Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Remind me again why I agreed to this…” grumbled Violet Holmes under her breath.

“Because Laurina was your friend in school, and you haven’t seen her in forty years,” her husband responded with a patient smile.

“Friend...well, she was my roommate for two years; it made life much easier to be on good terms. Don’t know that she would have taken much notice of me otherwise. I’m not sure she quite trusted someone who enjoyed calculus.” Violet rather shared her son Sherlock’s suspicious nature towards “friends,” having learned quite early in life that her fascination with numbers and beating all the boys in every math exam at a time when that was a rather unfeminine thing to do made her an odd duck among the other girls. Siger had worn her sharp edges down over the years with his obvious adoration and steady optimism, but even now that she could start to fairly be referred to as elderly, social engagements still made her a bit apprehensive, especially if the probability of the other parties being boring was high.

“Nonsense; if she were only friendly towards you for the sake of dormitory harmony, she wouldn’t have invited you home for Easter that time, or stuck up for you when that ratfink Bobby was sneering about…”

“Yes, yes. Thank you, Siger. She was my friend..I just…”

“I know, love.” Siger smiled his half smile that had made Violet realize she did have a heart after all, so many years ago now. “Besides, it seems fate has brought you back together, running into her just a month after she and Charles retired to a cottage just fifteen miles away from us.”

“Fate…” Violet rolled her eyes, as Siger had known she would, but she seemed a bit more cheerful.

“And I know you had Mycroft run a background check on them, so the worst that could happen is a bit of boredom.”

Violet looked a bit chagrined. She didn’t think Siger knew about that little phone call to Mycroft, but then again, over the years he had developed quite the ability to Find Things Out when his family of geniuses thought they were being sneaky. “I know it seems rather paranoid...but with Mycroft’s position in the government and Sherlock’s popularity with the tabloids...it would be an easy disguise to pull off since I haven’t seen her in years. But Mikey confirmed it’s really her and they’ve never had so much as a parking ticket...Turn here, dear…” Siger probably thought she’d called hoping for an excuse to avoid going to dinner, and, well, maybe that was just a little bit of it, but really, she was a genius, and she could read between the lines of the stories her sons told and knew she was getting the sanitized version. Both her sons were in positions in which someone might try to get to them through their family. Better to take precautions, she supposed.

Five minutes later, they were parking outside of the Fitzgeralds’ retirement “cottage” (small mansion would be a more apt description for most people). Violet and Laurina had run into each other by chance in the little bookstore in the village halfway between their respective homes, and after the usual “Fancy running into you like this after all these years!” and “Imagine us living so near each other without knowing it!” (Violet had mentally rolled her eyes a bit at that one...the Fitzgeralds had only moved in last month; not like they’d been just missing each other in Tesco for years…), Laurina had insisted that the Holmes come to dinner next Saturday to catch up, and Violet had been unable to think of an excuse not to.

“Ready, love?” Siger squeezed her hand.

“Yes, I’m fine. Do you have the bottle of wine?” He held it up.

-----

Charles and Laurina were gracious hosts without being overly stuffy. Violet was feeling quite comfortable by the time they were seated at the dining table, although she’d let Siger do most of the small talk in the living room beforehand. They’d learned about the Fitzgeralds’ three daughters and six grandchildren (rather boring; apparently the Fitzgerald’s progeny were ordinary in the extreme: a teacher, a nurse, an estate agent, ballet recitals and football), and a bit about their recently acquired interest in gardening.

“So, Violet, Siger mentioned your children…?”

“Oh, yes! Our boys…” Violet beamed over the glazed carrots. “Here, I have a photo…” She whipped out her phone and quickly pulled up her favorite picture. The Fitzgeralds were impressed with how easily she navigated the smart phone.

