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

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

It had been a long, if not unrewarding day. Now, though, Watson was glad to relax in the comfort of familiar surroundings. There was something perfect about the cosiness of their rooms, the crackle and warmth of the fire, the scent of dinner and brandy and tobacco smoke. It was home, and it was far more perfect than he felt he had any right to claim.

He was stretched out on the sofa, comfortably full, with a novel propped up on his chest while he rested his head in Holmes's lap. The position was comfortable, intimate, and while in part he worried that it was... unmanly, unbecoming, unduly effeminate... it felt strangely safe, and he was grateful for the warmth of the thigh beneath his head.

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They ought to know, Lestrade thinks with a small smile of his own, though he's shooting the occasional look over at Mary because these two are not doing a very good job of being illegal homosexuals over here. If she's thinking anything contemptuous, it's not showing on her face, so he relaxes and gives her hand another squeeze.

"I'm not sure if I could handle sitting in one place for too long. Sounds a bit exotic to me, or maybe a bit boring; haven't been able to decide." He shoots Holmes a small smile. "I think these two are winning me over to the continental side."

"It is sounding more and more intriguing," Mary agreed. "And I suppose it's a special occasion, if anything is."

Look at these two. Granted, she didn't know Sherlock Holmes terribly well, but the impression she'd had of the man was not that he was the sort of person to turn looks like that on just anyone, friend or no. Her wild supposition was seeming... well, more and more likely. Did Lestrade have any notion? Surely they wouldn't be so careless in front of him if he didn't. Perhaps she could raise the idea with Guy later -- but if he did not know, she hated the idea of driving a wedge between friends, or endangering Mr Holmes and Dr Watson, who had been so kind.

She was certainly not offended, or disgusted by the idea. Just... puzzled, more than anything. She was not some naive waif, after all. She liked to think herself a modern woman. Still, it seemed she could not say anything about it, to anyone, which was... annoying.

"Where in France ought we to go, do you think?" She was staring at Holmes, just a little.

Oh, Lestrade and Mary are becoming quite the nuisance. If it were just Lestrade, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. He could at least be nearer to Watson, at least take his hand. His annoyance over their interrupted contact is quickly turning into simply desire to resume that contact, and it's a bit difficult to ignore.

And, too, is Mary's intent look. Holmes might be more concerned if she seemed upset; she merely seemed to have a gossipy sort of interest, and provided that she knows how to keep that to herself, then Holmes can't really be bothered to care. Particularly if she's to be Lestrade's wife. He doesn't really look for more in her face beyond that interest.

"Paris is a natural choice, though there are some lovely places near the sea if you had your heart set on that. I would suggest Paris, for the multitude of diversions, but then I much prefer the energy of a city."

Unable to stop it, his gaze drifts back to Watson, and the smile sneaks back onto his face, though more subdued this time.

The looks Holmes was giving him seemed positively dangerous to Watson. It warmed him utterly, but he couldn't say much for the wisdom of such looks in front of company. He was getting to be afraid to look back at Holmes; he didn't trust his own expression.

"I suppose it depends entirely on whether you'd prefer a quiet retreat or an exciting series of diversions for your honeymoon." He shifted, learning forward onto his knees a little. He was trying to distract himself from Holmes a little, and he was becoming aware of the keen way Mary was regarding them. He wasn't sure what to make of it.

This isn't good. It's a damn good thing he's who he is and not someone else because these two would be in a sorry state right about now. They're good when they're at a crime scene, but this? He sincerely hopes they manage to wrangle it in when other people are around.

"When you put it like that," he says, and he squeezes Mary's hand, hoping to draw her attention away from the ridiculous pair of lovers over here, "I think the choice is pretty clear. I'd like to go on an adventure or two with you." And he smiles. There.

Turning back to Lestrade, Mary smiled warmly. "How could I say no to an invitation like that?"

She was not really distracted. Diverted, perhaps, but she wasn't so easily drawn away from something that was puzzling her. She would not forget this, and she would somehow figure it out.

She glanced quickly at Holmes. She almost wished someone would say something, but of course if there was nothing at all going on, there was nothing to say.

Mary trailed her fingertips over Lestrade's knuckles. Though she was far from being distracted from what was going on with Holmes and Watson, the majority of her attention was on her fiancée.

It's clear to him at this point that Mary has seen something between himself and Watson. It'd been entirely involuntary that the two of them had exposed themselves, but he can't deny that it may have come about because the atmosphere in the room is so comfortable, so nonjudgmental. Mary's reaction to her suspicion seems only to be curiosity and perhaps determination, two qualities that Holmes can respect.

And, he reasons, if she were the type of person to take offense to such things, she and Lestrade would not get along. Of course, their courtship has been very short, but surely a narrow-mind would have presented itself even within this amount of time.

"An adventure can do wonders for a romance," he says, his eyes on Mary, before he turns to Watson with a small smile. "Isn't that right, my dear?"

