A/N: Word of Caution: This story takes place right after Series 3 episode 2. It contains major spoilers. You have been warned.
This story is the result of my OCD compulsions. I have worried about what happened to Sherlock's violin ever since I noticed that he left the party without it. This is my way of settling the problem so I can think about something else! :D
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Oh What A Night
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The day had started out well. The ceremony was beautiful. The bride and groom lovely. The problems started at the reception. Murder had been attempted and it had taken Sherlock Holmes to deduce what was going on. Mayhem had ensued. Later, after the villain was caught and the victim safely in hospital, everyone gathered in relief to celebrate a wedding not soon to be forgotten.
Couples lined the candlelit room as the bride and groom took the floor to dance the first dance as husband and wife. John and Mary Watson dipped and swayed to the lovely waltz as friends looked on. Molly stood hardly taking her eyes off Sherlock as he played his violin. She had been told that Sherlock was composing something for John and Mary as a wedding present, but Molly had no idea that he was so talented. She should have realized he would be, Sherlock was brilliant at everything he did; everything except emotions. He was rubbish at that.
Later, as everyone danced, Molly glanced across the crowded floor to where Sherlock stood alone. She watched him gazing at the energetic dancers; then he turned and walked away. He looked sad as he left the room. He looked like someone who had lost his best friend. She wanted to follow him, to hug him, to tell him everything would work out. It was an urge so strong she felt her feet begin to move before she determinedly forced herself to stop. She looked at Tom's swaying body. His back was to her and as he turned about she looked up and forced a smile. Tom smiled back; he really was a nice, nice man. He was just what she had always wanted. Tom was loving and kind. He was never rude or sarcastic. He would never break her heart, and he was the right choice. She told herself she believed that with all her heart as she smiled and ignored the small voice in her head that jeered in a sing-song voice; Tom is boring, He won't break your heart because you haven't given it to him, Tom is safe and he is boring, boring, boring.
Molly thought of the beautiful music Sherlock had played for the happy couple. The whole time he was performing, Molly had watched his long fingers delicately holding the violin and imagined that he was playing for her alone. It was a silly thing to do. She was over Sherlock, she had Tom now, but couldn't help a small wistful glance at the dais where Sherlock had so recently performed the lovely waltz. She gave a small gasp and stopped dancing as she saw the violin was still on the small table, lying inside its case. Sherlock had forgotten his instrument!
Tom leaned down. His eyes followed the direction she was staring.
"Molly, what's wrong?" His voice was almost lost in the crash of the dance music and happy voices of the revelers.
"Nothing," Molly mumbled, shook her head, and tried to smile brightly. Sometimes Tom could be alarmingly perceptive. She started to dance again. The violin was not her concern. She would mention it to Mrs. Hudson and that would take care of the matter.
Molly gasped as Tom unexpectedly grabbed her hand and pulled her out into a corridor. His mouth was in a grim line. Now what had she done? Molly sighed. Things between them had been rather strained recently. Tom hadn't wanted to attend the wedding and couldn't understand why she insisted. They were her friends, she had explained, but he had replied that John was merely someone she worked with occasionally, and that she didn't know Mary at all. Why go? They could find loads of more interesting things to do than attend the wedding.
The door clicked close behind them, and the noise muffled so that it was possible to speak without shouting.
"What's wrong?" Tom asked.
"Nothing, I just noticed that Sherlock forgot his violin. That's all. It's not important. Let's go back and dance," Molly said and moved to open the door, but Tom didn't budge.
"It's him again," he said. For the first time Molly heard a note of jealousy and frustration in his voice. "It's always Sherlock Bloody Holmes isn't it?"
"I don't know what you are talking about. I have barely spoken to the man in weeks," Molly protested. Now was not the time or place she wanted to have this conversation.
"I saw the way you looked at him today, and the way he looked at you when you weren't watching. I thought you said you were over him."
"Don't be ridiculous Tom, Sherlock Holmes doesn't care a fig about me, and you are the man I want." Molly said.
"Am I? You looked like you wanted to eat him alive during that bloody song. I don't think you have gotten over him at all," Tom said flatly.
"I want you, Tom," Molly said a little desperately, as if she was trying to convince herself. She moved close and placed her hands on his arms.
"Wanting is not enough Molly," Tom said. "I deserve more than want. If I can't have your complete love, we need to call this relationship off."
