Holmes looks up when Watson and Miss Morstan enter. Lestrade is late, but he'd expected that; besides, he's fairly certain he can see a cab that would contain Lestrade approaching now. He isn't precisely overjoyed to see Watson and Miss Morstan together; frankly it still reminds him of the life Watson could be having, might've been having, and he isn't sure how it make him feel, still.
"Surprises are more my line of work," he says with a graceful inclination of his head as he stands smoothly from his seat. "Good evening, Miss Morstan. It's a pleasure to see you again." Particularly when he's about to pawn her off onto someone who would probably be a good match for her, granted, but it would also remove her from Watson's side.
Lestrade's step on the stair is not an unwelcome sound just then. He's ready for this show to begin.
When Lestrade gets the telegram, right in the middle of his lunch thank you very much, he curses over his tea. Blast Sherlock Holmes, he thinks, staring down at the short, terse, demanding little message. "Come at 6" is all it says, signed "SH," and somewhere between those letters, Lestrade can just see his upturned nose and holier-than-thou commanding smirk.
Probably he would've crumpled it up and told the pompous so-and-so to stuff it (or shown up at 6:30, just to irritate him) had he not known that Holmes really isn't holier than anyone. That underneath that somewhere is a man who feels just like anyone else. Lestrade still is a bit baffled that of all people, he's one of the few (he supposes) to really see that side of him. He hadn't asked for it, that's for sure, but he won't abuse it now that he's in that position.
And so when he steps out of the cab in front of Baker street -- at 6:18, so there -- he thinks Blast Sherlock Holmes and starts for the door. He experiences a brief, uncomfortable knot of memory as he climbs the stairs, worrying about knocking, about interrupting them, but the open door eases some of that uncertainty, and he steps into the room -- and starts.
"Ah. Good evening," he says, looking from Holmes to Watson to the (charming) woman.
"Lestrade!" Watson broke into a smile, not a very hard thing to do. He wasn't going to attempt any very outlandish acting, as he knew that would fail, but he could certainly be genuinely pleased to see Lestrade, under most circumstances. "What a pleasure to see you. Have you met Miss Mary Morstan? She was a client, in that Jonathan Small business. It's a shame you weren't with us for that. We could have used you rather than Jones. Miss Morstan, this is Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. A friend of ours."
Oh, perhaps this was going to be too obvious. Surely that something was afoot would be doubly obvious to Lestrade.
"Oh!" Mary didn't quite know what to make of this, either, but she turned to this new acquaintance to greet him properly. Her smile was warm, and genuine, and she extended her hand to him. He was rather handsome in his way, she had to think. Besides, she had to agree that almost anyone would have been better than that horrid Jones person. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lestrade."
Why was he here? Was he here with some new case? Were Holmes and Dr. Watson about to be swept off in the name of duty? She couldn't argue with that, truly, but if it meant the ruination of dinner plans... well, it was a bit disappointing, but she supposed it couldn't be helped.
"Inspector," Holmes greets with an air of nonchalance even though he's excited that this whole affair is beginning. He struggles not to let that show through. He shouldn't be excited about what's bound to be a terribly awkward evening.
"Prompt as ever. I'm afraid, as you see, that I'm a bit preoccupied with dinner plans. Our appointment will have to wait." Before Lestrade can say what Holmes can see he's struggling very hard to keep from saying in front of their feminine company, Holmes gestures to Watson and Miss Morstan and lifts his eyebrows. "Perhaps instead you could accompany us to dinner."
It's on the tip of Lestrade's tongue to chew Holmes out. He invited Lestrade here with no explanation -- no, he summoned Lestrade here more than anything, and Lestrade came without having a single clue as to what Holmes might need or want of him, because he's just a good damned person. He keeps all that to himself, though, for the lady's sake.
She is pretty, he has to admit, and he hasn't any doubt that whatever she's hoping to accomplish this evening likely won't come to pass. He wouldn't want to be the third wheel to a meal with Watson and Holmes, not when he might be inclined to think of one of them as a suitor. And dinner would be good.
Blast Sherlock Holmes.
After a glance at Watson, he nods, feeling resigned. "I'd be delighted," he says, without much delight, though he tries on a smile to cover it up. For the lady's sake.
