Fic: The First and Only Convention of the Scotland Yard Matchmaker Committee
Title: The First and Only Convention of the Scotland Yard Matchmaker Committee
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Donovan, Anderson, DI Lestrade
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Word Count: c. 4,600
Warnings: Language
Spoilers: None
Betas: Many thanks to canonisrelative and sidneysussex for reading over an initial draft of this for me.
Summary: Sergeant Donovan decides that something must be done about the unresolved sexual tension that plagues their crimes scenes. John and Anderson get dragged into her scheming.
“This is getting ridiculous,” Donovan muttered.
John thought at first she was referring to the victim, and that seemed a logical assumption to make. It had been a while since Sherlock’s assistance was needed for one of Lestrade’s crime scenes, and the one they had been called out to this afternoon was particularly brutal - even John had winced when he first laid eyes on the body. But the silence that followed her sentence was expectant, and John finally glanced at her, only to see that she wasn’t looking at the victim at all.
“Er...what is?” John asked eventually, baffled.
“Those two,” she said, nodding over to where Lestrade and Sherlock were in the middle of yet another row. “It has to stop.”
“Oh,” John said, not exactly following. “Well, you know how they are - Sherlock will call him an idiot and Lestrade will call him a child and they’ll be furious at one another for a while, but eventually one of them will break down and contact the other. Usually Sherlock. Lestrade’s the only one I know who can be just as stubborn - he’ll hold onto his cases until Sherlock comes back and grudgingly asks if he has anything on. Man’s willpower is astounding.”
Donovan turned to him and raised an eyebrow. John thought over his words for a moment, and then realized the implication of what he’d just said.
“Oh,” he repeated.
“Yeah.”
“They’re - I just described an old married couple.”
“Right.” Donovan turned back to look at the two arguing men, her expression dark. “Only trouble is, they’re too thick to realize it.”
“Ah.” John’s mind whirled. Sherlock, in love with the Detective Inspector? Hell, Sherlock in love period. How had he missed it?
He supposed Donovan had a point, though, now that he thought about it. There was something well-worn and affectionate about their bickering, and Sherlock’s oft-used “You need me” was always followed by Lestrade’s quick “Yeah, I do.” It was said with ritual-like rhythm, almost like a tradition.
“Something needs to be done about it,” Donovan said firmly, breaking him from his thoughts.
“And how do you propose, uh, ‘doing something about it’?” he asked finally.
“We,” she corrected, pointing a finger at him. “How do we propose doing something about it?”
“Hey, how did I get dragged into this?” John demanded.
“Because you’re the only one who can stand being in the room with Fr - with Holmes for more than two minutes at a time. Apart from Lestrade, of course, but then that is the bloody point. We need to make him realize that not only does he like being in the same room as Holmes, but he actually would quite like to fuck his brains out. Or...I dunno...have mitosis with him, or whatever it is creatures like Holmes do.”
John winced at the slew of unpleasant mental images that assaulted him at her words.
“I still don’t see why you can’t just let them be. Seems to have worked for five years.”
Donovan looked physically pained. “Five very long, very sexually-charged years. Do you have any idea what it was like before you came along? It’s - well, it’s like having the full intensity of the sun on a hot summer’s day focused on one person all the time and it’s maddening. Really, it’s like you get those two in a room together and everyone else falls away. Fades to black. We could be ghosts, for all the two of them care. Only we’re not and it’s bloody obscene the looks they give each other in public. It’s like -”
“All right, all right,” John said loudly, holding up his hands. “You’ve had far too much time to think about this, haven’t you? Word of advice - lay off the metaphors for a while. Doctor’s orders. Now, what were you thinking should be done about it?”
Donovan thought for a moment. “Tell each of them that the other has a date, and wait for him to get jealous and confess his undying love and affection to the other?”
John blinked. “Pretty sure that only works in the movies. Sherlock would know right away it’s a lie, and Lestrade would laugh in your face if you told him Sherlock had a date. Sherlock doesn’t do dating. He’s just - Sherlock. It’s everything or nothing with him; jump in feet-first or not at all. He doesn’t see the point of such social conventions. And that’s only if he’s actually interested in relationships in the first place, which I don’t think he is.”
“Right, so...we could drug them, tie them to a bed, and let them shag away all the sexual tension.” Donovan scowled. “And then we can all get back to normal.”
“I’m positive that plan would end in homicide.”
“Well, what do you suggest, then?” she said hotly. “Wait for them to figure it out?”
“Figure what out?” Anderson joined them, having been sent away from the body with a flap of Sherlock’s hands.
“Boss and Holmes. Shagging.”
“Oh,” he said. “Yeah. That.”
He didn’t look too surprised at the idea; John stared at him.
“Wait, you know about this, too?”
“It’s...kind of obvious,” Anderson said. “Don’t you see it?”
“Well...yeah, I guess, now that it’s been pointed out to me.”
“It is painful to watch them sometimes,” Donovan mused. “You just want them to - to jump the other person and take him right here.”
“Yeah....no, wait, no!” John said quickly. “I don’t really want that.”
“Oh, please,” Donovan scoffed. “They’re practically doing it already, just with clothes on and sidelong glances when they think no one’s looking. It’s unbearable.”
“So what do we do about it?” Anderson asked.
“Let’s try talking,” John suggested, because it sounded reasonable, even though reasonable and Sherlock were not two words that belonged in the same sentence. “You take Lestrade, I’ll take Sherlock, and let’s see if we can’t...make them realize a few things.”
“And if that doesn’t work,” Donovan decided, “then we kidnap them.”
“Sure, Sally. Whatever you want.”
----
John waited nearly a week to bring up the subject with Sherlock. In truth, he’d have waited longer, but the previous day’s paper had been lying on the table since yesterday morning, open to a page where a write-up of the Jimson case was accompanied by a small black-and-white picture of Lestrade. John had three times folded up the paper and put it away, only to return to the living room at some point and find it sitting out again, open to that very page. Sherlock, when questioned, merely said that he’d needed the article to fact-check the write-up on his own website, and John realized that Sherlock honestly believed that’s what he was doing. Never mind the fact that he never needed to double-check his information, and definitely not with a news service.
