A/N: It's Thursday yet again, and you know what that means, it's time for a new chapter! And still no murder. Hmm...don't worry, I'll get you there. ;)

However and this is the sad part, this is the last of the completed chapters. Now, if I'm good and really buckle down on this chapter, it should be done by next Thursday. If not, this will the last of the regular updates.

I've been having to work overtime at work and it put a real hole in my writing time. But it was work extra hours or have to really penny pinch next check. But for the rest of this week, I'll just be working my normal hours, so hopefully that means more writing time.


At dinner only Phryne and Anthea were missing from the company. Phryne was keeping her friend occupied in her room, as they shared secrets and their meal.

As Phryne's friends went to sit at the table, Mycroft cleared his throat. "I figured that you would still be fatigued from your journey and would prefer if we kept the guests to yourself and our family."

"Yes, thank you," Jack agreed, putting his wrists on the table.

"I still don't understand why John couldn't come," Sherlock murmured, his head hanging low between his shoulders.

"Dr Watson isn't family, Sherlock," Mycroft hissed.

"Maybe not to you," came the mumbled reply.

Dot fidgeted and then spoke up, "I'm sure Dr Watson wouldn't be a burden to the company, and Dr McMillan has expressed interest in speaking to him. So it would be beneficial if he came."

Mycroft sat back, stunned. Dot had shown some real backbone earlier in the sitting room, but this went beyond the pale. Sherlock looked hopeful.

"If it's at all possible," Mac said, "I would very much like to meet this Dr Watson."

"It's too late now, Mrs Turner won't have time to prepare another plate," Mycroft reasoned.

"Drinks, then," Dot countered. "We were going to have drinks in the sitting room after dinner anyway, so why not invite him to drinks and then there would be no troubling the cook."

Mycroft blinked. Mousy as though she seemed, she was quite the shrewd negotiator. "I'll have Bishop ring him up, then."

Sherlock jumped up and shouted, "Hooray!"

"Provided you actually eat your dinner!" Mycroft said sternly.

Sherlock smiled and began to tuck into the first dish in earnest, where before he had merely pushed around the food on his plate in a disinterested fashion.

"That settles it, then," Jack agreed. He turned to Sherlock and began to press the youth about his less gruesome experiments.

As dinner progressed even Hugh and Mac were in on the action, Dot acting as referee. And Mycroft enjoyed his meal for the first time in a long time. Perhaps, bringing Phryne and her friends was going to benefit more than just his wife. It might benefit his brother as well.

When the last of the dinner dishes were cleared away, they retired to the sitting room for drinks. John was waiting for them, one hand clutching his cane, the other a drink that Bishop had poured for him.

"What took you lot so long?" John playfully complained.

Mycroft smiled at the former army doctor. "We have a couple of science enthusiasts and they led Sherlock on a merry chase."

John looked over at the young man, with a raised eyebrow, "Must have been quite the chase if they can keep up with Sherlock."

"They weren't too bad," Sherlock admitted.

Both of John's eyebrows shot up. "That's high praise, indeed."

Mac laughed.

Introductions were made and John eyed Mac. "Sherlock was complaining–" the man in question glared, "saying," John corrected, "that another doctor has seen to Anthea, but he didn't mention that you were a woman."

"The surprise is infinitely more fun," Mac admitted.

John laughed. "I am sure it is."

And immediately, Mac secreted John off to see his patient, much to Sherlock's displeasure.

"Couldn't they have done that another time?" Sherlock groused.

"I am personally grateful Dr McMillan has taken interest in Anthea's case," Mycroft said with a relieved sigh.

"Besides," Jack said with a wink at Sherlock, "I don't think even the indomitable Dr Elizabeth could keep Dr Watson away for long."

Sherlock blushed. "It's not like that."

"Of course," the lawman instantly agreed, "but you are best friends, clearly. And best friends are rarely parted for long. Eh, Dot?"

"It was pure luck that we happened to arrive in London shortly after you did," Dot argued.

"Really, I thought the last boat to England had set sail the week before," Jack said with a smile.

Dot and Hugh shared a glance. "The Baron!" they said together.

"Precisely," Jack said. "He wanted Phryne to come home and see her mother. In addition to his considerable talents, I have no doubt that fudging documents is one of them."

"You don't mean–" Dot asked, dismayed.

"Oh no, I'm sure the letter was genuine; however, why not just send a telegram explaining that he had missed the boat due to being kidnapped? As we've seen, the Baroness is a clear, level-headed woman, surely she would understand."

"Oh."

"Besides, a week later would hardly be much of a hardship on either side," Jack reasoned.

"Does Miss Fisher know?" Hugh asked, looking a little dismayed at the Baron's antics.

"She probably does, but you know how it goes with family," Jack said pointedly.