"Splendid," Watson enthused, and he meant it. Lestrade's compliance was the great unknown in this entire mad plan, aside from whether the pair of them might hit it off at all, but one thing at a time. "I can't think of a better way to spend an evening that in the company of good friends."
He turned his smile in Holmes's direction, and there was a fragment of hope in his expression. "Shall we go to dinner at once, or shall we loiter over drinks first?"
Mary had no idea what this was about. Ideally, her evening would have been spent with Dr. Watson alone, and culminated in some sort of concrete development of a relationship. To have Holmes along was not ideal, but she liked him well enough, and she couldn't complain too much. But now a fourth? It was all a little much.
Still, at least this Lestrade gentleman seemed nice enough, and if he was a friend of Holmes and Watson then she could easily be civil to him. She was amenable to spending an evening in good company, certainly. "Whichever you gentlemen prefer," Mary said, still smiling despite her faint confusion.
"Let's start with dinner," Holmes decides, starting for his coat. He wants to get this meal over with as quickly as possible, and perhaps the drinks afterwards would be more entertaining. Miss Morstan and Lestrade are not very happy with this turn of events, but Holmes figures that he and Watson will just have to turn their moods around.
Dinner passes by pleasantly enough, with Lestrade warming up to Miss Morstan and the idea of the meal fairly rapidly. Holmes is sure once food is introduced, Lestrade can't stay disgruntled for very long at all.
As reluctant as he'd been, Lestrade enjoys the meal. Holmes and Watson's company is as good as it always is, and he finds himself rather charmed by Miss Morstan, if he's honest. She's pretty, no doubt, but there's a wit and a sharpness to her that he appreciates. He would've thought he'd be more awkward in this whole ordeal, but she fits herself into the conversation, and Lestrade greatly enjoys her company as well.
When the time the meal's over, he actually prompts Holmes about those drinks back at Baker st., and the farthest thing from his mind as he climbs those stairs again tonight is how much he'd like to trip Holmes sometimes.
"What a splendid meal," Lestrade comments amiably as he strides into Baker st. and situates himself on the sofa, sighing contentedly. "I must thank you gentlemen for inviting me along. I hope you weren't too dismayed to have another join your party, Miss Morstan."
Well, this had gone far, far better than Watson had dared hope. Whether it was anything beyond general friendliness, he hated to hope too much. He went to the sideboard at once and began to pour out the drinks.
"Oh, no! Not at all. It was a very splendid evening." Mary meant that, too. If anything, Lestrade had been the saving grace of the evening, though it felt terrible to think such a thing. She was not dense, however, and she had a sneaking suspicion that the good Doctor was not as interested in her as she was in him, no matter how polite he might be.
He seemed more interested in Mr Holmes, for that matter.
Well, no matter how much this train of thought made her feel like some unsavoury woman out on the hunt for a husband in a desperate attempt to stave off spinsterhood (which she was not, she insisted to herself), she had genuinely enjoyed the evening.
"I suppose," she asked carefully, "Mrs Lestrade shall expect you back presently?" It was a careful question, and one she hoped she wouldn't regret asking, especially in front of Dr. Watson. He seemed a straightforward enough man that taking his apparent disinterest literally seemed safe.
Holmes chokes back a small chuckle as he drifts over to the sideboard. It isn't like Watson needs any help pouring the drinks, but Holmes would rather not wade into that heterosexual area over there just now. He's not surprised at all that Miss Morstan's readjusting her interests, especially since Lestrade did far better at dinner than Holmes had thought he would. He gives Watson a small, private smile, angled so that Miss Morstan and Lestrade can't see.
"I expect she would, if she existed," Lestrade answers goodnaturedly, but he isn't an idiot. He knows what that question's fishing for, and he gives Miss Morstan a little smile, the best attempt he can muster up at flirting. So far, there's a reason there's no Mrs Lestrade, and that's that he isn't as handsome or charming as Dr. Watson.
"Probably Mrs Patmore, my housekeeper, is more than a little annoyed with me, but that's hardly a new state of affairs."
"You're in an enviable position, Miss Morstan," Holmes calls, grinning. "A lady in a roomful of bachelors."
