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."
Oh, bless Watson. And Holmes too. He's glad to be getting away from them because he's definitely suspicious now of the whole evening and their interests in throwing Lestrade and Miss Morstan in a hansom together. While he's grateful to them for it, he'd rather not continue sitting here, feeling rather like a creature in a zoo with its handlers hovering nearby, waiting for it to mate. Or maybe that's the drink getting to him. Or maybe it's the infatuation he's harboring for Miss Morstan.
He needs to get out of Baker street.
"I wouldn't mind in the slightest," he returns, his excitement and flattery over her excitement showing in his face. Oh, this is promising indeed. "Thank you for the invitation, sudden as it was," he says as he gets to his feet, maybe a little too quickly. "I'll see you gentlemen soon enough."
"Yes, you do always have a habit of turning up," Holmes teases, feeling only warmth and affection for Lestrade and Mary, surprisingly. Without the fear that she'd be whisking Watson away into domestic bliss, he can appreciate what he liked about her from the beginning. This romance stuff rather color his opinion, but no matter.
"Good evening," he says, getting to his feet to nod them both a goodbye. "Thank you for dinner."
Mary rose, smoothing out her skirts as she did so. "Yes, thank you. It was a splendid evening." She couldn't quite help turning a warm smile on Lestrade as she did so, as he had more than a little to do with how splendidly it had gone. Oh, she hoped he would call on her again. Surely, the Forresters could find nothing unseemly about a police inspector calling on her?
"We do hope to see you both again," Watson smiled. He rose as well, retrieving Mary's coat for her. "The four of us ought to get together again, perhaps."
"I'd enjoy that," Lestrade says readily, happy to jump at a chance to spend more time with Miss Morstan. He slips into his hat and coat and stands ready for Miss Morstan to join him, smiling warmly at her.
Holmes suppresses the urge to groan. "Naturally," he says instead with a small, polite smile. "Until then."
He waits for Lestrade and Mary to start down the stairs, and the door to shut behind them, before he turns a warm smile on Watson. "My dear, I think we're matchmakers now."
Lestrade's only a little nervously excited when they reach the landing and step outside. He catches a hansom for them and helps her in, and he settles himself beside her, quite unable to stop grinning. This is probably inappropriate, or something, but Lestrade has no complaints about squeezing in beside her.
"So, Miss Morstan, you are a governess? How old is your charge?" He asks, eager to know more about her.
Before answering, Watson turned to Holmes and put his arms about him. He kissed him, gently. "Not something I would have suspected of us," he murmured. "Now, please, take me to bed. It's been a long evening."
Mary favoured Lestrade with another smile as she settled herself into the cab. Finally, an opportunity to speak with him alone, to try to determine if her first impressions were reliable. In general, she trusted her intuition, but not to the exclusion of all else.
"I'm in charge of a little girl, seven years old." Her smile turned a little fond; she was more than a little attached to the children under care. "As well as a boy, age five. Alice and David. The Forresters are expecting a third, between you and me," she added, conspiratorily, "though you wouldn't know to see Mrs. Forrester, not yet."
Mary looked away, rather bashful. "I think it's rather exciting," she said, by way of excusing herself.
"A baby's always exciting," he offers, feeling a little bashful himself after Miss Morstan sweeps him up into a secretive bubble. "My brother just had one last year. Well, his wife did. Handsome thing. I don't get to see him as often as I'd like to. Work keeps me busy, you know."
As much as he'd rather not bring up how he doesn't have a lot of time for romance, hence why he's still unmarried and childless, something his brother gets after him for often enough, he figures it's only fair to point it out. No sense in her getting her hopes up about something only to be disappointed because he has to run off in the middle of dinner.
"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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He needs to get out of Baker street.
"I wouldn't mind in the slightest," he returns, his excitement and flattery over her excitement showing in his face. Oh, this is promising indeed. "Thank you for the invitation, sudden as it was," he says as he gets to his feet, maybe a little too quickly. "I'll see you gentlemen soon enough."
"Yes, you do always have a habit of turning up," Holmes teases, feeling only warmth and affection for Lestrade and Mary, surprisingly. Without the fear that she'd be whisking Watson away into domestic bliss, he can appreciate what he liked about her from the beginning. This romance stuff rather color his opinion, but no matter.
"Good evening," he says, getting to his feet to nod them both a goodbye. "Thank you for dinner."
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"We do hope to see you both again," Watson smiled. He rose as well, retrieving Mary's coat for her. "The four of us ought to get together again, perhaps."
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Holmes suppresses the urge to groan. "Naturally," he says instead with a small, polite smile. "Until then."
He waits for Lestrade and Mary to start down the stairs, and the door to shut behind them, before he turns a warm smile on Watson. "My dear, I think we're matchmakers now."
Lestrade's only a little nervously excited when they reach the landing and step outside. He catches a hansom for them and helps her in, and he settles himself beside her, quite unable to stop grinning. This is probably inappropriate, or something, but Lestrade has no complaints about squeezing in beside her.
"So, Miss Morstan, you are a governess? How old is your charge?" He asks, eager to know more about her.
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Mary favoured Lestrade with another smile as she settled herself into the cab. Finally, an opportunity to speak with him alone, to try to determine if her first impressions were reliable. In general, she trusted her intuition, but not to the exclusion of all else.
"I'm in charge of a little girl, seven years old." Her smile turned a little fond; she was more than a little attached to the children under care. "As well as a boy, age five. Alice and David. The Forresters are expecting a third, between you and me," she added, conspiratorily, "though you wouldn't know to see Mrs. Forrester, not yet."
Mary looked away, rather bashful. "I think it's rather exciting," she said, by way of excusing herself.
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As much as he'd rather not bring up how he doesn't have a lot of time for romance, hence why he's still unmarried and childless, something his brother gets after him for often enough, he figures it's only fair to point it out. No sense in her getting her hopes up about something only to be disappointed because he has to run off in the middle of dinner.
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