The Trouble With Sentiment

Chapter Three

"Not with me."

He touched her elbow. "Not with anyone. He's happily married to his work, I promise you. There's no need to worry."

Molly blew out a breath. "You're right. I'm being silly." She shook her head and took a large swallow of wine. "Must be the holiday."

"Christmas makes everyone barmy. My sister dressed her pet rabbit up like an elf this year, complete with fairy lights and bells." John pulled a face. "Poor little Carrot."

Molly giggled.

A triple knock carried through the flat.

John patted Molly's shoulder and left the kitchen to open the front door, but Sherlock sped past him and beat him to it. Vivian stood there with snowflakes in her red hair, and a tentative smile on her face. She cradled a large white box in her arms. "Hello."

"You're late," Sherlock said.

A grimace. "Sorry. Traffic was dreadful, and I had to make a stop. I wasn't about to come here empty-handed."

Sherlock frowned. "John didn't ask you to bring anything."

"Oh for goodness sake, let the poor girl inside," Mrs. Hudson said.

Sherlock stepped aside and allowed her to enter, taking the offered box from her hands.

"Glad you finally made it," John said, giving her a hug. He helped remove her coat, revealing a burgundy blouse with a sprig of holly pinned to it.

Sherlock eyed her feet. "You wore heels. In the snow."

"What? They're low heels, and I took a cab. I only had to walk across a bit of pavement out front."

"That same pavement sent the last Speedy's patron to hospital with a broken hip yesterday."

Hang on. Was Sherlock actually worried about her? John studied his friend's face, but it was difficult to see anything beneath the thick layer of ego.

"Well, I managed to survive, hip intact, thank you." Vivian wiggled a foot. "Besides, I like these shoes. They're festive."

They were. Red and white stripes lined them like candy canes.

"I think they're lovely." Mrs. Hudson stepped forward, hands outstretched. "You must be Vivian."

She took them and smiled. "And you must be Mrs. Hudson."

"John's told me all about you."

"Has he now?"

Mrs. Hudson patted her cheek. "Not to worry, dear. Only good things." She disappeared into the kitchen, likely to fetch their new guest a nibble.

Sherlock smirked at Vivian. "Clearly, John hasn't told her anything at all."

"Yes, I have. It's just been a bit edited," John said.

Vivian chuckled. "That's probably for the best."

A cheerful Lestrade sauntered over and held out a steaming mug. "Hello. Something to warm you up?"

Vivian accepted it gratefully. "Good to see you again, Greg." She took a sip, then beamed at him. "This is like Christmas in a cup! Did you make it?"

Lestrade rubbed the back of his neck and grinned. "Yeah, I did actually."

"It's brilliant."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "He followed his grandmother's recipe. It's not like he harvested the grapes and fermented the wine."