"Ooh, whatever you do, don't tell Mrs. Forrester that," Mary laughed. "She worries far more about my being respectable than I do." She seated herself in what seemed a convenient chair, folding her hands in her lap. She was in high spirits, to be sure, and the news that there was no Mrs. Lestrade rather cheered her.
Watson returned Holmes's smile, pleased and secretive, before he crossed the room to give Mary and Lestrade their drinks. "For you, Miss Morstan, and for you, Lestrade. Fear not, I won't tell your employer a thing. If she asks, I shall say you've had a perfectly pleasant but perfectly respectable evening."
He turned back to the side table to pour out two more glasses, for himself and for Holmes.
"Thank you," Mary said to Watson, sipping her drink. She turned a warm smile on Lestrade, recognising the attempt at flirtation for what it was. That was what had been missing during her vists with Dr. Watson, to be sure. She found herself drawn to it now. Oh, she hoped she wasn't making a mess of this. Three bachelors, indeed. She highly doubted Mr Holmes had any interest in her, was no longer certain about Watson, and hoped for Lestrade. This was a potential mess, but she was enjoying herself nonetheless.
"I admit," she said, laughing, "this was not how I expected to be spending my evening."
"Thank you, Doctor." Lestrade takes his drink and reminds himself that of the four people in this room, he's not the one that's out of his element. Miss Morstan's definitely at a disadvantage here because she doesn't even know that Holmes and Watson are a couple of inverts, and the only bachelor she has to look out for around here is Lestrade. Somehow, though, when she turns that warm smile on him, he feels a little like he's drowning in something.
Get your head together, G. All she's done is smile at you.
"You and me both," he says, chuckling warmly along with her. "Holmes, what was it that you summoned me over here for?" he asks, twisting around in his seat. At least talking to Holmes doesn't make him feel shy. "I'm assuming it wasn't that urgent."
Holmes waves his hand dismissively, not entirely eager to be drawn into the conversation when he's been enjoying watching the exchange of signals between Lestrade and Mary.
"One of your fellow inspectors got something wrong, but it's not important. The person who was arrested committed a crime, just not the one he was arrested for." He shrugs a shoulder and shoots Lestrade a teasingly smug look. "It's nothing that unusual."
Lestrade rolls his eyes and turns around, deciding not to be upset with Holmes, at least not in front of Miss Morstan. "I don't know how you put up with him, Watson. He must have the patience of a saint." He says the latter to Miss Morstan and then takes a sip of his drink because he really shouldn't be talking up the man that's maybe caught Miss Morstan's eye already.
Mary gave a little giggle, her hand demurely over her mouth. "I've wondered the same. Surely you must have great reserves of patience yourself." She laughed again. "Does Mr. Holmes often call you here merely to mock your colleagues?"
Her teasing was good-natured, and perhaps slightly giddy. She sipped her drink, her eyes on Lestrade. Watson was hardly on her mind, and perhaps that was a bad thing. Wouldn't his feelings be hurt? She hated the idea of hurting him.
Watson settled himself down with his drink, casting Holmes a secret sort of smile. This was going quite well, he thought. So it seemed to him. "You do me far too much credit, Lestrade," he said dismissively. "Honestly, you make Holmes out to be some sort of ogre. He's hardly that." He could also hardly so aloud, but he was privy to more than a few perks for putting up with Holmes. It was more than worth it.
"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Watson," Holmes drawls, making his way over to his chair, though he throws Watson a smile over the rim of his glass before he takes a sip. Settling down, he gets comfortable in his seat, resting an elbow on the arm of the chair as he appraises this situation between Mary and Lestrade. Mary's certainly rising to the occasion; clearly Holmes overestimated how much she had settled herself on Watson. Lestrade seems barely able to keep up.
"No, he's not an ogre. More a rock in my shoe." Lestrade grins teasingly at Holmes, admittedly feeling a bit bolstered from Miss Morstan's compliment and that warm laugh of hers. She's rather pretty when she laughs, he thinks.
