Unfixed

NINETEEN

"S' Cream"

Roughly 27 Years later

The sun shone happily down on a row of terraced houses, each sporting a curtain of hanging baskets along their balcony edges. In the centre of the street, one terrace door slides open and a woman around the age of forty five steps out hugging a mug of coffee against her chest. Raising her face to the sky she smiles as the sun radiates down onto her. Taking a seat on the wicker sofa she looks over to the balcony next door to spot her neighbour watering his flowers.

"Bore da, Mr Dane!" She greets him with a smile. He glances over to her with a grunt, tipping his head as she raises her mug. The elderly man hadn't taken a liking to her since the day she arrived- he hated that she wasn't Welsh. He hated that she was born Dutch but raised English yet moved to the home connected to his with no knowledge of his language whatsoever. He also despised the lavender tendrils hanging from the balconies ledge. "It's a lovely morning, isn't it?" She asks, attempting pleasantries as per usual. Mr Dane had to hand it to her, she was persistent. He sighs and places his watering can on the black painted table before turning to lean on the fence sectioning them off from one another.

"Rosalie Evers," he begins, "since you have lived beside me you have done nothing but consistently interrupt my mornings with your constant chattering. As admirable as your dedication to building a relationship with your neighbours is you will always- and I repeat, always- have a place in the back of my mind where your existence is forgotten entirely until the next morning."

This was the same exasperated speech he gave to her every morning, sometimes a little harsher and other times he was as pleasant as he could bring himself to be with her. However Mr Dane could not stand Rosalie and should he have to speak to her he would do his best to put her down, to cast her aside and attempt to halt her futile attempts at friendship. As per usual she scowls and he assumes he's finally gotten through to her- that she finally understands. That is, until her scowl grows into a cheeky smile and she cocks her head to the side, auburn tendrils falling past her shoulders.

"You think about me when you wake up?" Grumbling disappointedly under his breath, Mr Dane shakes his head and enters his house once again.

Smiling amusedly and shaking her head slightly, Rose finishes her coffee and enters her bedroom to begin preparing for work.

▪~○••○~▪

Rose works at an Ice Cream shop along the beach front. For a few years she spent her time volunteering at the library and teaching herself Welsh and when the funds she took from her emergency card began to reach the mid thousands she went out job hunting, knowing enough Welsh to tell her potential employers who she was and where she came from. It didn't take long for the Ice Cream shop to employ her. She enjoyed her job. It paid well enough to comfortably buy food and pay the bills as well as a bit spare for the occasional shopping spree. Of course she didn't worry about money, she had plenty.

As per routine, when she entered the shop she flicked on the lights illuminating the "S' CREAM" sign above the entrance and slipped an apron over her head. As she rounded the counter she scraped her hair back into a messy ponytail and dipped the scoops in a pot of cold water. While she was removing the lids from the varying ice cream flavours and toppings the bell above the door rang signalling the first customer's entrance.

And so another day of serving ice cream and being free to eat as much of it as she'd like began. The current pop charts played through the speakers and overall the beach scene in front of her was peaceful.

Since she left her brother and old friends on New Years Eve way back when things were bad and relationships were being ruined she had one main goal: happiness and peace. She was happy now. She was at peace with herself. Of course there wasn't a day that went by when she didn't think of her family or her friends. She still had the picture of her, Victor Trevor and Sherlock standing on her mantle, the picture faded due to age. She had her Dad's and David's mobile numbers if she ever wanted them to find her... but she was happy. Seeing them would only bring back old memories and pain.

Slamming her hand down on one of the tub lids as she began closing up shop she ignored Max's words to her. We can't blame ourselves but we can't isolate ourselves either. She couldn't help but sigh. Max was probably gone too.

"Excuse me." Continuing to close the lids on each flavour, she doesn't look up to address the customer.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we're closed now." She looks up when he doesn't reply and traps her finger in the clasp on one of the toppings jars. Pulling herself free she refuses to break eye contact with the man in front of her. He looked the same, a bit wearier, he wore thin-framed spectacles now and his hair was close to nothing but it was unmistakeably him. "Oh my god..." She drags out as she absent-mindedly reaches out to turn of the lights around the counter. Removing her apron and hanging it on a hook she circles the counter and approaches him. "What are you doing here?" He glances around to be sure that no one was around to listen.

"I'm looking for Rosalie Evers, I believe she stole my daughter twenty seven years ago." Raising a disapproving eyebrow she shakes her head and begins leading him from the store.

"Jokes aren't good on you." He frowns as the turns off the neon sign and locks the door behind them.

"Aren't jokes key to being a dad?" Shaking her head, she begins to lead him away from the store and to her home. Her house, which she paid for with her own money- a fact she would be sure to make sure he knew.

"Not when you've shown up at your daughter's workplace years after she left a note asking to be left alone. You're not here because you miss me," Turning when they reach the end of her driveway, she crosses her arms across her chest and watches him intently. She knew who Charles Magnussen had become in the absence of herself, her mother and his protégé, "what do you want, Dad?" He sighs and passes by her, motioning for her to open the door. While she easily twists the key in the lock and swings the door open he enters the threshold, taking in the homely feel the small corridor immediately gave him.

"I need you to befriend Sherlock Holmes again. He's been on my case due to an... assignment with Lady Alicia Smallwood and I need you to come to London with me as an, what would you call it?" He waves his hand as he thinks while entering the lounge, his eyes immediately going to the few photographs on the wall and the mantle. "Eyes on the inside person."

Watching him pick up a picture of her mother she lowers herself to sit on the arm of her second hand red sofa. She also knew who Sherlock had become in her absence.

"So you want me infiltrate Baker Street?" With a smile, Charles turns back to her, still holding the photograph.

"Exactly."