“So quick at that! It would have taken me ten minutes to find the thing I was looking for...I’m always hitting buttons I didn’t mean to hit with my fat fingers,” Charles grimaced. Being a genius did have its advantages, Violet thought to herself. She was quite adept with her phone, and Mycroft...well, Greg--Mycroft had faked a phone call after the first walk through to escape--had only had to explain the phone’s features and how to use all the basic apps three times before she felt quite confident. Siger, on the other hand...he tended to look at smart phones as if they had a tendency to explode if he touched them wrong. He still was struggling to manage a flip phone; Violet had sent him frequent texts for a year before realizing he had no idea how to get to his text messages to read them. He’d just seen her name pop up and called her back each time.

Then again, he had some reason to be wary of smart phones. Last time Sherlock had visited he’d set some blaring alarm to go off if his phone was touched, meaning to play a prank on Mycroft, but he’d forgotten about it and needed to know immediately the range of the Monarch butterfly and asked his father to pass him his phone. Fortunately, the phone survived being tossed across the room when Siger flailed with shock. John had glared Sherlock into apologizing, but Siger still approached smartphones with caution.

Violet smiled her acknowledgment of the complement. “Here are our boys…” she gazed at the photo lovingly a moment before turning to hold it where Charles and Laurina could see. The photo was one of her favorites that she’d ever taken. When she’d asked the boys for a photo, Mycroft looked sceptical and Sherlock had started edging away. But Greg had thrown his arms around the shoulders of both Holmes brothers and pulled them in, and as John had been attached to Sherlock by the hand at the moment, he was pulled into the frame as well. .

And thus all four had been caught grinning, and Violet and Siger were so charmed by the photo that they were considering blowing it up and framing it for the living room. They had so few photos of both Mycroft and Sherlock together as adults, much less ones in which both were actually smiling and not giving the other the side eye.

“Oh, what handsome young men!” Laurina said politely. “Four boys, must have been quite a handful!”

“Well, we just raised two of them, but yes, “a handful” is one way to put it. The other two are our sons-in-law.”

“So you have two daughters as well?”

“No, just the two boys.”

Laurina and Charles looked slightly confused just for a moment before they understood. “Oh...OH.”

“Yes, yes, both our sons are gay,” Violet continued nonchalantly, but mentally prepared to bite if their hosts said anything rude. However, the Fitzgeralds had no interest in starting a row at the dinner table, and restricted themselves to nodding politely.

“Our older son...the one on the left, there...that’s Mycroft. He works in the government. From what he tells us, it seems to be mostly diplomacy and negotiations, strategizing, meetings with politicians… A lot of what he does is classified, so he doesn’t discuss the details much. He insists he has only a minor position, but I think that’s just because he doesn’t like to be in the spotlight. He’s always been the running-the-show-from-behind-the-scenes type,” Violet explained. Laurina had gone on and on about her Emily’s teaching awards, so she felt fully justified in indulging herself in the type of motherly bragging she so rarely got the chance to do.

Siger beamed with pride at the photo, and then at their hosts. He chuckled, “Never believed the “minor position” line myself, either. For one thing, he’s always been too ambitious to be satisfied with “minor.” Saying that just avoids having to say “it’s classified” too many times in a day. And for another thing...the queen herself invited Mycroft and Greg to tea a few weeks before they got married...she said she never thought she’d see Mycroft marry--which we had thought ourselves for years--and wanted to meet the man who had changed his mind. She was invited to the wedding, but was unfortunately unable to attend as it was the same weekend as the little prince’s birthday. She sent a lovely note that was read at the reception, though.”

Laurina’s eyes were wide at this and Charles looked at Siger and Violet with new respect. The Holmes might turn out to be better connections than just being a university friend of Laurina’s had suggested.

Violet continued her discourse. “We’re so happy that he and Greg found each other, really. Mikey has always been such a workaholic, thought the world wouldn’t run if he left his office. Greg’s been good for him; he works too much himself and has crazy hours sometimes too, so he understands when Mycroft has to work late, but he also makes sure they make the time to relax. I’ve heard Mycroft laugh more over the past couple of years than he ever had before…” she finished a bit wistfully.

“And what does his husband do?”

