She was nervous as she had not been since the first time John had asked her to dinner. They had now been seeing each other for six months, and John had planned a special evening for them. In fact, they both had the next day off of work, and so they could stay out as late as they pleased. Tomorrow they were going to the art museum and then a movie—a casual, leisurely day more in line with their usual dates. But tonight, John was taking her to the Ritz Hotel for dinner and dancing.
The Ritz. Mary had never even dreamed of going to such an elegant place. Now she dressed carefully in her best gown and fussed over her hair as she had never done before. Molly, beside herself with excitement for her friend, had come over the night before to manicure nails. This evening was costing John a fortune he could ill afford, and Mary was determined they should enjoy it.
"Dinner and dancing at the Ritz," Molly had sighed dreamily as she painted Mary's nails. "That's so romantic, Mary. You'll have the time of your lives. You'll dance all night, just like in the movies."
"Maybe," Mary had said doubtfully. She was excited about the food and the atmosphere. It would certainly be an experience to savour and keep as a treasured memory forever. But there was just one problem.
"You've known him for several years, Molly," she said hesitantly. "Does he go dancing often?"
"Oh, I don't think so. It's so expensive, isn't it? But I have danced with him many times at the NSY benefits, and he's wonderful! You don't need to worry about him stepping on your toes. He's a beautiful dancer," Molly assured her.
"That isn't what I'm worried about," Mary admitted. "Molly, I can't dance. I never learned. And here he's spending all this money, and I will most certainly disappoint him."
"No, you won't. I'll teach you some simple steps," Molly offered. And they had practiced late into the night until Molly had finally put a stop to the lessons in despair. "I'm sorry, dear," she sighed. "You just can't do it, can you? I have to say you're the most uncoordinated person I've ever tried to dance with. You might improve with time, but certainly not in one night. Just tell him, Mary. He's mad about you. He won't care."
Mary knew Molly was right. But it was so frustrating to be such a klutz. And she wanted so much to dance with him. The thought of gliding gracefully over the dance floor in his arms made her feel giddy with longing. Knowing she would instead stumble about like a drunkard and step all over him, as she had been stepping on Molly all evening, was unbearable. She would rather just not even try. Maybe dancing wasn't very important to him. She would just say "no thank you" when he asked her to dance and explain that she was saving him from possibly permanent injury. And he would smile that wonderful smile and say, "Whatever you like, love." It would be fine.
She needed this to be fine. Mary had gone out with men before, but she'd never really fancied any of them. John was different. In a world full of dull people, he was interesting. She knew she could spend the rest of her life with him and never be bored. It had taken her three months to convince him that she truly wanted to be with him; that she respected and admired him, enjoyed his company in any situation, found him funny and endearing, intelligent and capable. It had taken her another three months to convince him that Sherlock would not frighten her away.
Now she wondered how long it would take to show him that she was committed to a relationship with him for as long as he wanted her. She even dared to think that they might eventually talk about marriage. He never talked about the future; it was as if he'd never considered the fact that he had one. And after years of bachelorhood, she was aware it might be difficult for him to adjust to the idea of being part of a couple. But Mary wanted this more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. She would wait however long it took for him to decide to take a chance on her.
He arrived, breathless but on time, a dozen roses on his arm. Resplendent in his best suit and tie, he was, she thought, the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Judging from his eyes, he liked what he saw, as well. So far, so good. Mary began to feel her confidence returning. They did get on so well, after all. They were great friends, and they loved each other. What had she to be nervous about?
The hotel was a marvel of tasteful elegance. It was a delight just to gaze about and admire it, and to see the other diners in their evening wear. Dinner was incredible. She'd never had such food before; every course was an adventure. The conversation was sparkling, as usual. Their interests and sense of humour were perfectly matched, and they had never found it difficult to find things to talk about.
But then even dessert was cleared away by the efficient wait staff and they were sipping a final coffee, smiling into each other's eyes and feeling perfectly content. It was a time to savour forever. But Mary knew the moment was coming when she must disappoint him. Sure enough, he held his hand out to her and said, "Mary, would you . . . . "
She cut him off before he could ask the dreaded question. "Please don't ask me. I can't bear to say no to you. But I just can't do it. I've tried it before, and it just isn't any good. I'll only end up hurting you or humiliating you and making you sorry you even brought me here." She smiled gently as she spoke to make light of the situation. It was, after all, only a dance.
