Elizabeth looked through the brightly coloured blur of revelry. Twinkling coloured lights and glitter and sequins all melting together throughout the room. A toffee carnival.
The young man had been staring at her for a while she supposed. Staring at her with bright green eyes that seemed to diminish all the other colour in the room. He was cute, his gingery hair cut short and spiked up with gel, his suit was expensive but not too formal and just visible where his trousers leg had ridden up a little was a sock patterned like a Giraffe. He caught Elizabeth looking at him and smiled. But it was a sad smile as if he didn't expect her to smile back. One of his friends touched his shoulder and said something to him and he turned away. Somehow he seemed familiar.
"That's Nicholas Holmes!" One of her friends quietly shouted in her ear.
"Who is?"
"The cute one you've just been staring at. He's down with Mark's lot from Cambridge. He's Sherlock Holmes' nephew."
"Oh." That was all she could say. What else was there to say? Nicholas Holmes had disappeared into the crowd. Gone.
A while later and Elizabeth was fast becoming bored with the party. A pre-Christmas bout of flu meant she was still taking medication that didn't mix well with alcohol. Parties were all well and good if you weren't the only sober person left in the building.
"Sorry!" A tall lad with blond hair spluttered as he accidentally poured half a pint of Eggnog down the front of her dress.
"It's fine." Elizabeth fished in her purse for some tissues to mop up the mess. And a red handkerchief was placed into her hands. She looked up to find herself looking right into the emerald eyes of Nicholas Holmes. His eyes were very beautiful, and bright, but behind them she somehow sensed he was sad.
"Thank you." She smiled at him. He was perhaps an inch taller than her. Certainly not as tall as his famous uncle. He blushed and turned away. "You're Nicholas aren't you? Mycroft's son."
"I'm sorry. Have we met before?" Nicholas looked around him. In a corner of the room a large man trying to blend in with wallpaper looked over to them.
"You won't remember. I'm Lizzie LeStrade. Greg LeStrade's daughter."
"Superintendant LeStrade?"
"Yes." Lizzie rummage in her purse, her ruined dress forgotten. She pulled a small square of fuzzy red fabric from the small bag. "Once upon a time you gave me your blanket. I never did say thank you."
Nicky looked up, just above their heads, a large bunch of Mistletoe was dangling hopefully. He looked at her and smiled. And his smile wasn't sad any more.
