Nothing about Scott Gill's life is most likely normal
«While he’s walking back to the table, a handsome young man in a blue shirt, his hair an artful muss, glasses thick-rimmed and ironic, holds up a little piece of paper. He tucks it into Lestrade’s front pocket. Lestrade could kiss him. That much is imminently clear. He could kiss him right in the middle of the crowd, likely again in the hall near the toilets. And he would like to, desperately, not because of who this person is but because he’s someone who’s interested and Lestrade’s feeling a little high on attention and Bombay Sapphire. Except that he can see over the man’s shoulder, can see Mycroft watching him. He disentangles himself, and when he gets back, his chair is gone, borrowed by the next table. He raises an eyebrow at Mycroft, then slides onto the plush bench beside him.»