It was his final concert. After tonight, he would be stepping down as director of the Symphony.
It was a bittersweet Christmas Eve. He didn't regret his decision to leave and move into composing full-time.
No, it was the Principal Violinist who was haunting his thoughts this night.
It wasn't love, he told himself. The same thing he'd been telling himself for three years.
But lately he'd been having a hard time believing it.
Brushing a hand through his curls, Sherlock flipped through the stacks of music covering the stand. Behind him, the audience's applause had died down and they were breathlessly waiting.
The final movement was his own interpretation of the Christmas hymn O Holy Night. Featuring a Violin soloist. It had taken him months to get right before introducing it to the orchestra. But when he did, seeing her brown eyes light up in surprise and delight made all his work worth it.
Finally, he pulled out the director's piece.
He looked beside him to where Molly Hooper stood. Her red gown fit her beautifully and she'd left her hair down, a silver bow pendant her only decoration. She looked up at him and smiled when he nodded.
He lifted his arms and she lifted her bow.
To hear her play was near heaven; her fingers curved around the neck of the Violin gracefully as she moved with the sway of her bow.
As the piece progressed, the accompaniment grew to a crescendo, then faded quickly. Leaving Molly to play the final stanza alone.
Sherlock lowered his arms and turned to watch her play.
The haunting notes that poured from her fingers pulled at him like nothing else had ever done before. She truly lost herself in the music, forgetting the audience, the orchestra, even herself it seemed.
He was proud of her, of how she'd grown since she joined the Symphony. Her confidence in herself and her remarkable talent as a violinist grew and she'd flourished under his tutelage.
He was suddenly struck at the thought that he would no longer see her every day, or catch her eye over the stand and watch her nose twist when she played a wrong note, see the fierce determination in her eyes as she took whatever composition he gave her and poured her heart into it until it felt as if she was playing his very heartstrings.
Sherlock's pulse began to race as realisation began to dawn.
As the strains of her final note faded into the stunned crowd, Molly opened her eyes and looked right at him, tears on her cheeks, and he finally saw it. The pain and beauty of her emotions, poured into song, all for him.
She was playing for him.
His baton clattered to the floor and his long legs closed the distance between them in two strides. With one hand on her waist and the other on her cheek, he lowered his head and kissed her with all the longing and love that he had finally set free.
'Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper,' he mumbled against her lips. She smiled and pulled him back down, her arms going around his neck.
Around them, the audience applauded wildly and cheered. From the wings, his assistant director, John, could be heard shouting 'It's about time, mate!' as the rest of the orchestra stomped their feet and tapped their bows against the music stands.
But neither Molly nor Sherlock particularly cared.