No, Sherlock was smitten, and what was worse - he had absolutely no clue.
“Sherlock,” John said finally as he was sitting in the living room, editing his latest blog entry. His flatmate paused on his way into the kitchen.
“Yes, John?”
“Er - what do you think of Lestrade?”
Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at him. “You know perfectly well what I think.”
“Yes, yes, ‘best of a bad lot’ and all that. But - he’s rather a nice man, yeah?”
Now Sherlock frowned. “I’ve heard Sergeant Donovan describe him as inordinately kind.”
“That’s - well, yeah, but what do you think?”
“I think that I’ve better things to do than participate in this pointless conversation,” Sherlock said, and stalked from the room.
----
“So how’d it go?” Donovan asked at a crime scene two weeks later.
“Conversation lasted all of about thirty seconds,” John said. He folded his arms across his chest and tried to stamp some heat back into his quickly-numbing feet. “And then he proceeded to set the stove on fire, which he says was an accident but I’m pretty sure it was in retaliation for me bringing up Lestrade’s name in the flat. What about on your end?”
“Haven’t had the chance, yet,” Donovan admitted. “I’m going to try to corner him in the break room this afternoon. You could set a clock by his coffee breaks - 3:14, on the nose, he’s always in there.”
“Well, hopefully you fare better than I did.”
----
“Hello, sir,” Sally said as she entered the break room. Lestrade looked up from the coffee pot.
“Oh, hello, Donovan,” he said. “Don’t often see you in here.”
“Yeah, well, long night,” she said with a smile, and took the proffered pot as soon as he was finished pouring his mug. “He’s astounding, isn’t he?”
“Who?”
“Fr - Sherlock,” she said, hastily correcting her near-mistake. “That work he did today - unbelievable.”
Lestrade raised an eyebrow at her, and she cursed inwardly. Could she be any more obvious?
“I suppose,” he allowed. “Surprised to hear you say so, though.”
“Oh, I’ll never tell him to his face,” she said. “He’s got an ego big enough to land a spaceship on already. I’m not adding to it.”
Lestrade chuckled at that, and took a sip from his mug.
“How long’ve you known him, now?” she tried, attempting to make the question sound casual.
“Close to six years, I think,” Lestrade replied after a moment of thought. “Oh, wait - six years last month.”
“Long time,” she mused. “Must be something you like about him, to keep him around so long.”
Lestrade shrugged. “He does good work. I need him.”
“Have you ever - I dunno - seen him outside of work?”
Lestrade shook his head. “No, don’t think so. Not unless visiting in the hospital after he’s done something abnormally stupid counts.”
He turned to look at her finally. “Why are you asking?”
Shit. She hadn’t thought about that. “Just curious, uh, sir.”
“Nice try. I’m a detective for a reason, Donovan.”
“You ever consider kissing him?” she blurted. “Or going out, or - he’s very good looking, isn’t he?”
Well, wasn’t that a train-wreck of a coherent thought. She expected Lestrade to look horrified. Instead, he let out a belt of laughter and took a sip from his mug.
“Only way I’m getting near that smug mouth,” he said cheerfully, clearly thinking it was all a joke, “is if I’m half-plastered.”
----
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
7:18 pm
Boss said “I need him” and that he’s visited SH in hospital before.
Text Message From: John Watson
7:20 pm
Nothing new on my end, but I’ve been at the surgery a lot lately. How’d your conversation go?
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
7:20 pm
Good news: L will let SH kiss him if he’s drunk.
Text Message From: John Watson
7:23 pm
Too bad we can’t bring alcohol to crime scenes.
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
7:23 pm
Believe me, I already looked into it.
----
John came home from work one evening to find Sherlock stretched out on the floor of the living room, nicotine patches on his arms, his laptop open and sitting on the sofa. He glanced at the website, and saw that it was an archived article describing a case they had worked last year. Lestrade looked haggard in the picture that accompanied it; worn-down. That had been a brutal week.
“Another case for the Yard?” he asked, walking into the kitchen.
“Mm. No. Private client.”
“Then why - oh, never mind,” John muttered, and went to go make tea.
----
Text Message From: John Watson
5:25 pm
SH leaves pictures of L around the flat for no reason. Doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
5:26 pm
Fuck, that’s weird. Sure he doesn’t realize?
Text Message From: John Watson
5:27 pm
Positive.
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
5:48 pm
So I swiped boss’s mobile earlier today. You should see what they’ve been texting one another.
Text Message From: John Watson
5:49 pm
Bad?
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
5:50 pm
They’re so clueless, it hurts.
Text Message From: John Watson
5:50 pm
I’ll take a look.
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
5:52 pm
How?
Text Message From: John Watson
5:55 pm
Sherlock’s not the only one capable of picking a pocket.
----
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
6:17 am
Bored. -SH
Text Message From: G. Lestrade
6:19 am
Then go bother John.
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
6:19 am
John doesn’t bring me murder cases. -SH
Text Message From: G. Lestrade
6:30 am
Is that all I’m good for, now?
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
6:31 am
Piss off, you know what I meant. -SH
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
7:24 am
What are you doing? -SH
Text Message From: G. Lestrade
8:17 am
Working. What do you think I’m doing?
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
8:17 am
I’d hardly call what you do ‘work.’ -SH
Text Message From: G. Lestrade
8:22 am
Don’t anger the person who gives you murder cases.
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
8:23 am
You’d bring them to me anyway. -SH
Text Message From: G. Lestrade
8:45 am
...yeah, I would.
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
8:56 am
You’re smoking again. -SH
Text Message From: G. Lestrade
9:03 am
Not even gonna ask how you know. I indulge.
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
9:04 am
Obvious; your fingertips. And I wouldn’t call what you do “indulging.” -SH
Text Message From: G. Lestrade
9:07 am
What would you call it, then?
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
9:23 am
Idiotic. And unhealthy. -SH
Text Message From: G. Lestrade
9:34 am
I’ll try to be better about it.
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
10:02 am
Thank you. -SH
----
“God, how do they not even realize it?” John asked in an undertone the next time Sherlock was called out to a crime scene. He watched with Anderson and Donovan from a safe distance as Sherlock hurled deductions in Lestrade’s general direction.
“Read them, did you?” Donovan asked.
“Not all of them, but enough. What are we gonna do about it?”
“Actually, I think I might have an idea,” Donovan said softly, and John and Anderson leaned in. “You have to get him to come to pub night.”
“What?” John blurted as Anderson hissed, “You’re insane!”
“Yeah, I know, I don’t like it any more than you do,” Donovan said with a scowl. “But it’s the only way we can get this moving.”
“You have any idea what pub night would be like with him around?” John said. “He’ll start deducing people ‘cause he’s bored. He’ll probably call someone out on having an affair, which will start a row, and then we’ll all be thrown out and banned. Besides, he’d never go for it. What am I supposed to tell him?”
“Beg him,” Donovan said. “Get down on your knees and beg.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause this can’t go on any longer! Honestly, I think if they shoot one more snide-but-affectionate remark at one another and not realize it, I’m going to scream. Or, better yet, I pity the poor sod who someday gets between their smoldering glances. Deadly, those things are. Kill a man at ten paces.” Donovan put her hands on her hips and blew out an annoyed breath. “Look, tell him - I dunno - that you’ll allow him to have free access to the fridge for a month. He can put all the body parts in there that he wants. Or - what else does he do?”
“You don’t want to know,” John grumbled.
“Just get him to come. We need to get them together outside of the crime scene, and since kidnapping doesn’t seem to be popular, this is the next best thing.”
She glowered at John for several moments, until finally he sighed and relented.
“Yeah, right, I’ll talk to him. But I can’t promise anything.”
“This Friday night,” Donovan said firmly. “And we’ll need to figure out a game plan.”
“A what?”
Donovan huffed. “You heard me. A game plan. And contingencies.”
“Um...okay...”
“We need to make sure that they sit next to one another -”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, what is this? School?”
“ - and,” she said, talking over him, “we need to all agree to clear out should things go well, and leave them alone together. Agreed?”
Anderson and John glanced at one another, and then back at her determined face.
“Agreed,” they mumbled.
“But what if it doesn’t go well?” John dared to ask.
“Then we knock them about the head, kidnap them, and tie them up together in some abandoned warehouse until they realize that everyone would be better off if they just started shagging.”
Anderson looked as though he was going to be ill at that mental image. John, who had first-hand experience regarding abandoned warehouses and kidnapping, thought it best not to mention that this could actually be easily arranged with a phone call to the British Government.
Then he realized the British Government was probably listening in and hastily said, in a loud voice, “No, no, we’re not going to do that! If it doesn’t work - we’ll think of something on the spot. Be spontaneous. But it’ll work, ‘cause at this point, something’s bound to give.”
----
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
2:34 pm
Hey, was Freak at your lab today?
Text Message From: Daniel Anderson
2:34 pm
Yeah. Why?
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
2:34 pm
What’d he say to you?
Text Message From: Daniel Anderson
2:35 pm
Said our equipment was as outdated and useless as my mind, and it was no wonder we never got anything accomplished. Again: why?
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
2:36 pm
L heading your way. Talk Freak up to him. Say he was very helpful or something.
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
2:54 pm
Well?
Text Message From: Daniel Anderson
2:56 pm
He looked pleased. If that doesn’t work, I will not be responsible for my actions.
----
“Ah, Lestrade,” Sherlock said three days later, snapping on his gloves as he walked into the latest murder victim’s room, “twice in the same week? If you’d wanted to see me so badly, you need only have said so.”
“If I wanted to see your charming face, I’d’ve just snapped a picture,” Lestrade retorted, though his words lacked bite. “Lasts longer and talks less.”
“You want me quiet, is that it?” Sherlock knelt by the body, lifting up the arm. “I’m sure there are a few ways you could accomplish that.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Would you like it to be?”
Donovan whimpered audibly.
Anderson muttered something about sex with clothes on.
John wondered how two brilliant men could be so oblivious.
----
In the end, it took a lot more than promising Sherlock the fridge for a month. It took that, in addition to John agreeing to allow Sherlock to bring some live mice into the flat for an experiment and to keep a snake in the bathtub for a week - Lord only knew why.
“I still fail to understand why you wanted me to come along to this...affair,” Sherlock said disdainfully as they traipsed through the icy streets toward the pub.
“It’s important to me,” John said finally. “It’s - it’s what friends do for one another.”
“Oh,” Sherlock said, processing the information. “You could have said that in the first place.”
“Would it have worked?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” John spent the last few steps to the pub seriously hating his life.
They stepped inside, and it took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. When they did, Sherlock was already sweeping off to a long table in a corner, where Lestrade, Anderson, and Donovan were already seated. Donovan shot John a grateful glance, and he nodded to her as he followed in Sherlock’s wake.
But then his eyes fell on Lestrade, who was watching them approach with a mixture of surprise - and, dear Lord, the man looked happy. His entire expression shifted the moment his eyes landed on Sherlock, going from bemused to honestly pleased in the fraction of a second.
Holy hell, that man was done for. John hoped the same could be said of his flatmate.
Sherlock took a seat near Lestrade’s end of the table. Several empty seats sat between them and where Donovan and Anderson were gathered at the other end, left open for the other Yarders who would be joining them later on. John passed his flatmate to go sit down by Donovan, and as he did so he heard Sherlock say, “We need to discuss your case.”
Of course he did.
John sat next to Donovan and across from Anderson, and they made idle conversation over their drinks while shooting furtive glances down to the other end of the table. As the evening wore on, several others from the Yard showed up and filled in the remaining seats - John knew a few and met a handful of others, and by the time he ordered his third drink he was in relatively good spirits.
Nothing appeared to be happening between Lestrade and Sherlock, however, but the pub was becoming crowded and John suspected that Sherlock was beginning to get uncomfortable. He cursed himself for not thinking of it before, but Sherlock must avoid places such as these for practical reasons. He had a difficult time shutting off his brain even in the relative peace of their flat; John couldn’t imagine what it was like for Sherlock in a crowd, unable to stop the onslaught of information that gathered in his mind just by glancing at another person.
His flatmate had quieted considerably once the others joined them, and merely watched as Lestrade chatted enthusiastically with the those down at his end. He was nursing a beer and scowling and looking - well, like Sherlock. But his mouth was pinched and his face pale, more so than normal. He looked slightly ill.
And then John got an idea. He pulled out his mobile and discreetly sent a text to Lestrade.
Sherlock = sensory overload. Too many people. Get him to go outside for a bit?
Lestrade pulled out his mobile a moment later, glanced at the screen, and nodded to himself. He then leaned over, muttered something in Sherlock’s ear, and got up from his seat. Sherlock pushed back his chair and stood, and together they maneuvered their way through the growing crowd and out into the cool night. Donovan turned to gape at John.
“What did you - how did you do that?”
He waved the sent text under her nose, and she groaned.
“Now, why didn’t I think of that?”
“‘Cause you don’t live with the man,” John pointed out. “He’s not a fan of crowds.”
“Right, well, if they’re not back in half an hour, I consider that a success, because there’s no other reason they would be gone that long,” Donovan decided. “That means they’re out around back snogging, or are already halfway back to Lestrade’s place. Either way, our work is done.”
To her disappointment, the two men returned twenty minutes later, eyes bright from the cold and noses red. Sherlock looked calmer, though, and Lestrade appeared uncharacteristically content - probably they had each had a cigarette. Anderson, Donovan, and John all leaned forward, peering down the table and around the others, trying to see if there was anything to indicate that one of them had finally made a move.
“Nothing,” Donovan grumbled, leaning back in her chair. Lestrade had resumed the conversation he had abandoned, and Sherlock had pulled out his mobile. “I was sure that would have worked.”
“Calm down,” John said reassuringly. “Look at it this way: it couldn’t have hurt any.”
They went back to their conversation, and the next time John thought to look up the rest of the Yarders had left, along with a good portion of the pub’s patrons. It was late, he realized, and checked his mobile - just after one.
“God, it’s gotten late,” he muttered to his companions. “Either that, or I’ve gotten old. I -”
“Shh,” Donovan said suddenly, prodding him in the side with her elbow. She nodded to the end of the table. Sherlock and Lestrade were sitting there, heads bent over a napkin, which Sherlock was sketching on with a pen while Lestrade watched. Every once in a while the DI would point at a part of his diagram and say something, and Sherlock would wave him off dismissively or shake his head violently. But as they watched, Lestrade said something, and Sherlock’s head snapped up. He blinked in astonishment at the man, said something in return, and then a smile broke out across his face that was mirrored by Lestrade. They returned to the napkin, Sherlock scribbling frantically now, and Donovan shook her head.
“Give anything to hear what they’re talking about,” she said, very close to John’s ear so that their targets wouldn’t hear.
“You and me both. Right, we can’t all be staring at them. Anderson, say something.”
“What?”
“I dunno - just - make it look like we’re having a conversation.”
“We are having a conversation.”
“Oh, for -”
“John,” Donovan hissed suddenly, pinching his thigh. He swallowed a curse and turned to scowl at her, but she wasn’t looking at him.
In the few seconds he had looked away from them, Sherlock and Lestrade had moved several centimeters closer to one another. They were still deep in discussion about something, but Lestrade had rested his arm across the back of Sherlock’s chair and his body was angled toward the detective’s. He was gesturing with his other hand, oblivious to everything but his companion. Sherlock folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in the chair, frowning as he processed the DI’s words. Lestrade’s arm was effectively wrapped around him, but neither of them took notice of it.
“Fucking oblivious,” Anderson muttered, and John had to agree. He was tempted, worn as he was by the lateness of the hour and the alcohol he had consumed, to call Kiss him, for heaven’s sake! down the table.
Sherlock smirked suddenly and leaned forward - maybe to write something down on the napkin; maybe just to shift position - but Lestrade, caught off-guard at the sudden movement, didn’t move back. Their noses might have glanced - John couldn’t tell for sure - but both men froze at suddenly finding themselves only millimeters away from the other. Sherlock swallowed visibly; Lestrade’s eyes darted down to his lips and back up again.
“Oh, come on,” Sally whispered desperately, her hand landing on John’s shoulder and squeezing. “For the love of Christ -”
And then Lestrade took the leap. He closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s, bringing his hand up in order to rest light fingertips along the other man’s jaw. Sherlock stared in shock for a moment, eyes wide - and then they slid closed and he sank into the kiss, one hand groping for and finding Lestrade’s shirt, which he clutched in a white-knuckled grip.
“There we go!” John whispered jubilantly, clinking his glass to Sally’s. “Finally.”
“Come on,” she said quietly, pulling a few bills out of her purse and putting them on the table. Anderson and John followed suit. “Let’s get out of here.”
They made a quick exit; Sherlock and Lestrade didn’t even acknowledge their goodbyes.
----
It was four in the morning when John heard the front door to the flat open and then close with a soft snick. He was making tea, having finally given in to insomnia and the dull ache in his leg.
Sherlock appeared in the kitchen. He folded his arms and leaned against the door frame, watching John, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly when his flatmate turned around.
“Well?” John said over his shoulder, trying and failing to hide his smile. Sherlock was - there was no better word for it - rumpled. His hair looked as though someone had been running fingers through it - and likely someone had - and his shirt was wrinkled in odd places.
“I won’t be bringing mice or a snake into the flat,” Sherlock said finally. “I still require the fridge, however.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome, wanker,” John said affectionately, recognizing Sherlock’s words for the thanks that they were. “I’m surprised to see you home tonight.”
Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “Inebriated sex with a colleague? I’m sorry to disappoint, John, but even I have standards.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” John teased. Sherlock moved to leave the room, but he called him back. “Are you going to see him? Again, I mean, and, you know, not with others around...”
“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘date’,” Sherlock supplied, amused. He looked as though he was about to leave without providing any more information, but then he paused. “Monday. That Thai place you dislike. Good night, John.”
He slipped from the room. Grinning to himself, John fished out his mobile to send a text to Sally.
Turns out Sherlock does do ‘dating.’ The matchmaker committee can now be disbanded.
He received, to his surprise, a response not moments later.
Thank God.
---
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Donovan, Anderson, DI Lestrade
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Word Count: c. 4,600
Warnings: Language
Spoilers: None
Betas: Many thanks to canonisrelative and sidneysussex for reading over an initial draft of this for me.
Summary: Sergeant Donovan decides that something must be done about the unresolved sexual tension that plagues their crimes scenes. John and Anderson get dragged into her scheming.
“This is getting ridiculous,” Donovan muttered.
John thought at first she was referring to the victim, and that seemed a logical assumption to make. It had been a while since Sherlock’s assistance was needed for one of Lestrade’s crime scenes, and the one they had been called out to this afternoon was particularly brutal - even John had winced when he first laid eyes on the body. But the silence that followed her sentence was expectant, and John finally glanced at her, only to see that she wasn’t looking at the victim at all.
“Er...what is?” John asked eventually, baffled.
“Those two,” she said, nodding over to where Lestrade and Sherlock were in the middle of yet another row. “It has to stop.”
“Oh,” John said, not exactly following. “Well, you know how they are - Sherlock will call him an idiot and Lestrade will call him a child and they’ll be furious at one another for a while, but eventually one of them will break down and contact the other. Usually Sherlock. Lestrade’s the only one I know who can be just as stubborn - he’ll hold onto his cases until Sherlock comes back and grudgingly asks if he has anything on. Man’s willpower is astounding.”
Donovan turned to him and raised an eyebrow. John thought over his words for a moment, and then realized the implication of what he’d just said.
“Oh,” he repeated.
“Yeah.”
“They’re - I just described an old married couple.”
“Right.” Donovan turned back to look at the two arguing men, her expression dark. “Only trouble is, they’re too thick to realize it.”
“Ah.” John’s mind whirled. Sherlock, in love with the Detective Inspector? Hell, Sherlock in love period. How had he missed it?
He supposed Donovan had a point, though, now that he thought about it. There was something well-worn and affectionate about their bickering, and Sherlock’s oft-used “You need me” was always followed by Lestrade’s quick “Yeah, I do.” It was said with ritual-like rhythm, almost like a tradition.
“Something needs to be done about it,” Donovan said firmly, breaking him from his thoughts.
“And how do you propose, uh, ‘doing something about it’?” he asked finally.
“We,” she corrected, pointing a finger at him. “How do we propose doing something about it?”
“Hey, how did I get dragged into this?” John demanded.
“Because you’re the only one who can stand being in the room with Fr - with Holmes for more than two minutes at a time. Apart from Lestrade, of course, but then that is the bloody point. We need to make him realize that not only does he like being in the same room as Holmes, but he actually would quite like to fuck his brains out. Or...I dunno...have mitosis with him, or whatever it is creatures like Holmes do.”
John winced at the slew of unpleasant mental images that assaulted him at her words.
“I still don’t see why you can’t just let them be. Seems to have worked for five years.”
Donovan looked physically pained. “Five very long, very sexually-charged years. Do you have any idea what it was like before you came along? It’s - well, it’s like having the full intensity of the sun on a hot summer’s day focused on one person all the time and it’s maddening. Really, it’s like you get those two in a room together and everyone else falls away. Fades to black. We could be ghosts, for all the two of them care. Only we’re not and it’s bloody obscene the looks they give each other in public. It’s like -”
“All right, all right,” John said loudly, holding up his hands. “You’ve had far too much time to think about this, haven’t you? Word of advice - lay off the metaphors for a while. Doctor’s orders. Now, what were you thinking should be done about it?”
Donovan thought for a moment. “Tell each of them that the other has a date, and wait for him to get jealous and confess his undying love and affection to the other?”
John blinked. “Pretty sure that only works in the movies. Sherlock would know right away it’s a lie, and Lestrade would laugh in your face if you told him Sherlock had a date. Sherlock doesn’t do dating. He’s just - Sherlock. It’s everything or nothing with him; jump in feet-first or not at all. He doesn’t see the point of such social conventions. And that’s only if he’s actually interested in relationships in the first place, which I don’t think he is.”
“Right, so...we could drug them, tie them to a bed, and let them shag away all the sexual tension.” Donovan scowled. “And then we can all get back to normal.”
“I’m positive that plan would end in homicide.”
“Well, what do you suggest, then?” she said hotly. “Wait for them to figure it out?”
“Figure what out?” Anderson joined them, having been sent away from the body with a flap of Sherlock’s hands.
“Boss and Holmes. Shagging.”
“Oh,” he said. “Yeah. That.”
He didn’t look too surprised at the idea; John stared at him.
“Wait, you know about this, too?”
“It’s...kind of obvious,” Anderson said. “Don’t you see it?”
“Well...yeah, I guess, now that it’s been pointed out to me.”
“It is painful to watch them sometimes,” Donovan mused. “You just want them to - to jump the other person and take him right here.”
“Yeah....no, wait, no!” John said quickly. “I don’t really want that.”
“Oh, please,” Donovan scoffed. “They’re practically doing it already, just with clothes on and sidelong glances when they think no one’s looking. It’s unbearable.”
“So what do we do about it?” Anderson asked.
“Let’s try talking,” John suggested, because it sounded reasonable, even though reasonable and Sherlock were not two words that belonged in the same sentence. “You take Lestrade, I’ll take Sherlock, and let’s see if we can’t...make them realize a few things.”
“And if that doesn’t work,” Donovan decided, “then we kidnap them.”
“Sure, Sally. Whatever you want.”
----
John waited nearly a week to bring up the subject with Sherlock. In truth, he’d have waited longer, but the previous day’s paper had been lying on the table since yesterday morning, open to a page where a write-up of the Jimson case was accompanied by a small black-and-white picture of Lestrade. John had three times folded up the paper and put it away, only to return to the living room at some point and find it sitting out again, open to that very page. Sherlock, when questioned, merely said that he’d needed the article to fact-check the write-up on his own website, and John realized that Sherlock honestly believed that’s what he was doing. Never mind the fact that he never needed to double-check his information, and definitely not with a news service.
No, Sherlock was smitten, and what was worse - he had absolutely no clue.
“Sherlock,” John said finally as he was sitting in the living room, editing his latest blog entry. His flatmate paused on his way into the kitchen.
“Yes, John?”
“Er - what do you think of Lestrade?”
Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at him. “You know perfectly well what I think.”
“Yes, yes, ‘best of a bad lot’ and all that. But - he’s rather a nice man, yeah?”
Now Sherlock frowned. “I’ve heard Sergeant Donovan describe him as inordinately kind.”
“That’s - well, yeah, but what do you think?”
“I think that I’ve better things to do than participate in this pointless conversation,” Sherlock said, and stalked from the room.
----
“So how’d it go?” Donovan asked at a crime scene two weeks later.
“Conversation lasted all of about thirty seconds,” John said. He folded his arms across his chest and tried to stamp some heat back into his quickly-numbing feet. “And then he proceeded to set the stove on fire, which he says was an accident but I’m pretty sure it was in retaliation for me bringing up Lestrade’s name in the flat. What about on your end?”
“Haven’t had the chance, yet,” Donovan admitted. “I’m going to try to corner him in the break room this afternoon. You could set a clock by his coffee breaks - 3:14, on the nose, he’s always in there.”
“Well, hopefully you fare better than I did.”
----
“Hello, sir,” Sally said as she entered the break room. Lestrade looked up from the coffee pot.
“Oh, hello, Donovan,” he said. “Don’t often see you in here.”
“Yeah, well, long night,” she said with a smile, and took the proffered pot as soon as he was finished pouring his mug. “He’s astounding, isn’t he?”
“Who?”
“Fr - Sherlock,” she said, hastily correcting her near-mistake. “That work he did today - unbelievable.”
Lestrade raised an eyebrow at her, and she cursed inwardly. Could she be any more obvious?
“I suppose,” he allowed. “Surprised to hear you say so, though.”
“Oh, I’ll never tell him to his face,” she said. “He’s got an ego big enough to land a spaceship on already. I’m not adding to it.”
Lestrade chuckled at that, and took a sip from his mug.
“How long’ve you known him, now?” she tried, attempting to make the question sound casual.
“Close to six years, I think,” Lestrade replied after a moment of thought. “Oh, wait - six years last month.”
“Long time,” she mused. “Must be something you like about him, to keep him around so long.”
Lestrade shrugged. “He does good work. I need him.”
“Have you ever - I dunno - seen him outside of work?”
Lestrade shook his head. “No, don’t think so. Not unless visiting in the hospital after he’s done something abnormally stupid counts.”
He turned to look at her finally. “Why are you asking?”
Shit. She hadn’t thought about that. “Just curious, uh, sir.”
“Nice try. I’m a detective for a reason, Donovan.”
“You ever consider kissing him?” she blurted. “Or going out, or - he’s very good looking, isn’t he?”
Well, wasn’t that a train-wreck of a coherent thought. She expected Lestrade to look horrified. Instead, he let out a belt of laughter and took a sip from his mug.
“Only way I’m getting near that smug mouth,” he said cheerfully, clearly thinking it was all a joke, “is if I’m half-plastered.”
----
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
7:18 pm
Boss said “I need him” and that he’s visited SH in hospital before.
Text Message From: John Watson
7:20 pm
Nothing new on my end, but I’ve been at the surgery a lot lately. How’d your conversation go?
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
7:20 pm
Good news: L will let SH kiss him if he’s drunk.
Text Message From: John Watson
7:23 pm
Too bad we can’t bring alcohol to crime scenes.
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
7:23 pm
Believe me, I already looked into it.
----
John came home from work one evening to find Sherlock stretched out on the floor of the living room, nicotine patches on his arms, his laptop open and sitting on the sofa. He glanced at the website, and saw that it was an archived article describing a case they had worked last year. Lestrade looked haggard in the picture that accompanied it; worn-down. That had been a brutal week.
“Another case for the Yard?” he asked, walking into the kitchen.
“Mm. No. Private client.”
“Then why - oh, never mind,” John muttered, and went to go make tea.
----
Text Message From: John Watson
5:25 pm
SH leaves pictures of L around the flat for no reason. Doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
5:26 pm
Fuck, that’s weird. Sure he doesn’t realize?
Text Message From: John Watson
5:27 pm
Positive.
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
5:48 pm
So I swiped boss’s mobile earlier today. You should see what they’ve been texting one another.
Text Message From: John Watson
5:49 pm
Bad?
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
5:50 pm
They’re so clueless, it hurts.
Text Message From: John Watson
5:50 pm
I’ll take a look.
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
5:52 pm
How?
Text Message From: John Watson
5:55 pm
Sherlock’s not the only one capable of picking a pocket.
----
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
6:17 am
Bored. -SH
Text Message From: G. Lestrade
6:19 am
Then go bother John.
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
6:19 am
John doesn’t bring me murder cases. -SH
Text Message From: G. Lestrade
6:30 am
Is that all I’m good for, now?
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
6:31 am
Piss off, you know what I meant. -SH
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
7:24 am
What are you doing? -SH
Text Message From: G. Lestrade
8:17 am
Working. What do you think I’m doing?
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
8:17 am
I’d hardly call what you do ‘work.’ -SH
Text Message From: G. Lestrade
8:22 am
Don’t anger the person who gives you murder cases.
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
8:23 am
You’d bring them to me anyway. -SH
Text Message From: G. Lestrade
8:45 am
...yeah, I would.
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
8:56 am
You’re smoking again. -SH
Text Message From: G. Lestrade
9:03 am
Not even gonna ask how you know. I indulge.
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
9:04 am
Obvious; your fingertips. And I wouldn’t call what you do “indulging.” -SH
Text Message From: G. Lestrade
9:07 am
What would you call it, then?
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
9:23 am
Idiotic. And unhealthy. -SH
Text Message From: G. Lestrade
9:34 am
I’ll try to be better about it.
Text Message From: Sherlock Holmes
10:02 am
Thank you. -SH
----
“God, how do they not even realize it?” John asked in an undertone the next time Sherlock was called out to a crime scene. He watched with Anderson and Donovan from a safe distance as Sherlock hurled deductions in Lestrade’s general direction.
