, set out for the competition venue in Bristol. Somehow Rose ended up sitting beside John, the last place someone should sit when trying to hide an injury! Thankfully he didn't seem notice anything amiss, other than the fact that she was nervous.

"You ok?" John asked, wrapping an arm around her.

Despite her better judgment, Rose snuggled against his side. "Nervous. I want this so bad," she whispered.

John pressed a kiss to the top of her head before resting his cheek against it. "You are an amazing and beautiful dancer," he said softly. "Though I might be a little bit biased, considering that you're my dance teacher."

She didn't have to see his face to know he was smiling that handsome, teasing smile of his and her face blushed prettily in response.

"Don't be nervous love. Believe in yourself, and your partner," John continued. "Deep breaths and be brave." He kissed the top of her head once more, letting her stay cuddled against him for a bit longer since she didn't seem eager to pull away.

Over in his own seat, Sherlock let out a heavy sigh of disgust and rolled his eyes before looking away. They were relentless and seemed to not even realize it! Though how that was possible Sherlock really didn't know.

A short time later they arrived at the venue and parted ways with the girls and Alfred heading for the dressing rooms. The competition was large, featuring thirty couples who attended by invitation only. Each round would feature eight couples with the numbers whittled to the final four by the fifth number and two couples for the final number.

Rose scowled when she saw the name of the couple who won her last competition among the invitees.

"Screw 'em, you got this," Louise announced, taking the program away from Rose. "This is your day girl and, if by some fluke it's not, I'll go kick their arse and steal their prize, m'k?"

Rose giggled and hugged her best friend tightly. "What would I do without you? What's first?"

"The romantic rumba to one of my favorites, Gavin Degraw's Soldier. Let's get you dressed and those lovely curls of yours long and loose. Hurry now, no time for shyness!" Louise chided with a grin.

John watched with great interest as Sherlock took out his phone and readied it to record Rose's first number. "What're you doing?"

"Mycroft wanted me to record some of the competition because Rose forbid him from coming. He's very…parenty lately," Sherlock said, lacking a better term to describe Mycroft's sudden want of competition footage. "Not that he has massive amounts of free time as it is."

Sherlock began recording as the couples took to the floor but once he caught sight of Rose's slinky little outfit he hastily shut it off, garnering another questioning look from John. "Well I'm not trying to give Mycroft a heart attack John. As amusing as that might be, Rose wouldn't appreciate it very much. I'll wait for a safer dance."

The rumba went off without a hitch, earning Rose and Alfred a perfect thirty out of thirty, allowing them to easily move forward. There was enough time between rounds this early on that there wasn't massive rush to do costume changes and for Rose to hastily down four ibuprofen. There hadn't been a lot of lifts and twists to bother her ribs but the movements had made her ache all the same. Perhaps it hadn't been the best choice to give her body last night off, but there was no going back now.

Dragging Louise off to the loo, Rose bit her lip hard to hold back her winces as she was carefully wrapped up. "I don't know if this is going to work with your jive Rose. Can you breathe alright?" Louise asked worriedly. "You look amazing, but all those tricks you have in there and the sharpness. You have to be able to breathe properly. Is it too tight?"

Rose shook her head. "It's supportive but I can breathe well, or at least as well as anyone with this-" she waved her hand at her left side. "Is able to. Whether you wrap me or not this might be the most difficult dance."

"Well thank god it's second then," Louise muttered. She helped Rose into her dress, sliding the 50s inspired jive costumes over her head. "God you're adorable. I wish I was built like you."

"Oh hush, you're lovely and tall and have gorgeous hair. You could give Ann Miller a run for her money in her hay days with your tapping skills," Rose remarked.

Louise blushed, pleased with the comparison to one of Hollywood's great musical leads. "Says the tiny Rita Hayworth." They hurried back to the dressing room to complete Rose's look, a long pony tail just a bit off-centered with delicate pink eye shadow and a hint of blush to her cheeks.

The minutes between sessions ended faster than it seemed possible, calling her and Alfred's number, 27, out to the floor for a rollicking jive to Maroon 5's Lucky Strike. Their routinefull of kicks, flips, even cartwheels as Rose and Alfred owned the floor. She forced herself to keep a smile on her face despite the pain and shortness of breath from the fast moving number, inwardly knowing her dancing wasn't quite as sharp. The drop to a twenty-five out of thirty wasn't surprising, but at least it had been a number that Sherlock felt safe sending to Mycroft.

"You're smiling sir," Anthea commented as she entered Mycroft's office with the latest report from MI-5. It wasn't often she saw him smile, or at least give one that was full and genuine. When Mycroft waved her over, Anthea looked at the mobile in his hands as he restarted the video of Rose's jive. She was far more intrigued by Mycroft than the video, though Rose demonstrated considerable skill even in comparison to those around her. Rarely did Anthea see the sort of look now present on her boss's face, full of pride, clearly chuffed at his sister's skills and could sense how much he wished to be there.

"Stop smiling Anthea," Mycroft scolded when he caught her looking at him.

While the jive had not been their best, and Rose had been forced to fight off Louise and Alfred's efforts to get her withdraw following it, things looked up with the cha cha to Michael Buble's Dance With Me. The short respite between the routines allowed Rose to recover from her shortness of breath, and briefly hide in the loo icing her side, before heading out onto the floor. Scoring 29 for the cha cha they were among the leading couples with 84 out of 90 points. The true test was coming as the final three dances were the most difficult and intricate: the paso doble, samba and tango.

"I'm really nervous Rose. Are you sure you should get all wrapped up again? It didn't do you any favors in the jive," Louise pointed out, trying one last time to talk her best friend out of the competition.

"I love you Louise, but you need to let me do this. I'll live with the consequences if this goes horribly wrong, but for today I need to suck it up and power through. Please, please help me," Rose begged. She let out a sigh of relief when Louise grudgingly agreed, wrapping her up to give her ribs some support before helping Rose into her paso doble outfit.

Unlike most dancers who chose tight fitting dresses at the top with billowing skirts and layers of ruffles for the paso, Rose had to be a bit more creative. Typical dress choices weren't an option for her height, drowning her in ruffles. Instead she had chosen a black dress with a wide skirt and a single ruffle layer at the hem and fluttery sleeves. Though black on top, the underside of the skirt featured bright red roses, adding the drama that more ruffles would have provided. With her hair eloquently coiffed, her make-up smoky and sultry, Rose stood out from the smaller number of couples for all the right reasons.

As Marina and the Diamonds Power and Control played Alfred and Rose claimed the dance floor. Their dance was aggressive and fast paced, featuring traditional arm movements and clean lines with powerful spins. Exemplifying the pursuit, spurning, and ultimate conquering of the 'bull'- Rose- by the 'matador'-Alfred- the choreography mixed the right amount of seductive movements on Rose's part with the matching of aggression in each spin, and finally the 'conquering' as Alfred spun her onto the floor, jumped in the air and came down on his knees just inches above Rose's body.

As Rose had lain on the dance floor for those few seconds before Alfred jumped and 'caught' her essentially underneath him, she held her breath, hoping and praying that he would land properly and not injure her further. Her trust in him was not misplaced as he executed his final movements perfectly without coming close enough to her body to even graze her, let alone hurt her.

The crowd went wild, though whether it was all for Rose and Alfred was difficult to tell. John and Sherlock easily made their own cheering section with vigorous clapping and calls for an encore in Sherlock's rich baritone, despite the fact that encores were not part of the program. John was blown away by the power of the dance and its sexual allure, its rich details both stunning and slightly alarming. Alarming because he had found himself utterly entranced and unable to even look at the other couples or think about anything besides Rose.

The perfect score their paso doble earned gave them a four point lead over the other three remaining couples as the final two dances loomed near. A twenty minute break was called, allowing time for changing from paso costumes to samba costumes and if John was alarmed by how attracted he was to Rose during that dance, he didn't stand a chance with the samba.

Arriving on the floor in her yellow bikini style top and short ruffled matching skirt, Rose's legs looked miles long. As Jason Derulo's Talk Dirty began to play, Sherlock frowned in response to the song selection. "This is not music, this… is definitely not a dance to film for Mycroft," he quickly decided, pocketing his mobile.

John's jaw dropped as Rose began dancing, watching her transform from a young lady to a woman right before his eyes in the most startlingly erotic dance he'd ever seen in his life. Rose had perfectly choreographed with the music, hitting the beats perfectly amid circling Alfred in an almost predatory manner, pressing herself bodily against him and it only got hotter from there.

