"I still say you're a Freak," Sally sniffed. Christmas party or no, Sally Donovan may be wearing her festive best, but she was still on guard.
"To each her own," Sherlock said lightly. It was obvious, given his tone, that he gave not a damn one way or the other what she thought of him.
"Refill on the wassail?" she asked, as she offered a fresh cup.
"Thank you, yes, I shall," he smiled, more warmly than he intended.
Sally had decided, upon reflection, to give Sherlock a chance. A REAL chance. And her way of beginning was to observe him with her copper's eye in a social setting.
The annual Christmas Eve gathering at 221B Baker Street was perfect.
Sally handed him a fresh cup, watching him. She noticed how he smiled while looking towards certain people.
At John and Greg, he smiled warmly, brotherly even.
At Mary, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson, he smiled protectively.
But upon Rosie and Bailey, Sally noted, Sherlock Holmes gazed with pride and loving adoration.
He really was an enigma, she thought to herself.
Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.
Sherlock watched her discreetly, noting her expressions.
Donovan seemed to be warming a bit. This was fine by him, she'd be less annoying.
Greg looked on, holding Bailey.
He smiled, and simply muttered, "Blimey!"