I seriously don't know what this is.
Tooth-rottingly-sweet fluff, if I had to take a guess. With MAJOR OOC-ness.
You've been warned.
As always, Sherlock Holmes belongs to ACD and BBC.
Hope you don't get a toothache.
-AAG1D
/
"Oomph-!"
Molly let out a noise of dismay as her body was heavily rammed by another, causing her books to drop and her papers to scatter every which direction.
"Watch where you're going!" She snapped, throwing a glare upwards. The boy who rammed into her had his mouth open, and his face screwed up in a manner of upright fury, as though he was planning on eviscerating her with his own dangerous quip.
He never got the chance.
In a nanosecond, Molly watched his eyes flit from her angered face, to the books she had dropped, to her papers covered in her anatomically correct drawings-
-Her drawings!
Molly panicked as her eyes immediately skated from the boy's face, instead bending over and trying her best to collect her scattered notes and drawings before anyone in the hallway could see. She had specifically transferred from her old school because she was tired of the other kids bullying her because of her 'weird' interests. She had no desire to start the rumor mill at this school as well.
In her haste to pick up her drawings, she didn't notice the boy still standing over her, observing not only her drawings, but also her. Neither did she see the way he lit up, when he came to a sudden realization concerning her.
He scooped over and picked up her books for her, just as she finished wrangling the last of her papers together.
"So sorry about that," He offered her a shy, somewhat flustered smile, which was at odds with the look of contempt on his face a moment earlier. "Should've watched where I was going."
A little wary at his sudden change in attitude, Molly just gave him a tight nod as she accepted her books. "It's alright. Thanks."
And then she hurried down the hall, desperate to get away.
/
The boy, it turned out, was a year older than her.
She probably would have never seen him again, had she not been placed in the science class a year ahead of her age, and the AP one at that. She had walked into the room nervously, not quite sure what to expect.
What she certainly didn't expect, was the boy who had knocked her over the previous day, to come barging into the class.
Upon seeing her, however, his expression once again changed into something more amiable. His companions who were with him, immediately noticed the change.
"Hello again," He smiled as he immediately left his two friends in their confusion. "Is this seat taken?"
Molly gave him her own smile. While he hadn't made a very good impression the first day, Molly had to admit that it was nice to see a familiar-ish face. She never had been very good at making friends.
"Hi," She smiled softly, subconsciously sitting a little straighter. Now that she wasn't scowling at him, the boy was actually rather attractive. "No, the seat's free."
"Wonderful," the boy gracefully sat beside her. "It'll be nice to have a competent lab partner for once. I'm Sherlock."
"Molly," She offered him a small smile.
"Sorry again about yesterday," Sherlock added, while his friends took the seats behind them, trying and failing not to stare. Molly thought it a bit odd – was there ketchup on her face or something?
"Oh, it was no problem," Molly emphasized once again. "No harm done."
That was as far as their conversation went, before the teacher entered the room, and class started. In total, it was a small class. Other than Sherlock, Molly, and Sherlock's two friends – who she learned were named John and Greg – there were only two other students. A boy named Mike, and another girl named Mary, who John seemed to be interested in. A tad worried at first, being a year younger than everyone and all, Molly was hesitant to speak up. After several encouraging glances from Sherlock however, Molly felt herself opening up about her favorite subject.
Mrs. Hudson, their teacher, kept staring oddly at Sherlock though, as though she was expecting him to suddenly self-combust.
The other students seemed to be expecting it as well, though most of them were more subtle about it. Molly wasn't sure why – Sherlock seemed like a perfectly nice fellow, and was more than polite. She actually quite liked him.
Perhaps he could even be a friend.
/
The school year quickly got into full swing, with Molly readily being accepted by her teachers and her peers. She made quick friends with Mary – the only other girl in her AP Science class, who also happened to be the same age as her. They actually had most of their classes together, for which Molly was eternally grateful.
Sherlock, while she wasn't sure she could call him a friend as she only ever saw him in class, was still a gentleman, and a rather excellent lab partner. He was quiet and some times stared at her with a strange expression on his face, but Molly couldn't complain. She had been paired with worst before.
