With a suitcase full of clothing and gifts in the backseat of his car, Greg Lestrade pulled up along the curb of Baker Street. It was 'Christmas Eve Eve', as Rose had continually referred to it and, finally having tied up all the loose ends at the Yard for a few days, Greg was ready to depart for a Christmas holiday. It was certain to be a Christmas he wouldn't forget.

Turning off the engine, Greg exited the vehicle and entered the building. It wasn't hard to figure out which flat belonged to Rose, one- he'd been to Sherlock's plenty of times and two- no one else was likely to have the volume of their ridiculous music so high. In order to be heard over the song, he pounded on the door and was gratified when the music stopped.

"Hi!" Rose greeted upon opening the door. "Come in, I'm just about ready."

"Is that what you kids call music today, all that racket?" Greg asked. "What happened to all your classic stuff? Those crooners, I mean."

"Oh I've got that too. Dean Martin currently takes top place in number of songs on my ipod," Rose assured him while tying the laces on her bright red sneakers. "Believe it or not I was actually listening to one of the songs for an upcoming competition. It's called…" She grabbed the paper near her ipod speakers. "Take Me on the Floor by The Veronicas. I rather like them I think, so I'll have to find more of their music."

Greg smiled as Rose fluttered about her sitting room, tidying up loose ends before shoving a small stack of books in his face and handing him a pen.

"I bought these with the gift card you gave me, so now you've got to inscribe them so I always remember who gave them to me and when," Rose told him.

The detective-inspector looked through the books, four in total. There was an annotated version of Pride and Prejudice, two books by Louisa May Alcott, and The Heathen by someone whose name he couldn't pronounce.

"Polish writer," Rose said when he held it up with a questioning look. "Recent translation. The clerk at the store said her works are quite like George Eliot and I like her so I thought I'd give it a go."

"And what am I supposed to write in here?" he asked, opening the first book.

"Hmm. 'To the very best assistant in the entire world. I don't know what I would do without you!' Then put your name and date. That ought to work," Rose suggested with a giggle.

Rolling his eyes, Greg picked up the pen. "To the most normal of the Holmeses on her 20th birthday," he said aloud as he wrote.

"Then add 'Love, your boss,' or 'Hugs, from your boss,'" Rose teased, giving him an impish look. She pouted when he simply signed his name and added the date of her birthday. "How dull."

"Are you ready yet? And are John and Sherlock coming with us?" Greg asked as he finished signing the other books.

"Yes, but I need help getting things down to your car. John and Sherlock went on ahead; Mycroft sent a car a couple hours ago. My's been there since this morning, or at least he better have been! He's supposed to get all the groceries for our meals."

Greg handed her back the books and watched as she carefully put them away on one of several bookshelves. "Speaking of John, isn't that his jumper you're wearing?"

Rose nodded. "His favorite one, I think. He's really attached to this oatmeal color. It's very warm and cuddly. I borrow his jumpers quite a bit and he always complains about it. He says it's stealing, I say its borrowing, but that's just semantics."

"You do it just to annoy him don't you?" Greg asked.

The twenty-year-old smirked. "Of course! Though they are always very nice to wear, warm and soft and they smell nice. But it's all sorts of fun to annoy him so that's the main reason I do it. I keep telling him 'But John, I'm cold!' or 'John, I'm out of clothes, I haven't done laundry yet!'"

Greg laughed and shook his head. "Alright jumper-thief, grab your things and we'll be on our way. Make certain you lock your door! Check Sherlock's door as well, I swear he never even locks it."

Rose turned out the lights and locked the door behind her before stopping briefly to check Sherlock and John's door. It was locked so she followed Greg out onto the street. "Can I drive?" she asked. "I'm actually a very good driver."

"Are you licensed?" Greg asked, giving her a stern look. "And don't roll your eyes at me when you answer. I'm serious."

Rather than roll her eyes, they narrowed in response. "Greg, of course I'm licensed! Sherlock would be the one to drive without a license on the simple assumption that it's a car and it's very clear how all the mechanisms work. Me? Not so much. But I am licensed." She put her hands on her hips and tried to stare him down as best she could, being quite a bit shorter than he was and made a far less intimidating figure. "So, you gonna let me?"

"Alright, alright," Greg agreed, getting into the passenger side of the car. "No nonsense or I'll have your licensed pulled, you hear me?"

"Mmhm." Rose slid into the driver's seat and fussed around for a few minutes adjusting the mirrors and the seat. "Always helpful when my feet can actually reach the pedals," she murmured when the seat was in the correct position. After lowering the steering wheel, she held out her hand for the keys.

"This is how you got your way when you were little, wasn't it? Tried to be all impressive and demanding, which comes off far more 'cute' than intimidating, and they just gave you what you wanted, didn't they?" Greg asked, handing over the keys.

"Not always. Sherlock, yes; Mycroft, not so much. He wasn't impressed. After all, Sherlock had broken him in long before I came along." She turned the key in the ignition, grinning as the engine roared to life. "Oh, that sounds nice. Not that I'd really know. My car knowledge is rather limited to: is it making a strange noise? Has a light come on? Is something leaking? Your engine sounds just fine though."

