"Gregory!" John cried in astonishment. "My God, it's been months!" He leapt out of his armchair to greet the Detective Inspector, who was dripping wet due to the storm that had begun outside.

"And hello to you, Doctor!" Lestrade grinned, offering his coat to the coachman who had followed him inside with his bags. "I was in the area with a triple suicide case; thought I'd stop in for a visit. Hope you don't mind?"

"No, not at all!" John replied. "But keep the triple-suicide talk to a minimum, would you? You know how Sherlock gets," he added with a laugh.

"Sherlock! Why, is he here?" Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, positively everyone's here, Detective Inspector," John sighed. "I'll call them down; did you remember to bring some cold case files for our detective?"

Lestrade pulled a thick stack of folders out from inside his jacket. "Never leave home without them."

"Excellent!" The doctor grinned. "I was beginning to worry about him, what with all the company we've had of late. Since the ball, we've met this lovely family of girls - the Hudsons, if you've heard of them? - and we've been hosting the eldest while she fell ill. Then, the middle sister came, too, and so we've had such a full house for the past couple of days, I thought he might snap!"

"Girls, eh?" Lestrade laughed.

John faked astonishment. "Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, you are well and happily married!"

" 'Married', yes, 'well and happily', not so much," Lestrade sighed, running a hand through his hair. "The wife and I have been getting into a lot of rows lately - that's why I took a case so far away from London, actually. Thought maybe it would do us some good to have some time apart, sort things out a bit."

"You'll pull through, you always do," John tried to reassure his friend. "Now, then, there they are! Move quickly, everyone, Gregory's here!" He called up the stairs.

First came Janine, then Anthea, followed by Sherlock. Mycroft arrived a moment later, deciding he could spare a few minutes to greet the new arrival. Hellos were said, handshakes distributed, and soon after everyone filed into the drawing room except Mycroft, who hastened back to his desk. Anthea had given him a rather pretty smile, that she might say hello to him amidst the frenzy of excitement, and he found it did wonders for his work ethic.

"For you," Lestrade said, producing the cold case files and handing them to Sherlock. "That's half of my entire archive; if you'll be needing some more, I can send someone out to fetch them."

Sherlock examined the packet quickly before answering breathlessly, "Thank you, Detective Inspector. I shall get started right away - oh, John, did you see? Hangings, suicides, serial killers - it's Christmas!"

John sighed as Anthea and Janine looked at each other and made a face. "Sherlock..."

"Timing?" The detective looked slightly sheepish.

"Timing." John replied. "But never mind that; I agree, it's perfect to keep you busy."

"Busy? I do not need to be kept busy, John, it's my work," the detective huffed.

"Sure, Sherlock. Whatever you say," John rolled his eyes.

"And you two," Lestrade said, turning to Janine and Anthea. "Pretty as ever. Are you sure neither of you are settled yet? Seems to me you both should have fellas lining up 'round the whole estate!"

Janine laughed, while her sister flushed. "Wouldn't that be nice," the former giggled. "Well, for what it's worth, Thea has My -" she was stopped by a foot crashing down painfully on top of her own.

"Mind your own business!" Anthea overlapped, covering up her sister's abrupt silence. Lestrade simply shrugged and moved to answer Sherlock, who wanted to know specific details concerning a kidnapping in one of the files.

"What was that for?" Janine whispered.

"So you don't go advertising things that aren't true, that's what for!" Anthea snapped, also in a whisper.

"Hmph," Janine huffed. "Denial doesn't suit you, Thea." She stood and wandered over to Sherlock, who was now sitting by himself on the sofa and flipping through yet more murderous files.

Denial? How insulting, Anthea thought sullenly. I am not in denial. She didn't care how ridiculous it sounded; it was true.

Across the room, Janine promptly sat down next to Sherlock, who was now poring over a rather gruesome quadruple homicide. She steeled herself, then peered over the detective's shoulder.

"Have you solved it yet?" She asked.