But John's reaction was bewildering. His mouth hung open for several seconds, and he looked as stricken as if she'd slapped him. Then he quickly collected himself, straightened his back in his soldier's attitude, and carefully composed his face into a neutral expression. "I'm sorry," he said in a nearly expressionless voice. He could not, however, erase all of the hurt from his eyes. "I'd thought. . . I mean, I assumed. . . ." He turned his eyes away from hers then, looking off into the middle distance, speaking softly now as if to himself. "I assumed too much. I apologize for presuming you'd be . . . interested."
Mary felt guilty. Apparently dancing meant a good deal more to him than she'd ever guessed. "No, I'm sorry. I'm being selfish. Honestly, we can give it a try if you'd really like to. After all, you planned such a wonderful evening for us. I didn't mean to spoil it. We'll do whatever you like."
Now he looked truly horrified. "No, no! You know your own mind. I'd never . . . I mean, I wouldn't dream of . . . . This isn't a thing I take lightly, you know. I've never. . . I've never asked anyone else before." His expression changed to puzzlement. "Wait, you said you've tried it before? Why did you never mention it? I mean, I thought we were getting, you know, serious?"
"I don't know. It just never came up, I suppose." Mary was at a loss now. Why was her dancing history important to him? He was visibly struggling to keep the devastated look from eyes, and she felt desperate to reassure him. He'd been rejected so often in the past, and for whatever mysterious reason, this dancing thing was a big deal to him. "I thought we were getting serious, too. I mean, I've told you I'm committed to this relationship. I really didn't think a little thing like this would matter so much. I'm sorry I've disappointed you," she said sincerely.
He still looked bewildered, but his expression became hopeful. "It's all right. It is rather an old-fashioned idea nowadays, anyway, isn't it? I . . . hope this doesn't make you uncomfortable with me. Can we just let things go on as they have, then?"
"Of course!" she exclaimed, relieved that the crisis seemed to have abated.
He put on a brave smile. "Well then, now that's out of the way, we'll just never mention it again. As long as we're here, though, would you care to dance with me?" He held out his hand again. This time, it had a bit of a tremor, and it broke her heart. But . . . oh! Now it was Mary's turn to stare, slack-jawed, as a shock of realization ran through her.
"Wait," she gulped, trying to make her brain form words. "Wait, you're asking me to dance? Now?"
"I'm sorry," he pulled his hand away again, looking confused. "I supposed that was . . . thoughtless of me. Timing."
"No, no, that's not what I mean," Mary cried, flustered. "I mean, you're only just asking me to dance NOW? You weren't trying to ask me to dance before now?"
His face mirrored her confusion as he mentally ran through the past conversation again in a new light. "This whole time, you thought I was asking you to dance?" he said at last. She nodded sheepishly, and his face now lit up with mingled joy and relief. "No, I wasn't, actually. I was about to ask you something entirely unrelated to dancing," he smiled.
Mary's heart leaped in excitement. "Ask me again, properly, and I promise to let you finish this time!" she said breathlessly, barely able to speak.
"I don't know. Perhaps the moment's passed, now," he mused thoughtfully.
"Tease!" she accused him. "Ask me, and I promise, whatever you ask, I'll say 'yes'!"
He chuckled. "That's a dangerous promise to make, isn't it?"
"I'm not afraid," Mary declared brazenly. "Ask me!"
"Well, perhaps this was my own fault for not doing this properly in the first place," John said soberly. He stood and walked around the table to her chair. As she turned to face him, he dropped to one knee and took both her hands in his. "Mary Morstan, would you marry me?" he asked, smiling into her eyes.
Mary's dimples deepened as joy filled her soul. "Yes. Oh, yes, I certainly will!" she replied, exuberantly kissing him.
"Wait, wait," he gasped in laughter. "One more thing!" She settled back into her chair, and he produced from his pocket a small box. Extracting an antique diamond ring, he took her hand once more and placed the gold band on her finger. Then he bent and kissed her hand, holding it to his lips for a long, lingering moment.
Mary laughed happily. "Oh, stand up, stand up!" she cried impatiently. "I want to hug you properly." And so she did, right in the middle of the Ritz Restaurant, unaware of the amusingly indulgent looks from the other diners.
"Let's do it soon, then. I'm not getting any younger, and I believe I've aged about a decade this evening alone," he said.
"Oh, as soon as you like," she returned. "I've nothing pressing on my calendar for ages."
"So, you'll marry me but you won't dance with me, is that it?" John murmured in her ear cheerfully.
"Oh, I'll dance with you if you like," Mary conceded graciously. "I broke all of Molly's toes yesterday when she tried to teach me, but you're a soldier. You're used to danger and pain and all that."
"Hmm. I'll take my chances," he replied, sweeping her onto the dance floor. And it was all that she had ever wished for. Except for the bruises.