To Neither Gods Nor Men

Writing the most recent Under The Rose revealed to me how much I love the “Sherlock remains oblivious to the blatant development of Mystrade” trope.

The more oblivious and the more blatant the better.

My dream here is for Sherlock to one day be sitting at Greg and Mycroft’s silver wedding anniversary party, halfway through dessert, seated beside G&M’s three gorgeously intelligent and headstrong adopted daughters - one of whom is about to graduate with joint honours from Mycroft’s alma mater at Cambridge - when it all suddenly falls into place for Sherlock.

And he chokes on his pavlova, rounds on Mycroft and bursts out, “You’ve taken SEXUAL INTEREST in GRAHAM LESTRADE!” - who has actually been Holmes-Lestrade for twenty-five years now. (And, y’know, Greg.)

And Sherlock even sat there at the wedding, thinking to himself that Mycroft’s birthday seemed a rather grand affair this year, and how typically unbearable of his brother to move it to April for no apparent reason.