Although she was still treated warily as the 'New Girl,' everyone was at least polite towards Molly. The teachers especially took a shine to her, after seeing what a diligent worker she was.
Everything considered, Molly was liking her new school immensely. She had heard rumors from other kids about the school, specifically about a boy named Holmes who was supposedly Hell condensed into a lanky teenaged body. Apparently, he was the bane of the teachers' existences, and generally hated by students alike, due to his poor attitude and overall habit of verbally decimating others.
Molly was more than thankful she had not met him, nor likely ever would, as he was apparently a year older than her.
Other than those rumors, however, Molly was having a splendid time. Which was why, three weeks into the semester, Molly decided it was high time to start working again. In her old town, Molly had worked as a piano teacher, having taken lessons herself since a young age. She hoped to continue such a work where she was living now.
Which was why she was currently holding a sign-up sheet, filled up with various names.
She had tacked it onto the board at city hall, and had left it for a week. She was pleased to see that about a dozen different kids had been signed up in the slots she had allotted, followed by a phone number for her to get in contact with. Her eyes widened slightly at one of the name's in a Thursday slot.
Sherlock H.
She blinked twice.
Surely that couldn't be her Sherlock, could it? Well – not her Sherlock, that is to say. She simply met Sherlock Sherlock, as in the boy in her science class. She had been very clear in her description that she only taught children's beginner lessons.
Strange.
Perhaps there was another boy named Sherlock.
/
"Hi, is this Mrs. H?"
"Depends who's calling, dear."
"I'm so sorry to bother you, my name's Molly. I believe your son Sherlock signed up for piano lessons with me, and didn't leave a last name with this number."
"Did he now?" The voice on the other end of the line sounded suspicious for a moment.
"I don't mean to bother you if he signed up without your permission," Molly immediately tried to salvage the situation, knowing all too well how some kids did things without parental consent.
"He's nodding his head, so I presume that's exactly what he did," Mrs. H. sounded somewhat exasperated. "Siger always says to encourage their habits, so I suppose the answer is yes, he will be attending lessons."
Molly was a bit surprised. "Really? – I mean, that sounds wonderful! I'll see him Thursdays at four thirty then."
"Alright dear," Did it sound like Mrs. H. was smiling, or was it just her? "He'll see you then."
/
"Alright Archie, so let's take it from the top," Molly gave the little boy a smile. "For the right hand-"
She was cut off by the sound of the back door opening, and her science partner entering the living room with a hesitant smile.
"Sherlock," Molly greeted in surprise, frowning slightly in confusion. "Did we have homework we're supposed to work on? I'm a little busy this afternoon."
The teenaged boy scratched the back of his head. "Um, I believe I have a four thirty appointment?"
Molly fought to keep her eyes from widening to the size of saucers. So it was her Sherlock! She quickly flicked her gaze to the grandfather clock, her brow furrowing in confusion.
"It's only four fifteen," She stated. "Archie still has half a lesson."
"I don't mind waiting." Were the tips of his ears red? "I just didn't want to be late."
For the rest of Archie's lesson, Molly fidgeted awkwardly, trying to focus on teaching Archie his acronyms, and vigilantly ignoring her lab partner who was seated on her sofa.
When Archie's mum arrived at four thirty, Molly almost breathed a sigh of relief to have an excuse to stand up, and walk Archie to the back door. Unfortunately, her reprieve didn't last long, as she was quickly forced to return to the living room to deal with her next student.
Her next student, who also happened to be a year older than her, slightly (okay, maybe exceptionally) attractive, and her lab partner.
He was standing awkwardly next to the piano, rocking on the balls of his feet, and clutching the strap of his messenger bag as though his life depended on it. Molly had to admit, the sight was rather endearing.
"So," She started, taking her seat at the piano bench, and gesturing for him to sit beside her. "You realize that I'm only a beginner piano teacher, right?"
Sherlock gracefully folded himself beside her, and she really, really tried not to think about how his thigh and left shoulder were brushing against hers. Normally her students were all of a diminutive structure, and sitting on the bench together wasn't a problem. She perhaps would have to rethink such a strategy for Sherlock, as his close proximity was sending her brain into overdrive.
"I'm aware," Sherlock smiled. "I don't know anything about music, and thought this would be a good place to start."
