A/N: Thanks for all who have read this story! You guys rock!
Sorry for the late update, I had this Spanish project, and it took up 9 ½ hours of my time this week and into most of the weekend. And also, my beta and I had a hard time getting together to revise it. However, this chapter is almost twice as long. Bonus!
…
Molly Hooper's stomach was on the verge of rejecting her dinner.
Though she had gotten over her stage fright a little, Molly was still very afraid of screwing up around people. She hated letting people down and she hated disappointing them. She could not screw up this show tonight.
Molly felt a hand rest on her shoulder, and she turned around to find Greg Lestrade, the owner of the venue and a good friend of hers.
"How're you doing?" Lestrade asked. "You look pale."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Molly lied. She was, quite possibly, not fine.
"Are you going to be okay?"
"Yes, I don't want to be a bother, I should be fine," But no guarantees, Molly thought nervously.
Lestrade nodded, realizing she wanted to be alone, and began to walk offstage. "Show starts in 10 minutes!" he announced to the crew.
Molly nodded and picked her guitar up again. She had tuned it twice at the theater already and once earlier back at home. Even so, she plucked the strings and turned the tuning heads. The piano was already onstage, and she had checked to make sure that sounded right as well.
The Silver Fox was a popular music venue in the London music scene where Molly played when she could. It was somewhat hard to get into, though she knew Lestrade well, so she could get in about once a month. She was playing the early Saturday night show, and she was so, so lucky to have gotten into it. Saturdays and Fridays were absolute nightmares to get into.
However, since she came here often, she had sort of a following of supporters, a small but steady group of fans that would come to see her shows.
She heard Lestrade's voice echo, "I'm going on now!" and Molly gathered her things, guitar in one hand and sheets of music in the other, and walked to the wings of the stage.
She looked up to the ceiling and prayed to some imaginary deity in her mind, Oh pleasepleaseplease don't make me fuck this up! Just this once, pretty please!
"Now most of you know this lovely young lady, a close friend of mine, the singing-guitarist-pianist, Molly Hooper!" He beckoned her onto the stage.
Molly, as calmly as she could, walked out on stage with everything in hand. Lestrade smiled at her and took her guitar from her hand so she could set up her sheet music on the stand. She smiled shyly at Lestrade as she took the guitar back from him with slightly trembling hands and sat down on her stool. He walked off the stage, leaving Molly to her performance, and she positioned her guitar on her lap a little better.
"How is everyone tonight?" she asked, into the microphone, to the crowd, trying her best to hide her nervousness.
An eager round of claps, cheers, and whoops swept through the almost-full venue of people.
"That's great! So, um, it's been a while since I've performed here, and I've only got an hour, so I might as well get along with this."
The audience cheered once more, and then they were silent.
Molly adjusted the music sheets, placed her fingers on the starting chords, and began to play.
The thing was, when one starts playing music, one tends to get lost in the tones and the chords and the keys and the majors and the sharps. The audience is forgotten and it's just the musician and the music.
It's their own little world, their own escape.
And Molly playing her music just like that.
Molly sang while she played. She had been told by many that she had a beautiful voice. It's hard to judge your own talent, so Molly didn't really know. She often felt her voice was too high and she would squeak on some of her words. But she loved singing nonetheless.
Although Molly had no significant other, she did sing songs about love. She had never really found another person to love, so she got most of her inspirations from books or movies. Her love life was her loneliness, and singing about loneliness only makes one feel lonelier.
She was being reminded of just that.
The half hour of her guitar songs was over, done in a flash. Surprised by the intensity of applause she got, Molly placed her guitar on the stand and moved over to the lovely concert grand piano.
One reason a many people loved The Silver Fox was because it was an overall great place. It was clean and rather nice, over eighty years old and still in good shape. But Molly loved it so much because of the piano.
The piano was a beautiful concert grand, 9 feet long, polished like a rich lawyer's shoe. It was always tuned to the right melody (although Molly checked before every show), and the keys were as white as fresh snow in the countryside. Molly loved to play the gorgeous instrument. It made the keyboard back at her flat seem incredibly small and cheap.
