"I never thought I would see Sherlock Holmes looking lonely," she called out to him making the detective pause at the sound of her voice. "Is that sentiment?" Sherlock turned to see her sitting in a swinging loveseat that hung over a tree just a bit off the beaten path.

"What are you-" he started.

"A friend told me I was being selfish," she told him with a smile before it fell, and she looked at her hands at back up at him. "I uh… I got here, but I couldn't bring myself to go in. I um… watched the whole reception from out here. It's nice… beside the almost murder." He strolled to her; she was wearing the same purple dress Janine had been wearing as the replacement maid of honor. Jen seemed to wear it better. "Even saw you flirting with that cute brunette."

"Her?" he asked nodding to the building recalling Janine."She reminded me a bit of you."

"I reminded you of some slut Mary made her bride's maid?" she asked him bluntly. "I didn't think I was so easily replaceable."

"At first, then I realized how boringly normal she was," he answered. "You're much more interesting."

"Good, I thought I had competition," she answered with a sneaky smile.

"Competition?" he asked. "Well, you're getting quite bold in your presumptions."

"I like bold," she told him standing and smoothing out her dress. "So, Mr. Holmes, I would like you to dance with me at the risk of your toes."

"And if I chose to decline?" he asked her with an amused smile.

"I may forever despise you creating a cleverly planned revenge in which you would not survive in one piece," she informed him making him smile at her before she took his hand in hers. "Come on," she told him tugging him toward the building. "You owe me a dance."

"Not inside though?" he suspected.

"No," she answered, "but that's because I don't want to make a fool of myself. I'm a terrible dancer." She got close enough to the building to clearly hear the music, and she took off her shoes. "Rather not break your toes."

"I think maybe you just haven't had the right partner," he told her taking her hand in his and setting his hand at her waist.

"Then teach me. Plenty of cotillion teachers have attempted in the past," she grinned looking down at her feet.

"Don't look down," he told her. "A simple waltz. I'll lead." She went to look back at her feet, but he caught her. "Look at me. Focus on me." She sighed before she looked back up at him successfully causing her to step on his feet. She winced. "Please, Ginny, you're too small to cause any damage. Stop trying to lead."

"I'm a dominate creature, Mr. Holmes. I like taking control," she told him causing him to roll his eyes and unexpectedly dipping her much to her surprise as she fell into a fight of giggles when he pulled her back erect.

"If you want to dance properly, I need to be the dominate one between us, Ginny, so you need to act like the submissive one," he told her.

"I sort of like the sound of that," she gave him a cheeky smile. "What are you going to do to me if I don't?"

"Ginny," he warned her from using flirtatious behavior, but perhaps he liked it more than he would care to admit.

"Right, sorry. Dancing. Go on," she told him, and he slowly lead her, and she allowed it concentrating on him. She looked rather irritated trying not to concentrate on her feet. "I was thinking," she said getting ambitious as the dance went on, and she began to relax more.

"Don't do that too often; you might make yourself ill."

"Shut up," she scolded with a smile. "I was thinking, you and I could sneak into the kitchens take a couple bottles of wine, get some cake and food, and go find somewhere to celebrate the new era." Sherlock dipped her making her 'oh.'

"I'd like that," he told her knowing that with John gone now it would be him and Ginny. Him and Ginny, and he couldn't bare loosing her.

"You would?"

"New era for them and a new one for us."

"Us?" she asked as he pulled her back up.

"Yes, let's go," he grabbed her hand and pulled her inside. He peeked behind the wall making sure no one who recognized Jen was in view before he ran across the hall filled with people with Jen holding his hand. He stopped her as a waiter went by them, and they continued to the kitchen, where they both ended up on the floor. Jen was in charge of swipping the food, and Sherlock in charge of the wine. It was painfully easy as they both came out with quite a bit of both. "I have a room; let's go," he pushed on her back forcing her up the stairs and to a room that Sherlock unlocked with a key in his pocket.

"It's rather quaint," Jen said setting the food down on the table before collapsing in the arm chair as she watched Sherlock put several bottles of wine on the table. "Getting drunk, are we?"

"I wasn't sure if you had a particular preference," he answered. "You seem to switch between different kind of wines all with different flavors."