Watson sputtered, suddenly panicked. What was Holmes thinking? He liked Mary well enough, but not enough to judge whether or not she would be comfortable with that, whether she would not be disgusted and turn them in to someone over Lestrade's head who might care more than he did.

And yet, denying the charge, denying Holmes, was impossible.

Without any notion of what he might say, Watson looked at Holmes, his expression tight and his face pale; he couldn't bring himself to look at their guests. Fleeing was unthinkable, cowardly. Denial was too much of a lie. He faced it head-on, frightened though he was. "It is... quite true, I suppose." Watson gave a small, tight smile, but a fond one.

Lestrade almost doesn't stop himself from rolling his eyes; what does help is that he's watching Mary for her reaction, hoping that she'll react the way that he'd like her to. He isn't quite sure what he'd do if she didn't. What if she wanted to report them? What if she found them disgusting? Could he really tell her no, don't report them?

Instead of thinking about that, he clears his throat and attempts to initiate some damage control.

"Well, that's high praise. I don't think you can get a higher recommendation than that, eh, Mary?"

With a small intake of breath, more surprised than shocked, Mary turned a piercing stare from Holmes and Watson to Lestrade beside her. He was not surprised. He was not shocked. He had known.

That was... interesting.

She looked at this pair of... of... of lovers, in front of her, her expression quizzical, and she considered. It was... well, a little thrilling to be proven right. And she was too much a romantic to entirely disapprove of it. They were, she knew all too well, good men.

"I suppose it's very high praise indeed." Mary looked at Lestrade, an eyebrow cocked teasingly. She could have been coy, she could have affected indifference, but the woman in her would not have allowed her to be anything but direct. "You knew, didn't you?"

Holmes is surprised -- very pleasantly so -- when out of all the people in this room, it's Mary who has the nerve to address the topic so plainly. It's clear Watson and Lestrade were going to carry on as normal, and likely Holmes would have too out of sheer desire to avoid pressing the issue -- that wouldn't seem very prudent. He smiles comfortingly at Watson before he answers for Lestrade.

"Lestrade made the discovery shortly before our trip to the Continent," he says, far too happy with the turn of events to keep the merriment out of his voice. "His discovery was owing to an unfortunate coincidence, however; you must be credited for coming to the idea all on your own."

Watson shook his head in disbelief, but there was a certain amount of relief in his manner. They had, somehow, impossibly, escaped disaster yet again. Relaxing fractionally, he took a long breath.

"You... don't seem troubled by it, Miss Morstan, if you don't mind my saying so."

That was almost comforting. Another ally, another confidant they could, hopefully, rely on. He already liked Miss Morstan, and it was comforting to not have to revise that opinion.

Lestrade is infinitely relieved, but more than that, he's a little proud of her and her open mind and her sharpness and her willingness to just come right out and talk about it, which had been more than Lestrade was able to muster for a while there. But then again the circumstances had been quite different.

"There you have it, then. I'm not keeping any other secrets from you, honest," he says with a small smile. "You don't have any objections about keeping this secret with me?"

"No, I don't believe I do." Mary squeezed Lestrade's hand again, feeling a peculiar combination of elation and affection. She liked having been proven right, she liked that it was a secret between them, and rather selfishly she liked that this meant that Watson simply hadn't found her attractive. She wasn't proud of that last part, but she couldn't exactly help it either.

"And no, Dr. Watson, I am not." She pursed her lips together thoughtfully, searching for words. "I'm unfairly biased to your advantage, after all. You've done me such a number of favours. You uncovered the mystery behind my father's death for me, you introduced me to Guy." Mary laughed, honestly and warmly. "Perhaps it's unladylike of me to be anything other than shocked and horrified, but if my dear Guy doesn't mind... I can't say it worries me too much."

"If being ladylike requires you to be repulsed, then I would ask that you refrain from that. I promise not to be too offended," he drawls, though he is rather inwardly annoyed at such notions of being ladylike and prone to fainting and all that ridiculousness. At least Mary isn't like those other kinds of women, and not just in areas of being open-minded about homosexuality.

"I'm of the opinion," Watson offered, beginning to relax a little again, "that men who demand their women be perfectly meek and 'ladylike' have little interest in their wives as people in their own right."

He was giving her a slightly evaluative look; he felt his heart might pound right out of his chest with worry, but... she seemed genuine, kind enough to not dismiss them out of hand for one mere sin.

"But I thought I liked you." He grinned. "Good to see I still do."

Lestrade is, just now, so in love with his fiancee that he feels it bubbling up into a flush in his cheeks. It is, too, a relief to know that he doesn't have to keep this from Mary, that he can talk about Holmes and Watson and not have the knowledge of this secret rattling around in his brain. And maybe, too, they can be good for Holmes and Watson.

"I couldn't agree with you more, Watson," he says, smiling. "Personality's much more important than propriety, that's always been my opinion."

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

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