Strange. Molly thought he had wonderful musician's hands. Perhaps he knitted?
"Oh, alright," Molly brushed her hair behind her ear. "In that case, I'll do my best, though I have to warn you – I've never taught someone over twelve."
"That's fine," Sherlock smiled once again. "Your best will do just fine.
/
It was weird, to say the least.
At first Molly felt completely out of her depth, finding herself over-simplifying her teaching out of habit (which she did her best to rectify after he told her he knew what an acronym was, and that she didn't have to refer to it as a 'special saying'). Slowly though, she did fall into a more comfortable routine, to say the least.
He progressed much faster than most of her students, easily recognizing his notes on his first lesson after she ran him through the acronyms and the staff. She made an off-handed comment that at the rate he was going, he wouldn't need more than a couple of lessons.
He didn't do as well on his next set, and Molly had the sneaking suspicion that it had nothing to do with his difficulty in memorizing what she had told him.
Sometimes when she was showing him something, she would look up and catch him staring at her. She found her cheeks extremely warm when that happened, especially on the one occasion his brows drew together, and he mumbled, "Fascinating," as though she was a complex puzzle he couldn't solve.
She was definitely going to have to invest in a larger bench. The close proximity was undoubtedly screwing with her head.
School wise, things hadn't really changed. She had managed to keep her hobbies to herself for the most part, and Mary was proving to be a wonderful friend.
Sherlock still sat beside her in Science class, acting like a perfect gentleman. She never mentioned his lessons, presuming he might be embarrassed about them, and so was surprised when he bid her farewell one Wednesday afternoon, and casually mentioned that he looked forward to tomorrow.
Mary, who was sitting in front of them, immediately perked up.
"We don't have class tomorrow," Her friend got a mischievous look on her features, as her eyes darted between Molly and Sherlock. "There's no assignment that you could be working on either."
Molly felt her cheeks redden at her friend's words. John and Greg looked incredibly interested as well, as Greg cheekily asked, "Are you two hanging out or something?"
"Oh no," Molly tittered, embarrassment at the accusation causing her to look anywhere but at Sherlock. "I've been teaching Sherlock piano."
John's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "But Sherlock-"
"-Isn't musically inclined!" Sherlock jumped into the conversation, his eyes slightly wide. "Yes, Molly's aware of my lack of musical aptitude, no need to rub it in guys."
Something was off. If Molly didn't know better, she'd say that Sherlock was sending his friends a warning glare. Mary was too busy giggling to herself.
"Oh really," Her friend teased. Molly really felt confused. "Well, we'd hate for you to continue in your lack of musical knowledge, wouldn't we?"
Molly bit her lip. "He's really making himself sound worse than he is," Molly tried to stand up for Sherlock, rocking awkwardly back and forth on her feet.
"Thanks, Molly," Sherlock genuinely smiled at her, before preening to his friends. "See? Now let's go – I have an experiment I need your guys' help with," He all but manhandled John, Greg, and Mary from the room, before any of them could protest. "I'll see you tomorrow, Molly," He offered her one last smile.
"Tomorrow," Molly echoed, left alone in the classroom, and utterly, utterly, confused.
/
"God I'm going to kill Holmes one of these days!"
Molly looked up from her lunch, as a group of boys in the year above her came storming into the cafeteria. They continued their hate parade of 'Holmes,' oblivious to the attention they were drawing.
Molly turned to Mary. "Is that Holmes fellow really so bad? This is the fourth time this week I've heard someone curse his name."
Mary had a glimmer of something in her eyes, though Molly couldn't quite discern what. Her friend shrugged her shoulders casually. "He's quite funny in my opinion, actually, at least when his sights aren't set on you."
"Sights?" Molly questioned concerned.
"Holmes has the talent of being able to see things most people are oblivious to. As a result, he can pretty much tell you your whole history on your first meeting. Moreover, he's not afraid to use it against you, if he feels your annoying him. He's quite a genius, and can't stand most people."
Molly crinkled her nose as she frowned. "He sounds like a horrible, arrogant person. I hope I never meet him."
Mary just hummed in agreement, shoving several chips into her mouth before abruptly changing the subject.