"I like white," she answered leaning over to pop a bottle of white, "but I don't mind rose or red. I don't like the bubbly kind as I don't really like carbonation. What about you, Mr. Holmes? Do you have a wine preference?" He sat still for a minute as she poured her glass of wine considering whether to answer such a trivial question. He leaned over and popped the nearest bottle of red allowing her to give him a slight smile. "I suppose a toast is in order. To…" she twisted her wrist trying to decide what a good toast would be; Sherlock rolled his eyes at the idea, "to a higher brand of criminal. Lord knows the criminal class has been slacking since James' death." At this, Sherlock let out a chuckle fully willing to toast to that.

"To a higher brand of criminal," he agreed clinking his glass with her.

"So, I have to ask," she told him eyeing the table, and what he set down, "why did you grab kitchen knives?"

"Pin the knife on the serial killer," he offered making her laugh.

"While drunk."

"While inebriated," he affirmed.

"And they say you aren't fun," she grinned finishing her glass of wine already and pouring another glass. It was curious to him that he had not so long ago heard from Molly that Jen never drank, yet lately, it seemed that piece of information was wrong.

"Who's they?" he asked pushing the thought aside for a moment.

"Everyone: my friends, your friends, my family, your family, coworkers, newspapers, strangers off the street-"

"Point met," he cut her off.

"So..," she started.

"So," he repeated knowing she had something on her mind, but she was avoiding talking about it. He waited for her to speak her mind.

"Nothing's going to change with you know… John and you. Mary understands how much you mean to John and John means to you," she assured him.

"No, I know," he said a little too quickly.

"Sherlock," she told him, "I know when you're lying. Yes, things change when people marry, but you'll still see him, go crime solving with him, all that jazz." Sherlock tipped his glass finishing his first glass of the evening before he poured another.

"Mary's pregnant," he answered finally making her 'oh.' This was a new piece of information she wasn't prepared to deal with, but still, it wasn't hard to twist it into something positive.

"Well, then you'll go on a different adventure," she grinned imagining Sherlock with their child. "You'll have a Godchild."

"Godchild?" he questioned sounding confused.

"Yeah," she nodded. "Who else would be the Godfather but you?"

"And you'll be the Godmother then?"

"Maybe," she shrugged, "but we've seen how motherly I am. Peter was a serial killer; Irene's a blackmailing dominatrix, and Lucy was murdered by my wonderful brother. So, that should say something about my parenting skills."

"I'm a sociopath who was appalled by a child hugging me today," he answered in kind, "yet you suggest I'll be Godfather."

"Why did a child hug you?" she asked him trying to picture him around another child that wasn't Lucy.

"He liked the photographs."

"What photographs?" she frowned.

"Of crime scenes, cases."

"You showed a child real picture of your cases! Sherlock! He's a child!" she objected.

"He'll learn sooner or later," he shrugged making her punch him in the arm before she went to pour the next glass before he quickly spilled out his own thoughts on the subject. "Although the correlation and your history with raising children have not been particularly pristine, I think given your attitude and loving nature you would make an acceptable mother especially considering you never really had one." She paused and slowly put down her drink blinking her eyes rather rapidly before she processed his words. "How Irene and Peter turned out was no fault of your own but likely due to a mix of childhood traumas and biological misfortunes. As for Lucy, you always showed great care for her, and her death was because you cared for her so. Your brother was a possessive psychopath who would not have you love anyone but himself."

"You think?" she questioned titling her head at him.

"Your brother was rather-"

"No, no, not that part," she shook her head. "You think I would make a good mother?" she asked. "Despite everything, if I chose to be, you think I would… be able to be a good mother?"

"All past experiences affirms that," he answered.

"I don't want facts; I want opinion," she told him.

"You want a personal opinion? I base all of my opinions on fact," he informed her. "You know that."

"Sherlock," she uttered expecting an answer. He paused and nodded.

"In my personal opinion, if I had to choose a woman to bare children for me based on maternal instincts and characteristics, I would choose you."

"Do you want them?" she asked throwing him off.

"Hm?"

"Children?"

"No," he replied. "I wouldn't have time for them and their clinging." He seemed disgusted at the idea, but his face smoothed out as he contemplated children and their pros and cons. "On the other hand, if I could find a woman to impregnate-"

"You would have to have sex," she reminded him.