"Our entire relationship is based around him mocking my colleagues," he says, smiling at Miss Morstan. He leaves out the part where he mocks Lestrade a fair amount, too. "But I give as good as I get." He realizes the rakish smile he gives over his glass is fairly shamelessly posturing, but she's the one who's smiling at him like that, so. Oh well. Maybe Holmes will tease him for this, too, but he's seen Holmes and Watson half undone, and Lestrade's finally feeling daring enough to bring it up again. So he can just look out.
Watson chuckled; it was good to see Lestrade and Holmes tease each other so easily, and it was good to see the evening progress so well. "He does, you know," he confided to Mary, laughing. "He does manage to get the odd score in. Better than most people can manage, to be sure."
He cast Holmes a slightly cheeky grin.
Mary shook her head, still amused. "That is possibly the only time I will ever hear Sherlock Holmes described as a rock. I don't think anyone would believe me even if I were to repeat it." Her smile was still for Lestrade, and she was beginning to wonder if the alcohol was going to her head. Oh, this was terrible, and she was feeling quite licentious, quite wanton, but he was so very charming.
And after so long waiting for Watson to make some advance that she was beginning to wonder if there was some terrible thing wrong with her (she was, after all, twenty-seven and still unmarried!), it was almost a relief to have a man smile at her like that.
Look at Mary go, flirting up quite the little storm. Though Holmes has seen this phenomenon of course, even been on the receiving end of it, he's always a little fascinated and a little put off when he's around a particularly flirty girl. She should probably leave the alcohol alone; he knows this isn't necessarily a part of her character, that the evening's going to her head.
Holmes raises a challenging eyebrow at Lestrade and sips from his drink, more amused than anything at Lestrade's jibe. He realizes that he and Lestrade are friends, and he shouldn't find that so strange, except when does he have friends?
"I'm sure you'll find someone who agrees, Miss Morstan," he answers smoothly, turning his somewhat lazy expression on her. "A mutual acquaintance of ours comes to mind. It really is a shame that Lestrade couldn't have helped us out on that case, rather than Athelney Jones."
Lestrade snorts and rolls his eyes a bit, though he watches Miss Morstan to make sure she shares Holmes's opinion of Jones. Though really, who couldn't.
"Oh, him. I wanted that case, you know. Aside from it sounding interesting, it's not often you hear about pursuits down the Thames." He flicks his eyes to Miss Morstan, wondering at himself and how bold he's being, but well, how often does he get to do this kind of thing anyway? "And I could've made your acquaintance sooner."
"At least we can meet now," Mary pointed out. "I supposed everything did turn out all right, but I don't think any of that credit can go to Mr. Jones." She didn't like to dwell too much on what could have happened, on what it might have been like if the treasure had, indeed, fallen into her hands to share with Mr. Sholto. "It was very exciting."
She gave a sudden glance in Watson's direction, wondering if her friendliness toward Lestrade would cause some sort of jealousy, some discomfort; seeing nothing but warm encouragement in his face, though, Mary turned back to Lestrade. She was trying to puzzle this out; either Watson was completely oblivious to her friendliness, which she doubted, or... he didn't mind. Which meant that he really didn't have any romantic inclinations toward her.
Which was perhaps a little wounding, but having a police inspector seem so interested in her, one who was rather handsome and charming, did a lot to soothe that.
"I think I would have liked to have had you involved then, too."
Watson exhaled, a sigh born of relief and pleasure. He was romantic to his very core, and he was feeling so pleased about the way this was turning out that he thought it was rather a shame that he couldn't sit with Holmes for this. He wanted to do ridiculous things, like lie his head down in Holmes's lap for the evening, or kiss every inch of him, or something similar. Perhaps later.
"I think you would have appreciated a pursuit down the Thames far more than Jones did," he offered.
"Oh, I'm sure about that." Lestrade finishes off his drink and holds his glass in his hand. His eyes hover on Miss Morstan, and then flit away, a tad self-conscious. He does wonder if he's getting a little ahead of himself, if he's letting a pair of pretty eyes carry him away, but she is rather a good deal more than pretty eyes. Look at her, all witty and charming. He has been a bachelor for a long time, hasn't let himself get carried away by pretty eyes in quite some time.