“Read them, did you?” Donovan asked.
“Not all of them, but enough. What are we gonna do about it?”
“Actually, I think I might have an idea,” Donovan said softly, and John and Anderson leaned in. “You have to get him to come to pub night.”
“What?” John blurted as Anderson hissed, “You’re insane!”
“Yeah, I know, I don’t like it any more than you do,” Donovan said with a scowl. “But it’s the only way we can get this moving.”
“You have any idea what pub night would be like with him around?” John said. “He’ll start deducing people ‘cause he’s bored. He’ll probably call someone out on having an affair, which will start a row, and then we’ll all be thrown out and banned. Besides, he’d never go for it. What am I supposed to tell him?”
“Beg him,” Donovan said. “Get down on your knees and beg.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause this can’t go on any longer! Honestly, I think if they shoot one more snide-but-affectionate remark at one another and not realize it, I’m going to scream. Or, better yet, I pity the poor sod who someday gets between their smoldering glances. Deadly, those things are. Kill a man at ten paces.” Donovan put her hands on her hips and blew out an annoyed breath. “Look, tell him - I dunno - that you’ll allow him to have free access to the fridge for a month. He can put all the body parts in there that he wants. Or - what else does he do?”
“You don’t want to know,” John grumbled.
“Just get him to come. We need to get them together outside of the crime scene, and since kidnapping doesn’t seem to be popular, this is the next best thing.”
She glowered at John for several moments, until finally he sighed and relented.
“Yeah, right, I’ll talk to him. But I can’t promise anything.”
“This Friday night,” Donovan said firmly. “And we’ll need to figure out a game plan.”
“A what?”
Donovan huffed. “You heard me. A game plan. And contingencies.”
“Um...okay...”
“We need to make sure that they sit next to one another -”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, what is this? School?”
“ - and,” she said, talking over him, “we need to all agree to clear out should things go well, and leave them alone together. Agreed?”
Anderson and John glanced at one another, and then back at her determined face.
“Agreed,” they mumbled.
“But what if it doesn’t go well?” John dared to ask.
“Then we knock them about the head, kidnap them, and tie them up together in some abandoned warehouse until they realize that everyone would be better off if they just started shagging.”
Anderson looked as though he was going to be ill at that mental image. John, who had first-hand experience regarding abandoned warehouses and kidnapping, thought it best not to mention that this could actually be easily arranged with a phone call to the British Government.
Then he realized the British Government was probably listening in and hastily said, in a loud voice, “No, no, we’re not going to do that! If it doesn’t work - we’ll think of something on the spot. Be spontaneous. But it’ll work, ‘cause at this point, something’s bound to give.”
----
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
2:34 pm
Hey, was Freak at your lab today?
Text Message From: Daniel Anderson
2:34 pm
Yeah. Why?
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
2:34 pm
What’d he say to you?
Text Message From: Daniel Anderson
2:35 pm
Said our equipment was as outdated and useless as my mind, and it was no wonder we never got anything accomplished. Again: why?
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
2:36 pm
L heading your way. Talk Freak up to him. Say he was very helpful or something.
Text Message From: Sally Donovan
2:54 pm
Well?
Text Message From: Daniel Anderson
2:56 pm
He looked pleased. If that doesn’t work, I will not be responsible for my actions.
----
“Ah, Lestrade,” Sherlock said three days later, snapping on his gloves as he walked into the latest murder victim’s room, “twice in the same week? If you’d wanted to see me so badly, you need only have said so.”
“If I wanted to see your charming face, I’d’ve just snapped a picture,” Lestrade retorted, though his words lacked bite. “Lasts longer and talks less.”
“You want me quiet, is that it?” Sherlock knelt by the body, lifting up the arm. “I’m sure there are a few ways you could accomplish that.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Would you like it to be?”
Donovan whimpered audibly.
Anderson muttered something about sex with clothes on.
John wondered how two brilliant men could be so oblivious.
----
In the end, it took a lot more than promising Sherlock the fridge for a month. It took that, in addition to John agreeing to allow Sherlock to bring some live mice into the flat for an experiment and to keep a snake in the bathtub for a week - Lord only knew why.
“I still fail to understand why you wanted me to come along to this...affair,” Sherlock said disdainfully as they traipsed through the icy streets toward the pub.
“It’s important to me,” John said finally. “It’s - it’s what friends do for one another.”
“Oh,” Sherlock said, processing the information. “You could have said that in the first place.”
“Would it have worked?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” John spent the last few steps to the pub seriously hating his life.
They stepped inside, and it took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. When they did, Sherlock was already sweeping off to a long table in a corner, where Lestrade, Anderson, and Donovan were already seated. Donovan shot John a grateful glance, and he nodded to her as he followed in Sherlock’s wake.
But then his eyes fell on Lestrade, who was watching them approach with a mixture of surprise - and, dear Lord, the man looked happy. His entire expression shifted the moment his eyes landed on Sherlock, going from bemused to honestly pleased in the fraction of a second.
Holy hell, that man was done for. John hoped the same could be said of his flatmate.
Sherlock took a seat near Lestrade’s end of the table. Several empty seats sat between them and where Donovan and Anderson were gathered at the other end, left open for the other Yarders who would be joining them later on. John passed his flatmate to go sit down by Donovan, and as he did so he heard Sherlock say, “We need to discuss your case.”
Of course he did.
John sat next to Donovan and across from Anderson, and they made idle conversation over their drinks while shooting furtive glances down to the other end of the table. As the evening wore on, several others from the Yard showed up and filled in the remaining seats - John knew a few and met a handful of others, and by the time he ordered his third drink he was in relatively good spirits.
Nothing appeared to be happening between Lestrade and Sherlock, however, but the pub was becoming crowded and John suspected that Sherlock was beginning to get uncomfortable. He cursed himself for not thinking of it before, but Sherlock must avoid places such as these for practical reasons. He had a difficult time shutting off his brain even in the relative peace of their flat; John couldn’t imagine what it was like for Sherlock in a crowd, unable to stop the onslaught of information that gathered in his mind just by glancing at another person.