"Not if I simply donated the sperm, Ginny," he rolled his eyes. "As I was saying, if I could find a woman to impregnate with viable qualities, who would not need my assistance nor want it in raising said child, I would happily donate to pass on my genetic material in hopes that my intelligence will be passed on to the next generation."

"And have you looked for said woman?"

"Yes," he said surprising her. "You look surprised."

"I am very surprised," she admitted. "I didn't think… is there a little Sherlock running around in London somewhere?" she grinned at the idea.

"I love to disappoint, Ginny, so no."

"Why not? You looked; I wouldn't imagine you'd simply give up," she mused as he poured his third glass of wine.

"After the 657th candidate had been interviewed and disappointed me once again," he sighed seeming slightly disgruntled with the outcome, "I came to realize that there was no woman fit in baring a child of my quality."

"Oh, so an arrogant dickhead?"

"An intellectual far beyond the commonwealth's comprehending who happens to be an arrogant dickhead, as you so eloquently put." She gave him a lazy smirk. "I have long considered asking you to be such a host but decided against it as familiarity doesn't suit me."

"Me?" she questioned surprised as she poured her next glass.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Although you are now passed your prime, you hold something of an appeal to me. If our genes were to be combined in a child, the chances of some form of genius is nearly inevitable. You are a genius of the stage, of the arts, of psychology. I'm the opposite; I'm a genius of chemistry, math, deductions, sciences. I observe; you feel. Do you understand? No matter which way the genes are organized, you and I would produce a genius of some caliber."

"But to know that you would have to go through my family history and records," she informed him.

"Of course," he answered making her stare at him in a bit of shock to know he went through her records.

"And you didn't think I should know this?"

"No… should I have told you?" She shrugged.

"I don't know. Just thought it was something normal people would get mad at, so I gave it a shot," she told him with a laugh, but honestly, she was more curious than mad. "What did you find?"

"The man who raised you was a genius in chemistry. Unbeknownst to me, I read a lot of his work when I was younger," he paused before moving on to a more important and a more sensitive topic. "Your mother was an artist, a painter and a musician of extraordinary caliber. She was a protégée up until the age of fifteen when she was admitted to a mental hospital for violent behavior."

"What did she do?" Jen asked.

"She tried to drown her little sister," Sherlock answered unsure why she had never heard this. With Jen's own mental state shifty at best, she should know that her mother's own mental state was similar. If Regina Adler had handled Jen with care, had spoken to her, perhaps stability would have been more tangible.

"Mum had no family; she was an orphan," she told him what she had heard all her life. Her mother didn't speak about her family nor had Jen ever met them.

"No, you're mother likely feared you meeting her half," he reasoned out both to her and himself. "On her half of the family, you have a slew of geniuses in psychology, politics, and any social science you can name. On top of that, they were geniuses in criminal justice… to avoid it. Your maternal family is a heap of sociopaths, psychopaths, and a handful of other disorders. Not to mention, a few serial killers popping up here and there."

"Right, so that comes from mum's side. What about my biological father? You did research on him?"

"Yes," he nodded, "he seems relatively normal until you delve into his files and realize his entire family is members of every big crime organization that plays a hand in the western world from the mafia to the triad, and it's been that way since the start of organized crime. In fact, I'm sure Damon's had plenty of interactions with them on multiple occasions."

"And my father?"

"Met your mother. Became a lawyer. Found out you existed. Married your mother," he listed simply. Her father was a bit more boring than her mother; Regina Adler was delightfully interesting to learn about.

"And uh… why do you think he cared about mum?" she asked seeking an opinion.

"He had a sister who committed suicide due to manic depression," he replied. "He's projecting his own guilt and need to do right onto her." Jen nodded slowly before the frown deepened on her face.

"So, you do realize that my family is full of psychos, and you wanted me to have your child, because…?" she asked.

"Well, if it didn't create a protégé it would create a great nemesis," he answered making her laugh.

"Alright, but there's got to be another reason besides my family, or you would have found your prime specimen by now."

