It was weird. With not one but two Holmes at the same dinner table my tolerance for strangeness was way turned up for the occasion, but this was beyond any normal expectations. I might be a wounded ex-army doctor with a well-documented attraction to psychopaths, a best friend most easily categorized under "lunatic" and a wife, the mother of my soon to be two children who's name I don't even know – not to mention have never even asked for – but this was just plain weird.

We had just finished a case that afternoon, a complicated affair which had ultimately involved all of us, even Molly and Mycroft, the latter who had most successfully located a few very elusive files for us, and we had agreed to all meet up for dinner, even Mrs Hudson, who in the usual order kept everything and everyone together.

There was nothing strange with the young woman by looks; on the shortish side rather than tall, wearing dark jeans of a kind that's undoubtedly beyond expensive, and in a three quarter sleeved olive green shirt which brought out the green in her hazel eyes, topped with a very long pony tail of golden blond hair.

The strangeness started with this young woman, younger than any of us, even Molly, being on the arm of Mycroft, not to even mention her leaning affectionately against his shoulder as if she actually liked the man, even trusted him. And then she herself went just as weird as her position by introducing herself with the words "yes, hi! I am the goldfish. My name is Henrietta Kemnel" as she shook our hands.

And when the woman she introduced as her mother, Elizabeth, a dignified brunette with a humoristic shine in her eyes, leaned over to kiss Sherlock on the cheek, that, I could see it easily, was when Lestrade's mind finally broke. I couldn't blame him. We might be well adjusted to the Holmes' brothers doing the least expected at any given moment, but there are limits to how strange even they can be. And this was weird; even for them.

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