The choreography included all the traditional elements one would find in a samba, which was a racier dance to begin with, but Rose had amped it up big time. Each twist, turn, and shake of her hips seemed to exude sex appeal without ever tipping into vulgarity. It was a markedly sophisticated style compared to the safer and slightly tamer choreography of the other couples. Rose had made a gamble and hoped it would pay off.

Out of the corner of his eye Sherlock could see John watching his sister with a… well, not precisely lascivious look but it was certainly one that indicated massive sexual attraction and he was decidedly uncomfortable with it. "John, stop looking at my sister like that," he hissed.

Startled by Sherlock's words, John looked over at his friend, his face going completely red. "Oh god, Sherlock, I-"

"We are not talking about it," Sherlock interrupted. "Just stop." He could handle them being in love with one another, should they stop being idiots long enough to figure out that they were in love, but he would not tolerate John looking at her with such lustful gazes while sitting right next to him!

"JOHN! I said stop!" Sherlock repeated. "Don't make me photograph you drooling over her and send it to Mycroft." It seemed, unfortunately, that John- and just about every other hot blooded male in attendance- was unable to tear their eyes from Rose Holmes, much to her big brother's chagrin. Thankfully the dance was only about ninety seconds long!

"Everyone, please congratulate our two final couples, number 27 and number 12! They will be returning for the final round of the competition in twenty minutes, after which one of them will be named the winner," the announcer told the crowd.

The final dance was the tango, the one that had broken her rib, or ribs for all Rose knew. She was terrified, exhilarated, and incredibly proud of how well she and Alfred had done. "We're going to win. We've got a two point lead on twelve, Alfred. This is ours. I trust you, it'll be perfect," Rose encouraged her nervous partner. "Take Me on the Floor is ours and we will own this floor. You hear me?"

Alfred was more than a little petrified, but tried to take heart at Rose's words. He could not, would not drop her this time. It would be perfect.

There was little comparison between the final two couples. Rose's choreography was once again more daring and sophisticated and Sherlock was on the edge of his seat as he watched their routine. He'd been involved heavily in this one, helping Alfred with the lifts and spins with Rose in his arms, and especially that very last movement, where Alfred turned Rose over his arm twice and then let her glide to the floor. When that part of the choreography came close, he held his breath, willing Alfred to do it and not drop his sister.

One turn… two… and Rose glided easily to the floor at Alfred's feet. "YES!" Sherlock roared before the music even ended. He may have been the first out of his seat clapping but soon the entire crowd gave the couples a standing ovation, the sound of their clapping almost deafening.

Both couple stayed on the dance floor to await the final decision by the judges, who were huddled and whispering together at their table. The wait seemed endless but Rose felt such a sense of accomplishment and pride that it almost didn't matter. "We did it," she whispered. "Whatever happens Alfred, we were awesome. You were awesome."

Alfred beamed and hugged Rose gently, mindful of her injuries, and held onto her possessively as they waited for the final scores.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer began to speak. "The scores are in and we have our winning couple… Alfred Mellor and Rose Holmes, couple 27!"

Rose screamed and turned in Alfred's arms practically jumping into his arms in her excitement. "We did it, we did it!" she squealed, kissing his cheek. After her momentarily display of delight she and Alfred turned to the runners up and extended their hands.

"Well done and well fought. You were stiff competition all day," Alfred said sincerely. "Very close call." The couples shook hands and the runners up then left the floor as Rose and Alfred were given their title and trophy. Rose accepted the items and shook hands with the judges before fist pumping, bringing another round of applause.

As soon as Rose was able to leave the floor, she hurried into the dressing room to let Louise unwrap her bindings and retrieve her mobile.

In Whitehall, Mycroft was heading into a session of parliament when his mobile vibrated. Answering the call he was greeted by enthusiastic screaming on the other end and held the mobile away from his ear for a moment.

"We won! We won!" Rose exclaimed, her voice finally lowering to a more reasonable register of excitement. "We did it My, we won! I'm a title holder!"

Mycroft quickly moved off to an alcove, unwilling to let his guard down among a crowd. "I'm so proud of you poppet," he murmured, giving in to the urge to smile. "More than I can even say. Well done, Rose."

Rose beamed at her mobile, despite the fact that he couldn't see it. "Thank you," she said quietly. "For believing in me and just everything!"

