Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read so all mistakes are mine. Thanks for their reviews go to Bekah1218 and bkpeake- Enjoy!

#TeachMe

"I could teach you."

And Sherlock clears his throat.

Looks at the ground.

Tries to work out where, precisely, that suggestion came from- Since he certainly hadn't meant to offer his teaching services today.

Molly's blinking up at him, her expression startled. His heart is thudding rather loudly in his chest- So loud that he feels an odd terror she'll be able to hear it. That she'll be able to tell that, whatever his attempts at nonchalance, his last offer was far from casual. The urge to babble under her gaze is becoming almost overwhelming but he tamps it down, makes himself look at her-

When he speaks next, his voice is surprisingly even.

"It's only a waltz," he says quietly. "Any idiot can waltz." Again he clears his throat. "Even me," he adds, when she still doesn't answer him. "Mycroft and I- Mummy insisted, when we were children-"

The mention of his family apparently breaks Molly out of her reverie.

"You probably won't enjoy teaching me," she blurts out, speaking over him. Her cheeks are reddening rapidly. "I can't- I mean, I've no sense of rhythm, none at all! And I don't want you to feel like you're obligated- I wasn't asking for you to help me-"

He looks at her askance. "Don't you want my help?" he says.

He realises how sharply those words came out and he tries to gentle his tone.

"It's a wedding," he says, more quietly. "You're the maid of honour- Meena will want you to be there, and you'll have to dance the first dance with the best man." He tries not to let his annoyance with the thought of that particular tradition show, but he's not sure if he succeeds.

"You've said it's black tie," he adds, rather than letting himself brood on that thought, "and that probably means a formal dance- Which is the sort that I excelled in."

Molly's still staring at him, her eyes large and dark and strangely... wary.

It makes Sherlock feel almost hurt.

"Don't you trust me?" he asks softly, and though he means the remark to be joking, it comes out far too low and serious to be read that way. Certainly Molly doesn't find it funny.

No, rather she swallows.

Bobs her head.

She can't seem to take her eyes off him.

"I trust you," she says quietly. "I just don't..." She lets out a sudden puff of laughter. Looks away. This time her expression is chagrined. "Maybe it's me I don't trust," she says, and though he's not sure why, Sherlock can't help but feel that there's a double meaning to that question.

There seems to be a double meaning to everything between he an Molly these days, after Sherrinford.

Nevertheless, he holds his hand out to her. Watches her carefully as she takes it. He scrolls through his phone, finds a piece of music he had been thinking to adapt as his ringtone. Sets it to play and then puts the phone down, speaker up, on the kitchen table to his right.

The music spills out into the room and as it does he pulls her gently to him. She comes easily, her arms coming up to hook around his neck though that's far from the most proper place to have them. (Sherlock likewise lets his own come to rest about her waist, rather than moving them into the proper frame for dancing which is own teachers taught him.)

She stares up at him as he starts to move; he knows that he should be encouraging her to look at her feet, to match what he's doing, but he honestly finds himself too entranced to care. For he can feel the warmth of her, her softness, against him. He can't help but think how easy this is. How natural, how right it seems to move together in this way... It feels almost like they were made to do this...

He's still thinking that when their eyes meet.

Hold.

Molly cocks her head and her eye darken. Her lashes flutter and her tongue darts out to lick her lips.

Before she can do anything else Sherlock ducks his head down and presses a kiss to her mouth. He holds his breath as he does it, wills himself not to tighten his grip on her and discomfit her. He wouldn't do that for the world.

For a split second she stills, going rigid in his arms, and Sherlock pulls back. Afraid he misread things. Afraid he did something wrong. Her eyes are still closed and she isn't saying anything. Panic starts to claw at him, certainty that he'd done something to ruin their friendship rendering him mute-

And then just as suddenly Molly opens her eyes.

Squares her shoulders.

Pulls him close.

Her lips are much firmer when they meet his, but then she's certain where he was merely curious. She's pursuing where he was merely trying his luck.

Her arms tighten around him, and his around he; Within moments their dance lesson is forgotten. No waltz could match this. Sherlock can feel her breathing, sharp and heavy and wanting, wanting, wanting, against his lips. Her chest presses against his with each inhalation and his hands are full of her hips. Her arms. Her waist.

When they finally have to pull apart she stares up at him, starry-eyed and flushed. Tousled.

Their hands have somehow ended up threaded together and both of them are breathing heavily.

"Good?" he asks breathlessly and she nods. Steps in closer to him.

She steps onto his feet, moulding her body to his and wrapping her arms around him like a vice.

"Bloody spectacular," she says against his throat, and her voice is so near and so wanted that it makes his breath catch.

They begin to move together again. Kissing. Touching. Moving. Dancing.

The music plays but the dance lesson is over... At least for tonight...

Molly waltzes at Meena's wedding, but it's not with the best man.

No, her date is rather insistent that she spends the night with him.

When everyone comments on how graceful she is, Sherlock merely smiles and the pulls her to his side for another waltz. Another kiss.

She blushes but never objects.