“Oh!” Violet perked back up and gave the photo another loving look. “Greg is a Detective Inspector at Scotland Yard. He’s got the highest solve rate of all the detectives; if you watch the news you’ve probably seen him on TV before when they have press conferences. Sherlock, our younger son, often works with him on major cases.”

“That’s actually how Mycroft and Greg met,” Siger added. “Sherlock...had some...difficult times as a young man. Greg recognized his talents and gave him work to do, giving him motivation to get better. We’ll always be grateful for how good a friend Greg was to Sherlock, giving him a chance even though Sherlock wasn’t an easy person to be around back then. Mycroft, of course, was also trying to watch out for his brother--they’re seven years apart, so Mycroft has always been rather protective of him--and wanted to meet this person who his baby brother was working with.”

“Of course, that was years ago now...they were just acquaintances for several years, but after Sherlock’s John came into the picture...John insisted on a bit more socializing than our workaholic boys ever took time for before,” Violet smiled fondly, “and Mikey--how he hates it when I call him that!--and Greg started seeing each other in a less professional setting on holidays and such at Sherlock and John’s and realized they enjoyed each other’s company.”

(Or at least this was the story that Mycroft and Greg told to their parents. It was partially true, but the real catalyst for taking their relationship from acquaintances to dating had been an incident in which Greg had been taken hostage when an attempt to arrest cartel members had gone pear-shaped. The situation had been dire enough that Sherlock had called in a favor with his brother for help with the CCTV footage to track where they had taken him. Mycroft had been the one to find him first, and had, despite his usual distaste for legwork, gone in to free Greg himself, while Anthea and a small team of agents made sure the cartel members highly regretted their decisions in life. Mycroft felt the story would only worry his parents unnecessarily, and Sherlock wouldn’t be blabbing because he’d have to admit Mycroft had solved the case before he did.)

“That’s very sweet.” Laurina seemed to think some reply was necessary at this juncture. “More parsnips?”

“Oh, yes, thank you. They’re quite lovely. Siger, dear, more for you…?”

After arriving on her plate, the parsnips were quickly ignored as Violet was only half-done with her boys. “And next here,” the photo was flashed around again, “is our younger son Sherlock. Isn’t he handsome? When he looks at John, he has that same little smile that Siger’s always had…” A fond look at her husband earned her that very smile she so loved. “And all that curly hair came from my mother...skipped a generation, unfortunately for me.”

“I always thought he quite favored you, dear.”

“Oh, but with your ears, love…Oh, listen to us, indulging in the age-old argument of parents.”

Laurina laughed. “Oh, of course. We’ve done it too, bickering over which side of the family Julie’s red hair came from.”

“Anyhow, if Sherlock were here, he’d be rolling his eyes at me going on about his looks…’It’s all transport’, he always says...please pass the potatoes?”

“Certainly...here we are...does anyone need a refill on wine?”

“None for me, thank you.”

“I’ll take just a bit more...just there...thank you.”

After a sip, Violet continued, “Sherlock is a detective..consulting detective, he calls it. Part of the time he works with Greg on cases with Scotland Yard, and part of the time he takes on private cases. He’s become quite well known over the past few years, especially with the popularity of John’s blog.”

“Wait, wait...I just made the connection. I knew the name Sherlock sounded familiar--such a distinctive name. I remember reading about him in the papers a few years back. I had thought he had died, but then there were reports of him being alive after all…” Charles looked more interested in the conversation now.

“Yes, that was an awful time...what most people don’t know is that a criminal he’d been chasing for some time threatened to kill John, Greg, and his landlady, Mrs. Hudson, who’s always been like a doting aunt to him. He faked his death to protect them...I know it sounds like something out of a movie, but that’s our Sherlock; he seems to attract drama. He’d clutch pearls at being called a drama queen, but, well, he is.”

Siger snorted. “Always has been...why, I remember when he was three, and he made it seem like the world would end because Mycroft couldn’t find the book on bees Sherlock had requested from the library. It was rather funny, actually, seeing a three-year-old act as if his brother didn’t exist for two whole days.”

