John pulled his ringing mobile out of his pocket and checked the display. And then blinked hard and looked at it again. For a moment there he could have sworn the name displayed had been Sherlock's.
"Greg, it's been awhile."
"That it has, John. How have you been?" the detective inspector asked.
"Oh, you know, alive," John replied as he settled into his arm chair.
"I wish I remembered how that was. As you can imagine, I've been spectacularly busy with cases," Lestrade said, allowing the without his help to descend like a frigid cloud of fog over the conversation. After a moment, he pushed on. "So, listen, some'a the boys and I are setting up a poker night over at Anderson's."
"I can't think Sally is in love with that idea."
"She isn't but, you know." John could picture the "that's married couples' business" shrug Lestrade must have been making. "We're gonna start this Wednesday at seven, if you'd care to join."
John thought for a moment before saying, "I can't, Greg, I've got the late shift at the clinic," as his toes curled in his socks.
"Ah, alright, then next week."
"Next week," John repeated.
"Well, you take care of yourself, John, and I'll see you Wednesday next."
"You bet," John said, his toes gripping at the material of his socks. "You too," he added before disconnecting.