/
Sherlock always arrived fifteen minutes before his lesson was supposed to start. Molly found it strange at first, and told him he didn't need to come so early. He merely told her that he didn't mind waiting, and since Archie didn't seem bothered by it, Molly was determined not to be either.
It still didn't make it any less weird though.
Plus there was the growing problem of Molly's attraction to Sherlock.
She had recognized the tell-tale signs of a crush a few weeks after their lessons started. Honestly, she was surprised it had taken that long. Despite their abrupt first meeting, Sherlock was always polite, and treated her as a lady. And in spite of the age gap, he actually listened and followed her advice in Science class.
And of course, there was also the fact that he looked like an Adonis, what with his dark curls, chiseled cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes.
Which, to top it all off, were aided by the most intellectually stimulating mind she had ever encountered. She found she could volley ideas back and forth with him, whether they pertained to class or not. Several times she found she had to stop herself from blurting out morbid scientific facts, or even worse – showing him her sketchbook.
He seemed perfect, in every sense of the word.
Well, except for at piano. He really, and truly sucked when it came to music, which Molly found more than surprising. When she had first looked at his hands (not that she looked at his hands, or anything), she had immediately thought they were musician's hands. The muscles were not only well developed, but also had a sense of grace that came from hours of studious movements.
And yet, Sherlock – the genius – was unable to make it through a beginner's version of Für Elise, even after nearly two months of continuous lessons.
Molly was getting to the point that she was questioning if he was even practicing.
He seemed to systematically make errors. One moment he was performing beautifully, and the next it was as though he was purposely throwing random notes into the piece.
It was driving Molly up the wall.
"Okay, stop," Molly refrained from grinding her teeth. Sherlock seemed to notice her tension, as he stiffened beside her. "I can't do this anymore, Sherlock."
Those beautiful blue eyes blinked. He seemed genuinely confused. "Why?"
Molly rubbed at the spot between her eyebrows. "Because, Sherlock. You're evidently not practicing, and if you can't care enough to learn the piano, then I can't care enough to teach you. Archie is progressing faster than you, for goodness sake, and he hates piano."
Silence fell between them.
"Can you give me one more chance?" His voice sounded strained – desperate.
Molly sighed.
He gave her a look that she equated with puppy-dog eyes in her mind, and she internally cursed the man, even as she felt her resolve begin to crumble.
"Fine. I'll decide if we can continue after next week's lesson."
Sometimes, she was too nice for her own good.
"Thank you, Molly, you won't regret it," he reached over, and gave her knee a squeeze, causing Molly's heart to stutter in her chest.
She really was doomed.
/
Surprisingly enough, he really did pull up his socks.
Molly had to fight from keeping her jaw from dropping, when he came to class the following week, playing Für Elise like a seasoned pro. Even if it was only the beginner level, Molly couldn't help but feel impressed, and she told him as much, with a playful bump of her shoulder.
She was pleased when she saw the tips of his ears go red.
From that point on, their lessons seemed to progress smoothly. Sherlock picked up pieces quickly, though he occasionally had an erroneous note, or an off-beat tempo. He'd offer her shy smiles in return, and she would feel heat creep up her cheeks, as she gently corrected his playing, her hands brushing against his in the process.
Week by week, Molly found Sherlock's lessons slowly lengthening, neither of them wanting to end them.
She just thanked her lucky stars that she had been prudent enough to not put another student after him.
/
"So, how are Sherlock's piano lessons going?"
Molly's brows furrowed. "Fine," She drew the word out, looking at her friend suspiciously. "Why?"
Mary shrugged, trying and failing to look nonchalant. "Just curious. John's been best friend's with the twat since grade school, and he never before mentioned wanting to learn piano. Plus, he acts different around you."
"Different how?" Molly asked.
Mary raised her eyebrows, biting her lip in an attempt to keep the smirk off her face. "You know," She finally grinned. "Like he likes you."
Molly stopped walking, sure her cheeks had gone from normal to tomato in two seconds flat. "What?"
"You heard me."
"That's ridiculous," Molly tried to deny. "We hardly know each other. We sit beside each other in science, and I teach him piano. Plus he's older than me."