Molly stared up into Tom's face in shock. "You are breaking our engagement? Over a few looks I supposedly gave Sherlock Holmes?" She asked incredulously. "Aren't you being a little extreme?"
"You haven't been the same since he came back," Tom said angrily as he stepped back and allowed his hands to fall to his sides. "Do you realize how much you talk about him? Its Sherlock did this and Sherlock said that all the time. Today was just the final straw. I don't think I can compete with him and apparently you agree. " He looked down at his bandaged hand where she had stabbed him with her dessert fork earlier.
"I said I was sorry," Molly said, biting her lip. She was sorry about the fork.
"I don't deserve to have my observations treated so viciously. The man was acting erratically and saying he was drunk was a logical observation."
"He was being bloody brilliant," Molly said.
"There you go again, defending everything the man does!" Tom shouted.
Molly started to say she was sorry again, but closed her mouth. She pulled the ring from her finger and handed it to him.
"Perhaps you are right. I'm not sure I want to spend the rest of my life watching every word I say and whom I look at. I did not realize you were such a jealous man. I have never given you a reason to doubt me," She said stiffly.
"Not in words," Tom agreed. He shifted awkwardly. "I'll be leaving now. I'll find some place to stay tonight. You can have the flat."
Molly's world was falling apart, but her pride had her straightening her shoulders. "Don't be ridiculous! The flat is yours. I will stay with friends tonight and I will be moved out by the end of the week."
Tom struggled with his words, but the relief was evident in his voice when he said, "If you are sure."
"Of course I'm sure," Molly said. She was shocked at how easy Tom was going about this. It was evident he had been thinking of breaking up before tonight.
"Good bye Tom," She said and turned her back to him. The door opened and closed, and she was alone in the hallway. Molly stood still, she should be devastated but a curious sense of relief flooded her. It must be shock she decided. She really hadn't expected this. Yes, they had had disagreements, all couples did, but she had not seen a breakup coming. She should be heart-broken, but instead she felt only sadness. Tom was right; he deserved more than she could give. She was not going to cry she told herself firmly as the tears began to fall. Molly hurried to the loo before anyone could see her distress.
A few minutes later as she stood before the mirror repairing her makeup, the door opened and Mrs. Hudson bustled in. She stopped and looked at Molly in concern.
"I saw Tom leave," Mrs. Hudson said. "I came to see if you are all right dear."
"I'm okay," Molly said with a small sniffle. "We broke our engagement."
Mrs. Hudson patted her shoulder. "Oh dear! It's been a hard day for everyone. Well, whatever he has done, I expect your young man will be calling you in a few minutes to tell you he is sorry. You mustn't be too harsh with him. Forgive and go on, I always say. It's a shame you had to break up with him during a wedding though, that's a little bad timing on your part dear."
"He broke up with me," Molly said. "He thinks I haven't gotten over Sherlock. I'm sorry; I don't know why I am telling you this. I really love Tom. I do!" Tears began to fall down her cheeks again.
Mrs. Hudson tutted softly. "Well, perhaps it's for the best dear. It's no picnic being married to a jealous man. I should know. What do you plan to do about tonight?"
"I thought I would get a room in a hotel tonight," Molly said. "If that doesn't work out there is always the couch in the staff lounge at Barts."
"Oh my, that won't do, that won't do at all. All of the reasonable rooms will be taken by this time of night and you don't want to stay in a bed bug infested dive, " Mrs. Hudson said shaking her head, and then her face brightened. "You can stay at my place dear!"
"I couldn't impose on you like that," Molly protested.
"Of course you can!" Mrs. Hudson interrupted. "You will have the whole place to yourself. I don't plan to go back to the flat tonight. Chel and I are doing the town and we will eventually end up at his place. He and his wife are separated you know," She said in a confidential tone.
"But, Sherlock..."
"Won't even know you are there," Mrs. Hudson soothed. "If he hears anything at all, he will assume it is me. In the morning, you can call your young man. Maybe you can work this out. Things always seem better in the daylight."
"I don't know how to thank you. Are you sure?"
"I wouldn't have offered if I weren't my dear. Now go along and try to get some sleep, it will all be better in the morning, you'll see." She fumbled in her purse, pulled out two sets of keys, hesitated, and handed one set to Molly. "You may have to jiggle the lock a bit to get in. It has been a little stiff lately. Oh, and I saw that Sherlock left without his violin. Poor boy is beside himself, you are not the only one who is suffering. I expect he is missing John more than you are your Tom." Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "I always thought those two were inseparable. It's so sad. Oh well, just take the violin along with you dear. Leave it in my flat and I'll see that Sherlock gets it when I get back."
