AUTHOR'S NOTE:
I do try to do longer chapters, but with no luck.
This is another plot point from Pride and Prejudice. I think there will be just one more, then the rest of the plot points will be either by me, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle or Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss (as I will be referencing a case)
The Watsons were sat around the dining table the next morning and of course, Mrs Watson had brought up the subject of the Holmes'.
"He's a detective!" Irene beamed.
Mrs Watson gave her a questioning look. "Gentlemen don't work, dear."
"It's not his job really. He assists the police out of his own good will. I think it's rather admirable."
John sighed to himself. Of course Irene had to bring it up. Sometimes John feared she had little tact. Mrs Watson would consider Mr Holmes' 'hobby' to be ungentlemanly, and possibly even vulgar, if she ever found out anything about him being in the presence of corpses.
"Please excuse me; I'm going to go for a walk. I might see if Miss Mary is home." John stood up from his seat.
John fetched his hat and left.
Sherlock was sprawled across the sofa, his hair messy and his jacket askew.
"Don't lounge about, Sherlock; it's improper." Mycroft ordered.
"It is so dull here; I want to go back to London." Sherlock demanded.
"I think you need some time away from death and crime; it can't be good for health to be surrounding yourself in it constantly."
"But I enjoy being surrounded by death and crime."
Sherlock missed the thrill of a new case; the searching for new clues and the puzzle solving. It stimulated his mind and gave him use. In the country he felt absolutely pointless.
One of the Morstans' servants let John inside, and led him to the drawing room.
"Mr Watson to see Miss Mary." The servant reported.
"Mr Watson!" Miss Mary chimed. "It is a delight to see you again."
"Likewise." John replied. "Would you care to join me for a walk?"
"Certainly; I will just change into my walking clothes."
Mary left the drawing room. In her absence, John chatted to Mrs Morstan, who informed him about an upcoming ball.
"Oh yes, you will come, won't you?" Mary asked as she re-entered the room.
John turned to her. "Of course; it should be an enjoyable event, I imagine."
Eventually Sherlock decided that he couldn't lounge about all day, so he straightened out his clothes, put on his hat and went out for a walk. He didn't tell Mycroft in case he wanted to come along; he wasn't in the mood for a lecture about mannerisms and such. He walked along the road for about twenty minutes when he saw two figures approaching him. He kept his head down and kept walking hoping he'd be left in peace.
"Mr Holmes,"
Sherlock looked up. It was John Watson with a female companion.
"Good morning, Mr Watson." Sherlock gave a slight attempt at a smile.
"Mr Holmes, this is Miss Mary Morstan." Mr Watson gestured toward his blonde companion, who curtseyed.
Sherlock nodded.
"Are you walking anywhere in particular?" Mr Watson asked.
"No, just getting some fresh air." Sherlock explained. "How about you?" he added, as he thought of his brother's nagging to be 'polite'.
"Quite the same really; by all means, walk with us." Mr Watson offered.
Sherlock frowned. "I am sorry, but I must refuse; I don't think I would be very good company."
"Maybe some other time."
"Have you heard about the ball tomorrow?" Miss Mary added.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Yes, you will come, won't you? It would probably be considered snobbish not to come." John smirked.
Clever move. Sherlock thought. John Watson had trapped him, so if he refused the offer he would be considered a snob. He had no choice in the matter. "Alright then."
"I'll pick you up on the way." Mr Watson smiled. "Good day."
"We're going to a ball tomorrow." Sherlock announced when he arrived back home.
Mycroft looked up from his paper. "Splendid. You remember how to dance, I take it?"
"Of course I do."
"And you will need a partner."
Sherlock groaned.
"Well you can't very well dance by yourself; you'd look ridiculous. Dance with Miss Irene; you're already introduced."
The next day, Sherlock prepared for the ball. Truthfully, he did rather enjoy dancing, but he just wished he didn't have to do it with a partner, as that made it a social activity, which was something he wasn't really fond of. Mycroft was also getting ready, but he most likely wouldn't be dancing, which to Sherlock, was extremely unfair.
The Watsons' carriage arrived right on time, much to Mycroft's satisfaction. They climbed in and were greeted by John Watson, Mary Morstan and Miss Irene. The carriage ride only took around fifteen minutes; they walked inside together and the mingling began. Sherlock stood around the edge of the dance floor for a while before Mycroft nagged him to ask Miss Irene to dance. He found her in the crowd and cleared his throat to get her attention.
"Could I have this dance?" he asked.
"You may." She smiled, and he took her hand.
They joined the other dancers and although Sherlock didn't speak a word, Irene kept staring at him, looking delighted. Any other man would have thought she looked very pretty, but Sherlock wasn't one to notice beauty. She was wearing a pale green gown, with her hair tied back, her dark brown curls dangling down her back. She moved gracefully while dancing, never taking her eyes off her partner. Sherlock stared back, but not with admiration or delight, just a plain stare which he often had when he was concentrating. It was obvious she was attracted to him, and it was for this reason that Sherlock hoped she didn't assume anything of him asking her to dance. He was not trying to court her, only trying to please his brother.
When the dance finished, Sherlock bowed, then returned to Mycroft.
John had just finished dancing with Mary when he left the dance floor to get a drink for him and Mary. He passed by the Holmes brothers who were in conversation.
"What are your thoughts on Miss Irene?" Mycroft Holmes asked conversationally.
"She's not good enough to tempt me." Sherlock Holmes replied.
John had half a mind to speak up about this rudeness, but he decided against it. He fetched two drinks and remarked to himself that Sherlock Holmes was the rudest, most unsociable person he'd ever met.