Only problem he can see is, it's a bit awkward being too flirty when he's sitting with two of his friends in their sitting room, and increasingly he's getting the distinct impression that they're monitoring how he and Miss Morstan are getting along.
Holmes hides his smirk behind his glass and gives a suffering sigh, glancing at the clock although he knows perfectly well what time it is, and he doesn't really care either way because whatever the clock says won't change what he's about to say.
"It is getting late, Miss Morstan. I fear Mrs. Forrester may be organizing a search party for you shortly."
Lestrade gives Holmes a very small, very hopeful smile, which Holmes does manage to return.
"Oh, dear." Mary glanced up at the clock, and her face fell. She was enjoying herself a great deal, and she was feeling reluctant to remove herself from Lestrade's company so soon, but she did have a profession to think of, and a reputation to uphold if she was to continue as a governess. Mr. and Mrs. Forrester were ideal employers, and she was as fond of them as they seemed to be of her, but their patience could not hold out forever if their governess was staying out all night with bachelors.
Unless, of course, Mrs. Forrester (who was admittedly not so very much older than Mary herself) was waiting up in hopes of hearing whether or not Dr. Watson had at last made some sort of proposal or romantic advance. Mary wouldn't put it past her, bless her.
"You're quite right, Mr. Holmes. I can't imagine how I let the time get so far away from me, but I must be heading back now." She drained her glass, and set it to one side. "Thank you so much for dinner, and the drink. It's been a lovely evening." Mary looked at Watson, rather curiously, rather expectantly; she had departed the Forresters' home in his company after all.
Watson hummed. He felt he was taking a very great risk in saying anything of the kind, but it seemed safe enough. If he was wrong, Mary would be offended and have every right to be. "Begging your pardon, Miss Morstan, but... Lestrade, I do hate to impose, but I believe your route home does not go far from Miss Morstan's destination. Would you be willing to share a hansom with the young lady and escort her home?"
Mary smiled, turning to Lestrade again. She was fully aware by now that this was a matchmaking effort, that while perhaps Watson did not and could not feel the sort of affection for her she might have wanted, he felt kindly enough to introduce her to a bachelor friend. She was too excited, too pleased, too attracted and charmed to feel insulted or hurt by it, luckily. "You wouldn't mind, Mr. Lestrade?" she asked, earnestly. "I would appreciate it a great deal."
"Surprises are more my line of work," he says with a graceful inclination of his head as he stands smoothly from his seat. "Good evening, Miss Morstan. It's a pleasure to see you again." Particularly when he's about to pawn her off onto someone who would probably be a good match for her, granted, but it would also remove her from Watson's side.
Lestrade's step on the stair is not an unwelcome sound just then. He's ready for this show to begin.
When Lestrade gets the telegram, right in the middle of his lunch thank you very much, he curses over his tea. Blast Sherlock Holmes, he thinks, staring down at the short, terse, demanding little message. "Come at 6" is all it says, signed "SH," and somewhere between those letters, Lestrade can just see his upturned nose and holier-than-thou commanding smirk.
Probably he would've crumpled it up and told the pompous so-and-so to stuff it (or shown up at 6:30, just to irritate him) had he not known that Holmes really isn't holier than anyone. That underneath that somewhere is a man who feels just like anyone else. Lestrade still is a bit baffled that of all people, he's one of the few (he supposes) to really see that side of him. He hadn't asked for it, that's for sure, but he won't abuse it now that he's in that position.
And so when he steps out of the cab in front of Baker street -- at 6:18, so there -- he thinks Blast Sherlock Holmes and starts for the door. He experiences a brief, uncomfortable knot of memory as he climbs the stairs, worrying about knocking, about interrupting them, but the open door eases some of that uncertainty, and he steps into the room -- and starts.
"Ah. Good evening," he says, looking from Holmes to Watson to the (charming) woman.
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"Lestrade!" Watson broke into a smile, not a very hard thing to do. He wasn't going to attempt any very outlandish acting, as he knew that would fail, but he could certainly be genuinely pleased to see Lestrade, under most circumstances. "What a pleasure to see you. Have you met Miss Mary Morstan? She was a client, in that Jonathan Small business. It's a shame you weren't with us for that. We could have used you rather than Jones. Miss Morstan, this is Inspector Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. A friend of ours."