His flatmate had quieted considerably once the others joined them, and merely watched as Lestrade chatted enthusiastically with the those down at his end. He was nursing a beer and scowling and looking - well, like Sherlock. But his mouth was pinched and his face pale, more so than normal. He looked slightly ill.
And then John got an idea. He pulled out his mobile and discreetly sent a text to Lestrade.
Sherlock = sensory overload. Too many people. Get him to go outside for a bit?
Lestrade pulled out his mobile a moment later, glanced at the screen, and nodded to himself. He then leaned over, muttered something in Sherlock’s ear, and got up from his seat. Sherlock pushed back his chair and stood, and together they maneuvered their way through the growing crowd and out into the cool night. Donovan turned to gape at John.
“What did you - how did you do that?”
He waved the sent text under her nose, and she groaned.
“Now, why didn’t I think of that?”
“‘Cause you don’t live with the man,” John pointed out. “He’s not a fan of crowds.”
“Right, well, if they’re not back in half an hour, I consider that a success, because there’s no other reason they would be gone that long,” Donovan decided. “That means they’re out around back snogging, or are already halfway back to Lestrade’s place. Either way, our work is done.”
To her disappointment, the two men returned twenty minutes later, eyes bright from the cold and noses red. Sherlock looked calmer, though, and Lestrade appeared uncharacteristically content - probably they had each had a cigarette. Anderson, Donovan, and John all leaned forward, peering down the table and around the others, trying to see if there was anything to indicate that one of them had finally made a move.
“Nothing,” Donovan grumbled, leaning back in her chair. Lestrade had resumed the conversation he had abandoned, and Sherlock had pulled out his mobile. “I was sure that would have worked.”
“Calm down,” John said reassuringly. “Look at it this way: it couldn’t have hurt any.”
They went back to their conversation, and the next time John thought to look up the rest of the Yarders had left, along with a good portion of the pub’s patrons. It was late, he realized, and checked his mobile - just after one.
“God, it’s gotten late,” he muttered to his companions. “Either that, or I’ve gotten old. I -”
“Shh,” Donovan said suddenly, prodding him in the side with her elbow. She nodded to the end of the table. Sherlock and Lestrade were sitting there, heads bent over a napkin, which Sherlock was sketching on with a pen while Lestrade watched. Every once in a while the DI would point at a part of his diagram and say something, and Sherlock would wave him off dismissively or shake his head violently. But as they watched, Lestrade said something, and Sherlock’s head snapped up. He blinked in astonishment at the man, said something in return, and then a smile broke out across his face that was mirrored by Lestrade. They returned to the napkin, Sherlock scribbling frantically now, and Donovan shook her head.
“Give anything to hear what they’re talking about,” she said, very close to John’s ear so that their targets wouldn’t hear.
“You and me both. Right, we can’t all be staring at them. Anderson, say something.”
“What?”
“I dunno - just - make it look like we’re having a conversation.”
“We are having a conversation.”
“Oh, for -”
“John,” Donovan hissed suddenly, pinching his thigh. He swallowed a curse and turned to scowl at her, but she wasn’t looking at him.
In the few seconds he had looked away from them, Sherlock and Lestrade had moved several centimeters closer to one another. They were still deep in discussion about something, but Lestrade had rested his arm across the back of Sherlock’s chair and his body was angled toward the detective’s. He was gesturing with his other hand, oblivious to everything but his companion. Sherlock folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in the chair, frowning as he processed the DI’s words. Lestrade’s arm was effectively wrapped around him, but neither of them took notice of it.
“Fucking oblivious,” Anderson muttered, and John had to agree. He was tempted, worn as he was by the lateness of the hour and the alcohol he had consumed, to call Kiss him, for heaven’s sake! down the table.
Sherlock smirked suddenly and leaned forward - maybe to write something down on the napkin; maybe just to shift position - but Lestrade, caught off-guard at the sudden movement, didn’t move back. Their noses might have glanced - John couldn’t tell for sure - but both men froze at suddenly finding themselves only millimeters away from the other. Sherlock swallowed visibly; Lestrade’s eyes darted down to his lips and back up again.
“Oh, come on,” Sally whispered desperately, her hand landing on John’s shoulder and squeezing. “For the love of Christ -”
And then Lestrade took the leap. He closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s, bringing his hand up in order to rest light fingertips along the other man’s jaw. Sherlock stared in shock for a moment, eyes wide - and then they slid closed and he sank into the kiss, one hand groping for and finding Lestrade’s shirt, which he clutched in a white-knuckled grip.
“There we go!” John whispered jubilantly, clinking his glass to Sally’s. “Finally.”
“Come on,” she said quietly, pulling a few bills out of her purse and putting them on the table. Anderson and John followed suit. “Let’s get out of here.”
They made a quick exit; Sherlock and Lestrade didn’t even acknowledge their goodbyes.
----
It was four in the morning when John heard the front door to the flat open and then close with a soft snick. He was making tea, having finally given in to insomnia and the dull ache in his leg.
Sherlock appeared in the kitchen. He folded his arms and leaned against the door frame, watching John, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly when his flatmate turned around.
“Well?” John said over his shoulder, trying and failing to hide his smile. Sherlock was - there was no better word for it - rumpled. His hair looked as though someone had been running fingers through it - and likely someone had - and his shirt was wrinkled in odd places.
“I won’t be bringing mice or a snake into the flat,” Sherlock said finally. “I still require the fridge, however.”
“Yeah, you’re welcome, wanker,” John said affectionately, recognizing Sherlock’s words for the thanks that they were. “I’m surprised to see you home tonight.”
Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “Inebriated sex with a colleague? I’m sorry to disappoint, John, but even I have standards.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” John teased. Sherlock moved to leave the room, but he called him back. “Are you going to see him? Again, I mean, and, you know, not with others around...”
“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘date’,” Sherlock supplied, amused. He looked as though he was about to leave without providing any more information, but then he paused. “Monday. That Thai place you dislike. Good night, John.”
He slipped from the room. Grinning to himself, John fished out his mobile to send a text to Sally.
Turns out Sherlock does do ‘dating.’ The matchmaker committee can now be disbanded.
He received, to his surprise, a response not moments later.
Thank God.
---