"I'd love to talk longer but I have to go into parliament in just a moment. May I take you to dinner tonight to celebrate?" Mycroft asked. "You and Alfred and whomever else you'd like."

"I would love to say yes to you but I am so utterly exhausted I could sleep like a week. I'd be rubbish company tonight. Tomorrow night instead? If there aren't any wars started or anything?" Rose asked hopefully.

"Tomorrow it is. I'll call you later and work out the details. Congratulations Rose," Mycroft told her. His heart was so full of pride he thought it might burst, not that his outward appearance would show that though!

"Love you My, talk soon!"

Though everyone tried to convince her to go out for a celebration, Rose was forced to turn them all down. She was in a lot of pain and it took every ounce of her concentration to keep from showing that. Louise was right, she really would need to go in and see someone. Tomorrow right after work, Rose told herself. There were loads of doctors in London, one did not have to see John or go to his surgery to find treatment.

Settling for several large pizzas as celebration, the group returned to Baker Street for a night in. Since they all had to work the next day, Louise and Alfred left at 10pm and headed to their respective homes and Rose went back to her flat. She couldn't remember the last time she was so physically exhausted and sank gratefully into a warm bath. While it wasn't the lovely old claw foot tub at the Holmes townhouse, it was still the perfect size for a lovely, bubble filled soak and the warm water did wonders for all her aches and pains. "Just have to get through tomorrow," Rose murmured. "Get through the day and then go see a GP and get some lovely pain medication."

Rose arrived at the Met the following morning, already well loaded up on ibuprofen and with her usual coffees in hand.

"Ah, the champion arrives! How does it feel to be a title holder?" Greg asked. He waited for her to set down the coffees before getting up and pulling her into a bit of a hug, feeling rather proud of his young assistant and friend.

"How'd you know?" Rose laughed softly, returning the hug.

Sally Donovan watched them from her desk, rolling her eyes when Greg hugged her. So unprofessional, she thought. Really, what did Greg see in that girl? She really just did not understand it.

"Your brother told me. Sherlock was rather proud of you. Though admittedly I did text him to find out because you didn't answer my texts yesterday!" He gave her a mock scowl before releasing her.

"Sorry, I was practically dead to the world. I could have slept for a week, it's a miracle I even heard my alarm this morning," Rose admitted. She still felt, and even looked, tired, but that was only to be expected after the ups and downs of the previous day. Competitions and recitals had always worn her out.

"You up to working today? You could take the day if you need it," Greg offered. "You'll be little use to me if you're too tired to work." He gave a wink to soften what might have sounded like a dismissal to someone unaware of his teasing nature.

Rose shook her head. "No, I'm fine, but thank you! I'll just get started. Enjoy your silly macchiato." With a smile she exited Greg's office and made for her desk.

Suddenly Sally remembered what it was she forgot the night before. The janitor and the chair! "Wait! Wait don't-"

Her warning came too late. Just as Sally called for her to wait, Rose put her full weight on the seat. The wheel, loosened much too far, separated from the chair itself, sending both itself and Rose crashing to the floor. Falling on her already injured left side, she let out a cry of pain before everything went black.

Greg hurried out from his office, just as Rose cried out and lost consciousness. He knelt down beside Rose and tried to gently rouse her while most of the other personnel on the floor were rather dumbstruck. "Oi! Somebody either find me a car or call an ambulance, not stand around like a bunch of idiots!" he called out.

Uncertain if he should move her or attempt to check her for injuries, Greg was very relieved when Rose's eyes fluttered open and she let out a moan. "Rose, its Greg," he said, calling her attention to him. He held up two fingers and asked, "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Two," she said softly. "Hurts so bad, hurts to breathe." Rose's hand automatically went to her injured side.

"Your side? What's wrong with your side?" Greg gently pressed against it with his hand, pulling it away quickly when Rose let out a wail.

"Broken rib," she tried to explain while keeping her breathing shallow. "Broke Tuesday… Oh god, hurts so much more now." There couldn't be just one broken, not after a sudden fall with that side taking all her weight.

Greg's mouth dropped open. "Tuesday? Tuesday? Rose, this is Friday! You competed yesterday with a broken rib?!" When she nodded, he let out a string of curses. "Your brothers are going to murder you, you realize that? John too for that matter." He looked up again. "Someone call John Watson and tell him Rose is on her way to St. Bart's."

"No, no, no, no," Rose repeated. "I'm fine, it's fine, and we don't have to tell anyone. Just get me in, don't tell John!" This was quickly spiraling into a nightmare that was far worse than the pain she was presently experiencing.

"Oh yes we do have to tell them!" Greg countered. "And what's more, you're going to deserve everything you get! This was bloody stupid Rose. If you were my kid, I'd-"

DI Dimmock came up beside them, interrupting Greg before he could finishing telling Rose exactly what he would do. "There's a car waiting out front for you."

"Alright, I'm going to carry you out to the car and take you to St. Bart's until someone can come be with you," Greg told Rose. "Hold tight, I'll be as gentle as I can." He put one arm under her legs and the other under her arms, slowly lifting her from the floor. As he passed Sally, who, to her credit, looked rather shocked and remorseful, Greg gave her a hard look. "You are in serious trouble and I'll deal with you later!" He promised.

With the assistance of a few other officers he got her into the lift, down to the main floor and out the front doors towards the car.

Mycroft was in the midst of a meeting when his mobile vibrated. Discreetly removing it from his pocket he read the text from Anthea and mentally let out a groan. Immediately he sent out a text message to Lestrade, wondering just what Rose had done this time.

'Detective-Inspector, please explain to me why my sister is in a police vehicle with lights and sirens blaring. M'

The jostling of being carried to the car had been excruciating and Rose nearly passed out again while holding tight to Greg as he carried her through the Met. The ride to St. Bart's was little better, though it was thankfully very short thanks to the assistance of the lights and sirens and unusually cooperative London traffic. Just as Greg parked the car his mobile beeped, notifying him of a text message. "How much you want to bet that's Mycroft asking why the hell you're in a police car?" he asked with a sigh. He didn't have time for Mycroft just yet, choosing to forego a response until Rose was settled into a room.

"I have no doubt that is in fact Mycroft," Rose murmured as he carried her from the car. She couldn't think about how much trouble she would be in just then, the pain and the need to breathe taking precedence. Though she was more than a little impressed, and slightly alarmed, that Mycroft had so quickly discovered what she was doing. Surprisingly enough, Mycroft wasn't the person she least wanted to face.

Ten minutes later Rose was settled into a room with a nurse and a doctor while Greg waited outside. He didn't feel quite right leaving her alone, but he definitely wasn't staying in the room while she spoke with the doctor.

"You say this pain has been going on for some time?" the doctor asked as he examined her side. The mass of bruises on her left side worried him. "There are many old bruises here and newer ones as well. You're practically a patchwork of bruising over here and I wouldn't be at all surprised to find broken ribs." Dr. Coburn sighed heavily, forced to move on to an uncomfortable part of his treatment of the patient. "Is everything alright at home? Do you feel safe there? Is someone hurting you physically or emotionally?"

Rose laid there for a moment, staring at him rather blankly. "Why are you ask-ooooh," she murmured as it dawned on her. "I'm a professional dancer and just won a competition yesterday. I've been practicing for weeks and my partner isn't always brilliant when it comes to lifts and he's dropped me a lot. I'm pretty sure something broke Tuesday night and then I fell out of my chair at work this morning."

It sounded a little fantastical, but when Rose offered to give him the name of her studio, Dr. Coburn felt a little better about it.

Still in his lab coat from surgery, John hurried into the emergency room, anxiously looking for Rose. Dimmock had called him and had very little to say other than Rose had been hurt pretty badly and was being taken to St. Bart's, leaving John to wander how hurt was hurt. Considering Rose's history, the realm of possibilities was endless. He immediately left surgery, sadly not a surprise to poor Sarah who was used to Sherlock-related emergencies, and headed for St. Bart's.

When he arrived and spotted he hurried over to the other man, giving him a questioning look.

"She's with a doctor now,"

"So probably not dying?" John asked, just to be certain.

Greg shook his head, smiling when John let out a sigh of relief and stood beside him, waiting for a chance to go in and see Rose. They stood in silence, allowing for part of the conversation beyond the curtain to drift out.

"You've been quite rough on yourself," they heard Dr. Coburn say. "We'll have to get you in for x-rays. In the meantime, the nurse will get some pain medication started. Have you been taking anything recently?"

