I posted the news on the blog the next day.

Poor bastard. Lestrade commented

Donovan kept it simple. Freaks.

"You're being dragged to a Holmes Christmas? I don't envy you." Lestrade said at their last crime scene before they left, grinning. "Just maybe you shouldn't tell that Molly girl, because she certainly will envy you. The poor love-struck fool. I don't want to scrape you off the pavement."

"So they're initiating you into the freak clan?"

"Sergeant Donovan, that's enough." Lestrade said sternly.

"Look, you're normal now, but the longer you hang about the Holmes family the more like them you become."

"Sounds like the voice of experience. Oh my—did Holmes turn you down?"

"Why would I ask that freak out?" She demanded.

Sherlock approached with hands clasped behind his back, looking up at the ceiling of the crime scene and completely avoiding looking at her. "Oh, I don't know, at the time you claimed to be in love with me."

"Leave her alone." Anderson interrupted angrily.

"That's quite alright, we'll be leaving now anyway." Sherlock said apathetically. "Fascinating case, thank you Lestrade, it was a wonderful send-off."

"Who did it?"

"No-one. She committed suicide and made it look like murder made to appear as suicide to make sure her sister got her life insurance, but also framed her ex-husband as revenge, probably because he took advantage of her sister. I think you'll find her sister in possession of the real suicide note, probably a letter judging by how traditional the family is."

Anderson snorted. "Ridiculous."

"You certainly throw that word around a lot." Sherlock replied coolly. "The sister feels terribly guilty, and I'm guessing she'll confess if you mention that she can be charged and that the husband has an airtight alibi."

"Brilliant." Lestrade said, breaking down and grinning.

"Mr. Holmes, I have your ride waiting for you." A quiet female voice said.

I glanced up to see a pretty young girl with prominent cheekbones and dark hair pulled back elegantly.

"Mrs. Stalon." He replied, just as professional as her even as a smirk played at the corners of his mouth.

A wicked grin spread across her face and she ran to hug him. He lifted her feet off the ground and spun her in a circle. "Shirley! You agreed! I ordered Mikey to blackmail you, but I wasn't sure he'd succeed.

"I can't wait for you to come back, and don't worry—I kept your room exactly as you left it and repainted the guest room to accommodate John. I doubted the sunny yellow would suit his tastes. Winifred was an absolute nightmare to bathe after I let her paint." She stepped back and surveyed her brother, lips pursing as she caught sight of the small red mark on his jaw where I'd punched him and eyes narrowing as she took in what I only assumed were tiny details telling her that he hadn't eaten anything for twenty-two hours and hadn't slept in seventeen.

"Wow, she almost sounds normal once you disregard that she's a raging sociopath." Anderson muttered.

"Still bitter about being hit by a girl in front of all of Scotland Yard? I told you to shut up, but you just wouldn't listen."

"Ah, yes, let's not have a repeat of all that," Lestrade said, placing a hand on her shoulder and guiding the three of us over to the car, "It was hard enough getting the charges dropped the first time."

"How are things with the wife, anyway?"

He sighed, drawing a hand across his chin. "Not very well."

"Sorry to hear it. Out of curiosity, is there a large amount of yellow in your house?"

"It's my daughter's favourite colour, so it's on every other surface."

"Repaint. It causes fights. Now, I have no idea which colour causes infidelity, but I think she feels you care more about your job than for her. Take time off work spontaneously and whisk her off to a nice restaurant. Bring her flowers, pink and purple, with rounded petals.

"And Anderson, your wife is cheating on you too, so feel free to divorce her quietly and move on with Donovan, you've got a certain chemistry even if you are a closet homosexual."

I was torn between sympathy for them (despite my resentment of their attitudes), wonderment at how this ability appeared to be genetic, curiosity as to how she worked all that out, and exasperation at their lack of care for how that would affect Anderson and the Yarders as we climbed into the sleek black car and Rosabel instructed the chauffeur to leave.

Sherlock looked out the window as I watched London streetlights flicker across his sister's face.

"You don't approve of my bluntness, Dr. Watson, and you have questions. Disregarding my apathy, go ahead and ask."

"Can all of your family do this?"

Sherlock uttered a little half-laugh.

"He thinks that we—meaning myself, Mikey, and him—are all using completely different methods. But if we go along with the assumption—yes, Shirley, I know you think that it's erroneous—that it's the same talent, then no, just the three of us."

"Is Mikey… Mycroft?"

"Yes." She threw her head back and laughed. "He hates it. Shirley's used to it, and besides, he's not too uptight to respond with Rosie, which Mikey is. Will might shoot you if you call me Rose, Rosie, or pronounce my actual name like the flower; it's a family thing."

"Will being…?"

"Her husband, of course." Sherlock snapped.

"Oh, of course."

"Sarcasm." Rosabel assessed. "Shirley, you've offended him."

He frowned across me at her. "He's always offended by something I've said."

"Sherlock, I will have Mrs. Hudson confiscate your skull unless you apologise."

"You wouldn't!"

She tapped a few keys on the cell phone. "Mrs. Hudson! Hello, how are you tonight? Good to hear it. Listen, I'm worried about my brother. There's a recent psychological study that suggests it's dangerous to keep a skull around the house, it might be responsible for his mood swings. And the bone dust! It could be why he's stopped eating… Oh, would you? That'd be wonderful. I'll tell you when I determine whether it's safe to return it. Listen, I have to go, John's here and I want to talk to him about keeping Sherlock safe.

"Yes, have a wonderful night. Merry Christmas."

She hung up and smiled radiantly. "Want it back? Apologise."

"'m s'ry."

"Speak up!"

"I'm sorry, John."

"It's fine."

"See?" Sherlock said, giving his sister a look past me.

She folded her arms. "I'll tell Mummy next time you treat your friend like an idiot."

"He's been doing pretty well, actually. First he apologised to Molly over the present debacle, and then he apologised for saying we weren't friends during the Baskerville case."

"So I heard. I also heard he locked you in a room and terrified you to the point of locking yourself in a cage."

I still wasn't too happy about that, but… "He made a mistake right after that, so it balances out."

"One mistake. It won't happen again." Sherlock sulked, looking out the window.

Rosabel looked between the two of us for a moment—was that the musings of a psychologist over a relationship? I hoped not—and then rolled up the window barrier between us and chauffeur. "Okay," She said, swivelling the seat around (they moved, apparently) in the roomy interior and pulling out a notebook.

"I do a lot of couple's counselling for friends; surely this can't be much different…"

Thanks to everyone who's added me to Favourites/Alert! It's like a silent nod of approval. Not a single review, though. O.O