Mary made a dismissive gesture. "He's older than you by ten months, big whoop. And that's exactly it. Sherlock chose to sit beside you. Your new so you wouldn't know, but Sherlock never sits beside people if he doesn't have to. And the fact that he lets you not just talk to him, but direct him without a single insult? It's practically a marriage proposal."
"Mary!" Molly shushed, aghast.
"What?" Her blonde friend grinned. "It's true. You don't know him like we do."
"Well," Molly was flustered, and quickly trying to regain some control of the situation. "In that case, I deem myself too uneducated to offer a sound opinion on the subject, so I advise a subject change. What's new with you and John?"
Thankfully, Mary happily went along with Molly's new line of inquiry, after an eyeroll and one last cheeky grin.
Hours later though, Molly couldn't help but wonder if Mary could be right.
/
"Your kidding!"
"I assure you, I am not."
Molly broke off into a peal of laughter, at the thought of Sherlock with no eyebrows. She sat on the piano bench with her legs folded under her, her body completely facing the boy beside her. Sherlock had turned on the bench himself, positioning himself in a way that was comfortable. The piano sat forgotten behind them.
"Okay, new rule," Molly said when her laughter finally died down. "You're not allowed to touch the Bunsen burners anymore! I will not risk my own eyebrows being burnt in such a fashion."
Sherlock rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "You wound me. I'll have you know the eyebrow incident only ever happened once, and I was eight, for the record."
"True," Molly raised her eyebrows in challenge. "But I believe John mentioned something just last week, did he not? Something about an exploding experiment in the fridge?"
"It was hardly my fault that he decided to add his jam to my culture!" Sherlock argued.
"Of course," Molly laughed again, Sherlock's chuckles joining in.
When the noise died down, they sat in comfortable silence for a moment, before Sherlock finally asked the question he had been dying to ask since he had first met her three months prior.
"Molly," He started slowly, "That first day we met, and I knocked you over in the hallway, you had several pictures that went scattering. They were most well-done and quite accurate. How come you never show people?"
Molly froze at the mention of her drawings. "You saw them?"
Sherlock cocked his head ever so slightly. "Not in great deal, of course. You were rather hasty to pick them up."
Molly felt her cheeks reddening, as she ran her fingers gently over the piano keys, her eyes unable to meet his. She never really talked about her passion with anyone – not since her bad experience at her last school, at least. But this was Sherlock. Her thoughts echoed back to Mary's words.
He likes you, you know.
She bit her lip. Well, she'd certainly find out if he still liked her after this.
"Well," She drew the word out, "I want to be a pathologist when I finish school. I've read quite a few medical books, and often I find the easiest way for me to learn is through drawing. Hence my pictures."
"I thought so," Sherlock smiled at her. "About being a pathologist, I mean. You have quite an aptitude for biology, and are quite knowledgeable on the subject."
Yup. She was definitely tomato red.
"Thanks, that means a lot," She gave a small smile.
"I still don't understand why you hide it though," Sherlock tacked on and – oh goodness, Molly was going to die – shifted so his thigh was partially underneath one of her legs.
"Um," Molly stuttered, her mind on overdrive as she fought valiantly to get her thoughts back on track. "Well, most people in my old school thought I was some kind of psyco. I eventually left cause the bullying got so bad. So when I came here, sharing my pictures was the last thing I wanted."
Sherlock frowned and looked a bit indignant. "That's ridiculous. Just because you're smarter than their plebeian excuse of an existence, doesn't mean that they have the right to degrade you."
Molly looked up in surprise at his words. It was the first time she had ever heard him insult someone so. He seemed to realize his error as well, as his eyes widened.
"Sorry," He quickly back-pedaled. "Didn't mean to be rude. It just makes me so angry that someone would treat you that way."
All rational thought fled Molly at his words. She was definitely falling. And hard.
Before she could respond, however, she was cut off by her mum entering the room. She had been so caught up with Sherlock, that she hadn't heard her approach.
"Molly? It's dinner. How come you didn't- oh. Hello." Mrs. Hooper took in the strange sight before her, before a small smirk settled on her lips. "I didn't realize you were still teaching."
At the rate things were going, Molly's face was going to be permanently red. "We actually finished our lesson quite a while ago. Just been chatting."
Sherlock took that as his cue to introduce himself, standing up in a graceful manner, and approaching Mrs. Hooper with an award-winning smile, and an outstretched hand.
"I'm Sherlock. Sorry for over-staying my welcome."
Mrs. Hooper couldn't help her smirk from widening as she took in the boy in front of her, and thought back to the position she had caught her daughter in with him. "Oh no, it's fine. In fact, why don't you join us for dinner."
Molly was mortified. She knew exactly what her mother was doing. Sherlock, unfortunately, seemed rather oblivious to it.
"I'd love to. Thank you," He gave her another smile.
Dinner, to say the least was horrifying. Molly was extra vigilant, doing her best to combat her parents attempts at embarrassing her. Sherlock didn't seem to mind, coaxing such stories from her parents in evident glee, shooting her cheeky smirks and amused smiles at the information he obtained.
In the end, he ended up spending several hours at the Hooper residence that day, and when he left it was with the insistence of her parents that he was welcomed back at any time.
Molly wasn't sure if that would be a good thing, or a bad thing.
At least her parents seemed to like him though.
/
"Sherlock, you have to tell her."
Sherlock Holmes scowled at his best friend from his position on his favorite chair. "Why?" He sounded for all the world like a petulant child.
John was going to have an aneurism. "Because she's smart, goddammit, and she's gonna figure out that 'Holmes' is you, and that you aren't actually a polite gentleman who cares for her!"
Sherlock looked offended. "I know she's smart – I wouldn't hang out with her otherwise. And I can be a polite gentleman, thank you very much!"
"But it's not you!" His friend all but exploded.
That caused Sherlock to suddenly look a tad disheartened.
"I know."
He suddenly curled up in his chair, refusing to make eye contact with John. His friend merely sighed, used to Sherlock's antics.
"So why trick her then? Molly's a sweet girl, and Mary says she likes you a great deal. Why play her in such a way? Pretending you don't know anything about music?"
It was silent for a moment. Then:
"She wouldn't like me for me. You were there when Mary gave Molly's opinion of 'Holmes.' Plus…" He trailed off slightly.
"Plus?" John prodded his friend gently.
"…Plus I didn't know how to talk to her."
John was silent for a moment, before letting out a curse. "Sherlock, do you like Molly? And no evading the subject. Are you romantically interested in Molly Hooper?"
Another moment of silence.
"I… don't know. Maybe."
John swore again. That was as good as an affirmative answer from his friend. Sherlock Holmes, the man who had scoffed at love for as long as he had known him, had finally met a girl who had managed to stir something in his heart.
Mary was going to have a field day when she found out.
"Sherlock," John started slowly. "You have to tell her. It's not fair for her to fall for someone who is just a façade. She might not like Holmes, but I can guarantee she'll still like you."
"How?" Sherlock turned his analytical mind on his best friend. "How can you guarantee that Molly Hooper will still like me. I've been deceiving her for almost four months!"
John winced. "True. That's a bit not good, mate. It will probably take her a while to forgive you for that one. But I know that she will forgive you, because ultimately, she does care about you, Sherlock. And what's more, she'll come to like you as Sherlock Holmes. The same man who is a great friend to Mary, and Greg, and me."
Sherlock contemplated John's words for a while. "How do you suppose I should tell her?"
John groaned and rubbed his forehead. "That's a mess I'm afraid you're going to have to figure out on your own, Sherlock."
/
"Mary, what are we doing? I thought we were going to the mall."
Molly Hooper turned to Mary with a raised brow, the questioned illustrated on her face. Mary resolutely didn't meet her gaze, choosing instead to focus on the road.
"We will, after," Her friend slowly conceded. "There's a quick show I just want to stop at first. Don't worry – I've already bought your ticket."
Molly frowned, a little put out that her friend changed their plans so last minute. "But what about the guys?"
Something flitted across Mary's face. "They're gonna meet us at the show."
"Oh," Molly finally conceded. "Alright then."
/
"I thought you said this was going to be a quick show!"
Molly hissed at Mary, as she shifted uncomfortably in the crowd. She had dressed nicely for the evening – a bright yellow sundress and cream accessories. She had picked the outfit out with care, as it was the perfect combination of casual and cute for an evening out at the mall.