Oh, perhaps this was going to be too obvious. Surely that something was afoot would be doubly obvious to Lestrade.
"Oh!" Mary didn't quite know what to make of this, either, but she turned to this new acquaintance to greet him properly. Her smile was warm, and genuine, and she extended her hand to him. He was rather handsome in his way, she had to think. Besides, she had to agree that almost anyone would have been better than that horrid Jones person. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lestrade."
Why was he here? Was he here with some new case? Were Holmes and Dr. Watson about to be swept off in the name of duty? She couldn't argue with that, truly, but if it meant the ruination of dinner plans... well, it was a bit disappointing, but she supposed it couldn't be helped.
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"Prompt as ever. I'm afraid, as you see, that I'm a bit preoccupied with dinner plans. Our appointment will have to wait." Before Lestrade can say what Holmes can see he's struggling very hard to keep from saying in front of their feminine company, Holmes gestures to Watson and Miss Morstan and lifts his eyebrows. "Perhaps instead you could accompany us to dinner."
It's on the tip of Lestrade's tongue to chew Holmes out. He invited Lestrade here with no explanation -- no, he summoned Lestrade here more than anything, and Lestrade came without having a single clue as to what Holmes might need or want of him, because he's just a good damned person. He keeps all that to himself, though, for the lady's sake.
She is pretty, he has to admit, and he hasn't any doubt that whatever she's hoping to accomplish this evening likely won't come to pass. He wouldn't want to be the third wheel to a meal with Watson and Holmes, not when he might be inclined to think of one of them as a suitor. And dinner would be good.
Blast Sherlock Holmes.
After a glance at Watson, he nods, feeling resigned. "I'd be delighted," he says, without much delight, though he tries on a smile to cover it up. For the lady's sake.
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He turned his smile in Holmes's direction, and there was a fragment of hope in his expression. "Shall we go to dinner at once, or shall we loiter over drinks first?"
Mary had no idea what this was about. Ideally, her evening would have been spent with Dr. Watson alone, and culminated in some sort of concrete development of a relationship. To have Holmes along was not ideal, but she liked him well enough, and she couldn't complain too much. But now a fourth? It was all a little much.
Still, at least this Lestrade gentleman seemed nice enough, and if he was a friend of Holmes and Watson then she could easily be civil to him. She was amenable to spending an evening in good company, certainly. "Whichever you gentlemen prefer," Mary said, still smiling despite her faint confusion.
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Dinner passes by pleasantly enough, with Lestrade warming up to Miss Morstan and the idea of the meal fairly rapidly. Holmes is sure once food is introduced, Lestrade can't stay disgruntled for very long at all.
As reluctant as he'd been, Lestrade enjoys the meal. Holmes and Watson's company is as good as it always is, and he finds himself rather charmed by Miss Morstan, if he's honest. She's pretty, no doubt, but there's a wit and a sharpness to her that he appreciates. He would've thought he'd be more awkward in this whole ordeal, but she fits herself into the conversation, and Lestrade greatly enjoys her company as well.
When the time the meal's over, he actually prompts Holmes about those drinks back at Baker st., and the farthest thing from his mind as he climbs those stairs again tonight is how much he'd like to trip Holmes sometimes.
"What a splendid meal," Lestrade comments amiably as he strides into Baker st. and situates himself on the sofa, sighing contentedly. "I must thank you gentlemen for inviting me along. I hope you weren't too dismayed to have another join your party, Miss Morstan."
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"Oh, no! Not at all. It was a very splendid evening." Mary meant that, too. If anything, Lestrade had been the saving grace of the evening, though it felt terrible to think such a thing. She was not dense, however, and she had a sneaking suspicion that the good Doctor was not as interested in her as she was in him, no matter how polite he might be.
He seemed more interested in Mr Holmes, for that matter.
Well, no matter how much this train of thought made her feel like some unsavoury woman out on the hunt for a husband in a desperate attempt to stave off spinsterhood (which she was not, she insisted to herself), she had genuinely enjoyed the evening.
