Sally smoothed soft shantung fabric over her hips as she surveyed the ballroom. She knew the snug fit of the dark blue sleeveless sheath dress was an attractive look for her, and the slit at the right knee afforded her the ease of movement she preferred while working, even if her heels were higher than she liked. Because despite the splendor of the setting, this was her job tonight - to be beautiful and blend into the crowd and apprehend the suspect whom Sherlock would identify.

Speak of the devil, she thought to herself as Sherlock approached with Molly at his side. The pink of Molly's chiffon gown matched the glow in her cheeks. Sally smiled. Molly and Greg were good for each other. Sherlock, on the other hand, appeared distinctly uncomfortable in his formal wear.

Sally leaned over and kissed Molly on the cheek. "I'm guessing that's how posh folks greet each other at events like this?"

Molly giggled. "You look wonderful. I mean, you're always gorgeous, but that dress really suits you."

"Thank you. You are lovely yourself." Sally then spoke to Sherlock, perfectly attired in black tie. "You look good, too."

"Please do not feel compelled to bestow trite compliments like the rest of the rabble here." Sherlock attempted to hide an annoyed tug on his tie with an imperious toss of his head. The motion drew Molly's attention, however.

"You're wearing a tie. I've only seen you wear one at…" Molly stopped short of mentioning John's wedding.

Sherlock kindly ignored her gaffe. "We are all playing our parts tonight. One does not wear rags when attending a gala raising funds for Her Majesty's veterans."

"So, Mycroft told you to wear a tie?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, signaling Molly was correct.

Sally said, "Well, we're here early enough to have a good view of everyone as they enter the room."

"Yes. Mycroft has secured us a table near the center. Shall we?" Sherlock raised his arm indicating the general direction of the table. As the three took their seats, a string quartet began quietly tuning their instruments at the other end of the room.

Sally contemplated the layout of the room again. "There will be dancing. That should allow us to mingle."

Sherlock harrumphed dismissively, and Molly asked, "Does Greg even know how to dance, you know, properly?"

"He most certainly should know how to dance. How else could he ever pursue an undercover investigation like this? How we as a society have arrived at this point…" Sherlock stopped mid-sentence, focused on the room's entrance. Sally and Molly turned their heads.

Captain John Watson was moving down the receiving line in his dress blues, cap tucked under his left arm.

Sally and Molly both turned back to Sherlock. Mouth slightly parted, eyes unblinking, he stared John.

Sally had never observed such stillness in Sherlock outside of a hospital bed. She stage-whispered at Molly. "Is he okay?"

Molly shook her head. "How would you feel if one of your secret teenage fantasies just walked into the room?"

"Secret," Sherlock blurted.

Molly placed a hand on Sherlock's forearm where it rested on the table. "Doesn't have to be a secret with us. You're with friends here."

With a pained expression and bowing of his head, Sherlock whispered, "Friends."

"Yeah, Sherlock, friends." Sally felt her heart break a little for him. "We are your friends, and no matter what has been happening recently, John will always be your friend."

"Yup. You can't get rid of us so easily, mate." Greg had approached without any of them noticing, and Sherlock startled at the sound of his voice. Catching Sherlock off-guard was almost impossible to do, a testament to his distraction. Sally knew seeing John in his uniform wasn't the only thing occupying Sherlock's thoughts. According to Greg, Sherlock and John had only been in limited contact since the raid where Mary was arrested. The father of Abigail had been located shortly thereafter, a naive pawn in Mary's machinations with Magnussen, and after clearing background checks, he had been granted full custody of the baby girl. John had moved into a hotel and had been refusing shifts at the clinic as well as cases with Sherlock. As far as Sally knew, this was the first time Sherlock had seen John in the several weeks since John had declared he needed time alone to work through his pain.

Sherlock understood pain. He understood being alone. But Sally knew Sherlock could not comprehend John being in pain and alone. His own frustration and loneliness had been clear at recent crime scenes. Sally was hopeful the case tonight would bring an end to this stage of John's grief and reunite the two men for good.

Greg sat down next to Molly, leaving the remaining open seat next to Sherlock for John. As a server placed flutes of champagne at each setting, Greg said, "It's good to see John out in the world again. You must be missing him, Sherlock."

Sherlock gave a single nod as a response and remained focused on the table in front of him. He reached out for his champagne, but his hand shook so he snatched it back again.

"You okay?"

Sherlock emitted a disgusted snort at the suspicion filtering through the concern in Greg's voice. Molly jumped in to defend him. "The only drug Sherlock is interested in at the moment is John in his uniform."

Greg laughed as Sherlock rubbed his temples in frustration.

Sally couldn't help but continue to tease him. "See the way he's walking over here?" Sally watched as Sherlock flitted his gaze over John before concentrating the table again. She continued. "That's a man who knows he looks good."

"Hello, everyone." John smiled at his seated friends. Sally was pleased to see the smile appeared genuine, unforced. "It's good to see all of you." John rested his right hand on Sherlock's left shoulder, giving a squeeze as he took the empty seat. Sherlock greeted John with a quick smile of his own, but did not say anything.

"We're happy to see you, too," said Molly, filling the silence.