Much to Molly's displeasure, however, she was not at the mall.
And as such, was feeling woefully underdressed.
Mary had taken Molly to an extravagant building and all but dragged her inside. The interior was filled with deep red velvet and gold inlay, and the people that bustled about were dressed just as finely in long ball gowns with flutes of champagne tucked into their palms.
Apparently, it was some charity event.
And practically only the rich were invited.
"Mary," Molly hissed once more, feeling the weight of others' eyes on them, judging them, and disapproving them. "What are we doing here?"
"Hush," Her friend responded, dragging her as close to the stage as she could. "It's going to start."
Almost immediately the lights dimmed and a hush fell over the crowd. Molly petulantly pouted, more than a little mad at Mary. Thankfully, John and Greg stepped up beside them, offering a distraction.
After a quick greeting though, Molly frowned, turning to the boys. "Where's-?"
She was cut off by a man in a tuxedo clearing his throat on the stage. A little peeved, she obediently stopped talking and turned towards the spotlight on the microphone.
"Thank you for coming to tonight's charity event," The man wheezed. "Before we start the donation pool, we have a special treat for tonight's entertainment. As requested, I present to you Mr. Sherlock Holmes with his new original composition!"
Molly blinked.
"Did he say-?"
Her question was answered when Sherlock walked out from behind the curtain, a beautifully crafted violin in his hands.
Molly had never felt so confused in her life. "What-?"
"Just watch," Mary cut her off, before leaning over and whispering in her ear. "And listen to him – don't be mad."
But Molly wasn't listening, because she realized something else.
The announcer said Sherlock… Holmes.
Her musing was cut short by Sherlock clearing his throat in the microphone. When her eyes focused again, she realized that his were locked on her still form.
"Good evening," His smooth baritone seemed to reverberate her bones, and she didn't know whether to be really mad at, or really attracted to him. "Tonight I shall be playing an original composition for your pleasure. But before I do there's something I must first say."
The tips of his ears were red. He averted his gaze from her to the floor.
"There's someone here tonight that deserves an apology from me. I lied to her from the moment I met her, and for that I am sorry. I only did it because the evidence of my previous interactions with others heavily suggested that she would not like me, and I didn't want that because, well… I like her."
A series of 'ahs' echoed through the crowd, and Molly emotions raged inside her. He had lied to her. Made her believe he was someone who he wasn't. And judging by the way he was cradling that violin, Molly suspected his personality wasn't the only thing he had lied to her about.
She wanted to be angry.
Yet at the same time, his words melted something within her, and she found herself struggling to hold onto her anger.
His eyes found hers again, and she found she couldn't look away.
"I understand if she doesn't want to see me anymore, or be my… friend. But I wrote this for her as an apology of sorts, and I really do hope you like it."
With that he lifted his violin to his shoulder.
And so began the most beautiful song Molly had ever heard.
Sherlock seemed to be one with his violin, acting as thought the instrument was nothing more than an extension of himself. He conveyed a passion in the music as his fingers flew expertly over the neck, cradling the instrument and coaxing a sound from it that rattled Molly's very bones and wisped the breath away from her lungs.
She wasn't sure ho long it lasted, or how long she stayed rooted to that spot, unable to tear her eyes away. All she knew was that she was undoubtedly listening to the most beautiful song she had ever heard in all of her existence.
And that song had been written for her.
It wasn't until Mary grabbed her elbow that she realized the music had stopped and that the audience was applauding, with Sherlock slipping out of sight behind the curtain once more. Molly took a step to follow him, but Mary was in her ear.
"Not here. Come on, we're meeting him outside."
Molly followed obediently in a haze, too engrained her own thoughts to even bother offering the patrons they were passing a smile. Only the brisk air of the cool evening finally roused her from her musings, as the group stepped outside.
Sherlock was waiting for them on the front step, and his eyes locked with Molly's.
"We'll meet you guys at the mall," Greg tried to offer his friends a comforting smile. "I'm sure there's some things you'd like to discuss…"
Sherlock didn't bother with a quippy remark, and Molly was too flustered to respond.
She was faintly aware of their friends heading off into the dark, leaving Molly alone with a boy with pink ears and a violin case.