All three of them had problems with their family; Dot's sister, Hugh's mother, and Jack's former in-laws. All disasters.

Everyone nodded, Sherlock and Mycroft included.

Sherlock went to go sulk in the corner until John came back down, but the others were free to talk.


The rap on the door caused Phryne to start, but she rushed to open it anyway. On the other side were Mac and John.

"Mac," Phryne greeted, stepping aside to let the doctors in. "And you must be Dr Watson."

"You must be Miss Fisher, Dr McMillan has been telling me all about you on our way up," John said, shaking Phryne's hand.

"Only good things, I hope," Phryne said.

Mac snorted.

"Right, what was I thinking?"

Phryne stepped back and let the doctors do their work, but after a couple of minutes she got bored.

"You know, Dr Watson," she began, "you are nothing like what I would have expected."

John chuckled. "That seems to be the general consensus, actually."

"I mean, to hear Sherlock talk, I was picturing someone ten feet tall, with the strength twenty men, and the perfect specimen of male attractiveness. Not that you're a slouch in that last department."

"Only twenty men? I thought it was at least fifty these days, I'll have to do more impressing, then," John replied with a wink. "And thank you. That's nice to hear once in a while outside one's girlfriend."

"Oh!" Phryne exclaimed.

John blushed.

"Wait one minute, Phryne," Mac interrupted. "Where on earth would you have heard Sherlock talk about Dr Watson?"

John looked between the two women confused. "I don't understand."

"She's only seen Sherlock once all day, and that's when the groundskeeper hauled him in for cutting up dead squirrels," Mac explained.

John winced. "I've told him to do that out in the shed, Mr Jeffcoat won't bother him there, but he insists on doing it 'in the field'."

Phryne tossed her head to the side and looked skyward, "I may have heard Sherlock shouting when I was helping Anthea back to her room."

Anthea snorted from her bed.

"Translation, you were listening at keyholes again," Mac sniped.

"I can confirm that," Anthea said, rolling her eyes.

Phryne put her hands on her hips and pouted, "And how else am I supposed to learn what people are up to if I don't eavesdrop at keyholes?"

John burst out laughing. "You know, Sherlock says the same thing."

"I like him already," Phryne said with a smirk.

"You would, you heathen," Mac growled.


Dot was talking a stroll in the gardens by herself, needing some time alone. She passed a statue that would have made Father O'Leary blush and stumbled on John and Sherlock arguing. She stepped back to leave, but the anger in John's voice made her stop. She stayed where she was in case he did harm to Sherlock.

"Give it here, Sherlock," John growled.

"No, please, John," Sherlock begged. "I can't."

"Give it to me now," John's voice became dangerous and Dot stepped forward, but something in Sherlock's bearing made her pause. John hadn't struck out yet, and she couldn't just go barging in there unless actual harm came to the young Holmes boy.

"Please, John," Sherlock continued to plead. "Just don't marry her."

Marry who? Dot thought.

"I don't have a choice, Sherlock," John ground out. "My wound is acting up more and more and soon I won't be able to do much. And if I can't walk to my patients, then my practice fails and I'm out on the street."

Sherlock got really close to John's face, leaning down to get as close as he could. "I'll lend you the money, you can live with me, anything!" he pleaded. "Just not this."

"I won't be your kept man!" John snarled.

"And how is marrying her any different?" Sherlock asked throwing his arms in the air.

"It just is," John retorted. "You don't get a say in what I do or don't do!"

"I thought–" Sherlock began and quickly John covered his mouth with his hand.

"What the hell are you thinking? With that flock of people your brother has about, what if one of them heard you?"

A tear streaked down Sherlock's cheek, pooling in the creases of John's hand. John removed his hand and wiped off the tear.

"You need to be more careful, Sherlock," John growled. "I wish there was another way, but you know there isn't."

"We could move to the city and be bachelors for the rest of our lives," Sherlock suggested.

"People will talk," John said.

Sherlock shook his clenched fingers violently, a snarl twisted his face, and Dot was beginning to wonder if John was the one who would need rescuing.

"Don't marry her, stay with me," Sherlock begged again.

John looked down at his feet, all anger gone. "I wish I could."

Sherlock sank to his knees and began to sob. John knelt in front of him and dug into Sherlock's trouser pocket. He looked at the black jewelry box and then threw his arms around Sherlock as the two them cried and cried.

Dot started when a bird suddenly took flight. They didn't need her. Not for anything. She had nothing that she could offer them that wouldn't be trite or patronizing. She smiled sadly and slipped away back to the main house.

As she walked back, she found that she was crying. She always thought that she had it rough because Hugh was a Protestant and she was Catholic, but at least Hugh could convert. There was nothing that either John or Sherlock could do that would give them a happy ending.