"He has it bad," Mary said, cleaning up the dinner with her short, sweet husband.
"Who?"
"Sherlock."
John looked at her with some doubt. "No...they're not really dating."
"Oh, I know. But he fancies her all the same."
"He does? Molly Hooper?" he thought a moment. "That's an interesting turn..."
"They were flirting something fierce."
John considered. "Yeah...I guess they were..."
"Quite," replied his wife.
John looked at Mary. "So…what do we do? Let on that we know?"
She laughed, "And spoil the fun? Never."
He was only half listening to Mycroft complain about the case. Of course NSY had completely ruined the apprehension of the suspect, and of course some sort of alert was unnecessarily registered. Why he was being so smug and shocked, Sherlock had not clue.
"Sherlock?"
"Hmmm?"
"Are you paying attention at all?"
Sherlock looked up to see his brother giving him a crooked glare. "I've heard it all before, Mycroft. Its boring."
"What are you working on?" he had noticed him typing and mucking about with the laptop, but hadn't questioned the business.
"Music."
"I'm sorry?"
Sherlock heaved a sigh. "Music. I'm arranging some playlists."
"Whatever for?"
"Dancing," and he got up to get some coffee from the kitchen.
"Indeed?"
"Coffee, Mycroft? Fresh out of cake, I'm afraid…" and he smirked.
"I am on a diet, as you are well aware…you make mention of it enough…" he stood in the doorway to the kitchen. "You're dancing?"
"No. I'm training various dignitaries across the continent in rhythmic interpretative dance. It'll help secure world peace, as I calculate," Sherlock handed his brother a cup.
"You should invite Russia…their dignitaries require distraction."
"They require much more than that, unfortunately…"
Mycroft smiled. "In all seriousness, Sherlock, why are you practicing dance?"
"I'm going to help Molly with her dancing," and he sat back down at his laptop.
"Hooper?"
"That's right."
Mycroft pulled a face and sat down once more. "I thought her engagement was over. Why would she require lessons of there is to be no wedding?"
"People dance in other situations than a wedding…and yes, the engagement is over, thank god."
"Indeed?"
Sherlock sat back in his chair. "That Tom-person was an idiot in the extreme. Molly requires someone with at least the intelligence of a 15 year old."
"Is that so."
"What?"
"Well, I'd measure your intelligence to be that of a 15 year old, brother."
"Surely a bit more than that, if we aren't using your mind as a scale…" he went back to the music.
"Why? Too superior?" Mycroft scoffed.
"No…too pre-diabetic," he said, without looking up. "Was there anything else, Mycroft?"
"No, I think that's all. I'll call in a few days to inquire after the lessons…" he left twirling his umbrella.
"Wonderful, I look forward to it much the way you look forward to a root canal," Sherlock yelled in his wake, and he smiled.
The door to 221B was open, so Molly walked in.
"Hello?"
"Ah, Molly. Right on time," and he handed her some tea.
"Thanks," and she took a sip. Just as she liked it: milk, one sugar. "So…you are going to show me how to dance?"
"Well, I'm certain you know HOW to dance, but perhaps not how to dance with me…so that's what we will be practicing," and he sat.
"Is dancing with you so very different from dancing with anyone else?"
"Obviously."
"You certainly have a puffed-up opinion of yourself, but I suppose I'm not surprised…" she finished.
"You think me vain?" he asked, with a hint of hurt.
"No. I think you have a predisposition toward a high opinion of your abilities or worth," and Molly smiled.
"That sounds suspiciously like vanity."
"Does it?" and she smirked.
He set down his cup. "Perhaps, Molly, you might delve a little deeper with your superior mind and understanding of human psychology to better understand the goings on in a person with extraordinary abilities in some areas, while struggling horribly in others, and reach the conclusion that often said persons are compensating for their lack of confidence in areas of life which they are not so well-versed by focusing attention on those in which they excel."
"Are you suggesting that these…people….you reference might suffer from a sort of low self image?" Molly knew this was the case, that he actually thought rather bad about himself, she merely liked to tease him and knock him down a notch or two.
"It isn't outside the realm of possibility."