Molly kissed her cheek. "Thank you. I owe you one." She smiled and patted the elderly woman's arm. As she quietly left the room, she didn't see the crafty look on Mrs. Hudson's face.
xXx
Molly set the violin case down carefully at her feet before inserting the key into the lock of 221A. Mrs. Hudson wasn't kidding about the lock being stiff. She jiggled the key up and down and back and forth with no result. She gave a loud sigh and tried again. The lock was ancient and the key looked like it was at least fifty years old. All she wanted to do was to get inside and close the door without alerting Sherlock of her presence. Determined to get in this time, she applied more pressure as she turned the key. There was a loud click and at first she thought she had met with success, but on closer inspection she realized to her horror the key had broken off inside the lock.
"Oh for heaven's sake!" she groaned in frustration.
"Is that you Mrs. Hudson?" A deep voice inquired and Molly heard footsteps on the stairs.
"I told you last week that key was not strong and that the lock needed to be replaced." Sherlock said as he rounded the landing and clattered down the last short flight of steps to the street level. He turned and headed toward 221A when he abruptly stopped. "Molly." His voice held surprise.
"Hello Sherlock. I'm sorry I disturbed you. I think I broke the key off in the lock," Molly managed to say in a distracted voice. Sherlock Holmes was standing in the hallway looking at her. He had obviously just gotten out of the shower. His damp hair was plastered to his scalp in little ringlets. He was wearing pajama bottoms but only his dressing gown covered top half of his body, the front gaping open to reveal a surprisingly muscular chest.
Sherlock didn't say anything. Molly grew uncomfortable and began to rattle off random sentences in explanation. "Mrs. Hudson said I could use her flat for tonight. I brought your violin. You left it at the party. Could you look and see if you can get the door open?" Her voice trailed off.
Sherlock moved in to look at the lock. Molly could smell the scent of the shampoo and soap he had used. It made her think of him in the shower and she moved uncomfortably, trying to think of anything else.
Sherlock straightened from where he had leaned down to peer at the lock. "I'm afraid this is going to need the services of a locksmith he said solemnly. There is nothing to be done about it tonight."
"Oh, okay," Molly said. She began to fish in her purse for her phone. "Well, since I can't stay here tonight, I'll just call a cab. I'm sorry I bothered you." She pulled the phone from her purse. Sherlock grabbed her hand. Molly looked up with a startled expression.
"You can stay with me," Sherlock said.
Molly's fingers trembled beneath his touch. "I don't think that would be wise. Tom . . . "
"Is out of the picture." He said matter of factly. "He broke the engagement. Am I wrong?" His hand rubbed the third finger of her left hand where the engagement ring had been.
"No," Molly said, "you are correct. How did you know I wasn't the one who broke the engagement?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Please, don't insult me Molly. Come along, you may have your choice of John's old room or the sofa in the lounge. Either will be better than the type of accommodations you will be able to find at this time of night."
Molly stayed where she was. "I don't think this is a good idea Sherlock. I think it would be wiser to spend the night on the sofa at Barts."
"And have every gossiping nurse twittering about your break up within an hour? Think, Molly. Do you really want to face unnecessary harassment? I seem to remember spending a few nights on your sofa a couple of years ago. Are you going to deny me the chance to return the hospitality? I am still your friend, and that is what friends do is it not?"
Put that way, Molly could not find a single reason to object. "Okay, yes I will stay. Thank you."
"Come along then," Sherlock said as he picked up his violin case and headed up the stairs. Molly trailed along behind.
221b was a cluttered mess. Molly had only seen Sherlock's flat a couple of times; once at the fateful Christmas Party from hell that she would rather forget. And a couple of times to pick up or deliver body parts for Sherlock's experiments. Sherlock walked across the room and picked up the stash of newspapers on the sofa and dumped them unceremoniously on the floor in the corner.
"Have a seat." He disappeared down the hallway and returned a few moments later wearing a plain grey tee shirt under the dressing gown. "I'll make tea," Sherlock said as he hurried off into the adjoining kitchen. Molly could hear him swearing under his breath as he fumbled about, knocking over beakers and flasks in his rush to produce a decent cup of tea.
