Sorry this took so long to update, but I have to admit that I didn't really see it as a problem because the first chapter already had 15 reviews and over twice as many follows by itself. And just. Woah. I've never had a story get so much feedback after just the first chapter before. I love you guys.

"Sorry, we're trying to minimalize our team. Just keeping it between us two. Is that alright?"

Sally looked at him apologetically, though Greg could tell she really wasn't all that sorry. Sure, they were friends, but not quite as close as they could have been, and this involved strategy. They couldn't have very big teams. Besides, it was good to have a bit of competition against them.

Yes, competition. That completely turned Greg's mind off of being rejected. He nodded understandingly and wished them good luck, then finished writing them down. No one seemed to be approaching him at the moment, so he set off around the room in search of a potential teammate for himself.

It occurred to Greg for a moment while he was briefly searching that he probably ought to sit this one in the Audience considering his Detective Inspector status and workload, but he couldn't bring himself to do that. He wanted to take direct action on this.

Only a minute or so later, he managed to get a solid two-man team. And that was because the other man was one of his best mates—Anthony Hopkins. The bloke wasn't the smartest cop in the Met, but he'd managed the job and they'd been good friends since the beginning.

"We've got this bet completely in the bag, Greg," he said in a low voice, grinning. "No one else can compete properly. You know Holmes and Watson better than anyone, mate…."

"Yeah, well, not by much," Greg admitted dryly. "You've seen how Sherlock is—and considering his whole 'mysterious' thing, there's not much he lets anyone know."

"'Cept John Watson," Anthony laughed, and Greg smiled in agreement. Yeah, he imagined that John knew a great deal about Sherlock already. More than that insufferable asshat had let anyone in Scotland Yard know in the past five years. Just went to show that feelings came with the right person, not time. And that Sherlock clearly only worked for them because London was the best place for good cases. No sentiment involved. Not that he'd hoped.

"We really do have a fair game with everyone, though," Greg went on, sticking his pen in the clipboard and then stuffing one hand in his pocket, looking around at the conversation a little. "I hardly know anything that other people don't. Nothing that would be relevant, I mean. Except, well… I do have the advantage of being friends with John, I suppose. But I'm sure other people are going to make up for that in ways."

"See, Lestrade, I'd call you out for unfair advantages if I wasn't so sure that you were correct on that last statement."

That was most certainly not Anthony's voice—it was off to the right, and it belonged to someone blonder and younger and taller than him. In spite of the maturity he was supposed to be keeping hold of as an adult, he frowned and huffed for a second before turning completely around on the ball of his foot.

"Gregson. How'd your division get in on this?"

He'd told Sherlock once or twice: Real people don't have arch enemies. At most, they have a rival, but those are usually because of grudges, and grudges are immature and unhealthy to hold onto. Of course, he'd already known that Sherlock was very emotionally immature. The thing was, though, that Greg Lestrade was a bit of a hypocrite.

He might not have called him an arch enemy, but Tobias Gregson wasn't quite just a normal rival, either. Neither party honest-to-God hated the other, but the tension was there. They disliked each other. And they strove to outdo each other, in a way. Tobias would tease him that it's because in the few times that Sherlock's taken on one of his cases, he seemed to favor him over Greg. And that was somewhat true, but it wasn't the extent of it.

"Do you actually think it's unlikely that word would have gotten around to my division?" Tobias said smoothly, using that condescending undertone that reminded him so much of Sherlock. It almost seemed deliberate. "Dimmock's here, too. Not all of us are completely busy."

Acknowledging him with a "Hm," Greg merely stared with narrowed eyes for the next couple seconds before figuring out exactly what he wanted to say:

"I suppose you want to put yourself down as a team, then?" He pulled the pen out of the clipboard and pressed the tip to a line on the form he'd made, pretending to write. "Team three: Gregson, and his oversized ego."

The man in question raised an amused eyebrow, as though to refer to the fact that Sherlock Holmes, Greg's friend, had an ego large enough to fill ten men and then some. Yes, well, he thought in response, Sherlock is the only one at the Yard allowed to have an ego.

"Actually, make that Tobias Gregson, Paul Baynes, and Garth Bradstreet. We're a team."

Just as he was about to open his mouth and dryly ask if those other two men were even here, they sauntered in seemingly out of nowhere, ghosts of smirks on their faces. What. It was like Tobias had made a cue ready for them and planned it all deliberately. Of course. Everything Tobias did was deliberate, just like Sherlock. But it still seemed like something that no one would do on purpose unless they were in a film.

We're not in a bloody film, he mentally asserted, no fair.

Silently, and with Anthony still standing by and just looking disapprovingly at the team, Greg wrote them down and not-so-politely held his hand out for their fee. Returning the silence, they all handed it over and, rather than promptly walking in the other direction, remained for another few seconds.

