JOHN'S NEW BLOG ENTRY HAD BEEN A HUGE HIT, and Poppy hadn't even been mentioned once. Everything she'd helped them with had been re-branded as 'Sherlock's massive intellect' by the blogger and the few comments that had been left below were full of praise for the amateur sleuth. Poppy felt conflicted about the credit she'd given, especially since John's new girlfriend Sarah had come through as the light in the hour of uncertainty at the end of the day with two whole paragraphs dedicated to her contributions.

Poppy was scrolling through with the curser of her laptop hovering over the 'private message' button next to John's username which italicised itself with the presence of the small arrow when her phone buzzed repeatedly. No unusual texts, they'd stopped after she'd shunted Theo, Sherlock and John off her doorstep like they were bags of rubbish to be collected. In a moment of reflection, the way she'd treated John probably hadn't put her into his good books resulting in a lack of mention for his blog.

She picked up her phone and clicked on the home button, illuminating the screen with a missed call from a highlighted number. Jordan. Probably waiting in the car-park of her high school with her sister. Greg and his wife had evidently gotten into yet another one of their ugly spats and had forgotten to pick up their children from school, even though they could have just gotten the bus. As soon as Poppy locked the front door behind her and leapt off the steps with a jacket wrapped around her shoulders, she pressed re-dial and gave the name of the school to the first cab driver that stopped outside of her house.

"Jordan?" 

There was a crackle and some heavy breathing, then Jordan's voice flooded her ears. "Poppy, I'm really sorry to call."

She shook her head even though the two girls wouldn't be able to see "No, don't be stupid I gave you my number for a reason. I'm on my way now, I'll just let your dad know. Are you still waiting in the car park?"

"No, one of the art teachers came walking past and offered to let us wait in her class room."

"That's good, stay there I won't be long."

"Thank you, Poppy. And don't tell dad, mum'll only get angrier. See you soon. Bye." Jordan hung up before Poppy could speak another word, and she stared at the screen while she deliberated ringing Greg. She probably shouldn't, especially since Jordan had explicitly asked her not to do so.

"You, eh, forgot about the school run did you love?" The cab driver peered at her through the rear-view mirror. "Quarter to four and all that, half of 'em are spillin' over the gates by now." Poppy shoved her phone in her bag. "No." Was all she said, turning to look out of the window and only speaking again once they were one turning away from the high school. "Here'll be fine. How much do I owe you?"

"Thirty three, love." She had thirty five on her in cash, and pressed it into his hand before letting herself out of the door. "Keep the change." After a few seconds of walking with long strides for a small person, Poppy saw the cab roll past her as she turned into the gates of the school, bouncing up to the reception desk and peering in through the glass door to see the woman sat at the desk.

Shit.

It was Brenda, one of the most infuriating receptionists Poppy had ever been granted the misfortune of meeting. She was blonde and nasally and hated all of the children and parents with equal loathing. Poppy was proud to say she was able to match it.

With a thrust of her hip sideways she pushed the door open, and walked up to the desk. Brenda held her finger up as she was still on the phone. "Yes, Sir. I can assure you that the cleaners have not touched anything in your office although I wouldn't trust them as far as I could throw them. Dirty pieces of work those people." Who was presumably the headmaster hung up the phone and Brenda stared at it, as if expecting him to come leaping out of the speakers.

"So," Poppy started off slowly, "Brenda . . . long time no see, am I right?"

"Jordan and Flora are coming down now, Mrs Gaitskell's just e-mailed." Silence. "Please would you be able to inform either their mother or father that leaving their children at school in the middle of winter without a coat is bordering on child neglect."

"The school rules don't permit students to wear coats on the grounds. As you've made abundantly clear to me many times in the past."

Brenda sighed and tutted loudly. "I don't make the rules Miss Fisher, I simply reinforce them to the best of my ability." Poppy had repeated the words to herself in her head. It was the same response she was given every time when Greg's children were always referenced while wearing winter wear. There was a tap on the glass behind them, and Jordan and Flora homed into view behind the desk. Brenda buzzed them through and quick as a flash Poppy was frogmarching the two girls out of the door and straight into the cafe over the road from the school.

"So, you two," She started after they'd warmed up and were supplied with two hot chocolates, nearly overflowing with whipped cream and marshmallows, and a mug of tea from the waitress, "How was school?"

Jordan's reply was the same as it always was. A single word that Poppy was guilty of using more than once towards her nan. "Alright." She grumbled, and went back to sipping at her drink. Flora's answer was different each time. She divulged all of the details about her day; the lessons she'd had and the things she'd learnt with grand hand gestures and in such a colourful detail Poppy actually thought she was there in the classroom with her. However she always seemed to deflate when the subject of P.E was brought up.

It must have been difficult, obviously, being taught by the teacher who was tearing the marriage of their parents down.

"So was it your mum's day off today? I know she'd changed her hours to try and fix things with your dad." Wrong thing to say. Jordan shrank back into herself and Flora stirred around the whipped cream and marshmallows slowly into her drink until it formed a pink sticky glue. "Sorry. You don't want to talk about that."

