"…and then, he jumped up on the coffee table and meowed-actually meowed-at me!"

Greg sighed. "That's…amazing, Molls."

Molly giggled, again. Did she ever stop, Greg wondered? "Isn't it? It's like he was trying to talk to me!" Another giggle.

Oh, God. Greg didn't know if he could take another five minutes of Molly's incessant chatter. For the past ten minutes, all she had done was giggle and tell stories about her cat. And giggle some more.

He was really wishing he'd stayed with Mycroft. Even if he didn't return Greg's feelings, at least he was remotely interesting to talk to.

As Molly began yet another dull, uninteresting story involving her cat and a potted plant, Sherlock walked into the room from the hallway. Greg watched as the consulting detective's eyes wandered the room, looking for something…or someone. Then, Sherlock's intense eyes locked onto him, and he began to make his way over to him.

Greg tried not to scream. First Molly and boring cat stories, now Sherlock, no doubt with some irritating and/or snarky comment about a.) the party, b.) Greg's flat, or c.) any other thing he deemed worthy of his criticism. What had he done to deserve this?

Sherlock suddenly appeared at his elbow. "Lestrade," he said formally.

Molly broke off in the middle of her cat story. "H-hello, Sherlock!" she said, blushing a deep crimson. Greg sighed. Apparently she still hadn't caught onto the fact that John and Sherlock were an item.

"Molly." Sherlock said tightly. He turned back to Greg. "Lestrade, we need to talk." He looked at Molly with distaste. "In private."

Greg looked at him incredulously while Molly's eyes drifted downward, embarrassed. "Sherlock, I'm a bit busy, in case you didn't notice!" Sure, Molly was boring him to death, but he wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to ignore Sherlock.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

As if it was in slow motion, Greg saw Sherlock draw a long breath, and then, just as he was about to speak….

"No. Sherlock, shut it, okay? No deductions, not tonight. I'll talk to you…just; let's make it quick, okay?"

Sherlock nodded once and abruptly left the room.

Greg turned to Molly. "I'll…I'll just…go. I'll be right back…" he stammered, trying to make up a plausible excuse.

Molly sighed. "Oh, go ahead. I know I'm boring you."

Greg put a properly shamed look on his face. "No! No, you weren't, you were fine…"

Molly waved him off. "S'okay." she said miserably, "I think I'll just go have some punch." She tilted her head down and walked away.

Damn. Greg certainly wasn't winning any points with the ladies tonight.

That's why you're gay now, remember? said the little voice in his head.

"Shut up," Greg growled under his breath, earning a strange stare from Inspector Dimmock.

"You okay, Inspector?" Dimmock asked, slightly concerned. Maybe all the work really was getting to Greg, he thought to himself.

"Fine, fine," Greg said, waving the other inspector away. He noted Dimmock's lack of a dance partner. "Hey, mate…you want someone to dance with?"

"Well…I did." he said sadly, watching one of the lady sergeants from across the room. She was a beautiful, tall woman with long blonde hair, and kept throwing disgusted looks over her shoulder at Dimmock.

"I'm…not very popular with the ladies." he said awkwardly. "Not very good at social events, actually."

"Ah." Greg said. An idea was forming in his head. He pointed to where Molly was standing by the punch bowl. "You see her? That's Molly Hooper. She works at Bart's. Take my advice, Dimmock; ask her to dance. I think you two would get along great."

Dimmock's gaze lightened. "Yeah…yeah, I think I will. Thanks, Lestrade."

Greg winked. "No problem."

He watched as Dimmock walked to the punch bowl, and then turned to follow Sherlock's footsteps out of the room.

Sherlock was waiting for him in the hallway just outside the door. Seeing Greg, he immediately launched into his speech. "Lestrade. Do you or do you not have romantic and/or sexual feelings for my brother?"

Greg's eyes went wide and his heart sped up. "Jesus, Sherlock. You really don't beat about the bush, do you?"

Sherlock examined his fingernails. "I'm waiting."

Greg coughed uncomfortably. "And…why exactly is this relevant?"

"No reason."

Greg swung his arms by his sides awkwardly. "Right. Well…No!" he almost shouted, surprising Sherlock enough to make him look up. "I'm not going to bloody tell you about my feelings toward your brother!"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and smirked. "So you do like him."

Greg was outraged. "How do you figure, Mr. Genius-Detective-Matchmaker?"

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "You are stunningly transparent, Detective Inspector. Do I really have to go through the dilated-pupils-and-speeding-pulse speech, or can you figure it out on your own?"

Greg frowned. "How did you get my pulse?"

"I didn't."

"Then how…"

Sherlock shrugged. "Simple, really. I mentioned Mycroft's name to see what effect it had on you. When I said it, your pupils dilated so much I'm honestly surprised your eyes didn't explode. As for your pulse…with eyes that get that large when I mention a certain man's name, do you really think I need any more evidence to prove my point?"

"However, if you really need more proof…" He grabbed Greg's wrist and took his pulse. "Just as I thought. Elevated."

Greg pulled his arm back quickly. "Okay, you bloody wanker. You've proved your point!" he growled. "Are you going to go reveal my innermost thoughts and feelings to your brother now so that you two can have a good laugh?" he asked sarcastically.

"No, actually," Sherlock said, shaking his head. "You are. Without the laughing, hopefully."

Greg's mouth hung open. "Sorry, what?"

Sherlock sighed, aggravated. "Lestrade, do close your mouth. You look like that small, furry creature on that cartoon movie about the glacial epoch."

Greg shut his mouth with a snap. "You've watched Ice Age?"

Sherlock shrugged, unconcerned. "John made me." His eyes glared intensely at the inspector. "Now, are you going to go up there and talk to my brother, or am I going to have to hurt you?"

Greg stopped for a moment. "What exactly brought this on?"

Sherlock hesitated. "Just go up!" he urged him. "You'll find out soon enough, inspector. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go find John and have a good, long snogging session to erase the mental images of you two as a couple." He winked. "Ta."

And with that, Sherlock Holmes swept away, back into the living room, towards the more pressing matter on his mind.

Greg sighed and looked up the stairs in the direction of the bathroom door. "Well, it's now or never," he muttered with a sigh, and began to climb the stairs.