"Well, if that is the case, then I'd say to these people that they are, more likely than not, wrong in their estimation, that they have many worthwhile abilities that many people envy, and that their opinion of whatever they deem as lacking, is probably skewed by bias."
"Oh."
Molly smiled at his abbreviated response. "Shall we start? Where are we going, anyway?"
Sherlock snapped himself out of his reverie. "Well, Mary had called with her idea…it's some popular place called EGG…?"
"Oh! Yeah…I've never been."
"Well, apparently she selected it because it's smoker-friendly…"
"But you quit."
"Mary seems to think I'll appreciate the freedom to smoke," he shrugged and went to his iPod dock. "No jazz, thank god, but I imagine there'll be little in terms of traditional dancing…"
"Oooohh…maybe they'll play the Electric Slide."
Sherlock turned to her with a look of confusion. "The what?"
"You know! That fun line dance-thingy…90s, I believe…"
"Line dance thingy. Your eloquence is unparalleled."
"Oh come one! You know that song!"
He sighed loudly, sat down, crossed his legs, while a song emerged from the iPod. "Even if I did, line dancing bears the rather dubious distinction of a direct parallel to the downfall of modern society. I refuse to partake in anything so heinous as furthering our demise as a species. Now, Molly, let's see what you can do…"
Molly looked at him blankly. "You mean…you want me to just…dance for you?"
"Yep."
"Just…right here…? By myself?"
"You catch on quickly."
"That's…kinky, Sherlock," she said and scrunched up her face.
"Molly…there is nothing sexual in my intent…but I need to know your level of competency before we proceed…and I'd hardly be able to do that if I'm dancing WITH you…so…go on."
She sighed and stood. "I haven't felt this ridiculous since that threesome with those cross dressers from York…"
"Excuse me?" though he had certainly heard what she said.
Molly laughed and began to dance.
The song ended, and she stood, waiting for him to comment. "Well?"
"Molly, if I wanted to watch the mating ritual of some exotic bird, I'd've either put on Planet Earth or called Mrs. Hudson up to dance."
"Alright, then, Mr. I-Know-How-To-Dance-So-Bloody-Well…go to it," and she sat to watch his performance.
And he did, and he wasn't half bad, but Molly wasn't about to let him go without some snark. She began fiddling with her phone.
"It's rude not to pay attention…" he said, arms folded.
"Oh! You're alright! I was just checking Google for methods to quell an epileptic seizure…"
"Get up," Sherlock said, with force and authority.
Molly felt a sudden rush of adrenaline at his voice, it seemed to shake her very soul. She stood, as bidden, and went to him.
He laughed to demonstrate that he thought her jibe was funny, and they proceeded to dance to the music on his iPod.
An hour or so later, Molly declared herself tired, and sat down to her cold tea.
"You really are an excellent dancer, I'm sorry I doubted you," she said.
"It's fine…I know you'll not make that mistake again."
She smiled. "I doubt you'll let me."
He winked at her playfully. "More tea, then?"
"Oh…no thanks…I should get going…" she looked at her phone to ascertain the time.
"Oh?"
"Yes…I didn't cancel my plans…I rescheduled them for this evening."
"Ah, yes…the infamous plans…where are you going?"
"Dinner," she was suddenly a touch uncomfortable.
"Dinner?"
"Yes…a…date."
He swallowed. This was unexpected. "Date."
"Yes…a date…with a man..." she watched him with curiosity.
"Oh, well…good," and he stood. "Well…I'll not keep you…" He gathered up the tea things and carried them to the kitchen.
Molly blanched and looked away at his sudden change in demeanor. "What time tomorrow? And should I just come here?" She got up and put her coat on.
"Yes…come here…" he called out. "Eight, I think, should do…"
"Alright…" Molly went into the kitchen. "Well…I'll see you tomorrow night…"
"Yep," and he turned to face her. "Have a wonderful night, Molly," and he smiled.
She walked over to him, placed her hands on his shoulders, and kissed his cheek.
His eyes closed at the contact and affection.
"Thanks for the lesson, Sherlock. It was lovely," and she left.
Sherlock Holmes breathed deeply, and went over to the window to watch her leave. He picked up the violin, and began to play.