Molly set her sheet music up on the piano's stand, slid onto the bench, and placed her fingers lightly on the starting keys.
She began to play the songs, some with vocal and some without. Piano, she thought, was always easier to play than guitar, but harder to write for. You couldn't really manipulate the sound of a piano chord, unlike the sound of a guitar string.
Piano was also easier for her to lose herself in. The pushing of the keys and the rhythmic movement of her hands had a calming yet frantic feel, if that made any sense.
And, once again, the songs were over in a flash. She finished the last notes, keeping the damper pedal down until the chords had finished ringing out. Molly then stood up and walked over to the microphone in the center of the stage, smiling shyly as the audience began to applaud. She looked down, even more abashedly, as she waved their applause off self-deprecatingly.
"Uh, thank you. You guys are very sweet to come support me, even though I'm not very popular…"
She was cut off by good-hearted protests from the crowd, and she began to look down and blush profusely. They quieted down once more, and Molly resumed her short spiel.
"Um, anyway thank you all again. Music is a great passion of mine, and it's wonderful that all of you support me and listen to me play. Have a good night!"
The crowd applauded once again, whooping and yelling praise as Molly bowed, gathered her things, and walked off the stage.
She felt the thrills of adrenaline giving her shakes. Every performer loves the thrill they get after performing from the audience's praise, showing they were at least decent. Molly was no different. She looked down at her trembling hands and could tell she was smiling, giddy with excitement.
Lestrade approached her, also grinning, but not quite for the same reasons as Molly. "Molly, you were fantastic!"
She smiled back. "Thank you. I was worried I was going to faint!"
Lestrade chuckled. "That was one time! And it was forever ago, too."
Molly shuddered and blushed at the memory.
Lestrade chuckled again, "Oh well, we all have our first times performing. Oh, and there's two people I know who want to speak with you. I don't know why, but they probably have a good reason. And here they come!"
Molly looked over her shoulder, following Greg's gaze, and saw two men walking towards her.
The first man was a considerable amount shorter than the other, and a bit older than him, too. He had short, sandy hair and a polite smile on his face. Holding himself with perfect posture, he walked with purpose, in perfect beat with the man beside him. He gave off the aura of "I'm a nice guy." He also seemed to be the mature one in the relationship, as well as a bit more emotionally stable. He would be attractive, sure, but not really in a love way. More of a reliable-friend way.
Molly decided she liked him.
The other man, however, was a different story. He had paper-pale skin and piercing eyes that couldn't quite decide if they wanted to be blue, green, or gray. A semi-organized mess of black curls sat on his head. He was tall, taller than Molly, and even Lestrade. He wasn't smiling, unlike his companion. His high cheekbones gave him a regal appearance, and the way he held himself- straight, tall, eyes scanning the room- made him look like he was a king observing a crowd of peasants.
He looked familiar, like another musician, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Molly was always busy working at St. Bart's morgue (she was a pathologist, since she didn't make enough money to support herself from her music and she had a degree in mortuary science) or writing new songs, so she didn't see a lot of other artists perform, but she did have time to see shows at The Silver Fox every so often. She was eighty percent sure she had seen him before. A face like his was hard to completely forget.
Molly found him attractive, but he just seemed… cold.
She came to the conclusion that she didn't like him as much as the other man walking beside him. Molly, in her quietness, had become quite adept at reading people just through observation, or else she wouldn't have been able to determine any of this about either of the men.
Neither of them looked very important or high-up, despite the taller man's royal gaze. So they weren't people looking for a record deal. Not that Molly was really expecting one.
"Hello, you must be Molly Hooper," the shorter man said, flashing a polite smile and sticking out his hand. "I'm John Watson."
"Nice to meet you," Molly said, shaking the offered hand as firmly as she could. Her eyes wandered to the other man, and John noticed.
"Oh yes, this is my best friend and flatmate, Sherlock Holmes."