“Did you know he was going to fake his death? I can’t imagine having to read all that about my child in the newspapers!”

“Yes...it was all rather horrible. We didn’t know ahead of time; Sherlock had been so busy in the months before that we’d hardly seen him, and I suppose he hadn’t wanted to upset us with everything going on with that awful man threatening them...so it was a shock when Mycroft arrived suddenly the evening it happened. Our phones had been out of service all afternoon--looking back, I realize Mikey had probably arranged that so no one would call us before he could get here to tell us himself.” Violet paused as she remembered it all.

Gently taking her hand under the table, Siger took up the story. “Mycroft is nothing if not organized. I had a bad feeling as soon as I opened the door to him; it’s so unlike him to arrive without it being a planned holiday gathering or at the very least without calling ahead. He did a sweep of the sitting room, checking for any microphones or hidden cameras before he’d say a word.”

The Fitzgeralds looked both rather shocked and intrigued by this point; bugged sitting rooms and death threats were so far removed from their experience. The most criminal thing that they’d ever had anything to do with had been when their middle daughter’s car had been broken into in Birmingham, and they had talked about that in what-is-the-world-coming-to tones for years.

“Once he was sure no one was listening in, he sat us down and explained the situation and that we were not to believe what the papers said. Sherlock had jumped off of a building and had officially been declared dead. Only Mycroft and one other friend--the medical examiner--knew he survived, as he had needed them to make it look legitimate.” Violet continued. “We didn’t go to the funeral; it was absolutely crucial that the criminal network he was up against believe him to be dead as John, Greg, and Martha were all still at risk. I was afraid it would look suspicious that we weren’t there, but the boys were afraid it was asking too much of us to put on such an act, and that it would be safer for us if anyone watching thought we weren’t close to our son...”

The story was passed back to Siger. “We had to do a bit of acting as it was. We don’t have many close relatives, and those we do have are either elderly or live away, so none of them were around to notice we weren't at the funeral. And we hadn’t been introduced at that point to Sherlock’s friends in London--this was while he and John were still just flatmates--so they just assumed what they would. If asked, Mycroft put it about that we were too elderly to travel.”

Violet sniffed. “I insisted, after everything was all over, on being introduced to a few of their friends just so that they could see we are not that old.”

Siger smiled indulgently at her huff. “Yes, yes, dear. But it was for the best at the time. We stayed here and avoided going into the city any more than necessary. We did get calls and cards from some acquaintances who knew he was our son, so we did have to act suitably upset over the phone.”

“It really wasn’t hard to act...Sherlock hadn’t died that day, but he was off on his own, away from London and unreachable, doing who knows what, and he’s never been the best at taking care of himself when he’s working. Every few months Mycroft would let us know that he was still alive, but we didn’t hear from him directly--too dangerous for him and for us, if anyone was watching us--and we didn’t know how long it would be. In the end it was over two years...as parents, I’m sure you can understand how it was easy to appear genuinely affected.”

Laurina nodded quickly, with tears in her eyes at the thought of not hearing from a child for so long. She got a bit antsy after a fortnight without a chat.

“He finally was able to return once the danger had passed, and resumed his life in London. By the time he returned, dear John was engaged to be married to someone else. Of course, that was to be expected at the time; Sherlock and John had been best friends before Sherlock left but had never declared their attraction to each other. John, poor boy, had been devastated by his friend’s violent death.”

Siger cut in again. “Really...I think that was almost the worst part of it all. John couldn’t know; he was being watched closely and it was absolutely necessary that his grief be seen to be real. And I don’t know if you’ve ever had anyone close to you who committed suicide, like John believed Sherlock had--he later told us about how his grief was compounded by guilt--what if he’d said the right thing or been a better friend, and so on. If I ever had difficulty in appearing as though I was grieving a son when acquaintances would ask, I thought of Sherlock’s friends who truly believed him dead. As bad as it was, at least we knew…”

“And honestly, fewer of our friends and acquaintances came to offer condolences than should have.” Violet sniffed imperiously. “Believing all that rubbish the newspapers published about my boy! That he had faked his skills as a detective! I’ll tell you now that I certainly take anything the papers say with a large dose of skepticism after that. Faking it! They should have seen him even as a child...the acrobatics I had to go to to keep him from finding his birthday presents early!”

