lightconductor | Take care of those you call your own, and keep good company...

Watson gave a small start -- but only a small one. He was at least somewhat used to this sort of thing, even if he wasn't prepared for it just now. He lowered his book, looking up at Holmes with raised eyebrows.

"Not mortally," he said, with as much dignity as he could muster. "Fortunately, the young lady is more than equipped to help nurse him back to health. Must you start the conversation halfway through like that? It's unsettling."

There was no real ire in his tone; it would have difficult to be seriously annoyed as cosy as he was now, and he enjoyed the feeling of Holmes's fingers in his hair, an added bonus.

"Why start at the beginning when there's no need to?" he counters, as casually as before, and he ruffles Watson's hair so that he can set it to rights again. "It saves time, my dear Watson. Surely you can surmise how I reached that conclusion."

Once Watson's hair is fixed, he casts about for something else to do with his hands, and settles on a light scalp massage, gently rubbing his fingers in small circles against Watson's scalp. Sometimes it's daunting to realize that Watson is his -- that he can massage Watson's scalp if he wants to, can draw Watson into his lap, can spend hours in silence or hours in not-so-silent activity. How much he loves Watson is occasionally daunting too, but he leans into it and embraces it because what else is there to do.

Watson closed his eyes, his irritation at being deduced and dissected in such a manner fading under the soothing feeling of fingers in his hair. It was such a small and intimate gesture, affectionate and loving, tender in a way he once would have thought an unlikely act for Holmes. Through all his doubts about the wisdom of this, of the morality of this, there were moments like this where he was overwhelmed with being loved.

"I suppose," he sighed, "you have managed to work it out by watching me." There was something humbling about that. Watson laid the book down on his chest. "Most people, you realise, don't aim to save time in conversation."

"I am not most people," he says, like it's obvious, because it is. There's another time waster, but he doesn't really mind it; he's distracting himself with this scalp massage, enjoying having Watson at his fingertips. He slides his hand down the side of Watson's neck to his shoulder, settling his hand there and brushing his thumb against his throat.

"And I'm not particularly interested in how they conduct their conversations when mine are perfectly satisfying as they are."

"I give thanks every day," Watson said dryly, "that you are not most people."

He leaned his head back, feeling strangely vulnerable about having a hand over his throat, feeling caught and peculiarly glad for it. He opened his eyes then, a peculiar sort of smile on his face.

"But if you insist on having these conversations, then you must accept that I will complain, at least a little."

There was only fondness and amusement in his voice.

Lestrade -- doesn't quite know what he feels. It's been so quick, falling for Mary, but he doesn't see how it could've been any other way. She's far too charming, fits too easily in his life, for him to have prolonged this at all. He'd thought it was a little silly, the idea that you could fall for someone that quickly, could know that there wasn't anyone else for you. He's practical, and that didn't seem a practical notion.

Practical or no, his head's swimming because Mary's promised to be his wife, and he doesn't have a single doubt that they're going in the wrong direction. It just makes sense in a way that reminds him, a little, of solving a case. Lestrade needs a wife? Well, Miss Mary Morstan is the prime suspect. Case closed.

He stops at the landing and smiles at her, squeezing her hand briefly, before he raises his hand to knock -- firmly -- on the sitting room door. He may be in love with her, but he knows how to keep a secret, and he won't reveal Holmes and Watson's secret, not without their permission or without first assuring that Mary would be as okay with it as he is. While he suspects, he can't be sure, and that's just not fair to them.

"Open up, Mr. Holmes," he calls jovially, still grinning. "I've got important business to discuss."

Squeezing Lestrade's hand back, Mary felt more than a little nervous, and she wasn't entirely sure why. Besides feeling uncomfortably aware of the fact that there had been so much effort on Mrs. Forrester's part to arrange a match between herself and Dr. Watson, she was still uncertain as to whether the good doctor was really so comfortable with a former potential lover engaged to a friend. Besides, she was finding it a little nerve-wracking to be introduced to her fiancé's friends, even if she had met them before.

Her fiancé. What a thing that was! She would, presently, be Mrs. Mary Lestrade and it was wonderful. She'd rather given up on herself as being destined for spinsterhood, too.

"Extremely important," she murmured sideways at him, her eyes dancing with laughter, excitement, nervousness.

Excitement doesn't flare as it might otherwise with such an apparent promise of work because he knows that Lestrade isn't here on business at all. He's with Mary, and judging by the happiness in their steps and voices, they've come to announce their engagement. That's wonderful news, certainly, and he's very happy for them, but he's less thrilled with surprise social calls. Ah, well.

"Here you are, my dear. A pair of people with whom you can have some normal conversation." He certainly isn't making any move to answer the door, however. Reclining further in his seat, he closes his eyes and tips his head back. "Their engagement will make a delightful conversation topic," he says calmly.