"You probably have a few questions," Sherlock had the decency to look ashamed, his gaze finding something of interest in the sidewalk.
"A few," Molly replied vaguely. "You play well, by the way."
The smallest quirk of his lips. "Thank you."
Molly didn't move from her spot on the step, stone-faced. "You must of got a good laugh out of the fool I made myself to be around you."
Any trace of humour in Sherlock's expression instantly vanished as he instantly rushed to correct her. "I've never viewed you as a fool Molly."
She gave an undignified snort. "Right. Because as I see it, you pulled the wool over my eyes for four months in not one, but two aspects! First by telling me that 'you aren't musically inclined,' and then by making me believe that 'Sherlock' and 'Holmes' were two completely different entities! Was there any point in our relationship when you didn't lie to me?"
"Of course-"
"Don't 'of course' me now, Sherlock," Molly scowled, her emotions getting the better of her. "Despite what you may think, you made me look like an idiot, and you didn't even have the decency to tell me after we became friends," She all but spat the word. "So just tell me this. Why did you do it?"
Molly angrily fought against the tears pooling in her eyes, determined not to cry. The cool night air bit at her cheeks, but she refused to shiver, refused to display any more weakness to the boy in front of her.
Sherlock clutched his violin tighter, ears a blazing red.
Molly felt her anger drain away as the silence extended, and for the first time since the rollercoaster of an evening started, she felt just how weary of it all she was.
And she was done playing the fool.
So she did what pained her most to do.
She turned, and she left.
She probably would have gone for good too, if not for the voice – his voice – that followed her into the darkness.
"I don't have friends."
The phrase was hardly more than a whispered vulnerability, and Molly likely would've never heard it had it not been for the wind which helped carry it. As it was, she stopped in her tracks, though she kept her back to him.
"It's not because I don't want them, despite what almost everyone believes. Rather, it's because I'm no good at starting a friendship, or maintaining it. I… I always say the wrong thing."
Molly almost broke at the pain in Sherlock's voice, as he admitted the truth to her.
"It's a defense mechanism, something I can't really turn off not matter how hard I try. It wasn't until John came along and insisted on sticking around long enough to get past that defense mechanism, that I truly had someone to call my friend. And from there, the people who fell under that label slowly grew. But for a long time, the only ones who wanted to be my friends were John, Greg, and Mary. Everyone else at the school only saw me as an annoying prick, and for a long time, I was ok with that.
"But then you came along."
Molly had slowly turned around during Sherlock's little speech, and found herself slowly walking back towards him. For the majority of it, he kept his eyes and grip firmly locked on his violin case, though with the last sentence, his brilliant blue eyes were stealing her breath once again.
"From the first moment I saw your drawings I knew you weren't like the other kids, and… I wanted you to be my friend. But I didn't know how," He closed his eyes, and somehow Molly found herself within arms reach of him.
"So you lied," Molly said softly, though with the malice she had previously uttered the phrase with.
Sherlock nodded wordlessly.
And Molly took them both by surprise, and wrapped him in a hug.
He stiffened at first, caught off guard by the movement, but after a moment he released any tension he had, and all but sagged against the petite girl he had done his utmost to win over.
"I'm still incredibly mad at you," She told him tightly, though her arms didn't let him go. "But I understand why you did it."
"So…" Sherlock trailed off, unsure. "You still want to be my friend?"
Molly pulled away so she could look at him.
"No."
"No?" She felt Sherlock tense, as he looked at her with petrified eyes. "I said I was sorry-"
She cut off his panicked babbling with a kiss that stole her breath away.
When she pulled back, she offered him a devious smile.
"I don't want to be your friend, because I want to be something more," She raised an eyebrow at him. "Because I'll let you in on a little secret. I like you too, Sherlock."
And then she smiled.
And they knew everything would be ok.
/
"So you actually can play piano?"
"I stopped at grade five and picked up the violin instead. But I honestly hadn't touched a piano for years before that first lesson."
"Speaking of which, you realize that you paid me till the end of the month, right? I, uh, don't exactly have the money to give back to you anymore."
A smile in the dark. "Then I guess I'm just going to have to attend my lessons for the next month, won't I?"
"I guess you will," Her fingers threaded with his. "I guess you will."