It was the reception of John and Mary Watson's wedding and the guests were dancing around the floor in a colorful whirlwind of dresses and suits. Except for two people. Sherlock was sitting with a glass of champagne in his hand, leaning against the little round table and alternating his gaze between the dancing pairs and Molly Hooper. Molly wasn't dancing either. She was sitting by herself, looking pretty but self-conscious in a periwinkle dress that came to just above her knees, her brown hair pinned up with a few ringlets tickling the back of her neck. Sherlock wasn't entirely sure why his eyes kept coming back to her. Ever since she had helped him fake his death, he had felt a bit of a connection with her, something towards her beyond just "the helpful shy girl from the mortuary". But emotions were never really Sherlock's area of expertise, which led to him sitting there peering at her over the rim of his champagne glass, not knowing why.
Sherlock was drawn from his thoughts by the arrival of Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson, both of whom had been dancing a minute before. They sat on either side of Sherlock and Lestrade poured himself a glass of champagne, leaning back nonchalantly against the table.
"Enjoying the party, Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked.
Sherlock just grunted. Lestrade raised an eyebrow at him, discreetly following his gaze.
"Come on, Sherlock, have a little fun. You can't just sit here tossing back champagne all night because I am not going to carry you home newly wed style," he said.
"Who says I'm not having fun?" Sherlock said tonelessly.
Lestrade rolled his eyes and gave Mrs. Hudson a significant look over Sherlock's head, which was not lost on the observant detective.
"You know I can't dance, Lestrade," said Sherlock.
"Oh Sherlock, that doesn't matter. Just ask her for one dance," prompted Mrs. Hudson.
Sherlock finally looked at her full-on.
"I'm afraid I don't know who you're talking about."
"Don't be silly, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said.
"You're not the only one capable of deductions, you know," added Lestrade.
Sherlock looked at him, then back to Mrs. Hudson, obviously struggling to not look as unsure as he felt. Lestrade remarked to himself how odd it was seeing Sherlock so nervous.
"Just give it a try. I'm sure she'd be more than happy," said Mrs. Hudson, gently urging him.
"Fine," sighed Sherlock.
He stood up and straightened his suit jacket, then walked over to where Molly sat. He stopped just in front of her and cleared his throat. She looked up at him with big eyes.
"Er... Molly... would you like to dance with me?" Sherlock asked, shifting his weight nervously.
"Sure, yes, of course!" said Molly quickly.
A tiny smile cracked on Sherlock's lips and he held out his hand for her. She took it and stood up, wobbling slightly in her high heels.
"I should warn you, I'm not a very good dancer," said Sherlock as he led her onto the dance floor.
"Oh, that's alright, I'm not really either," Molly said. "Although I suppose that could make this a bit of a train wreck... sorry, I didn't mean..."
"Don't worry about it," Sherlock said quickly.
He turned her to face him and placed his right hand on her waist. The next song was just starting, something sort of like a slow waltz. They were on the wrong foot almost immediately.
"Sorry," they said simultaneously.
They caught each other's eye. Molly giggled and Sherlock smiled in spite of himself. They danced in silence for a little while, getting their footing, figuring out the movement of the music and of each other.
"You're not too bad at this, really," Sherlock said.
"Thanks," said Molly sheepishly. "Neither are you."
"Thanks," echoed Sherlock, one corner of his mouth turning up in a half-smile.
They fell silent again. Neither of them seemed to be sure if they were supposed to look at each other or not. Finally, Molly spoke again.
"It's going to be odd at 221B, isn't it, with John gone?" she asked.
"Yes... I suppose it will be a little, erm... lonely..." Sherlock admitted.
He had been trying not to think too much on just how lonely he knew it was going to be now that John was moving out to live with his new wife.
"I'm sorry, I didn't... I mean, I just..." Molly said, noticing more of how Sherlock was feeling than he expected.
"It's fine, don't apologize," said Sherlock.
"Sorry," Molly said again before she could stop herself.
But Sherlock just smiled a little sadly at her apparent constant need to apologize.
"You're different than you used to be. Before the fall, I mean," Molly observed.
Sherlock looked down at her. She was looking at him intently, not a hint of shyness, her brown eyes soft and kind as always, and Sherlock thought he felt a little of the ice wall that usually surrounded his heart begin to melt.
"I suppose I am... a lot has happened since then," he said.
"Back then, you would never have asked me to dance," said Molly, smiling.
Sherlock chuckled.
"Very true."
"So what was it? What made you change?" Molly asked.
"I don't know... a lot of things..." said Sherlock.
"That's another thing that's different. You never admit to anyone when you don't know something. But you just did."
"You're right," said Sherlock. "I don't often admit that. But you're different, I suppose. Special."
"Don't be silly, I'm not special. Not to you, anyway," said Molly, breaking the eye contact they had held this whole time.
Sherlock was so taken aback that he stopped dancing and stared at her. Molly looked back up at him sadly.
"What makes you think that?" he asked.
"Because... well... you're Sherlock Holmes... you're brilliant and impossible and distant and beautiful... and I'm just, well... ordinary," Molly trailed off, looking away from him again, obviously trying to hide tears.
"No you're not. You're so much more than that," said Sherlock. "You were there for me when I had no one, when I was broken and vulnerable. You were patient and kind and... you saved me, Molly Hooper."
Molly still didn't look at him, trying fruitlessly to keep him from seeing the tears falling down her cheeks. Sherlock gently lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes.
"Never say that you're ordinary, Molly. Because you aren't. You're the most incredible woman in the world," he murmured.
"How do you know?" Molly said in a choked voice.
"I observed," said Sherlock simply.
Then, hardly knowing why he did it, he kissed her. Not just an awkward peck on the cheek like he had given her at Christmas what seemed like ages ago, but on the lips, passionate yet gentle and full of an empathy that hardly anyone would believe he was capable of. It was not a particularly long kiss, but when they broke apart, it felt like many long beautiful nights exactly like this one had passed. Molly stared up at him in surprise, her eyes still wet but no longer crying. Then she gave him the smallest of smiles that was simultaneously the happiest smile Sherlock had ever seen from her. She rested her head on his chest as the next song started playing and they began to dance again, swaying slowly to the music and completely oblivious to Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson watching from the edge of the dance floor.
"We've done good, Mrs. Hudson," said Lestrade, emptying his champagne glass. "We've done good."