After sitting bolt upright, alarmed at the sudden intrusion upon such a very intimate moment, Watson shot Holmes an irritated look. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," he grumbled.

He set his book aside, and after taking a moment to straighten out his rather rumpled clothing, he went to answer the door. What sort of "engagement" Lestrade might have momentarily eluded him, but as he opened the door to greet him, and saw who was with him, what Holmes was talking about suddenly dawned on him. Surely not already?

"Lestrade!" Watson greeted, ushering them inside. "Miss Morstan! This is an unexpected pleasure." Ideally it wouldn't have been just at that moment, when he was so comfortably seated in Holmes's lap; he resisted the urge to reach up to feel if his hair was ruffled, and to smooth it down if it was. "What brings you this way tonight?"

"Important business, as I said," he says with a grin, stepping into their sitting room, fit to burst with excitement. Where and how this friendship came about he isn't quite sure -- somewhere between watching Holmes crawl around on his knees and exchanging comments with Watson and then catching them in the act of... well, just any act. And now he met his fiancee through them, of all things.

Glancing at Mary, he lifts an eyebrow questioningly. "Shall we sit first?"

"If we're invited to stay," Mary said, looking between Holmes and Watson. "If we're not interrupting anything, of course. This isn't a bad time, I hope? We wouldn't want to intrude." Her expression was bright, eager, practically glowing. She wanted to see their reaction.

The look she gave Lestrade was ridiculously fond, ridiculously happy. "But it is quite important news, I think."

Holmes is right, of course. They're clearly engaged, and almost sickeningly happy about it. The upside to his and Watson's relationship being a secret is that he never has to look like this; while he enjoys being able to be open about his relationship, being able to hold Watson's hand if he wants or make references to it, he doesn't think he wants Lestrade or Mary for that matter to see Holmes look at Watson with that amount of love in his eyes. That's just far too private.

"There's always time for important news here," Holmes says magnanimously as he stands and gestures to the couch. "Please, be seated and tell us all about your engagement."

He realizes that maybe he's taking the wind out of their sails a bit, but that's just what Holmes does.

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes or apologise for Holmes, Watson closed the door to the sitting room and went to one of the chairs by the fire.

"Is this so?" He smiled, shaking his head a little. So much for Holmes's claim that this would be a normal conversation. It hadn't even begun and they were already skipping ahead. Not everyone was as used to it as Watson. "Congratulations are in order if it is."

Oh, blast -- the -- so-and-so. Lestrade eyes Holmes with a mixture of genuine frustration and annoyance and a touch -- just a touch, mind you -- of fondness. Of course that arrogant man would be able to tell; probably anyone on the street could tell, if Lestrade's honest with himself, but that still doesn't mean he's any less annoyed.

"Very clever, Mr. Holmes, but one of your less impressive deductions, I think. I can work out your reasoning easily enough." He sits and turns his mostly-but-not-totally serious glare from Holmes and softens it before he sets it on Watson.

"But yes, congratulations are in order. I believe we have you to thank for all this," he says, smiling.

Amused more than anything, Mary hid a small laugh behind one gloved hand. "As I wasn't lucky enough to have met Guy when I met you, we certainly have you to thank for introducing us."

Well, she certainly sensed no jealousy, no sore feelings from Watson. That was reassuring. She would have hated to be the wedge into their friendship.

Yes, I was only too happy to help distract you from my lover. Holmes bites his tongue and smiles, gesturing with his hand instead of voicing his thoughts. He's grumpy, he realizes, and he can't quite put his finger on why; it doesn't have solely to do with being interrupted from his pleasant evening with Watson. Though, granted, that is some of it.

"The introduction is the easy part. You did the rest." There, he can be polite, but he does shoot Lestrade a lazy smile.

"What do you think, Watson?" He turns his smile on him now, though he's half watching Mary too, because he can guess at what she's thinking easily enough. "Do you approve? I certainly have no complaints."

"Oh, but of course I do." Watson's smile was broad, warm. "How could I possibly fail to approve of so obviously happy a couple?"

That, and it had been convenient to find himself no longer a target for matchmaking. All the same, he was genuinely pleased. The pair of them were so happy they were practically glowing. It was all he could do to keep himself from turning a similarly besotted look on Holmes; romanticism was catching.

"I am pleased for you both. Have you made plans yet?"

He might roll his eyes a little at Holmes asking if Watson approves. He probably wouldn't have if it'd been anyone else, but Holmes had just plucked his nerves a little. He's allowed an eyeroll if he wants one. The annoyance fades just as quickly, though, as it usually does when Watson gives such warm smiles. These two are such a contrast that they still fascinate Lestrade, to a degree.

But now his attention is solely on Mary, and he turns a bright smile on her, reaching for her hand and linking their fingers together.

