They are staring and it's a wonder that Sherlock hasn't commented on that, yet. But then, Greg muses, he seems a bit too occupied with the loudly giggling Rosie in John's arms.

Greg's not sure whether Sherlock truly is as exasperated as his face wants to lead him to believe or if he's just feigning it to make Rosie laugh - and he can see that John is clearly failing to suppress a smirk - but, well, it doesn't really matter. If anyone had told him years ago that he would be witness to such a scene …

Shaking his head, he steps over to the still staring Sally and Anderson who are whispering furiously and pointing at the trio. (He doesn't know when the two of them started talking to each other again after the Moriarty fiasco - hell, now that he's thinking about it he doesn't even know if they ever truly stopped - and it's none of his business who Sally meets after hours. It's not the first time but it still comes as a surprise to see the two of them standing together outside the Scotland Yard being whatever they are nowadays - friends? lovers? - after Anderson has left.)

"Of course, they are a couple! Just look at them being all couply," he hears Anderson say as he comes closer.

Sally snorts. "Philip, they've been like that for ages."

"Doesn't mean it's not true. You just don't want me to win the betting pool. And-" He gasps and starts gesturing wildly towards the subjects of their discussion. "Sherlock's hand. On John's back! That's new!" He starts grinning triumphantly. "I win."

Greg sighs. Of bloody course, it's about the betting pool.

"That doesn't prove anything. And how would you even know that's new?"

Time to step in. "Stalking them again?"

"What-," Anderson starts spluttering. " I would never …"

Sally shoots him a silent look.

Greg just takes a deep breath. How is this his life? A quick glance at Sherlock and John tells him that, yep, they've finally noticed they are being talked about. And to think that he has wanted them to wait for him outside the Scotland Yard in order to not cause a ruckus, after what happened the last time. (Who would have thought that every single police officer would stop working and instead try to get a glimpse at Sherlock bloody Holmes standing outside Greg's office with a baby in his arms, deducing the shit out of said officers to entertain Rosie.)

"Now shoo. Off you go! It's your free time and I'm sure you have better things to do than discussing the love life of those two."

Anderson raises an eyebrow. "You said love life. Do you know more than us?"

Before Greg has the chance to snap a reply, Sally grabs Anderson's arm and starts pulling him away. "Leaving right now."

As he watches them go, talking quietly, he hears Anderson muttering something that sounds suspiciously like "You see but you do not observe, Sally" followed by her hissing: "Don't you dare quote the freak at me now!"

Greg shakes his head. Those two.

"Are they still at it?" Now that Sally and Anderson have left, Sherlock and John have stepped closer.

"Well, what did you expect?" Greg sees Rosie grinning at him. Of course, he grins back.

"Are you going to tell them?"

"Nah … I don't know."

"Are you sure you want to keep an eye on Rosie tonight? There's still time to find someone else if you want to spend time with some friends."

"John, does he look like he-"

"I'm sure," Greg interrupts whatever unflattering remark Sherlock has wanted to make. He takes Rosie out of John's arms and the bag Sherlock's handing him. "Now go have some fun. It's your anniversary." He turns to Sherlock.

"Angelo's?"

"Obviously," he huffs.

"Good choice."

"Are you two done judging our plans?"

"Don't be rude, John. We're just making small talk. I am told that's what people do."

"Are you seriously telling me-"

What was surely intended to be just a quick peck on the lips to silence John turns into- okay, time to stop them before this gets way out of hand and he is forced to arrest them for indecent behaviour. That would just be awkward.

Greg clears his throat causing them to pull away from each other with matching sheepish looks on their faces. "Don't you two have a reservation?"

"Right." John nods, straightening his jacket. Then he turns to Sherlock to help him with his coat. "Right, dinner." He smacks his lips. "Hungry?" (He looks way too amused. Is that supposed to be an inside joke or something?)

"Starving."