"You're appealing, successful, quick on your feet, resilient, adept at adapting, and I can actually stand you," he informed her listing off the appealing things about Ginevra Lorraine.

"So many compliments in one sentence, I must be getting there," she teased pouring them both a glass from the red, "so must you be."

"Obviously if I'm so ready to commend you on qualities that are hardly rare," he answered making her role her eyes.

"Shut up, I was starting to like you."

"As you've kindly informed me, you love me," he answered.

"I also hate you, and yes, it's possible for them to coincide at the same time," she replied sipping her wine. "So boy or girl?"

"Hm?"

"If you had a choice between a boy or a girl, which would you have?"

"With you… theoretically?"

"Theoretically," she replied with a nod.

"A girl."

"Why?"

"Although having a male would have its advantages as the Holmes name would stay in his line, he would likely have an upper advantage in physical strength, and men tend to have more privilege in several countries. That being said a woman would be able to walk into places without seeming suspicious; women have the unique ability to drift to and from places without being seen as suspicious."

"We would make pretty babies," she told him with a grin.

"You're a little tipsy," he noted.

"Obviously, we're talking about your potential children, Sherlock," she answered in kind making him nod in agreement.

"Male or female?"

"Our theoretical child?" He nodded. "Well, I think… I would like a child not like me, so there's that. Um… let's see… I think I would want a boy. Generally, males will be more likely inherit their father's genes, and I'd rather the child be you than me." She paused and a lazy smile fell on her face again. "Gosh, they would be cute. Your eyes and cheekbones, my nose and lips."

"Hands too," he said looking at her dainty hand that was currently draining her wine glass.

"Why? Do you like my hands?" she asked pulling them back to look at them before she poured another glass of white for the both of them. They were going through the wine quickly. Sherlock suddenly grabbed her hand to show her their fine quality.

"Not marred, not calloused, soft," he told her, "as if you hadn't had a day's hard work. They're dainty with lengthy fingers only increased in length by rather adequate fingernails. They look as if they would be repulsed by any act of violence. Psychics would say you have 'water' hands."

"Psychics? What do you know about psychics?" she laughed.

"You would be surprised," he said running a thumb over her knuckles gingerly. "I once did a case involving a psychic scamming thousands out of normal people; I also once pretended to be a psychic made over ten thousand in two days."

"You did not," she said laughing.

"I did," he answered making her laugh again.

"So you were saying water hands?" she pressed wanting for him to continue.

"Suggesting, according to said psychics, that you are emotional and soft. That's why your hands are undoubtedly one of your best features. Like you, they only tell one partly who you are; the rest is just contradictory to the truth." She smiled and twisted her hands so she could see his. His fingertips were calloused from playing the violin, and he some slight scarring from chemical burns. It was nothing to noticeable.

"What about you? What about your hands?" She gingerly rubbed circles into his palms.

"Nothing extraordinary," he admitted.

"But mine are? Are extraordinary?"

"Obviously," he told her making her grin as she pulled her hands from his to start drinking her new glass of wine.

Thirteen bottles later had Sherlock sloppily spinning Jen around in a circle with his scarf wrapped around her eyes and a kitchen knife in her hands dressed only in one of Sherlock's button downs. A hurried sketch of 'The Maefly Man' that Sherlock had just caught was pinned to the wall above the bed.

"This… this seems like… bad," she laughed as he stopped her.

"Bad is good!" Sherlock exclaimed before he pulled away from her allowing her to stumble on her feet and throw the knife at the wall. It bounced off causing them both to let out a roar of laughter before she reached for another and threw it. It bounced off again. It wasn't until the fifth knife after breaking the lap and the television set that she managed to get it stuck in the wall making them both cheer.

Jen hopped on the bed to grab the knife but paused before she started jumping on the bed causing the headboard to bang against the wall.

"Come on, Sherly," she teased.

"I think," he said pausing trying to find his words, "I think you should get down from there."

"Catch me," she grinned bouncing higher.

"Come… common, Ginny," he gestured slurring his words together.

"Will you catch me?"

"Yeah, yes! Yes!" he said standing where he had the most room, in front of the door.

"Ready?" He clapped his hands, and Jen jumped off the bed and into him arms causing them to collide to the floor with Jen straddled him just as a knock on the door sounded.