"We've got as far as deciding we're eloping. I haven't got the patience for much else," he says, with a little laugh. He realizes this is quick, that he's caught up in a bevvy of impractical emotions like love and infatuation and elation at having finally found someone that he could have all these emotions for -- but then everything swings back around to the practical. She just fits with him, so why wait? What would be the point, when they go together so seamlessly?

"It's... simplest that way," Mary said, rather thoughtfully. Not to mention that it would have been a small wedding party in any case. This was awfully fast, but... she couldn't find fault with it, despite the tiny flutter of fear in the bottom of her heart. She was eager for this, and very little of that was fear of continuing a life as a spinster; after all, Mary had been independent for quite some time. She squeezed Lestrade's fingers. There was a light blush on her cheeks, a flush of pleasure. "The Forresters are making arrangements for my replacement," she continued. "I will miss them, of course, but they're very happy for me."

Mary glanced over at Lestrade, thinking of something they had discussed. Lestrade didn't seem about to bring it up; being a modern sort of woman she took it upon herself to ask for herself. "Actually," she said, straightening in her seat, "there was something we wished to ask you. Would the pair of you consent to accompany us to the church to be our witnesses?"

Holmes's eyebrows lift in genuine surprise, and though it doesn't bloom to anything like a full reaction to a compliment, he feels the gratitude flood through him anyway. He keeps forgetting that somehow he and Lestrade have become friends. Wouldn't there be anyone better to accompany them? The Forresters themselves, surely; surely Lestrade has friends at the Yard. That he's being asked rather stuns him, and he flicks his gaze to Watson, suddenly rather self-conscious, and seeking some help here.

"I think we can handle that, don't you?" he says, though the lazy arrogance is gone.

Watson's smile managed to broaden even further, somehow. "It would be our pleasure," he said warmly. Oh, this was perfect. They couldn't have asked for a better result when they had introduced them. "Name the date and we shall be there."

He was faintly surprised to feel a certain sense of envy of Lestrade and Miss Morstan, if not for the missed opportunity to wed Mary himself, but for their opportunity to stand before a priest and be wedded. That was strange. He certainly sometimes did doubt he was doing something that was not deeply sinful, deeply wrong, but all the same that sort of vow... would have been nice.

Lestrade can see it, the gratitude in Holmes, because it's such an unusual thing to see in his face and he wears it strangely. Their reactions only verify to him that he'd been right in choosing them, not just for the pivotal role they'd played in helping him and Mary meet in the first place. He squeezes her hand again and smiles broadly, looking between Holmes and Watson.

"As soon as we figure out the date and time for ourselves, we'll do just that," he says with a small laugh, happy and bashful. "Thank you," he adds, looking down at his lap, and then at his and Mary's hands, joined together.

Also smiling, Mary glanced down at their hands together, and back up to Holmes and Watson, her own expression thankful. By now, though, something was beginning to nag at her as odd about this whole thing. Perhaps a little of it was the way Holmes glanced at Watson in that searching way, and perhaps some of it was the warm smile Watson had turned briefly upon Holmes in turn, but she suddenly had the strangest feeling that she and Lestrade were visiting with a married couple. It was that sort of atmosphere.

Which was plainly ridiculous, of course. They would likely have been horrified if they had any idea of the notion that had just entered her mind. Surely even if it were true (which it simply could not be), they would have better sense than to be so friendly with a police inspector?

It would, possibly, explain why Dr. Watson had been so distant and noncommital (if not unfriendly) when there had been an attempt to pair her with him.

But no. She had to stop thinking this, it was unseemly. Mary was sure she could feel a faint blush colour her cheeks, which was inconvenient.

What if it was true?

She had to assume it wasn't. It was safer that way.

"I do want to let the Forresters actually find a new governess before I leave them," she said, finding she was watching Holmes and Watson carefully now, "but I doubt that shall take long."

Watson's warmth is helpful to him in pulling himself out of this sudden flood of emotions. It's a good thing he doesn't have many friends, possibly, if being invited to watch their wedding is going to have this effect on him.

Now that Mary is not an obstacle to his and Watson's romance, Holmes is more able to appreciate how un-dreadful she is; it's a rare woman that earns his approval, and while his earlier opinions of her had been colored with his jealousy, he can objectively reflect now and see that she really wasn't all that bad.

"I certainly hope not. There's little worse than an unanswered job posting coming in the way of true love," he quips, flashing her a smile.

"It's considerate of you," Watson said. "I'm sure not all young ladies would be so concerned."

He was ridiculously excited about this prospect, truth be told, even if he suspected himself of living vicariously through Lestrade and Mary -- if he could not have a wedding, he would enjoy theirs (even just a small elopement) as much as it was proper for him to do so. And Holmes's resulting streak of romanticism was maddening, if only because it made him wistful that he could not reach over and take Holmes's hand, as Lestrade and Mary were free to do so. At the very least he was thinking of how soon he might be able to return to the very comfortable position they'd been in before their guests had arrived.

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