"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.
Mary nodded, considering. "I suppose that's the price you pay, being a police inspector," she said, thoughtfully. "But someone must take that responsibility, too. You do good work." She smiled. She understood the effect the call of duty could have, especially as the daughter of a soldier. She had missed her father, growing up, but she had known that he was doing good, necessary things. Policemen, she reasoned, were much the same. She took a philosophical view of things.
She approved of people who did their duty, after all.
"Do you find it very lonely, being so busy?" she asked, curiously.
She isn't balking from this, he notices, which is definitely a good sign. Admittedly he's a little nervous about how she'll feel about his life, but honesty's better than trying to wriggle out from what his life's usually like.
"Never when I'm in the thick of it. It helps, too, when I'm pretty thoroughly worn out, so I just about have time to eat and read the paper before I'm nodding off. On a slower day -- and there's a good number of those -- especially after I spend all day filling out paperwork..." He sighs and presses his lips together, slowly nodding. "It's a bit lonely, yeah. There's not much to fill in the spaces, days like that."
He gives her a self-conscious smile. "I don't suppose you have much time to be lonely."
Mary shrugged a little, looking somewhat lonely herself, suddenly. "I love Alice and David," she said. "Truly, I do. But the Forresters are not my family, they're my employers, no matter fond they might be of me."
She sighed a little, though she tried not to be too morose. "I have no family of my own, you know. My mother died when I was very young, and my father died ten years ago. He was an officer in India, so I saw very little of him. The Forresters have been very kind to me, but their children won't remain small forever." She shrugged. "I suppose I'm used to it, but you're very lucky to have any family, even if you don't see them enough.
"That's true enough," he relents, nodding. "I've got my brother, and my parents are still alive, though I see them even less. It is nice to have family, but a person gets lonely for other things. I get on with the boys at the Yard, and lately now Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, but, well." He gives a shrug, trying not to be morose himself.
"I suppose they're rather like your Forresters. We're friendly, but it's all about work. That's why this evening has been particularly pleasant." He smiles, shy and flirtatious all at once. "Your company's been a welcome relief."
Blushing, Mary looked away. "I feel the same way," she said, "if it's not too forward to say so."
She was feeling almost lightheaded. Her flirtation, if it could even be called that, with Dr. watson had had no such effect on her. After an evening with this inspector, she was rather smitten.
"Perhaps," she suggested, hoping she wasn't going too far, "we could enjoy one another's company again?"
"I'd like that," he says warmly, endeared by her blushing, endeared by her being forward, "very much. And I don't care if that's too forward." He gives a soft chuckle and turns away, wondering at how he could feel like he was in school again with his first love. For God's sake, he just met the girl, but she's witty and charming and lovely and Lestrade's been lonely, it's true.
"You know, I think Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson would like that too," he adds, chuckling harder now. "
Mary also laughed, merrily. "They were rather obvious, weren't they? I suppose I can't be too angry with them, though, not when it seems to have worked out so well, so far."
Shyly, she offered him her hand. She hadn't really realised just how starved for this sort of company she had been, how much she was starting to resign herself to a life of spinsterhood.
It's Lestrade's turn to blush; his ears turn red, an unfortunate characteristic that he's never quite enjoyed in himself, but there isn't much to be done for it now. He takes her hand, feeling warm all over and pleasantly surprise at the turn of events. He figured he'd find a wife someday, but had been putting off the actual search, too... unsure of where to start it. He'd have to thank Watson and Holmes (though surely, mostly Watson) for giving him the push.
"I might have to thank them," he says, bashful suddenly.
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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She approved of people who did their duty, after all.
"Do you find it very lonely, being so busy?" she asked, curiously.
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"Never when I'm in the thick of it. It helps, too, when I'm pretty thoroughly worn out, so I just about have time to eat and read the paper before I'm nodding off. On a slower day -- and there's a good number of those -- especially after I spend all day filling out paperwork..." He sighs and presses his lips together, slowly nodding. "It's a bit lonely, yeah. There's not much to fill in the spaces, days like that."
He gives her a self-conscious smile. "I don't suppose you have much time to be lonely."
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She sighed a little, though she tried not to be too morose. "I have no family of my own, you know. My mother died when I was very young, and my father died ten years ago. He was an officer in India, so I saw very little of him. The Forresters have been very kind to me, but their children won't remain small forever." She shrugged. "I suppose I'm used to it, but you're very lucky to have any family, even if you don't see them enough.
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"I suppose they're rather like your Forresters. We're friendly, but it's all about work. That's why this evening has been particularly pleasant." He smiles, shy and flirtatious all at once. "Your company's been a welcome relief."
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She was feeling almost lightheaded. Her flirtation, if it could even be called that, with Dr. watson had had no such effect on her. After an evening with this inspector, she was rather smitten.
"Perhaps," she suggested, hoping she wasn't going too far, "we could enjoy one another's company again?"
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"You know, I think Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson would like that too," he adds, chuckling harder now. "
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Shyly, she offered him her hand. She hadn't really realised just how starved for this sort of company she had been, how much she was starting to resign herself to a life of spinsterhood.
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"I might have to thank them," he says, bashful suddenly.
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