1. Dreaming

Even without the calming and firm presence of John in 221B Baker Street, Sherlock was now much better at practicing better ways of dealing with boredom between cases. This evening, Sherlock stood by the window of his sitting room, playing his violin. He was just coming to the end of one of his favorite German pieces, and Sherlock didn't know what to play next. He flopped down into his armchair with a huff and started idly playing scales, not knowing what to play next.

Being bored to him meant that his mind was not presented with any kind of challenge, and Sherlock hated that. Since he did not know what composition to play next, and he needed to play in order to not do something drastic, Sherlock continued going through scales and keys, associating each with a person in his life.

John would definitely be an F-sharp major, the key that always expressed triumph over difficulty, the free sigh of relief when obstacles are conquered. John was a perfect example of someone who had suffered things that no man as good as him should go through, but who came through each not only valiantly but able to build himself up even stronger than before.

Mary would be a B minor, the key of strength and patience, commonly associated with those characters who are seeking redemption from a dark past.

Mycroft would be a D-flat major, a leering key that was never quite happy or sad.

Lestrade would be a D major, the common key for war-cries and soldier's marches, the sound of justice (cheesy at times).

Mrs. Hudson was easily a B-flat major, the key of cheerful and unconditional love and hope.

And Molly…Molly…Why did just the mere thought of her now give his whole being such a reaction, both stimulating and calming all at once? Almost of their own free will, his hands and fingers played the E-flat major key…the key of love and devotion, pure and simple…always a constant in his life.

Sherlock rose from his chair as he began to play in that key signature, until it became a slow and tender waltz. He closed his eyes as Molly's image filled his mind…

He saw her in the lab, in her standard white lab coat and pony tail, but she was…dancing. She still was at work, but she moved gracefully to his music with a dreamy smile on her face. She got closer and closer to him, and he realized that he was approaching her. Molly turned on the spot and saw him. Her entire face lit up in a smile, and her hair fell down from its ponytail on its own. Sherlock smiled in return and before either knew it, they were dancing together.

In the standard waltz position, Sherlock led her with a firm but gentle hand. Molly self-consciously looked down at her feet; Sherlock chuckled which caused her to look back up.

"I didn't know you could dance so well," said Molly, still smiling.

"Mummy forced Mycroft and I into lessons as children," said Sherlock. He twirled her under his arm, and she spun with a giggle. He barely noticed that her white lab coat had become a lovely white gown. He wasn't even sure that they were in the lab anymore. And he didn't care at all – he was with her.

"But truthfully…and don't tell John…" Sherlock began dramatically, bringing her close to him again. She looked up at him curiously, and he smiled again. "I love dancing, always have."

Molly laughed, but in an affectionate way not a mocking way. "Really? You do?"

"Oh, yes. And, like everything else I put my mind to, I am quite exceptional at it. For example –" Without warning, Sherlock gently dipped Molly, causing her to squeak in surprise, but she came up laughing.

"Dear Sherlock…" she said softly before laying her head on his chest contentedly. Sherlock let his own head drop to rest against hers as they waltzed to the beautiful music he was creating in the ballroom of his mind palace he hadn't known existed before – but he would most definitely bring her here again.

Eventually, he brought his finger under her chin to lift her face up to his. He felt himself slowly bending his neck, his face coming closer and closer to hers…

The sharp ringtone of his mobile caused Sherlock to end his beautiful composition on a wrong note and for his daydream to disappear in the blink of an eye. "For FUCK'S SAKE!" Sherlock roared, almost throwing his precious instrument onto his armchair.

"Language, young man!" Mrs. Hudson scolded. She had been standing in the doorway listening to him play, holding a plate of chocolate biscuits. Her stern expression then melted into the happy, indulgent one she had been wearing as he played. "Oh, that was so lovely, Sherlock! I think it's even more beautiful than the one you composed for John and Mary. Save that one, young man, it's a keeper!" She placed the plate of chocolate biscuits on the coffee table. "Had to bring your favorite up after hearing that. Oh, Sherlock, it was just so lovely!"

Mrs. Hudson continued to praise and coo over the music as she walked back downstairs to her own flat. Despite his embarrassment of having daydreamed something so sappily romantic, and his frustration that his stupid mobile had interrupted it, Sherlock couldn't help but feel better hearing Mrs. Hudson's genuine praise. Hoping that the text he had received was from Lestrade with a new case for him, Sherlock picked up his mobile and opened his new message.

But it wasn't what he hoped for – it was even better.

Hi, Sherlock! Thanks to the dearly departed Mr. Hansen, I've got a new brain for you. I know you've been wanting to do some experiments on a fresh one. Why don't I drop it off after my shift? xM

Sherlock's face beamed into a huge smile, and he replied instantly.

Absolutely. And pick up some take-out from Angelo's for yourself. I know you will be hungry after your shift, and I would like you to start one of the experiments with me. SH

In a much better mood than he had been a minute ago, Sherlock picked up his violin from his chair and put it back in his case. Then he took out his notebook of blank music paper and began writing down his composition.

Mrs. Hudson was right – this one was a keeper.

A/N: Hello my lovely readers! I've decided to try my hand at this 30-day challenge that so many writers have done. The start of a new month gave me the motivation to give it a try. This is going to be a fluff fest, except when the prompt calls for necessary tension. So send the reviews my way and it'll keep me going this month!

Now, something I wanted to give my opinion about, though it happened a while ago: the "Molly as wallpaper" controversy. First of all, I think that Mark Gatiss was more joking than serious when he said Sherlock now saw her as "moving wallpaper." Secondly, even if he wasn't joking, just remember: Mark has said that Molly was Steve's creation, so he can't take much credit. So, do I believe the man who called her "moving wallpaper," or the man who said that Sherlock loves and adores Molly? :)