"A lot of ibuprofen," Rose admitted. "Four pills every five or six hours for… well… a few weeks." She blushed a bit, half expecting the doctor to ring a peal over her head, but then again, this was a random physician not John.

"Yes, broken ribs can be quite painful, even bruised ones," Dr. Coburn sympathized. He gave the nurse an order to start her on some pain medication through IV.

John frowned, repeating the dosage for a moment before it sank in. Before Greg could say a word, John pulled back the curtain and entered the room, ready to take Rose to task for taking so many pills, something they had talked about before. As he opened his mouth to tell her off, he caught sight of her side, mottled with bruises, and all words about ibuprofen misuse died on his tongue.

"Sir!" Dr. Coburn called out. "Who are you and why are you intruding on this patient's privacy?"

"I'm her doctor," John said firmly in his best Captain tone. "And I need a few minutes with my patient."

It was slightly unusual to have one's own doctor show up when a patient was with another doctor, but Coburn wasn't going to argue with the man. Something about him said that any arguments would fall on deaf ears and, providing his patient wasn't threatened by her personal physician, Coburn saw no reason not to quickly vacate.

"John, there's no reason to get upset," Rose said very carefully, watching him with wide eyes. "Honestly John… Dancer, pain management, not a big deal."

John came to stand beside her bed, looking closely at the bruises. When Rose tried to pull her shirt back down over them, he looked at her, an eyebrow cocked. "I am trying to examine you and do not appreciate you interfering with that. Leave it up so I can look." He didn't wait to see if she obeyed, he merely held the shirt up, ghosting his fingers across the bruises. They were obviously in various stages of healing and he was willing to bet they were deep bruises from constantly repeating whatever had caused them in the first place.

"These are weeks old Rose, weeks old," John ground out through gritted teeth. "Is this from practice? From Alfred dropping you? ANSWER ME!"

Outside the curtained off room, even Greg flinched a bit at John's tone.

The color drained from her face and she bit her lip for several long seconds before responding. "Yes, it's from practice, from Alfred dropping me. He wasn't doing it on purpose!" Rose hurried to remind him. "It was my choreography; I made it hard and wouldn't compromise."

"Oh, your lack of compromising is very evident. Don't comprise the dance; I'll just compromise my health instead! How long have you been injured? These had to have hurt and there's no way you could be dropped with this much consistency without causing yourself injury eventually," John pointed out.

Rose cringed. "Bruising has been going on for a while, but bruising my ribs a few weeks. Maybe three? Two or three. It was not my fault I fell over today! Someone tampered with my chair."

John closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a few deep breaths. He counted mentally counted to ten very slowly and then opened his eyes. "Rose, you can do serious damage with repeated impacting like that. Very serious damage. Bruising like this isn't normal and should have been a sign that you needed to slow down and adjust so that you didn't hurt yourself. Now I heard that other doctor mention broken ribs. Was that today? Did you break your ribs this morning at the Met? Which how that's even possible I have no idea," he admitted.

Rose looked down at her hands for a moment. This was not going to go well for her and there was no one to rescue her. John was going to be furious and she would have no real defense to offer him for her actions. She was sunk. Game over. "I think I broke more this morning," she said slowly. "But I'm pretty sure I broke at least one on Tuesday night during practice. There were icky cracking noises and I blacked out."

"Let me get this straight. You were pretty sure you broke a rib, sought absolutely no medical attention whatsoever, and competed yesterday?" John repeated, wanting to make sure he had it precisely right before he wrung her stubborn neck. "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR BLOODY MIND?!" John thundered. "How did you even manage that? You know what, no; I don't even care how you managed it. You are completely and utterly insane and I am… I am… flabbergasted by your stupidity Rose. Do you want another surgery on a lung? Do you? Because broken ribs can puncture lungs. Did you even know that?"

"I was going to go see someone today after work, I swear!" Despite having no real defense to offer, Rose would try just the same. "John, please, please don't yell at me. I wasn't trying to kill myself or something and I was going to get medical treatment today."

"TODAY is three days too damn late Rose!" John shouted. "And I will not stop yelling at you! You live next door to your own doctor! Why didn't you come to me weeks ago when you started bruising so badly? Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?"

As the two argued behind the curtains, their voices getting louder and louder, they were starting to draw the attention of St. Bart's security officers. Not to mention making Greg feel uncomfortably in the middle of it all, especially when he had to flash his badge to keep security and other hospital personnel away from the noisy room.