Sally watched Sherlock and John seated together, decked out in their finery, and was struck by what an attractive couple they made. She obviously was not the only one, as Greg said, "I don't think I've ever seen you all..." and he waved his hand towards John's torso.

John tugged on his cuffs to straighten out his sleeves. "Mycroft suggested I break out the uniform for tonight's festivities."

"Mycroft." Sherlock muttered the name under his breath.

Oh, well played. A suspicion formed in Sally's mind. A matching one flickered in Sherlock's eyes.

John gestured to the crowded room. "Now I'm grateful for the advice." He turned to Sherlock. "Not all of us clean up as nicely as you do."

Oh my god, is Sherlock blushing? From the smirk on Molly's face as she looked at Sally, he definitely was.

"That's a lot of metal on your chest." Sally had to admit, although she knew John had been a military doctor, the sheer number of medals conveyed a different side of the man seated across from her.

"Never understood the sense of individual awards. None of us get through war on our own." John paused and shook his head. "I'm learning none of us get through life very well on our own."

Greg raised his glass. "To comrades in arms and in life."

The rest of the table toasted and sipped their champagne. The musicians commenced their first tune. "I recognize this, I think," said Molly.

"Blue Danube. Strauss." Sherlock sighed. "Banal."

John grinned and bumped against Sherlock with his shoulder. Sherlock chuckled in response. Sally sensed she was picking up a private joke between the two men. "Do you enjoy dancing, John?"

"Sometimes, Sally." John cast a fond glance at Sherlock. "Did you know Sherlock taught me how to dance for my wedding?"

"No." Sally attempted to picture Sherlock dancing. "Really?"

"Yes. I could never match his skill and grace, but I think I managed a decent waltz."

"Why a waltz?"

A complicated sequence of emotions chased each other across John's face - sadness and fondness and regret and pain and love. "Sherlock composed a waltz for Mary and me as a wedding gift and didn't want me to make a fool of myself in front of friends and family."

Sally envisioned the two men taking the awkward first steps of new dancing partners, one desperately in love with the other and trying to hide it, the other trying to hide from himself. "Did he succeed?"

"Oh, I made a fool of myself that day, to be sure." John then directly addressed Sherlock, sitting quietly at his side. "You know, I was trying to work up the nerve to ask you to dance with me, but you left the reception so quickly."

"It had been a demanding day for me."

John pressed on. "But you love to dance, and you left without dancing."

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I couldn't stay any

longer."

The musicians proceeded to play a different piece of music. John took a deep breath, then pushed back his chair and stood up. He held out a hand to Sherlock. "May I have this dance?"

Sherlock blinked several times. He reached out and placed his hand in John's. Together they walked hand-in-hand to the dance floor and joined the rest of the dancing couples.

Sally took out her phone and took a photo of the dancing men. She fired off a quick text with the pic to Mycroft. Really?

"Hey." Molly nudged Greg. "Sherlock is following John's lead."

With the gruff affection he frequently displayed towards Sherlock, Greg replied, "He's been doing that since the day they met."

Sally's phone vibrated in her hand. She glanced down at it and started laughing. "You two should go dance. We are officially off duty."

"There's no case?"

"How can you tell?"

Sally replied to their simultaneous questions. "Mycroft just texted me the upcoming playlist for this evening. The next half hour consists of classical music, mainly waltzes. Then, after the musicians take a short break, they will perform, and I quote, 'frightfully popular music.' "

The three burst into laughter. As Molly regained a bit of control, she said, "Sherlock will have John out of here before halfway through the first song."

Sally nodded. "He was suspicious about this case as soon as he found out Mycroft urged John to wear his uniform."

"Hell, I'd shag John the way he looks tonight, too."

Molly playfully thwacked Greg in the arm. "Now, now, leave John to Sherlock."

Sally waved towards the crowd. "Have some fun. I'll sit here and pretend to still be on the case for awhile longer."

"You sure?" Greg's voice betrayed his eagerness to spin Molly around the dance floor.

Sally raised her hand and a server passed her a flute of champagne. "Yes. I'm fine just where I am."

Greg presented Molly with a sweeping bow straight from a Victorian romance novel. Sally laughed and Molly rose from her seat after mock swooning. After a few stumbling steps, Greg and Molly moved smoothly across the floor. Sally raised her glass to them and mouthed Get him, girl at Molly, who blushed but gave a thumbs-up behind Greg's back. Sally watched as John danced with Sherlock, whose body language was melting from uncertain to relaxed. John reached up to whisper in Sherlock's ear, tilting his head at a nearby couple. Sherlock immediately launched into rapid-fire speech, making both men giggle within seconds.

No, Sally thought to herself, tonight won't bring happily ever after to Sherlock and John. There'd be dinner at Baker Street after the dancing, a takeaway from the same Chinese restaurant where they ate after John not-so-secretly-to-Sally shot the cabbie that night so long ago. John would likely even spend the night, in the room he once called his own and which Sherlock always kept ready for him.

A man at the next table smiled at Sally and lifted his glass in salute. Mid-40s. South Asian. Born and raised in London. Divorced. Single. Not interested in something serious right now. She nodded and smiled back at him, lifting her half-full flute in kind. The night is looking up. She sipped champagne and watched her friends, drifting across the dance floor and ever closer towards each other.