Molly knew this name. He had played at the Silver Fox a few times. He wasn't that well known, and Molly had only seen him in passing. But a man with his looks and a name like that wasn't hard to remember.
Molly had heard he was a good artist, though. She was impressed with him, despite the little she had heard of his music.
Sherlock took a bit longer to stick his hand out. His eyes were racing over her, analyzing her. Molly squirmed a little, and he stuck his hand out. His eyes never left hers, after a cursory look over her body. Not in a sexual way- seemingly more out of an almost scientific interest. This added to Molly's perception of his coldness.
Molly felt herself blush a little. She was still human, after all.
"Anyway," John said, "We're here to discuss some business. Sherlock is a musician, much like you. He's always been content working by himself, but being his manager and his friend, I'm always on the lookout for his best interests, and I thought working with someone else would help him be happier and become less of a…"
"Sociopath?" Lestrade suggested.
John rolled his eyes, "Yeah, sure. I was going for something a bit less insulting, but that works. Anyway," he looked at Molly and smiled apologetically, "Sherlock was impressed by your performance and he would like to work with you."
John clearly did not waste any time getting to the point.
Molly was quite taken aback. "Me? You want me to work with you?" She directed her question to the man in question.
Sherlock, who had not spoken in the entire conversation, finally spoke.
"Yes. Although you're one of the meekest women I've ever met, you have a passable amount of talent- more than is currently locatable in London today. I have no desire to look outside of the city for a partner in my musical career, and you obviously don't already have a partner you're working with. Should you accept my offer, we will practice often. I won't accept any laziness or slacking. Your skills must always be at their highest, as mine will be. I play violin and piano, and you play guitar and piano. You have a pleasing soprano voice, and I have a very deep, melodic baritone. Overall, our instruments and voices will complement each other nicely. We would play and sing duets on the piano, and you would teach me to play the guitar. We would share in the songwriting."
Molly felt even more intimidated than she had probably ever felt in her life.
She gulped a little and began, "That should work, but I'm a morgue pathologist at St. Bart's. I work from 7 in the morning to 5 at night on weekdays. I can practice after work and on weekends."
"Where do you live?" John asked, giving her a reassuring smile.
"A few blocks away from Bart's. If we practice after work, I can take the Tube to your place from the hospital. Where do you live?"
"221B Baker Street," Sherlock answered. "Next to a café named Speedy's."
"Okay," Molly nodded. That wasn't too far from a Tube station.
She and John exchanged phone numbers. Sherlock didn't offer his.
"So, when do you want to practice?" Molly looked expectantly at Sherlock.
John was about to answer when Sherlock chimed in, "Tomorrow. 3 o'clock. Be punctual. I despise tardiness. I anticipate seeing more of your potential." Sherlock turned away and swept back down the hallway, leaving Molly, Lestrade, and John in his wake. Molly also heard a small mutter from Sherlock that sounded like, "But I'm not getting my hopes up."
John flashed another one of his 'Sorry about him' smiles (Molly wondered if that was the only one he could make) and said, "Okay then, I guess that will work. See you tomorrow, then?"
Molly nodded yes, and John trotted off to catch up with his friend.
Molly watched them go and jumped a little when she felt Lestrade's hand on her shoulder.
"You're lucky. Sherlock's great. He's a prick sometimes, but he's talented. You're a strong woman, Molly, and I know you can get through to him. He's got a heart of ice, or maybe no heart at all. But maybe you can thaw it out. I know John already has a little bit."
Molly smiled up at him. As he walked away, she went back to her guitar and packed it up. She slipped on her coat, grabbed her bag and case, and walked out into the cold.
Once outside, she stared up into the blackness of the London sky. This evening had been quite hectic by her standards. She had performed in front of a large crowd (by her standards), and now she was to work with another musician. And a talented musician, at that.
Molly was quite shocked from the whole ordeal, and she couldn't gather her thoughts enough to think much all the way home.
…
A/N: Thanks again! Sorry about the late update! Cookies for everyone!