"You might want to… should get that," he pointed at the doorknob. Still straddling him, Jen reached over and opened the door. John stood there looking exhausted.

"Ehhhhh, is John," she sang holding her hands out for a hug completely forgetting she was on top of Sherlock, who was starting to fall asleep. She herself was starting to get a bit groggy.

"Jen?" he asked rubbing his eyes. "When the hell did you get here, and what the hell are you two doing banging on the wall at this God damn hour?"

"Well… well, we ain't bangin'," she slurred before she passed out on top of Sherlock. John scratched his head staring at the two as if they'd lost their mind before he shook his head and left them to sleeping in the middle of the floor.

When Sherlock pulled through with his head pounding from the light flooding in the room, the first thing he noticed, after the excruciating headache, was the smell of lavender in his vicinity followed by the warm of a human body pressed against his side and then the warmth of breath on his neck.

His eyes opened a crack, and he peered at Jen, who was still sound asleep laying against him with one of her legs still half way across his lower abdomen. He jolted up causing her to fall off him and let out a groan. Sherlock stood as she slowly rolled onto her back.

"What the hell happened last night?" she asked putting a hand on her head as she watched him attempt to straighten himself out. "Why am I wearing your clothes?" she asked noting she was only wearing one of Sherlock's buttonups.

"You were complaining about your dress being uncomfortable," he answered remembering slips of memory from last night as he pulled on one of his usual suit jackets he had packed.

"Was I?" she asked with a moan before she collided with the floor again.

"You need food," he told her trying to find his file of remedies for hangovers in his mind palace. "It'll absorb the remnants of the alcohol and rehydrate you."

"Right," she muttered standing and clutching the door for support. "I have no clothes."

"Qualms with rumors?" he asked holding out his signature jacket for her.

"About sex? No," she remarked taking the jacket from him and slipping it on. It was practically a dress on her.

"Great, let's go downstairs," Sherlock told her opening the door for her. She stepped into the hallway.

"What time is it?" she asked blinking out the spots in her vision.

"Ten," he answered as they made their way casually down the stairs.

"Well, last night was… I never want to drink again," she told him shaking her head. It wasn't so much that they didn't have a good time; it was that she could barely remember the night and right now her head was pounding. Not to mention the lack of intellectual conversation was appalling.

"Agreed," Sherlock responded as they reached the ground floor.

"This is the third time I've gotten drunk with you, Mr. Holmes," she teased. "You are a bad influence."

"I'm a bad influence? You're a bad influence," he informed her as they walked into the reception area.

"I am not," she argued.

"I'm not a drinker," he told her. "Slows down the mind."

"Well, neither am I," she replied.

"You were in school," he said as they reached the round table that had replaced the long table for the wedding party.

"Ancient history," she recalled as Jen collapsed in what should have been an empty extra seat for her; Sherlock sat next to her. The entire wedding party was staring at them. "What? Oh, right… sorry. Bit groggy. I'm Jen; I showed up last minute last night. I really don't have a good explanation to why I am currently only wearing a jacket and a button up neither of which belong to me other than I didn't bring any clothes and Mr. Holmes was being remarkably chivalrous, and yes, I know that is a shock to me too. I'm a friend of John and Mary's and had avoided the wedding because the newspapers have labeled me a serial killer of which I will never deny nor agree to. Any questions?" she asked before she picked up a glass of water and sipped it.

"What were you two doing last night?" Mary asked. "We heard banging from Sherlock's room."

"I remember nothing, but my only assumption is that we fought, poorly as the television is broken as is the two lamps, and the bathroom door."

"And the door out the balcony," Sherlock reminded her. "Shattered."

"You destroyed a hotel room?" John asked staring at them as two plates were set in front of them by the waiters.

"Yes," they both answered.

"Did you really expect anything less from Sherlock?" Jen asked with a laugh.

"You're paying for the damages," John told them both.

"Dull," Sherlock answered.

"Sherlock, I mean-"

"Relax, John. We'll pay the damages," Jen answered before stabbing the sausage on her plate. "After this, we need to head back to London. I have a case for you."

"A case?" he asked. "What sort of case?"

"The sort that you're taking, because a friend of mine asked a favor of me," she answered before popping the sausage in her mouth.