Sherlock rifled through the papers once more, then scoffed, "Hmmph," with a triumphant grin. "Yes," he added.

"Who is the murderer?" Janine smiled as the detective looked down at her with a raised eyebrow.

"The last victim's aunt," Sherlock began. "The first three were 'accidents', in a way - the girl had been missing for a year, but the aunt eventually discovered where she was living and four possible aliases she might be using, so she scoured the area for girls with the same names. The last one she killed was the right one, her real niece."

"Interesting," Janine pretended to be intrigued, as she could see how excited the detective got when he was on a case (and, if she was to be completely honest, she found him infinitely more adorable when he was animated). "Why did she want to kill her niece?"

Sherlock sighed. "That much is obvious. The aunt's brother, or the girl's father, had recently passed away, leaving a large portion of his fortune to his only child. The rest of the money went to the aunt, but she didn't take it very well."

"How could you tell?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes before launching into his deductions, starting with the aunt before moving to the cadavers and finally, the deceased brother. "It's perfectly clear once you look at the pattern of blood splattered on the wall," he finished with a smirk.

"Can you do that with anybody?" Now she really was interested.

"What, deduce them?" He asked, and she nodded. "Of course. I can tell you what every person in this room had for breakfast, who they'll be sitting next to tonight at dinner, their shoe size, and practically anything else you'd ever want to know about them. Shall we start with John?"

Janine laughed as the detective proceeded to pick apart his friend, predicting tonight's menu based off of his gait. "Lighter than usual, longer strides, we're having one of his favorites. Not something messy, you'd see creases in his shirt where he would have bent over the table or a stain, so it isn't veal. Must be risotto, then, taking into account the smell coming from the kitchen."

"Fantastic!" Janine watched as Sherlock glowed. "Tell me about the Detective Inspector."

It was definitely better not having mousy Molly here, she decided. She moved a little closer to the detective, who was so focused on Lestrade's shoes that he didn't even notice.

Much better.

ooooo

Soon, it was time for dinner, and the group moved into the dining room. John insisted Lestrade take the seat at the head of the table, placing himself to the DI's right. Sherlock sat on Greg's other side, and Janine quickly sat down next to the detective as Anthea filled in the space next to her brother. Mycroft remained shut inside the study, with no word on when he might emerge. The eldest Watson had sincerely hoped he might be able to make it to dinner, but it seemed as if his work had taken longer than he'd originally anticipated.

Oh, well. Nothing to fuss over; she'd have the chance to talk to him tomorrow, if she liked.

"Thea?" Janine tapped her finger on the table in Anthea's line of view. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, fine. Why do you ask?" Anthea asked in confusion.

"Well, you seem to have thoroughly mangled your appetizer, and you've never been one to pick at your food," Janine said.

Anthea looked down at her plate and was met with what used to be a perfectly respectable spanakopita, now dissected into something unrecognizable. "Oh."

Janine sighed. "Oh, Thea. He'll be finished soon, promise." She turned to laugh at something Sherlock had just said before Anthea could reply, a look of indignation upon the elder sister's face.

"Another deduction - how clever!" Janine said brightly. John gave his sister a questioning look, but she ignored him and continued to spew compliments. "I honestly don't know how you do it!"

"Neither do I," Lestrade added. "Speaking of which, you should have seen Anderson today, Sherlock! Raving on and on about his theory regarding one of our newer cases - surely you remember the one with the horses? - and the minute he saw the results of that lab test you did, he shut right up. Had the entire forensics unit laughing at him!"

"Yes, well, Philip has always been quick to prove his idiocy," Sherlock said with a smirk.

"Hang on," John cut in. "Now that I think about it, didn't Molly say she had a cousin named Anderson?"

"It's a rather common name, John," Sherlock replied in a bored tone. "Besides, she can't possibly be related to that incompetent imbecile."

John gave the detective an interesting look, one Sherlock couldn't remember seeing before. Odd.

