"Conga" written by Enrique E. Garcia, performed by Gloria Estefan
Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga
I know you can't control yourself any longer
Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga
I know you can't control yourself any longer
Come on, shake your body baby, do the conga
I know you can't control yourself any longer
Feel the rhythm of the music getting stronger
Don't you fight it 'til you tried it, do the conga beat
Music could be heard as Sherlock unlocked the front door to 221b. Molly must have been cleaning. No matter. He could still work out the problem in the case around her working. Taking the steps two at a time, he hurried up, pushing the door open to a rather unexpected sight.
The music was louder where he stood, but that was hardly the point. He was expecting to see Molly in her grubby house-cleaning clothes, head covered in a kerchief to protect her hair from dust and other…items that he might have stored around the house to encourage mould growth. Instead she wore her exercise clothes, blissfully doing a rather professional looking cha-cha all by herself, arms out with an invisible partner. Her hips were on beat with the drums, her footwork was impeccable, and Sherlock found himself staring. She made to turn, and just as she caught sight of him, he threw off his coat, taking the place of her invisible partner, finishing the song with her. Sherlock never denied he liked to dance, he may have told Janine he loved to dance, but what he'd left out was that the only woman he danced with was Molly.
Every step and turn anticipated, cheeks rosy, Molly laughed as Sherlock whirled them around, adding flair and a smirk each time she shimmied to the beat.
The song ended and panting, Molly went to fetch a glass of water, laughing.
"What brought that on?" he asked, breathless. "Enjoyable as it was."
"John said you'd be infiltrating a dancing competition," she tossed him a water-bottle which he caught. "I thought I should brush up."
"Things may get rather messy…although to be honest, Mary is in no condition to cha-cha."
"Well unless you were going to partner with John, I figured I could fill in. Besides, John's footwork is abominable." Sherlock grinned.
"That settles that, then," he murmured, drawing her close.
"Nope," she pushed him to arm's length again. He looked confused and disappointed. "Come on, if we're going to be in form for a competition, we need to practice. You're a half-measure slow on the beat." Sherlock made a face.
"It's rigged; we're already slated to be in the finals."
"We still need to make the audience believe," she said, hands on her hips. "Come on; convince me we're finals-worthy."
"There are a good many things I should like to convince you of right now," he said, hitting 'play' on the stereo. "I suppose we can start with the cha-cha."