"You think?" Flora nudged her sister in the rub with her elbow. Jordan looked up. "Sorry. It's just hard. I don't know why they don't just divorce and then never speak to each other again."

Poppy didn't know what to say. Instead she reached for both of their hands and took a hold of them in her own, looking them both directly in the eye. "Your parents love you, and I give you every reassurance that they're trying their best for you. They're really really trying and they need for you two to stick together and talk to them if something's worrying you or making you upset. You both have exams at the end of the year. Don't let this small inconvenience decide what you'll have to do with your lives, yeah?"

They both nodded, and finished off their drinks in one go. Poppy checked the time on her watch and clapped her hands together, calling over the waitress so she could pay the bill of nine pounds and thirty three pence. Afterwards all three trooped out of the shop and into a cab, that Poppy told the driver to keep running whilst she dropped the two girls off at their house. They huddled close together on the front step to try and block out the cold until the door swung inwards and Claire Lestrade, greying hair flying out in all directions, answered looking rather frazzled.

Her eyes first met the figures of her children who she drew close to her chest and who's ears she whispered apologies into, ushering them inside and to leave their shoes and bags by the mat after wiping them clean. Then she turned her attention to Poppy, and her expression soured. "Oh. Hello, Poppy."

"Hi, Claire." She tapped her toes on the stone step, and motioned behind her. "They've both had a slice of cake and a hot chocolate each, just to let you know." Again Claire still remained staring at her. "Okay! Have a nice evening, I'm just going to go now. Bye."

Halfway down the path a hand clamped over her shoulder and Poppy was spun around to see Greg with a few ten pound notes in his hand, his wife staring disapprovingly at the exchange. "Stay away from my kids!" She called out.

"Sorry about her." Greg apologised, "But she still, er . . ."

"Thinks we're sleeping together?" Poppy offered. Lestrade nodded. "Gotcha. And you've told her that we're not?"

"Every day but she doesn't seem to believe me when I try to say we're not." With a solemn sigh Greg gave Poppy the five notes of money. "Here you go, sorry about all of this. I don't know what happened. One minute we're sat down to watch Tipping Point, and the next she's telling me she's calling it quits. We've stopped working, apparently."

"Oh, Greg."

"Yeah. The worst of it came when I said we never 'worked' in the first place."

"You didn't."

"I did." He moaned, "And to top it all off I've just had to put in a bill to pay for Sherlock's flight out to one of those small European countries. Belarus, I think it was." Poppy shuffled on her feet, an action Lestrade picked up on. "Still not speaking to the pair of them?"

"No." She grumbled, clapping him on the shoulder. "Come on, I think we both need a drink."

Lestrade consulted his watch. "It's quarter to five."

"Oh, yeah. Let's get dinner, and then let's go for a drink. What was I thinking, going out on an empty stomach. Christ the years are catching up with me." Poppy guided Lestrade to the cab and pushed him inside, waving to Claire stood in the doorframe. "I'll be sure to have him home before ten. I know he's got a big day at work tomorrow."

- < > -

AFTER HIS FIFTH DRINK, LESTRADE placed his empty pint glass down on the rubber beer mat on the bar, spinning around on the bar stools he and Poppy were sat on. The entrance to the pub had swung open while he was facing the door, and Poppy walked in after tucking her new phone back into the pockets of her jacket. "So," She hopped back up onto the bar stool, "Jordan's been ringing me asking where you were, Flora said you'd promised to help her with her maths homework apparently."

Greg let out a bark of laughter, one that attracted the attention of other people sat around them. "I'm not in the mood to get told my method of maths is the wrong one. Both ways get the same answer, what's the big problem?" Poppy sighed, and finished off the last bit of beer in the pint glass before asking for a glass of water and a cosmopolitan. "Just because your maths is different to my maths."

He sighed into the glass of water that had been placed in front of him, and traced his finger down the surface to chase a drop of condensation. "Just because my children are only seven years younger than you, doesn't make the maths you do any different."

"We do long division different ways. We learnt different maths."

"I'm old." He groaned, knocking back the entirety of the contents of his glass in one go. Lestrade shrugged on his coat, and patted it down to find his wallet. Eventually, when he and it came into contact, he called over the bartender to give him the bill. Poppy spoke up. "I'm really sorry to break your reviere, but there's been a slight technical difficulty."

He shoved his wallet back into his coat pocket after receiving the receipt, and checked his phone. Three texts from Sally had appeared, along side another two in quick succession from Anderson. "Bollocks." He hissed, leaping to the door and pulling Poppy through with him. "Baker Street?"

"Yeah. Marple's been shooting at his living room wall all afternoon. All of the residents along the road have been putting in reports since he started, complaining of the noise and thinking there's some sort of attacker running riot. I'll go and check it out."

"I thought you weren't speaking to either of them?"

"They've gone long enough without me, they'll get lost if I don't wander along in their path sooner or later."

"You're just as arrogant as him, you know that right?"

"Yeah. That's why we don't like each other."

Lestrade chuckled in a haughty manner to himself and hailed over a cab for her. "You're a daydream believer, Rockefeller."

"Cheery up, sleepy Jean. Claire'll come 'round. She always does."

- < > -