"Cars need love and care just like children," Lestrade murmured, looking anxiously over his shoulder as Rose pulled into traffic. "Treat them right and they'll always work for you."

"Just a note, Greg, if you're ever trying to chat a woman up, I'd avoid that line," she replied. "Most people find it somewhat offensive when you compare your car to a child. Not me though; I've got a brother who dissects eyeballs on the dining table." Rose shrugged, keeping her attention on the road.

Nearly an hour later, Rose glanced at the clock and groaned. "How can it only have been an hour? We've been listening to Queen for forever and a day! Seriously! I like them well enough, but not for an hour and most certainly not for an hour more. We've got to find something else to listen to!"

Greg snorted in disapproval. "This is classic Rose. I'm educating you and expanding your horizons!"

"Consider me thoroughly educated and, additionally, exasperated," Rose grumbled. "Seriously, we need to switch it up. My ipod's in my purse get it out and we'll listen to that. Don't worry; I won't make you listen to "racket" as you call it. The good stuff! I've got Kate Smith, Fred Astaire, Michael Buble, I got loads and loads on there."

"Alright, alright. You're whingy today," Greg murmured, reaching for her purse in the backseat. "Where is it in this big thing? Why do women always have to have such large purses?"

"I dunno, I bought it because it's pink and polka dotted, the size was irrelevant for the most part," she admitted. "My ipod's in the case with my phone."

"Also polka dotted. There's a shock."

"Be nice!" Rose laughed, giving him a quick grin.

Greg pulled out the case in question and popped it open, removing the ipod. As he did so, he caught sight of Rose's license. Only, upon further inspection, he realized it wasn't hers. "Pull over for a second, yeah?" he requested in an even tone.

When the car was parked off the road, Greg took out the license and held it up. "Alright, what the hell is this? Who is this person with your face? Nora Charles. With your face."

Rose sighed heavily. "Well, obviously it's me Greg. That was my alias. I couldn't exactly hide from Mycroft of all people under my own name. What? Why are you frowning? It's perfectly legit. A real license, the result of a real driving examination."

The man rolled his eyes. "This is not legal because it's not your real name. This is now mine, you're done driving. Unbuckle and out you go," he ordered sternly.

"Wait!" Rose exclaimed. "That's completely-"

"No," Greg cut her off. "Not a word. It's mine and if I hear any complaining about it, I'll tell your brothers that you're still carrying around your fake stuff. They'd love that wouldn't they?" He took a bit of satisfaction from the horrified look on her face at his threat. "Be a good girl and get your arse out of the car."

She looked at him for a moment, horror and frustration warring for dominance on her face.

"You have to unbuckle, open the door, and step out," he instructed. "You're bright, you can figure out how to exit a vehicle. Go on now."

She didn't move.

Greg swore under his breath and then held up a finger. "One…"

"Oh my god, are you counting at me? That's ridiculous!" Rose said, her eyes going wide. "What are you going to do when you get to three if I don't move?" He couldn't possibly be serious.

"Want to find out? That's two…" Greg quickly hid a chuckle at the squeak of indignation she let out. "Th-" Before he could finish saying 'three,' Rose simultaneously unbuckled her seatbelt and exited the vehicle. "That's what I thought," he murmured.

"Completely unfair," Rose whined a bit as Greg exited his side of the car.

"No, it's not. There's no way in hell I'm letting you drive around with a false license, or even have it in your possession," he said firmly.

She scowled and walked around to the other side of the car, sitting down in a huff.

"Aw, cheer up kid. I won't tell on you," Greg assured her. "Go on, put your music on. We'll listen to whatever you'd like."

She nodded, dropping the topic of her invalid license in favor of listening to Michael Buble.

An Hour Later

"That night we met I knew I needed you so," Greg sang.

Rose chimed in with "And if I had the chance I'd never let you go!"

"So won't you say you love me?"

"I'll make you so proud of me!"

"We'll make 'em turn their heads."

"Every place we go!"

"So won't you please-"

Rose picked up the background singer's lines, "Be my, be my baby."

"Be my little baby," Greg sang along with Michael Buble.

"I want it only say-"

"Say you'll be my darling."

"Be my, be my baby!"

"Be my baby now."

It was Rose's turn to chime in on the chorus but instead she abruptly paused her ipod. "Look! There it is!" She pointed a ways ahead of them and gave a happy sigh. Sure enough, there was the large red country house. "I can't remember the last time we had Christmas here. It's so good to be back."

Greg looked over at her and smiled. "Thanks for inviting me kid. If you tell anyone we've done a Michael Buble duet together, I'll murder you."

Rose gave him a look, an eyebrow arching. "Sherlock will solve the crime."

"That's alright," he decided. "The secret of our duet will still be safe."

The two shared a look before bursting out laughing as he pulled into the drive and parked the car.

NOTE: Sorry for the long delay and then providing you only a brief update. We had a death in the family this week and finals are right around the corner, so my life has exploded into chaos. Lots of Christmas fun will be on its way soon, I promise!