He hesitated a moment. He was certainly too old for this sort of thing. He had much to consider. Yet, what could the harm be in speaking with her for a bit? Attraction notwithstanding, none at all. Yes. He'd go over to her. He'd likely find her dull & that would set his mind at ease.

"Sherlock? What are you doing?" Molly was approaching him. She hadn't seen him in a while, & she was hoping to have a dance with him. She noticed he was looking intently at something...she was wary of it. She knew that look.

He didn't answer. Instead, he moved away toward a table a short distance away. Molly followed him with her eyes, & saw where he was going. There, sitting with a lovely woman, was Mycroft.

"Hello, Mycroft."

"Sherlock! Hello. Whatever are you doing?"

He smiled. "I was just about to ask you that very thing." He eyed the lady curiously. Young, but not very. His age. She took care of herself, but not with much purpose. Her lack of a handbag betrayed that. Her hair was quite long, nearly the whole of her back was draped in it. Poor grooming, not bothering to fix it up. Her makeup was minimal, so she had natural beauty. Welsh, or Irish decent given her pallor & color of her hair & eyes. Confident, the way she sat suggested that Mycroft's staggering intellect did nothing to intimidate her. Or perhaps she was too daft to notice...no...Mycroft wouldn't bother with an idiot. Bright, then. Her tattoo was tripping him up. A sordid past? A drunken mistake? Unclear. It was a curious thing to have a tattoo of...an old key? Perhaps she was sentimental.

Mycroft knew exactly what he was doing in the ten seconds that had lapsed. He smiled.

"Well, Sherlock. Allow me to introduce Ms Odessa Baynes."

"It's a pleasure," and he offered his hand, which she accepted graciously.

"The best man. Lovely speech. And a detective, no less...how very exciting," she smiled prettily.

"Yes...consulting detective."

"Oh? I am a consultant as well, though I've abandoned my detective work."

Sherlock sniggered, "Is that so? You've been a detective?"

"Oh, yes. At the Yard, many years hence now. A rare thing then, female detective."

"How long ago?" And he sat with them.

"Well...I'd say at least 15 years now."

"Indeed? What is your age?" Sherlock had abandoned decorum in his shock.

Mycroft was amused at the banter, but would not abide rudeness. "You'll forgive my brother, Odessa, he often forgets himself."

"Not at all. I've nothing to hide," she smiled warmly & turned again to Sherlock. "I'm 41."

"And what is your consulting work?"

"Writing. I'm a writing consultant."

Sherlock was intrigued. "That is fascinating. How does one get into that line of work? Was that your area of study at university?" It hardly seemed likely, as she was a detective previously.

"Well...which degree do you mean?"

The Holmes boys were silent. Mycroft regained his person first. "Pardon me, Odessa. Did you say 'which degree?' How many do you have?"

She smiled a crooked smile. "Three."

"Three?" They said in unison.

This caused her to laugh aloud. "Indeed. Three. Writing, literature, & neuroscience. But not in that order."

"Neuroscience?" Sherlock nearly stammered. Surely she obtained said degrees from less than reputable institutions.

"Yes."

"From where?"

"MIT. In the States. I returned to Cambridge for literature. Writing was done at King's College."

Mary hadn't mentioned her academic achievements. Nor that she had been to America. "And tell me, Odessa, how did you like America?"

"Not much. MIT was fine, but it was that which made me consider detective work. Boston was lovely, but an undercurrent was constantly present. I didn't wish to see the same happen in London. I suppose I didn't realize it was already here," she became reflective.

"Well. I daresay I've hardly heard a more impressive academic résumé. Three degrees from three world renowned institutions. What have you to say on the matter, Sherlock?"

Sherlock was rendered mute.

"It appears my brother has little opinion on it," said Mycroft in his stead. He smiled at him. "And where is your lovely fiancée? I hope you haven't abandoned her."

Odessa perked up at this. "You're engaged? Well! That is news! Congratulations. Where is the lucky girl?"

"Molly is over...was over there," Sherlock indicated the place where he had left her. "Well, I suppose I should find her out. Mycroft," he nodded. "Odessa. It was...a pleasure." And he stood to leave.

"You'll forgive me, but you hardly seem the type to have obtained so many...er...achievements academically. Why aren't you teaching at university?"

"That's one of the nicest compliments I've ever received, Mycroft Holmes. Thank you," and she tipped her glass. "But honestly, I'm not a Doctor. None of them are PhDs. I have a masters in writing, that's all."

"Even so..."

"I love what I do. Owning a bookshop, well, it's a dream I'd often had. I'm lucky to have it. It's a complete reflection of me. Part of me, I might even say."

"I would love to see it sometime. What's it's name?"

"Thornfield. As in "Thornfield Hall," a la Jane Eyre. Do you know it?"

He smiled widely. "It's been ages since I read it."

"It's one of my favorites," her green eyes gleamed. Mycroft made a note to check his library for the volume when he returned home.