The case was cracked; the perpetrator of the crimes caught and all was well in the world of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Other than Sherlock being wrong about which brother was the criminal, something that he was sure John wouldn't let him forget easily. Neither would he be easily forgiven for insisting on the formal suit and tie dress code, something that was second nature to Sherlock but most abhorred by his best mate.
"At least he didn't make you dance…specially a dip at the end," Mary's words were an attempt to soothe, but the twinkle in her eye gave her humour away. Molly chortled and Greg joined her, the doctor's discomfort and the detective's sheepish look feeding their amusement.
As the Watsons left for their home, Greg offered to drop Molly.
"Ah, I'll head back to Barts…my shift starts soon, so no use trekking home and back, I would rather nap at the hospital. And, for once, I came prepared. I will change into my lovely, beautiful scrubs and flats there."
"I'll drop you then." Sherlock offered. Molly was frankly relieved as Sherlock had a way better percentage of hailing cabs than any one she knew.
She rested her head against the window of the vehicle, watching the empty lit streets of a city taking a breather. She loved this time of the night, when the lights were brighter but time seemed to slow down.
She frowned a bit when the detective followed her out once they reached Barts, paying off the cabbie and insisting on escorting her inside.
But instead of the labs, he guided her by the elbow to the tiny courtyard helmed between the Neuro and the Ortho departments. The area was lit up in yellow lights, the gentle breeze swinging the little branches of the adolescent tree growing in the centre.
It felt wonderful, peaceful. They sipped the surprisingly good coffee from the nearby vending machine (a machine Molly immediately adopted as worth the walk from her labs), the silence between them comfortable, earned.
"Thanks for the coffee Sherlock. I didn't realise how wonderful this place feels at night."
He simply looked at her for a while, like he was weighing his words. "It won't make you feel alone."
She gave him a wide smile in agreement. But as she got up, disposing of her coffee cup, he held out his hand. She frowned a bit, not sure of his intention till he tilted his head and offered his hand again.
He got up the moment she placed her hand in his, pulling her in, placing his other hand around her waist. Before she could realise what was happening, they were gliding across that isolated yet warm courtyard, their feet moving to a music that was conducted by the boughs of the tree in the centre.
Molly gradually relaxed into the dance, Sherlock proving to be an expert dancer…of course he was. Their gaze, that had been guarded and hopeful at the same time, gradually melted into one of comfort, with smiles tugging at their lips and eyes. Molly followed as Sherlock led her around the small space, thoroughly enjoying herself and for once, feeling none of her usual nervous emotions. They carried on for a while, both lost in their world hidden between those high walls.
They gradually stopped, both curtsying formally. The wide smiles they shared at that moment, slightly breathless, were worth their weight in gold, Molly acknowledged. For Sherlock had let his guard down, engaging her in an art he privately loved and admired. She knew the value of that, knew the trust he had to have in her to let her in. It was worth a thousand ballets and waltzes…definitely worth more than any 'coffees' they had shared.