“Yes, dear. Anyone who really knew him would never believe what was written about him. Anyhow, back to what I was saying about his return...John had been terribly lonely while Sherlock was away, and had taken up with a nurse from the clinic.”

“Awful woman! The trouble she…”

“Don’t let yourself get too worked up, dear. It’s all over and done now.” Siger squeezed her hand more tightly. “There’s no need to go into everything that happened. Suffice it to say, John’s wife turned out to have lied about her past, and had met him only because she had been hired by the criminal network Sherlock was fighting against to keep an eye on John for any signs that Sherlock was still alive. Once our Sherlock returned, she decided to go ahead with marrying John to stay in the picture, but in the end her past caught up with her and her association with the criminal network came to light. She ended up being killed; something about a job she hadn’t finished in the past. The boys really didn’t want to talk to much about the details.”

Charles and Laurina were listening wide-eyed. “How terrible…” Charles felt he had to say something at this point.”

“I can’t imagine how awful that must have been.” Laurina added.

“Yes. So much of it we didn’t know was happening until after it was over, so at least we were spared the worry at the time, but it made the shock that much worse when we did find out just what our dear boys had been through. But enough of the hard times...they’re in the past now and we’re so happy with how our boys are doing now.” Violet attempted a reassuring smile that really came across as more of a grimace.

Siger managed the reassuring smile better. “Yes, we’re so relieved to see the happiness they’ve found now. Sherlock’s still “a handful” as you called it earlier; dashing around taking cases, running experiments in the kitchen, never getting enough sleep...sometimes we wonder whether John helps or not,” he said with a chuckle.

“Ah, yes. One the one hand, having John in his life has given him stability and responsibility, and John’s a doctor, so he fusses at him to eat and sleep and all...but then, whenever there’s trouble John just jumps right into it with him. They make quite a pair.” Violet smiled fondly.

“John’s a doctor? What is his specialty? Our son-in-law David…” Laurina made a bid at extolling the virtues of one of her family, but Violet jumped back in quickly to answer her question.

“Well, he was in the RAMC, with the 4th? 5th? Some number…”

“Fifth, love.”

Violet nodded. “Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, a field surgeon. He served three tours of duty in Afghanistan before he was wounded in action. John’s quite modest, but Sherlock likes to brag on him and told us he was promoted to Captain and earned several medals...”

Beside her, Siger beamed with pride at his son-in-law. He loved his sons-in-law, not least because they were...normal. Well, maybe normal was the wrong word, but at least they could carry on an intelligent conversation about the state of the drain pipes or the price of petrol, items that neither of his sons had ever deigned to even notice, much less converse upon.

“...It was a few months after he was invalided home that he and Sherlock met. They were both looking for a flatmate, and were introduced by a mutual friend. John’s injuries--he was shot in the shoulder--made it difficult for him to work as a surgeon. From what he’s said about that time, he took his forced retirement hard and struggled to decide what to do next; he’d always assumed that once he got out of the army he’d continue working as a surgeon. He went into general practice at a clinic part-time as soon as he was able, and Sherlock started dragging him off to crime scenes as soon as he moved in.”

Laurina and Charles made the appropriate noises of pity for a wounded veteran.

“And then he started writing about Sherlock’s cases on the computer...what do they call that, again, dear?” Siger said.

“A blog. I always thought it a rather funny, inelegant word.”

“Yes, a...blog. We were excited when Mycroft told us about it; we enjoy reading about what those two get up to. Well, excited to read about their adventures after the fact, knowing they weren’t injured. I couldn’t have chosen anyone better for Sherlock than a doctor and soldier all in one man.”