"I suppose," she asked carefully, "Mrs Lestrade shall expect you back presently?" It was a careful question, and one she hoped she wouldn't regret asking, especially in front of Dr. Watson. He seemed a straightforward enough man that taking his apparent disinterest literally seemed safe.
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"I expect she would, if she existed," Lestrade answers goodnaturedly, but he isn't an idiot. He knows what that question's fishing for, and he gives Miss Morstan a little smile, the best attempt he can muster up at flirting. So far, there's a reason there's no Mrs Lestrade, and that's that he isn't as handsome or charming as Dr. Watson.
"Probably Mrs Patmore, my housekeeper, is more than a little annoyed with me, but that's hardly a new state of affairs."
"You're in an enviable position, Miss Morstan," Holmes calls, grinning. "A lady in a roomful of bachelors."
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Watson returned Holmes's smile, pleased and secretive, before he crossed the room to give Mary and Lestrade their drinks. "For you, Miss Morstan, and for you, Lestrade. Fear not, I won't tell your employer a thing. If she asks, I shall say you've had a perfectly pleasant but perfectly respectable evening."
He turned back to the side table to pour out two more glasses, for himself and for Holmes.
"Thank you," Mary said to Watson, sipping her drink. She turned a warm smile on Lestrade, recognising the attempt at flirtation for what it was. That was what had been missing during her vists with Dr. Watson, to be sure. She found herself drawn to it now. Oh, she hoped she wasn't making a mess of this. Three bachelors, indeed. She highly doubted Mr Holmes had any interest in her, was no longer certain about Watson, and hoped for Lestrade. This was a potential mess, but she was enjoying herself nonetheless.
"I admit," she said, laughing, "this was not how I expected to be spending my evening."
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Get your head together, G. All she's done is smile at you.
"You and me both," he says, chuckling warmly along with her. "Holmes, what was it that you summoned me over here for?" he asks, twisting around in his seat. At least talking to Holmes doesn't make him feel shy. "I'm assuming it wasn't that urgent."
Holmes waves his hand dismissively, not entirely eager to be drawn into the conversation when he's been enjoying watching the exchange of signals between Lestrade and Mary.
"One of your fellow inspectors got something wrong, but it's not important. The person who was arrested committed a crime, just not the one he was arrested for." He shrugs a shoulder and shoots Lestrade a teasingly smug look. "It's nothing that unusual."
Lestrade rolls his eyes and turns around, deciding not to be upset with Holmes, at least not in front of Miss Morstan. "I don't know how you put up with him, Watson. He must have the patience of a saint." He says the latter to Miss Morstan and then takes a sip of his drink because he really shouldn't be talking up the man that's maybe caught Miss Morstan's eye already.
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Her teasing was good-natured, and perhaps slightly giddy. She sipped her drink, her eyes on Lestrade. Watson was hardly on her mind, and perhaps that was a bad thing. Wouldn't his feelings be hurt? She hated the idea of hurting him.
Watson settled himself down with his drink, casting Holmes a secret sort of smile. This was going quite well, he thought. So it seemed to him. "You do me far too much credit, Lestrade," he said dismissively. "Honestly, you make Holmes out to be some sort of ogre. He's hardly that." He could also hardly so aloud, but he was privy to more than a few perks for putting up with Holmes. It was more than worth it.
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"No, he's not an ogre. More a rock in my shoe." Lestrade grins teasingly at Holmes, admittedly feeling a bit bolstered from Miss Morstan's compliment and that warm laugh of hers. She's rather pretty when she laughs, he thinks.
"Our entire relationship is based around him mocking my colleagues," he says, smiling at Miss Morstan. He leaves out the part where he mocks Lestrade a fair amount, too. "But I give as good as I get." He realizes the rakish smile he gives over his glass is fairly shamelessly posturing, but she's the one who's smiling at him like that, so. Oh well. Maybe Holmes will tease him for this, too, but he's seen Holmes and Watson half undone, and Lestrade's finally feeling daring enough to bring it up again. So he can just look out.
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He cast Holmes a slightly cheeky grin.
Mary shook her head, still amused. "That is possibly the only time I will ever hear Sherlock Holmes described as a rock. I don't think anyone would believe me even if I were to repeat it." Her smile was still for Lestrade, and she was beginning to wonder if the alcohol was going to her head. Oh, this was terrible, and she was feeling quite licentious, quite wanton, but he was so very charming.
