"What's the G stand for anyway, Lestrade?" John asked looking at the driver's license that Sherlock had swiped and John had argued into his own possession.

"It doesn't matter. Just let it alone." Lestrade looked down at the stolen license and rolled his eyes.

"Oh come on, we're all sloshed enough we won't remember by mornin' anyway!" Anderson smirked over his beer.

"I said leave it be!"

"Easy, DI, we're just poking a bit of fun," John said sliding him his license.

"How about we guess? Would you tell us if we guessed correctly?" Donovan asked.

"Yes, but you won't."

"Maybe we will," Anderson said.

"Highly unlikely." Sherlock tapped his fingers on the bar top.

"Anyone know, by chance?" John glanced round at the others.

"Nope." Anderson muttered.

"Never heard." Donovan gave a small shake of her head.

"Haven't told a soul." Lestrade looked pointedly at John, obviously hoping he'd help drop the subject he'd dragged up.

"Sherlock, can't you ask Mycroft?" John inquired, glancing down at Sherlock's pocket.

"Cheating! She said guess, not track down. If anyone contacts that man, I'll have you all dredging up bodies down by the Thames for a year."

"Think he can do that?" Anderson queried.

"Most definitely." Donovan slumped in her seat.

"It's Lestrade, don't be stupid. Of course he can." Sherlock rolled his eyes and drummed his fingers faster.

"Gregory?" John threw out a guess hoping to stop Sherlock from dumping on all of their intelligence's too much in one night.

Lestrade shook his head and tipped back his beer.

"George," Sherlock stated.

"Try again."

"Gregson," Sherlock fired back.

"Gray?" Anderson cut him off, receiving a quick glare from Sherlock.

"Gabriel?" John interjected to keep the guesses going and stop the pending argument.

"All wrong."

"Are you lying, Lestrade?" Anderson accused.

"I said you would never guess it, and you won't. So let it alone for God's sake."

"A bit touchy, aren't we?" Donovan smirked, spinning her beer on the bar.

"Thames. Bodies. I'll do it."

"Georgia Lestrade." Mycroft placed a hand on Lestrade's shoulder, having slipped in silently. He tapped the tip of his umbrella in time with Sherlock's drumming fingers.

"Damn it! Who made the damn call? I'll have you all drowned!"