Violet swiped the screen of her phone to take another fond look at the photo. “So, yes, these are our boys.”

Siger gave his wife a fond smile. Their sons were really a lot like her; independent and intellectual, generally avoiding small talk and casual friendships. But when they loved, they loved with everything they had. He was glad she’d had the chance to talk so much about the boys, one of the few topics she’d really be enthusiastic about. They were nearly to pudding now, so there shouldn’t be too much more small talk to manage without Violet beginning to fidget and bringing up her favorite logarithms as a topic of discussion when she couldn’t think of anything else to talk about. Not that there was anything wrong with having favorite logarithms; he had gained quite an appreciation for them himself after nearly fifty years of watching his wife’s face light up when she solved a particularly difficult bit of math. But now, time to be polite for a bit:

“So, Charles, what field were you in before your retirement?”

-----------

The rest of the meal was passed pleasantly enough discussing their careers, trips they had taken, and a bit more on the topic of gardening.

Fortunately, Siger thought to himself as they resettled in the sitting room with coffee, getting older did have a few benefits; no one expected them to stay out late. He and Violet weren’t really that type of “old people,” as they had gotten into the habit of staying up till midnight, at least in the summer when it stayed light so late. He supposed that for Violet going to bed at midnight really was the equivalent of their neighbors going to bed at eight; she had always been a night owl and had done much of her best work at two in the morning. It had made keeping Sherlock in bed as a child even more challenging: “But Mummy isn’t sleeping! I have work to do! My experiment needs…” And it got even worse after he turned five. Bedtime was like that game they used to have at the arcade when he was a teenager. Something about rodents, what was it? Slower recall time, one of the less convenient aspects of aging. Ah, whack-a-mole, that was it. He rather thought that if blogging had been a thing back then, he might have preempted John in writing about Sherlock. Just the creative excuses for why that child was yet again downstairs after bedtime would have given him plenty of material. Mycroft hadn’t been much of a sleeper, either, but he would at least stay in bed and read a book.

“Siger, have you planted any fruit trees?”

Snapping out of his reminiscing, he rejoined the conversation. “Oh...no, not yet. We had a dead tree removed last fall, and I’ve thought of replacing it with an apple tree, but haven’t decided for sure yet.”

“If you’re thinking of apple, you should try the Chivers Delight variety. I saw it recommended in The Telegraph, and I…”

Violet was getting a bit twitchy as Charles expounded on fruit tree varieties best suited for the local climate. Like most introverts, she could enjoy social events for a certain amount of time, but eventually her batteries would drain without something more involving than small talk to keep her interest. And Siger had learned to read her social-battery-level at a glance after all these years. Time to leave before the boredom set in.

“Well, Charles, Laurina, it’s been lovely to share a meal in your beautiful home. But we really must be getting home before it gets too late…”

-----------

“Well, that was quite a nice meal. I don’t think I’ve ever had parsnips fixed that way.”

“Yes, yes. I suppose it wasn’t too tedious...Laurina was always a good sort, although rather dull.”

“I suppose the Fitzgeralds are rather ordinary. But I think they were quite impressed with our boys.” Siger smiled. Their boys, who had so much of their mother in them. Violet had had to make a concerted effort to curtail how often she used the word “dull” once Sherlock had started talking. The damage was already done, though. Siger could still hear the petulant voice of his tiny son declaring porridge, shoe shopping, green beans, hair brushing, staying in bed until after 5:30 am, visiting Great Aunt Millicent, wearing weather-appropriate clothing, and the biscuits without chocolate bits, “Dull! Dull, dull, dull!” He supposed he was becoming maudlin in his old age, as he thought of old memories fondly (well, fondly now thirty-something years later; it hadn’t seemed quite so adorable at the time.)

“And who wouldn’t be?” Violet smiled.

