"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
( ... )
"Right," he agrees, forcing a more sensible expression onto his face and nodding, trying to shake some sense into his head. He appreciates practicality and sense and realistic approaches, so she's absolutely right, but it doesn't help that her being sensible about this only seems to suggest that they'd be well-matched.
"Of course. Chickens and eggs, and all that. Maybe after another dinner, you'll decide I have a horrible sense of humor, and you can't abide that. Which would be completely fair." He smiles, a little playfully. "Can't live with someone who you can't laugh with."
She could already laugh with him. Oh, but she felt lucky.
"Is that an invitation for dinner again?" Mary asked, sweetly teasing. "If it is, I think I might accept. You ought to be careful, Mr. Lestrade. You don't want to give me the wrong idea."
She giggled a little, unable to help it, feeling positively light-headed.
"Right again. I don't." He grins at her, already enjoying the sound of her laugh, her sweet, giddy giggles. "That's why I'm inviting you out to dinner, so you'll get the right idea." He breaks off, chuckling, mostly from happiness, though also at his flirtatiousness.
"What will your employers think of all this? You go out with one bachelor and come home with another," he teases. Though Watson isn't quite a bachelor. That's still a bizarre thought.
Laughing again, Mary shook her head. "I haven't any idea. They're quite accomodating but this might be a bit much even for them. I shall have to see what, if anything, they say about it."
She tossed her head. "Let them disapprove. I know and you know that nothing untoward has happened. That's good enough for me." In a slightly softer voice, she added, "But I do accept the offer of dinner, gladly."
Lestrade is aware that he's staring at her, just a little, but the toss of her head and the daring of her words... Well, he appreciates a girl with spunk. He breaks off from looking at her with a self-conscious shake of his head, though he very lightly squeezes her hand.
"Good because I suspect even if you hadn't, you wouldn't be seeing the last of me."
"I'm relieved to hear it," Mary said, still smiling. She squeezed Lestrade's fingers back gently. She was aware that they were coming up soon upon the Forrester's home, and that this cab ride must end.
"Before I forget to ask," she said, speaking softly, "I don't believe I heard what your Christian name is. I think I'd like to know, before we end up going to dinner together again?"
"Oh," he says, with another little amused chuckle. He likes it when she speaks softly too, and he's beginning to realize he might just have a thing for her voice. "It's Guy. Guy Lestrade. Bit of a family name. It was my grandfather's."
"It's a lovely name," Mary said. Guy Lestrade. She liked the sound of it. She liked the sound of Lestrade in general, come to think of it. He seemed almost perfect, as far as she was concerned.
She told herself, firmly, to get herself under control. One evening did not mean true love. It didn't even mean general compatibility. It was, at least, a good start.
She sighed a little, peering to look down the street as the cab pulled up to a familiar house. "Well," she said, "Mr. Guy Lestrade, I believe this is my destination."
The little twinge of disappointment at that is a little embarrassing. She's only getting out of the cab, for goodness's sake. He'll see her again soon enough -- and he knows for sure that he'll be coming by as soon as he properly can, without being too unseemly. Well, maybe a second before.
"Ah, very well." He squeezes her hand lightly before he slips out of the cab, reaching up to help her out. "I thank you for a lovely evening, Miss Morstan. One of the loveliest I've had in a long time."
Taking his hand, Mary stepped out. The smile she gave Lestrade was warm, thankful, encouraging. "I agree," she said. "Perhaps next time we could have dinner without the extra company."
She gave a small laugh. Oh, she hoped he would call on her soon. "Escort me to the door, Mr. Lestrade?"
"With pleasure. And most definitely without the extra company," he agrees readily, warmly. He's already mentally rearranging his schedule to see where he can guarantee a proper evening off that he could take Miss Morstan out. Preferably within the week. Is that too eager? Oh well. He is eager.
"You'll see me again soon enough," he says, half a warning. "To be honest... I'm not sure I could stay away for very long." He stops at her door, feeling the pleasant tingle of infatuation. It'll be good to get away from her, to screw his head back on right, but he doesn't think that much of this feeling will dissipate once he steps back in that cab.
"I look forward to it," Mary promised, squeezing his fingers. "I hope you don't take so long to come visit me again."
She tried the door, and was relieved to find that it was open, that she was not locked out and would not have to wake the household up. Bless Mrs. Forrester for that. Still, she was reluctant to go inside, not now, not so soon.
"Good night, Miss Morstan," he says, and he's sorry to say it. He lingers, recognizing her reluctance to leave and mirroring it right back, but he has to leave at some point -- if only to come back and see her again later. Nodding, he draws his hand away and backs up a step, smiling goodbye again, until finally he turns and hops back up in the cab.
Oh, dear. He's really falling over his heels on this one.
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 ( ... )
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"Of course. Chickens and eggs, and all that. Maybe after another dinner, you'll decide I have a horrible sense of humor, and you can't abide that. Which would be completely fair." He smiles, a little playfully. "Can't live with someone who you can't laugh with."
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"Is that an invitation for dinner again?" Mary asked, sweetly teasing. "If it is, I think I might accept. You ought to be careful, Mr. Lestrade. You don't want to give me the wrong idea."
She giggled a little, unable to help it, feeling positively light-headed.
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"What will your employers think of all this? You go out with one bachelor and come home with another," he teases. Though Watson isn't quite a bachelor. That's still a bizarre thought.
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She tossed her head. "Let them disapprove. I know and you know that nothing untoward has happened. That's good enough for me." In a slightly softer voice, she added, "But I do accept the offer of dinner, gladly."
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"Good because I suspect even if you hadn't, you wouldn't be seeing the last of me."
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"Before I forget to ask," she said, speaking softly, "I don't believe I heard what your Christian name is. I think I'd like to know, before we end up going to dinner together again?"
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She told herself, firmly, to get herself under control. One evening did not mean true love. It didn't even mean general compatibility. It was, at least, a good start.
She sighed a little, peering to look down the street as the cab pulled up to a familiar house. "Well," she said, "Mr. Guy Lestrade, I believe this is my destination."
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"Ah, very well." He squeezes her hand lightly before he slips out of the cab, reaching up to help her out. "I thank you for a lovely evening, Miss Morstan. One of the loveliest I've had in a long time."
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She gave a small laugh. Oh, she hoped he would call on her soon. "Escort me to the door, Mr. Lestrade?"
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"You'll see me again soon enough," he says, half a warning. "To be honest... I'm not sure I could stay away for very long." He stops at her door, feeling the pleasant tingle of infatuation. It'll be good to get away from her, to screw his head back on right, but he doesn't think that much of this feeling will dissipate once he steps back in that cab.
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She tried the door, and was relieved to find that it was open, that she was not locked out and would not have to wake the household up. Bless Mrs. Forrester for that. Still, she was reluctant to go inside, not now, not so soon.
"Good night, Mr. Lestrade."
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Oh, dear. He's really falling over his heels on this one.
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