"What was the test about, Sherlock?" Janine tried redirecting the attention to herself.

"If I remember correctly, which of course I do," began the detective. "It was an analysis of dirt samples and pollen caught in the horses' shoes, was it not, Graham?"

"Greg," John corrected him. "Greg, Sherlock. We'll have to work on remembering that correctly."

"Greg? Really?" Sherlock seemed slightly taken aback. "A new alias for a country case, Inspector?"

"Sherlock, that's his name," John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Well, with all of the other information in that remarkable brain, how do you expect him to remember names all the time?" Janine scoffed. That created an awkward lull in conversation; John and Lestrade looked slightly annoyed, while Sherlock watched the woman sitting next to him with a puzzled expression.

Meanwhile, in the study, Mycroft sat back and observed his work with a satisfied smile. The files were all stacked according to importance, the contacts were labeled and neatly put away, the letters had been sent, and the Prime Minister was safe once again. He pushed the last stack of papers off to one side with a sigh, and glanced up at the clock on the wall. It seemed he had missed the appetizer - how tedious to have to arrive in the middle of the wine selection, but it had to be done if he wished to see Anthea. He started down the hallway, picking up faint strains of conversation and laughter from the dining room. When he reached the doorway, he hesitated, unsure of whether his late arrival was worth the fuss it might cause. Then he noticed Anthea, who smiled that ever-so-pretty smile in Janine's general direction. The empty seat next to her was the final deciding factor; he straightened his jacket, took a deep breath, and entered the room with a polite "Please, excuse me - I do hope I haven't missed much?"

"Mycroft! So glad you could make it - no, please, sit!" John had known the Holmes brothers for long enough to know how to be flexible.

The diplomat sat next to Anthea, who turned and gave him that smile, and suddenly he found himself slightly (read: utterly) brain dead.

"All finished saving Britain from the next war?" She asked.

He nodded.

"Good; I've been waiting for some one to talk to all evening! I'd join them on cases and deductions," here she waved a hand in the direction of the others, "But I'm afraid my rather average mind wouldn't be able to keep up with your brother's."

That insufferable show-off, Mycroft seethed. "I should apologize; he does tend to make people feel that way. Rest assured, my dear, that level of arrogance is entirely undesirable." He narrowed his eyes in his brother's direction as the main course was set in front of him.

"Careful, brother dear," Sherlock called from across the table. "Wouldn't want to spoil the diet, would we?"

Mycroft grimaced, pushing his plate away.

"Please, Sherlock, not now," John muttered.

But of course, when his brother was involved, Sherlock refused to listen to reason. "Terribly sorry, Anthea, hate to have to tell you this way. And I hear that dessert is Belgian chocolate cake; will we be skipping that as well?"

"Sherlock Holmes, you had better shut the hell up this very minute or I will personally toss those cold cases in the garbage," John hissed. That got the detective to stop talking, but it didn't stop him from smirking.

"Mycroft will eat what he chooses, thank you," Anthea said coldly. "And quite frankly, Sherlock, I could care less."

She received blank stares from everyone at the table but Sherlock, who continued to look as smug as ever. John's only thought was: Jesus, Thea. In some form or another, it resonated throughout the entire party.

"At the expense of sounding childish, I suppose I might ask you the same question, brother mine," Mycroft spat after the pause, sending the detective into a sulk.

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose again. It was going to be an impossibly long evening.

ooooo

Hello, all! Thank you so much for reading and for leaving such lovely comments - it's such a treat to write for such a wonderful community!

The introduction of Lestrade brings another familiar face back to Saint Bartholomew's next chapter; the IQ of the entire street will be lowered!

In response to previous reviews:

Cantuono: Thank you! I have to say, that part was the most fun to write!

InMollysWildestDreams: Yay, more Mythea!

Black Night: I felt an extra treat was in order to make up for my absence - and that's what happens when you've got no Internet for a few days and some time to kill! Thank you so very much - after all, what is a detective without his egotism?

~London Belle