Rose scowled darkly, refusing to let his shouting unnerve her; at least not without shouting back. "Because I didn't want your hands all over me! You rejected me and then you expect me to come to you for medical treatment so I can feel your hands on my body and make my heart ache even more? There's only so much a girl can stand John and that was not something I could make myself do! Besides, you can find anything out on the internet for heaven sakes!"

"YOU LIVE IN A CITY WITH THOUSANDS OF DOCTORS AND YOU GOOGLED AT HOME MEDICAL CARE?!" John was absolutely livid now. He leaned over her ominously, a hand on each side of her head, his face mere inches from hers. "When you're done healing, I am personally going to make sure that you don't sit for an entire month and I don't give a damn what your brothers have to say about the matter. I am so fucking angry with you," he growled. "You are worse than your brothers combined!"

Rose had met his threats with a jaw locked in determination, her eyes full of unspoken challenge. But when he compared her to her brothers, well, that was a whole other matter. "That is not even true!"

"Oh, it is, it is!" John assured her in a raised tone. He stood up straight, hands on his hips, in full on Captain mode. "What is it going to take Rose? What is it going to take to get you to care and be careful with yourself? If not for yourself, then at least for me! You are the most insane, maddening and ridiculous person I've ever met in my whole life and I live with your brother!"

She shook her head and raised her chin defiantly. "John that's not even fair! You don't understand! I've tried to explain-"

Unwilling to listen to any more excuses, John cut her off, opening his mouth to continue his blistering scolding and somehow something else entirely came out. "Maybe I should be in a relationship with you! If ever there was a woman in the entire world who needs a lead off the bloody dance floor it is you. And by god I am more than up for the challenge because I love you!"

Her heart soaring at his words, Rose tried to compose her scattered thoughts to respond but it turned out that a verbal response was no longer necessary. John leaned down and captured her lips with his own in a punishing kiss, anger fueling passion, making Rose's mind reel. Her arms went around his neck, pulling him closer to her while John held her carefully in his arms.

Things were suddenly far too quiet for Greg's comfort and he debated for a few seconds about whether or not he should enter the room. In all likelihood John was strangling Rose, and who could blame the poor man, but Greg couldn't allow that to happen. Stepping in past the curtain, his jaw dropped at the sight before him.

Their arms wrapped around each other, John and Rose hungrily kissed one another, taking absolutely no notice of anything around them, let alone the detective-inspector. "….I have definitely missed something," he muttered before turning and exiting the room. Greg shook his head and proceeded to grin. He couldn't think of two better people for one another than those two, each answering a need of the other.

"Lestrade!"

Greg looked up at the sound of his name to see Sherlock coming down the hallway towards him. Oh god, he thought. Sherlock will murder John. "Hello Sherlock!" he called very loudly, hoping to warn the kissing couple.

Sherlock frowned slightly at him but didn't chose to comment on the odd greeting, his mind far more preoccupied with his sister and what she might have done to herself now. He made to move past Lestrade, only to have Greg lay a hand on his arm.

"Don't go in there," the older man warned.

The younger man's bright eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Just not a good idea." He gave Sherlock an imploring look, hoping for once Sherlock would listen to him.

When Greg offered no further insight as to why Sherlock would refrain from checking on his sister, Sherlock pulled back the curtains, opening them wide to reveal John and Rose, still locked in a heated embrace.

For a moment Sherlock simply stared at him, as if processing and deducing the sight before him entirely before being capable of responding to it. When he did, it was not what Greg expected to hear.

"Finally," Sherlock said, letting out a sigh.

Greg looked at him with wide eyes. Finally? Finally? That couldn't possibly be what he said! "Come again?"

"Finally," Sherlock repeated. "Now they can stop all the ridiculous looking they've been doing. I never knew how annoying it could be and they've been at it for the past two weeks!"

"Looking?" Greg repeated.

"No, no, don't be an idiot looking; looking."

The other man sighed heavily. "It's Greg."

Suddenly the couple broke apart, with Rose almost gasping for air, a hand going to her injured side. "Ow, ow, ow, ow."

"I'll ow, ow, ow you when you're better," John threatened. "And don't think I'm not serious. You are in a whole world of trouble and if your ribs are broken, I'll have six whole weeks to decide what to do with that cute, stubborn little arse of yours!"

Rose's face flushed red, feeling embarrassed by his description of her bum as 'cute.' She huffed at the thought of him spanking her though, especially if they were actually going to be in a relationship now.

"Hey, you can't tell me you don't think you deserve it. Can you?" John asked, tipping her chin up so he could look into her eyes.

With a sigh Rose whispered a "No." She had known that was likely to be the outcome from the moment she really was hurt Tuesday night. Just then she realized that Sherlock and Greg were in the room. "Oh dear god," she moaned. "I am going to die of sheer humiliation."

John whirled around to face his best friend, surprised that he hadn't been shot with his own gun already. "Sherlock, I-"

"I am more relieved than I can say that you both will stop looking longingly and stupidly at one another," Sherlock began. "I pose no real objection to this relationship, provided my sister is always treated with the utmost respect and her heart is not broken."

"You don't? You don't object? Seriously?!" Rose almost shrieked. "All this wasted time because of the stupid code of honor nonsense! John!"

"How was I to know he'd be alright with it?" John shot back, giving her a frown before turning his attention back to Sherlock. "You're serious? This… Rose and I… you're alright with this?"

Sherlock sighed heavily, as if John was the biggest idiot on the entire planet. "John, if I trust you with my own life, why would I not trust you with hers? I cannot, however, promise that Mycroft will feel the same. In fact, I can guarantee that he won't."

Rose reached for John's hand and squeezed it firmly. "We'll work it out. He loves me. We'll work it out somehow." She could tell John wasn't entirely convinced and was probably once again in fear of being castrated.

"What's wrong with her?" Sherlock asked, noticing the pain meds. "What did you manage to do to yourself this time?"

John nudged her arm. "Show your brother," he encouraged, waving Sherlock over.

When she lifted the side of her shirt, Sherlock winced at the sight of it and pinned Rose with a hard look. "If it isn't one thing with you it's another. I suppose it could be worse," he sighed. "You always find a way to create disasters, don't you, Rosie?"

"I seem to remember someone assisting me in many of those disasters. After all, who was the one that built a cannon with me and then left me alone with it when I was seven?" Rose asked. The siblings promptly engaged in a glaring contest with one another.

"You sure you want to get yourself further entangled with this lot, mate?" Greg asked John, a big goofy grin on his face. He didn't understand any of the references to their shared childhood, other than there was nothing more amusing than the two younger Holmes siblings

John looked down at Rose, who turned her attention back to him when he touched her shoulder. The warmth in his eyes as he looked at her made Rose's pulse leap and her heart almost seemed to lurch with sheer excitement. She could hardly believe that they had come to this point.

Quietly Sherlock and Greg slipped from the room, but neither John nor Rose seemed to notice it at all.

"Did you mean that?" Rose whispered, referring to the words he had said before kissing her half senseless. Her eyes searched his for an answer, for truthfulness.

John's hand caressed her face gently and he nodded. "If you'll still have me," he whispered. "I must've been out of my mind thinking I could get over what I feel; make it go away."

Rose nodded, her eyes glowing with sheer happiness. "My feelings haven't changed. I've been waiting for you to change yours, this whole time."

"Don't be dramatic," John chided her softly. "It hasn't even been two months." Though even he had to admit the time had dragged on slowly as he'd struggled, clearly in vain, to stop himself from becoming involved with her.

"Which has felt like forever," she laughed softly. "But I think it's been longer and I never even knew it, never saw it coming, until you kissed me at Christmas."

John leaned down to kiss her once more, lightly and sweetly, in lieu of a response, his heart leaping in his chest as he did so.

At just that moment, Mycroft entered the hospital and headed towards her room, wondering what in the world his sister had been up to this time.

DEAR READERS: This is the final chapter of A Rose Blooms in Baker Street. But fear not! Rose will be back with brand new adventures (and disasters!) in a sequel that picks up right where this one leaves off. Look for Petal by Petal Blossoms the Rose coming very soon! Thank you to all my faithful readers and reviewers, your support has meant the world to me and I am truly blown away by how many people have enjoyed my Rose!

AND To see Rose's dance choreography, go to youtube and search for:

Gilles and Cheryl paso doble

Chelsie Hightower samba

DWTS switch up Meryl and Val (tango!)