Author's note: all usual disclaimers apply.

A very quick one for my toothachy friend as I fly 30 hours home from the most amazingly wonderful holiday of my life... Oh, and one of you at least might recognise the what inspired this little tale.

Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley looked across at his sergeant who was staring out the passenger seat window as they wound through the verdant fields of the Cotswolds. "What's the matter Havers? You've been grumpy all morning."

She turned and frowned at him. "Grumpy? I've barely said anything."

"My point exactly."

"Nothing's wrong."

"Have I done something?"

"No."

"Said something?"

"No."

"Then could we pretend to be civil?"

"No."

He glanced across to see her smile reflected in the window. "Good, well as long as that is settled. So how is your gardening project going?"

"Gardening? Oh, my planter box. Nah, it's not. They keep dying."

"Are you watering them?"

She turned and glowered at him. "Oh, do you water plants? I didn't know that."

Tommy nodded. "Yes, well, maybe not enough, or too much."

"Yeah, who knows."

"Where did you buy them?"

"I didn't. I picked them up here and there."

"Havers, that's no way to garden."

Barbara rolled her eyes and turned back to the window. "I didn't realise you were a horticulturalist."

"Let me take you to my favourite nursery. They have wonderful healthy plants.'

"At exorbitant prices no doubt."

"They are not cheap."

"Then, no. Thank you, but I will manage."

"One pound pots from Tesco no doubt." He spat the words deliberately to goad her.

"There's noth... I tell you what. You buy your expensive ones and I'll buy mine, and we will soon see who gets them to grow."

"But they would have to be housed under the same conditions, watered identically, given the same..."

Barbara put her hand up. "Enough. I get it. And I know what's next too. If I look after them and all yours die you will assume I did it deliberately, but if you look after them, you will probably tender yours and let mine rot."

"Havers. Never." He clenched his hands on the wheel. "Is that what you think of me?"

"No, not really. I'm sorry. It's just... I dunno. Can we forget this whole conversation?"

"No."

"Why not?" Barbara knocked her knuckles against the window in a tuneless syncopation. He wondered if they echoed her thoughts.

Tommy slowed the car. She had sounded tired. "Because I am not watering my plant am I?"

"I dunno. Are you?"

He pulled the car off the road onto a grass verge."You tell me."

"Sir, do you even have houseplants?"

"I take you for granted."

Barbara's knuckles stopped against the glass. "Yeah, that's hardly news, but what does that...? Oh..."

"We should buy a planter box. Maybe grow some herbs."

"You're beginning to worry me, Sir. Where would we put it? On the ledge outside Hillier's office?"

"Tempting, but no. What about on the terrace?"

"What terrace?"

"At my townhouse."

She shook her head and then stared at him before shrugging. "Yeah, why not." Her knuckles resumed their tapping as she stared out over England's green and pleasant land.

Two weeks later - London's most expensive garden centre

"This feels more like a Sherlock Holmes murder scene than a plant nursery." Barbara said as they walked down the narrow walkway lined with immaculately manicured topiary. "Sure you're not going to murder me?"

"There are times when I am tempted, but no, I would do it somewhere isolated and near a high cliff so that I could dispose of your body easily."

Barbara raised her eyebrow at him. "Good to know. No more visits to Howenstowe then by the looks."

"You're safe there. That would raise too many suspicions. It would have to be somewhere else I'm afraid."

"I think I should be... oh, wow."

The narrow walkway between two Edwardian townhouses opened into an enormous courtyard. Ivy-covered walls made it feel like an oasis. Tommy swept his hand as if displaying something of his own creation. Neat rows of green shrubs extended to their left. Ahead were large tables covered in quaint flowering shrubs. Most were just coming into bloom.

"They're all in terracotta pots."

"I should hope so at these prices. Plastic is just so... supermarket."

She punched him in the arm and screwed up her face. As they walked down between the rows a large conservatory came into view. An eclectic mix of wooden tables and brightly painted wrought iron chairs were filled with diners raucously laughing as they ate.

"Lunch first?"

She shook her head. "It looks expensive."

"Not overly, and I can recommend their prawn linguini."

"Yeah. I do like a good linguini."

Tommy's Terrace - 2 hours later

"I think we have everything."

"Planter box you said. This thing looks more like a coffin."

"Havers, that coffin as you call it is state of the art. It has a built in monitoring system that detects water and nutrient levels in the soil, and can..." He saw her eyes glaze before they widened then rolled up to the heavens. "Too much?"

"You do know that herbs are meant to be eaten?"

"Oh course."

"So, where to we start?"

They manoeuvred the heavy concrete tub into position. Tommy hooked up the electrics for the monitoring system while Barbara used the secateurs to open the bags of potting mix.

"I do have garden scissors."

She looked up. "These'll do. I put the soil in. You plant."

He smiled. "So I can be blamed if something goes wrong?"

She gave him the best grin she had in weeks—slightly lopsided and with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Yeah, something like that."

It took them nearly fifteen minutes, but when they finished Tommy stood back with his hands on his hips. "They look good."

He jumped when she came and stood right next to him and began to sing. "Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme..."

"What?"

"Look. See the way you planted them?"

Tommy frowned then studied the plants. He had indeed planted them in the order of the song. Her limp supermarket specimens at the front and the thick and vital ones from the nursery at the back. He started to laugh. "I put the mint in a separate pot. That tends to take over if you plant it with other things."

Barbara looked up and laughed. He draped his arm around her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze as they looked at their handiwork.

"Are we going to Scarborough Fair? Once I met my true love there...Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. Come to me, my hand for to ask. For thou then art a true love of mine " Barbara's voice trailed off.

"You sing beautifully."

"Ta."

Tommy looked down. There was a smudge of dirt on her nose leading onto her cheek. Without thinking he reached up and brushed it away with his thumb. Her eyes were wide and her mouth slightly open as she watched him. She smiled. One quick smile. He leant closer to her. "Barbara? Would you let me...?"

Her eyebrows lowered before springing back. "Let you what?"

"Do this." He leant forward. His lips hovered an inch from hers giving her time to back away.

"What are we supposed to do? Rub noses or something?"

Tommy was grinning as his lips gently touched hers. Oddly, they met hers perfectly, but is hard to kiss when you are smiling. He pulled away. Barbara let out a half-sigh, half-groan. Tommy pressed forward again. This time neither were smiling. Her lips were soft and welcoming. The arm around her shoulder pulled her into a full embrace. Her hands rested tentatively on his hips as they continued to press their lips together.

Barbara pulled away. "Wow, I..."

Her lips sought out his with unexpected ferocity. Now Tommy groaned. He nestled his body against hers. Barbara whimpered, but her lips tugged at his. He was happy to concede. As their tongues danced he pondered why they had not done this years ago. "Oh my."

"More like wow. That was..."

Tommy did not need to be told how good it was; he wanted to experience it. He pulled her tightly against him and kissed her hard, backing her slowly towards the wall.

They panted as they stood with their foreheads leaning on each other. "Move into my planter box."

Barbara's head jerked back. "What?"

"I am asking for your hand."

"Sir, we only just..." She looked around at their clothes scattered across the stone terrace.

"Only?"

"Well, I can't marry you just because we did it once."

"How many times then? I will see if I can achieve your threshold this weekend. As long as you call me Tommy."

Barbara laughed then ran her fingers into his hair, pushing back the lock that hung down over his eye. "I suppose I could move in... Tommy."

His smile made his cheeks ache. "Leave the clothes here. We can get them later. Let's go upstairs. So, you didn't say how many times."

She whacked him playfully on the arm. "I'll know the level when we reach it."