“Of course, our boys are extraordinary. Who wouldn’t love them immediately?” Siger was being part proud father and part facetious. He knew well the exasperating bastards they could be. “Such charming lads! And so amiable!” The word amiable always made him think of reading Austen, and seemed the right touch of whimsy to make his wife laugh. “Just lovely!” Right on into sarcasm. Lovely, maybe, if you hadn’t witnessed their bickering.

Violet rolled her eyes but grinned at him. “Yes, yes. No need to overdo it.”

They drove in companionable silence for a few minutes. Violet had been smiling softly while watching the familiar landmarks go by, but suddenly she gave a huff and put on a slightly annoyed expression. “I suppose now we have to invite them over in return.”

“That is the accepted social custom, dear.”

“And then they’ll invite us in return, and then you’ll insist we be polite and invite them again, and…and they’ll be keen to keep up the acquaintance since you mentioned the Queen; I saw Charles’s eyes light up…”

Siger couldn’t help but chuckle out loud. “My dear…”

Violet eyes brightened. “Oh, well, if they become too tedious, we can just do what we did with the Rockinghams and the Morrisons.”

“Violet! The Fitzgeralds don’t deserve that!”

“No...not yet, anyhow. Just if they become tedious. Just as a backup plan.”

Siger was laughing now. “Honestly, Vi, it’s slightly boring dinners, not espionage and daggers. The Morrisons were nice people; there was no need to terrorize them like that.”

Violet put on her best mutinous expression. “After listening to Georgiana talk for two hours about her beloved Shih tzu? That deserves the Tower.”

He knew he shouldn’t encourage her, but well, she hadn’t changed in fifty years and he wouldn’t like it now if she did. At least, unlike their sons, she generally managed to keep her unflattering observations of their acquaintances to herself until she had the chance to unleash them all to him on the way home. He could have lived quite happily, however, without knowing that his cousin Edgar enjoyed wearing diapers. He didn’t really envy his family’s deduction skills if it meant being able to remain ignorant of some things, especially the sexual kinks of his relatives.

“Well...I suppose she was rather enthusiastic.”

“Enthusiastic?? And it wouldn’t have been quite so bad if the dog in question even deserved the praise. Yipping incessantly, nipping at ankles, and missing half its fur!”

“True...I like dogs in general, but the high-pitched yipping did give me a headache every time we visited.”

“And you managed to escape for part of the time by going to the garage with Philip to drool over whatever-that-old-car was.”

“That-old-car! It was an Aston Martin!”

“Could have been an Oliver Cromwell, for all I care. But I would have looked at it admiringly if I could have escaped being drooled at!”

Siger snorted. “Yes, dear…”

“And I notice you said the Morrisons didn’t deserve what I did to them. But you didn’t say anything about the Rockinghams.”

“Well...I…” Siger looked slightly guilty. “Actually, they did deserve it. Paul couldn’t stop bragging about the attention he was getting from his new twenty-years-his-junior secretary every time Melinda was out of earshot...it was rather disgusting.”

“And Melinda name-dropped, sneered at the new drapes, rattled on about her obnoxious views on the same-sex marriage bill, and gave rather broad hints that their pool boy does more than clean pools. Awful people.”

“Okay, okay. So they deserved it, and you know how much I enjoyed laughing about it after they left. I was also quite happy they left before pudding; all those strawberry tarts I had to eat before they went stale,” Siger admitted with a boyish grin. “But you can’t do something that cruel to people just for being rather dull.”

Violet rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Oh, I think I can. But I promise not to unless they prove to be particularly tedious. So at least not until their second visit.”

“Violet Holmes! You cannot invite Sherlock to dinner and give him alcohol and free reign every time you want to get rid of dinner guests! Our son is not your secret weapon!”

“Oh, but Siger...just remember the Rockinghams’ faces…!”

Siger would have facepalmed if he hadn’t been driving and needing to keep his eyes on the road. But his exasperated look turned quickly into a fond smile. After all these year, his wife’s cheeky grin still got to him.

“Alright, but only if they’re very, very tedious.”