"And why would I take your friend's case? They're your friend."

"Because I told you to, and because you're my friend."

"I don't do what you say, Ginny," he answered causing her to look up from her plate with her jaw clenched and a look that threatened him without words. "Right, case. What kind?"

"Her brother is missing," she answered. "I'll explain later."

"I'm sorry are you two-" Janine began.

"Destructive?" Sherlock offered.

"Annoying?"

"Intelligent?"

"Arch-enemies?"

"Bane of each other's existence?"

"A Couple?" she asked making them both 'oh.'

"Boring assumption," Sherlock answered making Jen give a sort of half smile.

"I'm irrevocably in love with him, and he ignores me due to his choice of being unemotional and withdrawn from society in order to keep his mind in pristine order," she answered feeling both bold and reckless with her words wanting to shut 'the cute brunette' up as Jen didn't really care for the woman flirting with Sherlock. "I want nothing more than to strip of his clothes and having him begging for me, buuuut you know he's married to his work, and I'm completely mentally unstable, likely to crack at the flip of a switch. He accepts I bored on psychopathic sometimes, and I accept that he's void of sexual desire as far as I've seen thus far. We have an understanding," Jen remarked before she picked up her glass of water and took a sip from it as she enjoyed the look of complete shock on Janine's (as well as the whole wedding tables) face. "Mm, I have a present for the newlyweds," she said pulling an envelope from her coat before giving it to them. John quickly began opening it. "Sorry, no personal touch, just a check."

"Jesus," John breathed out clutching onto his neck slightly trying to remember to breath. "How do you… this is… how do you have this kind of money?"

"You think Irene's the only who knows how to blackmail people with sex?" she asked him casually causing Sherlock to cough into his juice. Jen let out a laugh pleased that she managed to even catch Sherlock off guard. She was in such a strange mood.

"You wouldn't," Sherlock challenged her. She raised an eyebrow at him in challenge. He didn't yield making her scoff.

"Oh, alright, fine. I've never blackmailed someone for money. That's so boring; if you're going to blackmail someone, it should be for something interesting, you know?" She gave him a lazy smile.

"Then, where is it from," John asked her, "for you to just give money out like this?"

"Royalties," she replied.

"From?"

"Ginny's written several award winning books and has composed a number of songs," Sherlock informed him. "Every month she gets a check for the revenue they've generated."

"And you know this and I don't, because-"

"I've read her books," Sherlock answered, but Jen let out a choke of laughter.

"Yeah right," she rolled her eyes. "He reads my mail without my permission. You should know that."

"Oh, yeah, sort of happy I don't have to deal with that anymore," John recalled the number of time he had found Sherlock going through his mail finding it boring.

"Actually, it's a lot of fun. Sometimes I send things to myself just see his reaction when he reads them," she replied. "Always good days when I see him reading my mail with something of a shocked look on his face." Jen leaned back and looked at the time on the clock. "Well, I'm going to go see if I can wrangle up some sort of spare clothing," she said standing. "I'll get your jacket back to you when I get the chance, Sherlock," she leaned in and left a kiss on his cheek. "Have fun socializing." Sherlock glanced at her briefly as she made her way to chat at Molly about potentially having spare clothing before he turned his attention back to his plate.

"So, she seems better," Mary noted with a smile.

"She's pushed her worry of judgment and ostracization aside for the time being," Sherlock informed her.

"Or maybe she just missed spending time with you," Mary offered. "Well, they'll be plenty of that while John and I are on our honeymoon." Sherlock gave a slight grumble in affirmation before he continued to eat wondering if Jen would agree to filling in for John while he was on his sex holiday.

A/N: John and Mary's honeymoon means that Jen and Sherlock get to go on a case together! YAY! Not my best chapter, but definitely some amusing conversations and just a small smidgen of fluff (we are getting so close to a tangible relationship I can feel it). I barely even touched upon Janine, and I really have no desire to. She's not competition; she's just not. You know who I may have to address eventually as competition is Molly. Haven't thought about that much yet.

Thanks to reviewers: flaming-amber, zare . downey . okumura, Blink221B, hannahhobnob, Feint Illusion, and Cereza101. See you next Friday/Saturday!