lightconductor | Matchmaker, Matchmaker...

Entry tags:

Matchmaker, Matchmaker...

It had, for Watson, been an uncomfortable cab ride, though he was trying not to show it. Though Miss Morstan, beside him, was as charming and sweet and friendly as she ever was, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he was being unforgiveably cruel, that he was encouraging her in the belief that he had some interest in her. This entire plan was foolish, mad, and doomed to failure, he was sure.

Still, it was straightforward enough. They woud go out to dinner; Holmes would accompany them, as a friend and as a chaperone (not that Watson had ever any serious need of a chaperone in the past, or that Mary was so deicate she needed her virtue protected, which was one thing he liked about her), and Lestrade would be fortuitously present for them to invite along. It might come to nothing, but it was at least worth a try.

If only Mary would lose faith in him first, Watson thought grimly as he ascended the steps to their sitting room. "After you," he said, graciously.

Mary was feeling troubled; she could not quite grasp whether or not she was wasting her time with Dr. Watson. Oh, to be certain, she enjoyed his company, and he seemed to enjoy hers, but he had yet to make any firm strides towards deepening their relationship. He had not attempted a single kiss, not a romantic embrace, nothing. And yet he seemed so warm. Was he that much of a gentleman? Did he really think her that... pristine, that virginal? She was beginning to think that, as out of place as it might have been for a young lady, she might have to be the one to force his hand.

She was, though, beginning to lose hope.

She smiled at him as she entered the sitting room, glancing around to see if Mr. Holmes was in sight. This room brought back memories, not all of them good, but she would be genuinely glad to see the detective in any case. "You haven't mentioned where we're going," Mary said, conversationally. "Or is that supposed to be a surprise?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

Edited 2011-10-23 06:26 (UTC)

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.

Mary couldn't stop smiling, a slightly shy and bashful little smile. She was certainly in no hurry for this cab ride to end. "We both will," she said, and she hoped that this was successful enough that they would have reason to thank them.

"But perhaps it might not be wise to overestimate our luck?" she suggested. The last thing she wanted to do was assume anything and ruin this. She had thought she liked Dr. Watson, but she had a new perspective on that now.

"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, Mr. Lestrade."

"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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Matchmaker, Matchmaker...

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject