Yep, this is another one shot. It's been spinning around in my head for what feels like forever and I had to write it down. It's kind of (very) cheesy and may or may not be a tad out of character but I actually love it. Feel free to leave some love and let me know what you think!
I sadly own nothing.
Strangers in the night, two lonely people
We were strangers in the night
Up to the moment when we said our first hello
Little did we know
Love was just a glance away
A warm embracing dance away…
Strangers in the Night- Frank Sinatra
Strangers in the Night
It starts off as a normal day.
He plays his violin, mopes until John comes home and then decides it's time he visits the morgue and his favorite pathologist.
His goal as he strolls through the heavy doors, coat billowing behind him, is research. Anything to ward off his boredom and fill his need for new knowledge. And he knows Molly will be more than happy to supply the resources and the work space, he can always count on her for things like that.
Sherlock steps into the morgue, feeling the usual chill in the air as he hangs his coat on the rack and looks around for Molly but the room is empty aside from the bodies occupying the metal slabs. He hadn't noticed the time before, suspects she may be out for lunch but a hushed voice coming from her tiny office tells him she's still here, and she's not happy.
Morally he knows it's wrong. He's been over it at least a dozen times with John, can recite the entire lecture word for word but in the end he knows he'll choose to ignore it. He simply can't pass up an opportunity, especially when it comes to Molly.
He finds that he hates that about her.
Slinking across the room he stops outside the office and is able to peer inside, sees her with her cell phone pressed to her ear and her mouth twisted into a frown. She's trying her best to keep the words quiet, but with no one else in the morgue her voice seems to echo.
"You said you would be there. I told you about it a month ago." Whoever's on the other line gives a quick retort and Molly runs a hand through her long hair and sighs.
"And you're sure it's work that's keeping you away this time? Because honestly I'm starting to get tired of that excuse." Sherlock feels himself grin but it disappears just as quick.
Talking to her boyfriend, he muses. It's obvious to him that she's been blown off once again.
For some reason the thought provokes something in him he can't explain.
His smile quickly disappears when he hears the phone slam against the desk, scrambles to get away from the door and casually leans against one of the metal tables and waits for her to enter. When she does she jumps when she sees him, her hands flying to her chest in shock.
"Sherlock. Goodness, you scared me." He offers a small, barely there smile as an apology and straightens up, folding his arms across his chest.
She's scribbling something he can't see on a chart, gloved hands occasionally reaching out and prodding the body in front of her. Her movements are fluid and full of experience. Sherlock feels the curiosity gnawing at him the more he thinks of her earlier conversation but his tongue feels dry and for once a steady stream of words fails to leave his mouth.
With a bit of force he manages to sound casual. "So, how's this boyfriend of yours? What was his name again?"
Molly's shoulders visibly tense at the mention of the man, her hand pausing above the paper as she prepares to write something else. And like she always does she manages to put on a cheery smile when she looks at him.
"His name is Adam. He's fine. He was actually supposed to go to a charity ball with me tonight, one of those masquerade type things with the masks and the ball gowns but he just called and said he had work that couldn't be ignored." At the last words Sherlock can hear the uncertainty and disappointment in her voice. He then remembers hearing Molly talk about the ball before, the excitement in her voice more than evident and he realizes now that she had been quite eager to spend time with him there.
This makes Sherlock resent him just a little more.
"You don't think he's working." It comes out as a statement, Molly's eyes flash quickly. He watches her bite her lip, a nervous habit she's had as long as he can remember. Finally she offers a shrug of her shoulders and turns back to the body.
"It doesn't matter I guess. I'd probably be alone most of the night if he did decide to show up." She puts the cap back on her pen and turns to face him again, eyes now bright and filled with the same friendly look he's so accustomed to.
"So, what do you need my help with today?"
…
He curses under his breath when he realizes he'll be late if he doesn't leave soon. He steps away from the mirror, picking up the gold mask lying on his bed and slipping it into the pocket of his coat. His shoes make his footsteps louder than he'd like, it makes John look up from his laptop when he enters the sitting room and the doctor's face is one of confusion.
"You sure are dressed up. Going somewhere nice?" Sherlock rolls his eyes and tugs at his tie, feeling overdressed and completely uncomfortable.
"Just a charity event for the hospital. Don't bother waiting up, these things can take time." John closes his laptop and rests his elbows on his knees, watching his flat mate in curiosity.
"But you hate charity events, and people for that matter. What makes this one so special?"
Sherlock ignores the question, spinning around on his heels and offering a goodbye before he disappears down the stairs, leaving John bewildered and slightly annoyed.
Outside the ball he finds himself battling with his conscience, wondering if this is something he really should be doing. Part of him knows Molly deserves to be happy and over the past few months he's seen nothing but disappointment in her eyes, knowing Adam has a habit of getting her hopes up only to break her heart.
He feels that he at least owes her one night of happiness for everything she does for him, putting up with his moods and his constant stream of hurtful words he can never seem to stop. He never means to hurt her, isn't even sure why it's always her who has to bear the brunt force of his ways. But it's how everything always turns out and maybe he feels this will make up for it.
The other part of him knows he shouldn't be interfering with her relationship, he remembers all the times he's caught her gaze lingering on him for a few seconds too long, or the way she would drop anything to make sure he was ok or had what he needed. He knew how she felt about him, he may be a fool sometimes but he wasn't blind. The last thing he wants is to get her hopes up and end up heartbroken by the one man she's tried so hard to get over.
Only, when he thinks about her spending the night alone and in the company of drunken, rich men he feels a fire burn in his stomach and the decision is practically made for him in that instant.
Slipping the mask over his face he goes inside, giving Mycroft's name at the podium before he's immediately ushered through the large doors. He walks through the heavy crowd and his eyes search for her, spotting her almost immediately.
The red fabric of her dress seemed to hug her waist tightly, dripping on the ground elegantly as it moved with her. Her hair was swept up, tiny tendrils framing her face as she laughed at someone in the small crowd she was gathered in. But she couldn't hide her telltale smile from him, even behind the black mask decorated with feathers and beading designed to concealed her identity.
For some reason Sherlock felt his stomach clench as he watched her, her fluid movements and tinkling laughter almost too much for him. He moves to make an approach but he stops a few feet away and turns away from her. Even if he manages to steal her away from the crowd she'll know it's him. She's had years to memorize his eyes and smile and when he spoke to her there'd be no denying that it was him.
He runs a hand through his curls and sighs, wondering if he really had made a mistake.
On impulse he dares to take another look at her, noticing the other people have thinned out and she's left alone with a flute of champagne in her hand and a sad smile tugging at her lips. She's far too beautiful to be alone tonight.
He makes the brave decision to approach her from behind, his hand ghosting across the skin of her arm and making her gasp at the unexpected contact. She whips around and he keeps his head down, hiding his eyes from her.
Sherlock holds out a hand, keeping his voice low and hopefully unrecognizable. "Care for a dance?"
Her eyes widen, clouded with uncertainty when she takes in the tall stranger in front of her with the outstretched hand. He wonders what actually makes her take it, delicate fingers wrapping around his as he leads her towards the dance floor. His head spins in a thousand different directions.
Spinning her around he catches her waist, keeping his face lowered and hoping the mask fulfills its purpose. They sway gently across the marble floor and blend in with the others, Molly keeps her eyes focused on something in the distance and he can tell there's something about him that makes her this way.
Whenever his hands move he feels her body tense beneath them, her breath hitching when he twirls her and brings her body back to his, one hand resting on the small of her back. The song slows, coming to an end and he leans forward, breath hitting her neck when he whispers in her ear.
"Let's go outside."
She doesn't protest or push him away, lets him lead her to the balcony and into the crisp night air illuminated by the city below. Her back is pressed against him and even though he's nothing but a complete stranger he wonders how he's able to be so close to her.
He ignores the other couples occupying the space, watching them leave when they sense the presence of someone else. When they're alone his hands seem to settle on her waist with a familiarity that doesn't-shouldn't exist. She wasn't his, he'd made sure of that long ago and had kept the promise to himself for years. She belongs to another man, one who may not deserve her but who probably treats her better than he ever could.
His lips settle on her before he can catch himself slipping. She tastes like champagne and cherries, sweet and mind boggling as he cups her cheek with one hand and draws her closer with the other. Molly doesn't pull back until realization dawns on her and she gasps, pulling away and letting her fingers settling on her lips.
Her cheeks blush as she backs away from him. "I'm sorry. This really shouldn't be happening, my boyfriend was supposed to be here tonight and I guess I'm a bit upset… I'm sorry."
She brushes past him, the scent of her perfume lingering behind. As he listens to her footsteps Sherlock can't help it when his voice rings out and he calls after her.
"Molly wait, please." When she hears him, she freezes. The clicking of her heels ceases and slowly she turns around. Sherlock slowly lifts his mask, revealing himself and hearing the sharp intake of breath. Molly's eyes are wide; her lips parted as if she wants to speak but can't find the words.
"It's you." She finally mutters, shaking her head and holding back a hysterical laugh as she removes her mask. "Bloody hell it's actually you."
Sherlock sighs, nodding slowly. "It's me."
"I thought there was something familiar about you. I just felt so comfortable around you, a stranger whose name I didn't even know." Her shoulders shake when she laughs again and Sherlock inches closer. Pretends she doesn't back away from him.
"I came here prepared to be miserable, spend the night by myself because Adam couldn't come…I really care about him Sherlock. I thought you knew that and now you're sending mixed signals and I don't know what's going on." she throws her hands up in defeat and stares at him, waiting for an explanation.
"Molly, I'm sorry. I really am. I hate watching him break your heart every time you get your hopes up for something. I thought you deserved to be happy at least once."
She shakes her head and he sees her eyes misting, his heart lurching when he thinks he's made her cry once more. He knows he's made a mistake, knows he can't just decide to change his mind once she's moved on but he can't help the ache in his chest when he thinks of her and everything she's done for him.
He wonders why he's never said it before.
"I just want you to know Molly; I've never wanted to hurt you. You matter, so much more than you think and so much more than I've ever let on. I just wanted to see you happy, even if it was only for the night. If anyone in this world deserves happiness it has to be you. And you don't have to want me anymore, I understand that you've moved on, but please don't hate me for this."
His heart is racing when he finishes the rant; sweat collecting on the back of his neck while he watched her take in everything he had just said. A few long, silent moments pass as she stands in front of him and he feels anticipation coursing through his veins.
"Will you say something?" he asks, feeling like he's talking to the air. His heart sinks when she looks at him, her bottom lip between her teeth.
Suddenly she takes a deep breath, taking those few steps toward him and letting her lips crash into his as her fingers tangle in his wild curls. He grabs her waist and pulls her closer, letting himself melt in the embrace as years of tension and longing seem to swirl around them.
What starts as a normal day turns into a night he'll never forget.