Tumblr prompt from a lovely Nonny: Hi there! If you're still taking prompts, how about while tailing a suspect, Sherlock and John follow him into a jazz lounge/bar where they get distracted by seeing Molly all dressed up, on the stage singing. Sherlock is surprised that he didn't deduce that Molly has some amazing pipes!
'Really, how uncreative.' Sherlock sneered as he and John stared up at the flickering sign that read The Jazz Lounge. Their suspect was rumoured to do his underhanded business dealings in the club. Straightening the lapels of his suit, Sherlock went inside, John on his heels.
Candlelit and somewhat hazy, the club let off a distinct vintage atmosphere that Sherlock begrudgingly admitted was somewhat authentic. Most patrons were dressed in modern clothes, but several had adopted a more dated style. Tables were scattered about and there were very few empty chairs. A pianist was playing a rendition of a classic jazz song softly in the background. Spotting their mark alone at a small table in the corner, Sherlock pulled John to the bar and situated himself with a clear line of sight to the suspect, their backs to the stage.
'What can I get ya boys?' The bartender's overdone American accent grated on Sherlock's nerves.
Before he could unleash his scathing deductions, John interjected. 'I'll have a whiskey on the rocks.'
'And for ya friend?'
Sherlock waved him off without breaking his eyes from their suspect.
'Just water for him, thanks.' John smiled apologetically and then turned to Sherlock. 'Why was I dragged along if you're just going to watch him?'
'Mary was complaining that you were going stir crazy. That, and she wanted some time with your spawn alone, so I agreed to babysit you for the night.'
'Oi!' John protested with a frown. 'Now, that's just… that's just great. I'm not the one that needs babysitting, you great ponce.' The bartender slid him his glass of whiskey and he immediately threw back half, shuddering as it burned his throat. Sherlock merely smirked in response.
Fifteen minutes passed and their suspect had yet to meet anyone. John was fidgeting impatiently and on his third whiskey.
Suddenly, the lighting changed and a man's voice poured over the crowd as the pianist finished his latest piece. John turned to face the announcer, but Sherlock didn't look away from the suspect.
'Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I hope you're enjoying your evening here at the Jazz Lounge.' A smattering of applause followed the man's introduction. 'I have the great pleasure to present to you a surprise performance by a dear friend. Her usual work has kept her occupied for some time, but tonight, I convinced her to come back and sing one more song for you.' Excited murmuring from the crown followed his announcement. Sherlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes still focused on the suspect. 'Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, Miss Margaret May.'
Enthusiastic clapping followed the soft-spoken pronouncement. Beside him, John froze and gaped, his hands poised mid-clap. In his peripherals, Sherlock saw John's eyes widen.
'Don't forget, Doctor Watson, you're a married man. And your wife is quite handy with a firearm.' Sherlock ribbed his friend and frowned when he elicited no reaction.
A bass began plucking a heavy beat followed by the gentle rhythmic swish of a cymbal. Just as the piano joined in, a rich, heady voice floated out over the crowd.
"Love me or leave me and let me be lonely…"
Sherlock froze. The voice sounded strangely familiar.
"You won't believe me, but I love you only…"
The voice washed over him, bitter and laden with heartache.
"I'd rather be lonely than happy with somebody else…"
He fought hard against the ridiculous urge to turn around. He narrowed his eyes on the suspect and focused on ignoring the yearning voice that poured over him, thick with emotion, plucking at his own heartstrings.
"You might find the night time the right time for kissing…"
Why would night time be the right time for kissing? He forced a scoff at the lyrics.
"Night time is my time for just reminiscing…"
She sounded truly sad. He was impressed by how much emotion the woman put into that line. No, no, he wasn't impressed. He straightened in his seat and scolded himself. He was focused on the work. The suspect was still alone, but staring entrancingly at the performer. Sherlock frowned, a strange feeling in his chest, like someone was trying to take something of his from him.
"Regretting instead of forgetting with somebody else… There'll be no one unless that someone is you…"
For some reason, the line felt like a promise. And it made him smile. He saw John in the corner of his eye steal a glance at him before turning his awed gaze back to the stage.
The woman continued to sing, each line, each word, more heartfelt than the one before. Sherlock forced his focus on the suspect, but her deep, rich voice kept pulling his attention, like a siren's call.
