A/N: glitterkitty4ever and SimplyShelbs16 challenged me to write a Sherlolly fic with three prompts from a list:
"I'm not going to apologise for this. Not anymore."
"This is, by far, the dumbest thing you've ever done."
"I may be an idiot, but I'm your idiot."
So, I dedicate this to them.
High school senior Molly Hooper looked around the gym with grim resignation. The decorating committee had filled the place with heart-shaped balloons in red, pink, and white, and matching crepe streamers filled the remaining space above people's heads. A junior, Molly thought she'd heard someone call him Seb, was dressed as Cupid and shooting people with Nerf arrows. Thankfully, he overlooked Molly, instead firing at boys and girls too nervous to ask their crushes to dance.
Everyone else has overlooked me, she thought, so what's one more? She was seated in a chair off to the side. Permanent wallflower. At the rate I'm going, I'll have 'Molly Hooper, wallflower' on my tombstone.
She scanned the gym again, desperately looking for a certain head of black curls. Molly had been in love with Sherlock Holmes since they'd met in junior high, but the few times she had worked up the courage to ask him out, he had flatly, though not rudely, refused and she would stammer an apology. Their senior year, and thus their time together, was inching towards a conclusion. After Valentine's Day, they would only have a few short months before Sherlock left to spend his gap year "anywhere but here."
Molly was so focused on the crowd of students that she didn't notice someone had sat down next to her until they spoke up.
"Whoever picked this music must be deaf," Sherlock muttered while "Bed of Roses" played.
"You're the only boy I know who prefers Beethoven over Bon Jovi," Molly said, grinning at him.
"That's because I'm the only boy you know who has taste." He sipped his ginger ale as he passed her a cup of orange soda, her favorite.
"Thanks, Sherlock." She took a sip. "I didn't think you were going to show. You look great, by the way."
Sherlock glanced down at his tuxedo then back at her. Unlike most of the other boys there, he owned his and it was tailored perfectly to his long, lean frame. "Thanks. You, um, look nice."
Molly sighed quietly. "You don't have to say something just to spare my feelings." The modest floral print dress was all she could afford. It was more of a Sunday dinner dress, while the other girls were wearing formal gowns. Molly felt decidedly underdressed.
"No, um, I mean it," Sherlock said weakly. "Your dress is pretty. Suits you."
Molly didn't believe him but decided to let it drop. After "Bed of Roses" came "Truly, Madly, Deeply" and Sherlock groaned as if he were dying.
"Spare me," he muttered.
She giggled. "It's not that bad."
When that song ended, "(Everything I Do) I Do It For You," Molly's favorite, started playing. Sherlock immediately sat up straight, his eyes staring into the distance. He was so quiet and still that Molly thought he'd gone into his Mind Palace. Still, she gathered her courage for what she knew was probably the last time.
"Sherlock … would you like to dance?"
He finally looked at her, scowling in confusion.
Molly immediately started to backpedal. "I'm sor-" She stopped then shook her head and said firmly, "I'm not going to apologize for this, not anymore. Feelings aren't wrong, despite what you think, William Sherlock Scott Holmes. I have feelings for you. Strong ones. Ones I've had since we met. You might hate 'sentiment,' but you won't stop me from having it."
She got up and turned to leave but felt a hand grab her arm, then a hand on each arm turning her back around, then soft, full lips on hers and she closed her eyes, sighing from sheer bliss.
"That's enough, you two," Mrs. Hudson, one of the chaperones, said sternly.
Molly reluctantly broke the kiss but one look at Sherlock's beaming face and she was feeling anything but unhappy.
"Correction, it's never enough," Sherlock murmured. "C'mon." He took her hand and led her to the dance floor.
"Sherlock, the song's almost over," Molly protested.
"We're not here to dance." He had Molly stand by herself in the middle of the dance floor. When he reached the dj's booth, Sherlock commandeered the microphone as soon as the song was over. "Everyone, I want to make an announcement. I, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, love that girl, Molly Hooper."
A bunch of cheers went up and people started applauding. Molly could feel her cheeks burning, but she also couldn't stop smiling.
"Hey, Sherlock, did someone spike your drink?" John asked loudly, grinning.
"Nope," Sherlock said, popping the P. "I'm just drunk on love." He came back over to Molly, looking nervous. "Was that okay?"
Molly grinned. "In seventh grade, you said feelings were 'dumb.' This is, by far, the 'dumbest' thing you've ever done."
Sherlock laughed. "I may be an idiot, but I'm your idiot." He looked nervous again. "Er, that is, if you'll have me."
Molly gave him her softest, most loving smile. "You're my valentine for life, Sherlock Holmes."
Sherlock matched her smile with one of his own. "And you're mine, Molly Hooper."