It took him a couple of months to figure out the truth about the fake Moriarty video message. In the end it was really quite obvious; there weren't that many people who occupied an ever higher position than Mycroft Holmes, and were at the same time a tremendous fan of John's blog.

After that he was significantly busy observing the development of John and Mary's newborn daughter, and that was probably the reason why he missed all the signs of the growing involvement between Lestrade and his own brother. It was only when Mycroft declined the invitation to spend the upcoming Christmas festivities at their parents' – and Lestrade at 221B Baker Street – that Sherlock had to reluctantly acknowledge there was something going on.

What's with Mr Suit and the Silver Fox? he texted not-Anthea early on Christmas Eve.

That's classified, Sunshine. You don't really want to know.

He sighed and carelessly dropped the phone next to his laptop. John had texted earlier, confirming what he had already deduced – that both Mary and the child were down with the flu, and the good doctor was going to stay at home and look after his girls.

That left Mrs Hudson, Molly, and Janine; which he admitted might be a tad awkward, even if he couldn't quite be bothered about social conventions. He supposed he might as well call his parents, see if they were up to coming into town for the evening; Mrs Hudson always claimed she would like to 'have a word' with Sherlock's mother, and he actually didn't mind having his old man around.

Of course Mummy was only too delighted to accept the invitation, even if her eldest son wouldn't be there. It was testament to Sherlock's bemusement that he refrained from telling her about the recent – and completely unexpected – developments in Mycroft's previously non-existent love life.

xxx

Mummy and Mrs Hudson were happily exchanging anecdotes about Sherlock's youth, much to Janine's amusement and Molly's secret embarrassment on his behalf – dear old Molly, always the loyal friend – when Father joined him where he was standing near the window, and handed him a glass of sherry.

"A bit awkward, inviting both of your former girlfriends," his old man muttered in a half voice. "Was it your landlady's idea?"

"Molly was never my girlfriend," he frowned slightly, wondering what Father was up to. "As for Janine – well, it's complicated."

"You and your brother, always despising 'sentiment' as an unacceptable weakness. It's not, I tell you; and it seems that against all odds, Mike has just realised as much."

He raised the glass to his lips, took a careful sip of its content. "I can't believe he told you."

"He didn't. I'm still his father though; I might not be as perceptive as either of you, but I'm not a complete moron either."

Sherlock grinned, couldn't help it. "Sentiment is your division, is that so?"

"Certainly more than it is your mother's," Father smiled back, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "And I know that you find it hard to believe, Will – but you too are allowed to be ordinary once in a while."

His gaze strayed to where the women in his life were sitting, and he decided that that was one more mystery he would have to solve sooner or later.

Preferably sooner, if at all possible.