It is when they dance that Molly notices things the most. Like how petite she is compared to his taller frame. The way the impeccable tailoring of his dark bespoke suits contrasts with her brighter, ready-to-wear outfits. How his demanding, aristocratic nature often clashes against her quiet, modest, more peaceful one. It is a wonder, she thinks, that with such differences they still somehow managed to fall in love with each other.
She takes notice of many things tonight. The elegant ballroom they are dancing in this New Year's Eve. The press of the people milling around them, the sense of excitement and anticipation for a new beginning almost palpable. The cold, clear winter night that hangs outside, the stars just barely visible above London's nighttime glow.
As they continue to move as one the pathologist's awareness shifts back to her partner. The long, slender fingers of one hand folding themselves around her smaller one, the other completely covering the small of her back. The dark curls of his hair falling into his sea-blue eyes, their intense gaze boring into her. The smile gracing his plush, oh-so-kissable lips. The steady beating of his heart as they glide across the dance floor.
When Molly is in Sherlock's arms her senses expand to the point where she can take in everything at once- yet he still remains the center of her world.
It's a blissful feeling, truly.
It is when they dance that Sherlock notices things the least. Each and every minute detail of the world around him that normally competes for attention and storage space in his mind palace is mercifully muted, pushed instantly into the background. (Time? Irrelevant. Location? Don't care. Weather? Tedious, moving on.)
As they glide together he considers the effect she has on him. Only her presence seems to calm the incessant activity in his brain, better than any drug. Even John doesn't have that ability, though he certainly tries his level best to curb Sherlock's impulsive behavior. Though he doesn't believe in a divine power the detective does concede that some sort of miracle must have occurred for them to find each other.
For the remainder of the dance all he can focus on is the petite woman in his arms. He feels her body moving gracefully against his, admiring the red velvet evening gown that sets off the creamy color of her skin. He directs his attention to the beautiful brown eyes smiling up at him and the definitely-not-too-small lips that are slightly parted, the tip of her tongue just showing. He wants to take her elegant hairdo, release it to feel those rich brown locks slide through his hand.
When Molly is in his arms Sherlock's senses- normally always fully expanded to take in every single necessary detail- narrow to the point where she is the absolute center of everything in his world.
Truly a blissful feeling.
While everyone else is cheering in the new year and singing Auld Lang Syne, the detective and the pathologist are the only ones still dancing, completely oblivious. But eventually they too stop. "What do you see, Molly?" he asks her in a deep, quiet voice, releasing her and cupping her cheek with his hand.
"Everything, but especially you," she whispers in return. "What do you see, Sherlock?"
"Nothing at all," he murmurs, bending down to meet her lips in a kiss. "Except for you."
-End-