"If you are planning on poisoning me," Molly called out on an impulse, "I want arsenic. I prefer my poison sweet please." There was dead silence in the kitchen. Molly bit her lip. Her quirky sense of humor and reference to the best man speech from earlier today was over the top it seemed. She opened her mouth to apologize when she heard a low rumble come from the kitchen. What was that? It took her a few seconds to realize he was laughing. No, she clarified, he was chuckling. Who knew that Sherlock Holmes could chuckle? The sound made her think of a bullfrog at the bottom of a well, but she decided she liked it.
Sherlock appeared from the kitchen carrying a small tray which contained a teapot and matching cups of surprisingly delicate china. He saw her hesitant look and grinned. "I do know how to make proper tea, you know, and for your information, you will find the beverage to be exceptionally potable."
"Well, that's a relief," Molly said as he took a sip. The tea was excellent.
"I would never poison you, Molly," Sherlock said as he took a sip of his own tea. "That would be boring." Something about he look he gave her as he stared over his tea cup made Molly swallow. Why was he staring at her neck? She swallowed again.
"Oh, and just how would you do me in?" Molly asked, trying to sound casual. He was still staring at her neck.
Sherlock grinned and took another sip of his tea. "Oh, I haven't decided. One mustn't rush these things. It might take me a lifetime to decide. Relax Molly, I'm joking. Have a biscuit?"
"I knew that," Molly declared as she helped herself to a chocolate biscuit. They sat in companionable silence as they finished their tea.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Sherlock suddenly asked. "That's what friends do, isn't it?"
"Yes, friends do," Molly confirmed, "But no, I don't want to talk about it. It's over and done with and I would rather move on."
"Good," Sherlock said.
He stood up and walked over to the corner of the room and soon the lively beat of a Salsa tune could be heard. Sherlock pushed the coffee table the side and scooted furniture until a clear space was made in front of the sofa. He held out his hand to Molly. "Dance with me," he said to the astonished pathologist.
"Salsa?" she breathed in as her heart gave a flip.
"Hmm, this is a collection of songs I recommended to John and Mary for the evening do." He frowned slightly, "It appears John has two left feet. We decided Salsa was too steep a learning curve for him. He had enough trouble with the simple waltz."
"If you don't know how, I can teach you," Sherlock said.
"I know the basic steps," Molly admitted. "I didn't know you knew how to dance."
"There are a lot of things you don't know about me," he answered and pulled her to her feet.
It soon became evident that Molly knew quite a lot about Salsa. Sherlock led her into more and more elaborate twists and turns. Molly easily fell into the nuances of his moves and they soon were dancing as if they had practiced together for years. Her hips twisted with each step, the skirt of her yellow dress whipping back and forth. Sherlock was a fantastic dancer. His moves were crisp and his guidance was incredibly easy to follow. Molly soon forgot to be nervous and relaxed into his steps and turns with ease. With each new song their dancing became steamier. Finally the music changed to a slow romantic beat. Sherlock wrapped his tall frame around her small body and they swayed together hardly moving at all. It was the most erotic thing Molly had ever experienced. All the old emotion and longings she had harbored for the detective came crashing to the top. Molly was overwhelmed. The song ended and another started, but neither moved. Sherlock lifted his hand to gently cup Molly's chin as he bent to place a warm kiss on her lips. The kiss deepened and Molly raised her arms to his shoulders so that she could run her fingers through the rich dark curls on the back of his head.
"Stay with me tonight," Sherlock murmured into her ear.
"Yes," Molly said simply and the two began to sway down the hallway to Sherlock's room in time to the music.
xXx
Later, Sherlock lay on the bed with Molly curled against his side. He looked down and gently brushed a lock of hair from her face. She stirred in her sleep and smiled. "Sherlock," she breathed, and then nestled close against him.
He wasn't Molly's first, but she had been his. He knew she had probably had better sex than what he had offered, but she seemed content and he hadn't heard any complaints. He smirked slightly, he was an incredibly fast learner when he wanted to be, and right now Molly Hooper was at the top of his list. As he drifted off to sleep he could hear the DVD player was still on. He smiled as he recognized the tune; it was the song that had been playing as he left the party earlier tonight. He hummed softly along with the words:
Oh what a night.
Why'd it take so long to see the light?
Seemed so wrong, but now it seems so right.
What a lady what a night.
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Lyrics are from December 1963, by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons.