AN: A Rosie Story… with a wallop of Overprotective Parental Figures and a side of Sherlolly. :)

'You're on my foot!'

'Move it then!'

'You move!'

'No!'

'Ow, did you seriously just elbow me out of the way?!'

'Shut up, you're too loud! They might hear you!'

'I'm too loud?!'

'Yes! Damn it, now they're looking over here. Get back and shut up!'

John held his breath and closed his eyes, his heart thundering against his ribs. If they were found… Oh, he dreaded the thought. Praying desperately for deliverance (or maybe a nice black hole to be sucked into), he pressed his back against the tree.

Beside him, and hogging the majority of the tree, Sherlock was doing the same.

After counting to 50, John peeled one eye open, then the other. 'Is it safe?' He whispered.

Sherlock quirked one eyebrow. 'We shall see.'

They both turned to cautiously peer around the tree. John frowned. 'Where did they go?'

'Right behind you.'

Both John and Sherlock jumped and whirled around.

With her hands on her hips and fire in her eyes, at this moment, Rosie Watson was the embodiment of furious. Beside her, Victor Holmes was glaring a hole into his father, his hands clenched at his sides.

'We can explain!' John exclaimed.

'We can?' Sherlock turned to him in disbelief. John elbowed him sharply and the detective grunted, suddenly catching on.

He nodded eagerly and rubbed his bruised ribs. 'I mean, we can! Absolutely! We were-'

'Shut it, dad,' Victor snapped. 'We know you were both spying on us. You trained us to be aware of our surroundings. Did you think we didn't know you were following us all day?'

'And after you promised not to,' Rosie joined in, crossing her arms.

Realising there was no way out, Sherlock and John exchanged guilty looks.

'We've already called Aunt Molly.' The colour drained from Sherlock's face. 'She says to tell you there's a nice surprise waiting for you at home.'

From the way she said 'nice' and smiled wickedly, John was inordinately glad he was not Sherlock. But then, Rosie turned her glare onto him. And suddenly, he wished he were anyone else.

To his growing unease, she didn't say a word. Instead, she lifted her chin, grabbed Victor's hand, and they marched away.

Well, he was in deep trouble.

Sherlock's mobile buzzed and he hesitantly pulled it out.

'It's from Mycroft,' he said, reading it quickly. He grimaced. 'Apparently, Victor also noticed the CCTV cameras watching them.'

'We're all in deep shit, aren't we?' John groaned and rubbed his face.

Sherlock chuckled. 'Oh, yes.'

John leaned back against the tree. 'They're too young to be on their own.'

'John, Rosie is 17 and Victor is not that far behind her.' Sherlock gripped his shoulder and smirked. 'It was only their first date. And from what we saw, only a little hand holding happened.'

'Hand holding?' John repeated, incredulous. A deadly rage welled up inside him and he seethed, 'When you have a daughter, then you can lecture me all you want. But when you're the father of a hands-y, libidinous boy, you don't get to have an opinion!'

Shoving away from the tree, he stomped out of the park.

'Oi, that's my son, your godson, you're maligning!' Sherlock barked and hurried to overtake him.

oOo

From their bench on the far side of the park, Rosie and Victor watched as their fathers bickered and disappeared back into the city.

Victor shook his head and wrapped an arm around Rosie, who was still tense and wound up. She slowly relaxed and leaned against him.

'They're never going to change, are they?'

Victor chuckled and kissed her head. 'Nope. We might as well get used to it.'

Rosie pouted.

It was bad enough that her father was an overprotective, Army Doctor, with a glare that had scared off every single boy who had dared darken their doorstep. Add in an Uncle with a fascination for murder and an evil grin that had sent one potential suitor to a therapist and an Aunt whose adorable smile hid a stomach of steel - not to mention, the all-knowing Mycroft who made the idea of privacy absolutely laughable - and Rosie had become the most undateable girl in all of London!

Only Victor had passed muster (because he had been born into this crazy family). And even then, they wouldn't stop interfering!

Victor threaded his fingers with hers and brushed his thumb soothingly over her palm. He hummed a soft melody in her ear. Slowly, her scowl faded. Here, in her best friend's arms, suddenly it all didn't seem so overwhelming. She felt safe and protected, cherished, ready to face the world outside of them.

Was it really any wonder she'd fallen for him?

Turning her head, her nose brushed his chin. His breath fell on her cheek, warm, and he stopped humming. Suddenly, the air was thick between them. Heavy with anticipation.

She could feel his heartbeat accelerate against her fingertips and he licked his lips nervously. She did the same and looked into his eyes, his beautiful green and blue eyes. She felt as though she were drowning in them. Her own eyes fell closed and she held her breath in anticipation.

But then nothing happened.

She peeked one eye open.

Victor was staring at her, wearing his 'processing' face. Rolling her eyes, she took matters into her own hands and closed the distance between them, her free hand reaching up to curl around his neck and hold him close as her lips pressed against his.

He started in surprise. Then he sunk into the kiss, his eyes falling shut and his arm tugging her against him.

It may not have been the perfect first date.

But to Rosie and Victor, it was the perfect beginning.