"May the better Detective Inspector win," Tobias said, and Greg scoffed outwardly at the cliché. He took the other man's hand in a firm handshake anyway and stared after him for a moment after he started walking away.

As he cooled down, he remembered that this was all over a bet that, for all intents and purposes, was centered around making two men realize their homosexual love for each other. At which he couldn't take himself seriously anymore and just gripped Anthony's shoulder for support while he laughed for several seconds.

Most of the teams were chosen within the next fifteen or so minutes, and the room seemed to be about half split between Matchmakers and Audience. It turned out to be six teams: Three of them were duos—Sally and Anderson, Greg and Anthony, and then Alec MacDonald and Whitney Mason. Greg was pretty sure that those two might have been dating, themselves.

And then, of course, there was Tobias's trio. The other trio were the Jones' brothers, Althelney and Peter, and Sam Brown. All good men, and all on much friendlier terms with Greg than Tobias. Travis Forrester decided to work alone. A lot of people seemed surprised that he'd opted to participate in this as a matchmaker at all. He didn't get on with many people, and it was actually kind of surprising that he hadn't ended up being homophobic or even just apathetic about Sherlock and John.

"Alright, is everyone decided on their teams? Okay. Good. Now the remaining people—the Audience—need to tell me what team they're rooting for and put down their money."

Greg retained his authority despite the ridiculousness of this whole thing, and everyone who was left signed up for one of the teams. Sally and Anderson's team had three people betting on them, and then both Greg's and Tobias's teams had four each. The other three got one or two each, and with this it was pretty obvious what everyone thought of each of them. Especially that Tobias was equally as skilled as him, in all their eyes. It annoyed him, but only slightly. Okay, maybe more than slightly.

It surprised him that Dimmock and Patterson both opted to be in the Audience rather than actually be out there to actively participate, since they were both inspectors, but then he supposed that some people wouldn't want the workload of this bet on top of what they already do.

When everything was cleared up, everyone else was kind of scattered. Greg checked his watch. They'd been in here about twenty minutes now.

"Alright, now that everything's settled, everyone get back to work—we can't afford to waste much more time in here!" he announced, and everyone was heading out the door before he even finished. "And don't forget that this doesn't officially start until tomorrow!"

It was going to be difficult, balancing this bet with police-work, but it would be worth it, Greg was sure. He tucked the clipboard under his arm and returned to his office, shutting the conference room door behind him.

As soon as he'd gotten off his shift (though those were just office hours—a Detective Inspector was never really off-duty), Greg had called up Anthony and invited him out for a drink to discuss tactics, since he'd seen that others were doing the same thing.

"We're not actually going to drink much—I mean, I'd invite you out somewhere else to discuss things, but two men anywhere but a pub are generally assumed in a relationship—"

"Yeah, I getcha, mate," Anthony laughed, sliding into his seat. "…You know, I bet Holmes and Watson probably eat out together a lot."

Greg thought about it and grinned. "I know they do. I hear Sherlock suggest restaurants for them to eat at after cases all the time. Hold on—we could do that. Figure out where they eat normally, and just stake it out."

"Don't they live next to the Speedy's on Baker Street? I'd imagine they'd go there…."

"Yeah—yes, this is good. Oh!" At that moment, a rather busty woman had come up to their booth to ask what they'd like to drink, and they both looked to her as though they were guilty of something, though trying to hide that. It was just difficult not to be paranoid that you were being overheard by the wrong people when you were doing something involving Sherlock Holmes. "Just—er, Newcastle, please."

"Same as him," Anthony nodded, and the woman just smiled at them before leaving to get it.

There were several seconds of silence between them while they waited for two glass bottles to be set down on their table, and they thanked the barmaid with appreciative smiles before returning to their topic. Greg watched her leave for a moment, though, wondering if he'd have any luck with getting a date with her. She seemed kind of interested. Maybe a nice woman would get his mind off his wife and help him come to terms with the fact that they needed a divorce.

"So," Anthony said after a swig of his beer, snapping Greg's attention away from the woman whom he decided was too young for him anyway. "On our off time, we can just sit in Speedy's or whatever other place they might be eating and wait and see if they do anything spectacularly gay together."

Greg snorted into his beer and had to set it down again. "As if everything they do isn't spectacularly gay. But yeah—sounds like a plan. Except I don't think it would be a good idea for me to be there, since Sherlock would see me and want to know why I'm there. He'd still probably recognize you, since I think that man must have photographic memory, but it's not strange for a cop to stop by a restaurant and eat."

