"Still not the one," Sherlock Holmes said, casually, almost absently.

"What?" Greg Lestrade replied, his brows furrowing and his mouth curling up in that way he had when he had to deal with Sherlock and his vague enigmatic statements.

"You have another date, based upon the fact that you have shaved within the past half hour, most likely in the shower, and have put on freshly laundered clothes. Your cologne has been refreshed, and you're also wearing the watch your grandfather Lestrade gave to you his last Christmas before he died, which is not the watch you wear for every day purposes."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Here we bloody go again," he thought to himself.

"I would estimate only the second date, based upon your frequency and level of distraction of late. She is approximately five feet to five foot four, though I would estimate closer to five foot three based upon…"

"Sherlock," Greg said, sternly.

Sherlock seemed to ignore this, if he'd even heard it at all. "Based upon the placement of the lipstick mark the last time you saw her. A woman of that stature would most likely wear heels in order to be closer to the eye level of a man who is approximately five-eleven, such as yourself. It makes it less awkward to…"

"SHERLOCK."

This time, the world's only consulting detective seemed to hear the older man's reprimand. He smiled broadly and insincerely.

"She also has chestnut hair, past her shoulders, and I would estimate based upon the rest of it that she also has hazel or brown eyes."

"HOW did you know all of that?" Greg was genuinely irritated. He knew Sherlock was better than everyone else at deducing visual clues, but really this was gratuitous, and frankly a bit of a piss-off.

"I didn't. I just described Molly Hooper, who your date clearly is not."

"You're a real pain in the ass, you know that, Sherlock?" Greg said with a huff.

"I may be a pain in the ass, but I'm right. You know I am. This woman isn't the one. You know who the right one is."

"Yeah, and she's not interested, and I'm not the pining away type, in case you haven't noticed. Then again, you still can't remember my first name beyond the initial."

"Really, Geoff."

"GREG."

"Yes, just making sure you were paying attention, Greg." Sherlock didn't miss a beat.

"Do you know the physical description of Molly's last four dates? And before you assume they bear a creepy similarity to myself, you might remember that fanboy Tom was several years ago, and even Molly Hooper knows when to cease and desist."

"No, but I would imagine you're going to tell me." Greg sighed.

"Older man, middle age, hair beginning to show prominent signs of silver. Five ten to six feet. Gruff baritone voice. Dark brown eyes."

Greg sat down.

"Not the one for her, either."

"Are you finished yet?" Greg asked, heaving a sigh and bringing his hand up to rub at his temple. "Because I'm meeting Holly in 45 minutes and as it is you're going to put me under the wire."

Sherlock studied his friend for a few moments. Yes, that would do. Gavin… no… that wasn't right. It was Greg, and that bore remembering for once. Greg may be planning to proceed with this second date, but there would most certainly not be a third one with…

"Wait… HOLLY? Seriously, Greg?" Sherlock squinted at his friend, making a face of pure skepticism.

Greg shook his head as he rolled his eyes and rose to his feet.

"Have a good night, Sherlock," he said as he headed towards the door.

"No, seriously… HOLLY? REALLY?"

"GOOD NIGHT, SHERLOCK," Greg called out, as the door closed behind him.