believe or not, I wrote this before The Sign of Three aired and dashed all my dreams.
So disregard that saga in its entirety (every second) and follow me down the rabbit hole.
Molly watched on in humour as a nurse [anaesthetics, terribly flirty] manhandled Mike onto the dance floor. The poor man squeaked his protest, unwilling to leave their table but in her excited drunkenness, the nurse misheard and instead dipped Molly's colleague into a perilous salsa move.
Molly ignored his looks for mercy and tipped her glass to him in a rather cheeky salute. She barely had a moment to herself before she heard a thud beside her, a solid figure plopping into Mike's vacant chair.
She could turn her head to see but what was the point? She knew it had to be him.
Taking a tiny sip (of courage) from her glass, Molly asked politely, "Enjoying yourself?"
She expected a snark, maybe a snort but his replying sigh was just too sad for someone attending the wedding of his best friend. Especially after the year they both had.
"It's his big day. You'll only get one in a lifetime." She gently reminded him.
"Divorce has rather ruined that romantic notion." Sherlock replied dryly.
"Well, the second wedding is never as good as the first."
Suddenly faced with query eyes, Molly rolled back, "So I've been told."
She sculled the last of her wine to abate the drop in her stomach and let her eyes fall back onto the ballroom floor, where a cluster of dancing couples were now swaying to a mellow tune.
Sherlock joined her gaze, though he preferred to stare into the crowd with a expression of complete boredom. But Molly wasn't fooled for a second. She could feel the slight tremors of his foot, as it jolted in time with the music almost wistfully.
She gave in to their silence, with a wish of her own, "I wish I could waltz."
"I don't think it's as difficult as you believe it is."
"Oh, it is."
"You must be a horrible dancer, indeed."
"Oh, terrible." Molly joked, taking instant pleasure in the unexpected smile that crept over his face.
It was a great shame that a smile like that only made the rarest of appearances but it was for hers, just for a moment.
Maybe it was the smile or maybe the jokes, but soon the wine in her belly was turning into pluck and she hiccuped through her next words,
"Would...would you like to dance?"
"Absolutely not."
A sudden yelp carried across to them, their heads swivel towards the sound to see a red-face Mike, rubbing his backside, the culprit giggling as he swatted away her curious hands.
The distraction wasn't enough to forget his rejection but it stung a little more as she saw how uncomfortable Sherlock suddenly was.
Molly kicked herself; she had fallen into a trap, eased by their light conversation, she didn't mean anything by it...
"Did you mean with you?"
With all the grace a slightly sober woman could muster, Molly spluttered, "Huh?"
"The offer," Sherlock pulled at his dress tie with unusual restlessness, "you were referring to you?"
"Ahh yes-it was only a suggestion-" Molly tried to back out quickly but to her surprise, the chair scraped back and a hand thrust before her.
"I can't waltz." She warned, a tiny smile breaking free on her lips.
"It's not as difficult as you think." Sherlock replied as they took to the floor to join the swaying masses.
muchas gracias y lots of love!