Though he slightly expected otherwise, Anthony didn't protest. His mouth thinned for a second while he turned the thought over in his head and swallowed a mouthful of Newcastle. "I'm on restaurant duty, then. Excellent. We've got a bit of a plan. If I see them do anything, I'll take a photograph or video with my phone and send it to you. That works. You gonna do anything else?"

"Hm. I have a shit-ton of responsibilities on my shoulders, so there's not much room for me to do things… though I am by far the closest to Sherlock and John than anyone else. Well, I could invite John out for drinks occasionally like I already do and see if I can get anything out of him…. But I can't do that too often," he added, thinking and pausing with a sip of beer. "It'll seem too weird, and Sherlock'll suspect something. Once every other week is about the most often I can do that. And then Sherlock doesn't seem to leave 221b much for anything other than cases."

There was another long moment of silence until Anthony finally set his drink down again, but this time in a deciding manner. "Looks like this is all we'll have to go on, but I doubt any other team has a better plan."

Anderson flipped through television channels until he got to Doctor Who, which was when Sally joined him on the couch.

"I just ordered Chinese, so I hope that's what you're hungry for," she told him, getting comfortable next to him. "Once this episode is over, we should talk about strategies for John and the Freak."

He acknowledged what she'd said with a small "Hm," and continued to keep his attention on David Tennant and Billie Piper. Halfway through the episode, the Chinese food got there, and by the time the episode was over, they'd finished their food and Anderson felt slightly sick.

Not because of the Chinese, though. It was just that the Doctor reminded him so much of Sherlock, and yet he couldn't bring himself to dislike the Doctor. It happened every time he watched the show, and he was the only one who knew the real reason for his periodical queasiness.

"We should have a name for them," Sally said seemingly out of nowhere, sitting up straight and finishing off an egg roll.

"Hm?" Anderson looked to her and frowned.

"You know, like Brangelina. But for Sherlock and John. Just like—smush their names together. For a couple name." She smiled at her own idea and then started to think. "Shohn?"

"SherJohn," he proposed, smirking.

"Shwatson."

"What about both their last names? Holmeson?"

"Watolmes—nah…. Johnlock? Yeah, Johnlock really works. Come to think of it, adding anything to "lock" sounds good. I don't like him, but his name just works."

"Heh," Anderson laughed sharply, though nodding in agreement to the name Johnlock. "What kind of parent names their kid 'Sherlock,' anyway?"

"Ones that know their kid is going to grow up to be an arrogant freak. Can't really blame them, though."

"Yeah. Hey—we should be getting to work on plans and strategies and what have you—or else we're going to fall behind, and we have to win."

"Gregson! You can't—if we get caught, we're out of the running, and the bet hasn't even started yet!"

Garth Bradstreet hurried after his matchmaker teammate but at the same time tried not to look suspicious. Even as cops, it wasn't the best idea to be wandering about at one in the morning. Tobias went on walking and didn't respond at first—until he was standing right across the street from 221b.

"And if we get caught, we can ask them what they're doing on Baker Street at this time of night, too. Besides, it technically is tomorrow, and we're only here to see what we're up against."

"But—you've been here before, haven't you? What's here that you haven't seen yet?"

"I've only ever been parked outside the place while inside the car, Bradstreet. I didn't get a proper look then, and I figured I should see what's going on at night here, too. There's a light on in one of the upstairs flats, see?"

Garth stood next to him and stuffed his hands in his pockets, hoping they wouldn't get numb from the cold. "What do you suppose Holmes is doing at this hour?"

"Shagging Watson, maybe?" Tobias suggested with a hopeful smirk, shrugging his shoulders. "Either that or doing drugs. There's been a drugs bust or two here before, I know that much. Do you think we could put cameras out here—oh." He'd turned around to look at the lamppost to see if it was a good place for surveillance, but then he saw that—"There's already cameras here." So it would be too suspicious and thus kind of impossible to set up cameras. Dammit.

"Well, there's a Speedy's right next to the place," Garth pointed out. "That looks good for staking out. Or maybe we could just commit a really elaborate crime to get Holmes to come out of his flat so we can get him and Watson to do something. It would probably be easier."

They both laughed, and at that point, Tobias had gone too long without a cigarette, so he didn't hesitate to light one. He contemplated the situation for a moment before turning to his partner and saying, "Right, then. Let's get going before Holmes decides to look out his window. We can tell Baynes everything in the morning."

I know this chapter's a bit short, but I figured it was the best place to stop. Adding anything else would have been weird. Also, all the characters I have as members of teams or in the Audience are canon characters from the original novels. In the books, they were all Inspectors, but I decided to just keep Tobias Gregson as a Detective Inspector, and everyone else has different ranks in the Met for the purpose of being able to have canonical characters instead of having to come up with OCs.

Anyway, reviews are always appreciated, and I look forward to seeing your feedback!