And after so long waiting for Watson to make some advance that she was beginning to wonder if there was some terrible thing wrong with her (she was, after all, twenty-seven and still unmarried!), it was almost a relief to have a man smile at her like that.
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Holmes raises a challenging eyebrow at Lestrade and sips from his drink, more amused than anything at Lestrade's jibe. He realizes that he and Lestrade are friends, and he shouldn't find that so strange, except when does he have friends?
"I'm sure you'll find someone who agrees, Miss Morstan," he answers smoothly, turning his somewhat lazy expression on her. "A mutual acquaintance of ours comes to mind. It really is a shame that Lestrade couldn't have helped us out on that case, rather than Athelney Jones."
Lestrade snorts and rolls his eyes a bit, though he watches Miss Morstan to make sure she shares Holmes's opinion of Jones. Though really, who couldn't.
"Oh, him. I wanted that case, you know. Aside from it sounding interesting, it's not often you hear about pursuits down the Thames." He flicks his eyes to Miss Morstan, wondering at himself and how bold he's being, but well, how often does he get to do this kind of thing anyway? "And I could've made your acquaintance sooner."
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She gave a sudden glance in Watson's direction, wondering if her friendliness toward Lestrade would cause some sort of jealousy, some discomfort; seeing nothing but warm encouragement in his face, though, Mary turned back to Lestrade. She was trying to puzzle this out; either Watson was completely oblivious to her friendliness, which she doubted, or... he didn't mind. Which meant that he really didn't have any romantic inclinations toward her.
Which was perhaps a little wounding, but having a police inspector seem so interested in her, one who was rather handsome and charming, did a lot to soothe that.
"I think I would have liked to have had you involved then, too."
Watson exhaled, a sigh born of relief and pleasure. He was romantic to his very core, and he was feeling so pleased about the way this was turning out that he thought it was rather a shame that he couldn't sit with Holmes for this. He wanted to do ridiculous things, like lie his head down in Holmes's lap for the evening, or kiss every inch of him, or something similar. Perhaps later.
"I think you would have appreciated a pursuit down the Thames far more than Jones did," he offered.
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Only problem he can see is, it's a bit awkward being too flirty when he's sitting with two of his friends in their sitting room, and increasingly he's getting the distinct impression that they're monitoring how he and Miss Morstan are getting along.
Holmes hides his smirk behind his glass and gives a suffering sigh, glancing at the clock although he knows perfectly well what time it is, and he doesn't really care either way because whatever the clock says won't change what he's about to say.
"It is getting late, Miss Morstan. I fear Mrs. Forrester may be organizing a search party for you shortly."
Lestrade gives Holmes a very small, very hopeful smile, which Holmes does manage to return.
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Unless, of course, Mrs. Forrester (who was admittedly not so very much older than Mary herself) was waiting up in hopes of hearing whether or not Dr. Watson had at last made some sort of proposal or romantic advance. Mary wouldn't put it past her, bless her.
"You're quite right, Mr. Holmes. I can't imagine how I let the time get so far away from me, but I must be heading back now." She drained her glass, and set it to one side. "Thank you so much for dinner, and the drink. It's been a lovely evening." Mary looked at Watson, rather curiously, rather expectantly; she had departed the Forresters' home in his company after all.
Watson hummed. He felt he was taking a very great risk in saying anything of the kind, but it seemed safe enough. If he was wrong, Mary would be offended and have every right to be. "Begging your pardon, Miss Morstan, but... Lestrade, I do hate to impose, but I believe your route home does not go far from Miss Morstan's destination. Would you be willing to share a hansom with the young lady and escort her home?"
Mary smiled, turning to Lestrade again. She was fully aware by now that this was a matchmaking effort, that while perhaps Watson did not and could not feel the sort of affection for her she might have wanted, he felt kindly enough to introduce her to a bachelor friend. She was too excited, too pleased, too attracted and charmed to feel insulted or hurt by it, luckily. "You wouldn't mind, Mr. Lestrade?" she asked, earnestly. "I would appreciate it a great deal."
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