The song was coming to the end when the suspect reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Sherlock watched as the man's eyes narrowed in aggravation and he stood. Whomever he was supposed to meet had canceled. Sherlock bit back a curse. No point in following the man, he was intending to head home. They'd have to return another night.
A shudder ran down his spine as the woman drew out the final note with heartbreaking feeling. He clenched his fists, angry that some woman and her song could have such an effect on him. He was in control of his transport. If he wanted to deal with his emotions, he'd do it on his own terms, with his violin. Turning around, he readied himself to deduce the singer and find something about her to negate the feelings that just her voice provoked in him.
The announcer had bounded onto the stage and pulled her into a hug, her face hidden from the audience. In those few seconds, Sherlock raked his gaze over her. The dim lighting made it hard to make out small details, but he estimated she was in her thirties, pale and slim; the simple, yet silky navy dress hugged her curves before flowing around her legs, creating the illusion of a river in the moonlight. As she pulled back, the warm light illuminated the slope of her neck and collarbone, a familiar pendant resting against her clavicle.
As his gaze traveled up, Sherlock's eyes widened.
'Molly,' he breathed in surprise. Her normally pulled-back hair was unbound, cascading in natural waves and her make-up was subtle yet somewhat seductive in the muted light.
Beside him, John was caught somewhere between awe at their friend and laughter at the look of complete befuddlement on Sherlock's face.
Her voice had been rich and profound and confident, but as she bowed sweetly to the audience, Sherlock could see the deep blush rising from somewhere on her chest to the apples of her cheeks.
He sat in stupefied silence as she made her way off the stage and another singer took her place. John turned around and frowned. 'Where's the suspect?'
'He's… he's gone.' Sherlock managed to unstick his tongue.
John, ever observant, realized that there was more to Sherlock's befuddlement than just being caught off guard by the sweet pathologist. With a pat on his friend's shoulder and enough cash on the counter to pay for his drinks, he stood to leave. 'Well, mate. I'd better catch a cab and head home. I'll see you later, yeah?'
Sherlock nodded distractedly, a frown covering his features as he delved into his thoughts.
John chuckled and left, knowing that a sober Sherlock would be able to make his way back to Baker Street on his own.
Shutting the door behind her, Molly sighed and toed off her heels, grateful to be home. Honestly, she wasn't sure how Tony had convinced her to wear the darn things. She was thrilled when he asked her to do a special performance, but were the three inch heels really necessary? She groaned as she reached to unzip her dress.
'Ahem.'
She jumped and shrieked at the sound of someone clearing their throat. Fumbling, she flicked on the light in her living room. Siting on her couch with his arms crossed over his chest, Sherlock Holmes glared at her.
'Sherlock!' She clutched at her chest and willed her heart to slow down. 'What are you doing here?'
He stood and firmly straightened the front of his suit, ignoring her question. 'You lied to me, Molly Hooper.'
Molly fumbled, still recovering from his sudden appearance. 'I-I've never lied to you.'
He stepped closer and eyed her dress with a raised eyebrow. 'Indeed.'
She shivered at his nearness. She stepped around him, lifting the hem of her dress before she tripped on it. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'
'You, Doctor Hooper, have kept a secret from me for years.' He turned and raised his eyebrows at her.
'Keeping a secret is not the same as lying.' She knew better than to pretend she didn't know what he was talking about. The dress, the heels, the make-up. He was Sherlock Holmes. Anderson could have figured out her secret given the same evidence.
Sherlock moved closer again. He towered over her, eyes dark. 'Why did you not tell me, Margaret May?'
She blushed a deeper red at the husky way he said her stage name and looked away. 'It was just a way for me to earn money at Uni. I'm not embarrassed by it, but it's really… private. I've not gone back for years, it's not a part of my life anymore. Until Tony called me up last week when the headliner asked for a night off.'
'And you never could say no to a friend.' His whisper held a double meaning that tugged on her heart. She nodded in agreement.
'And it felt good.' She smiled fondly. 'I forgot what it was like to lose myself in a song, lyrics that hold so much meaning,' her eyes flicked up at him briefly before she rushed on, 'and the knowledge that I'm good at something other than dissecting dead people.'
The words she sung earlier ran through his mind, his heart beating faster. She had been singing about him. To him. No wonder he was so affected by the depth of feelings she put into the song.
As he stared at her, he realized it wasn't just a song she had sung. Molly had played a melody on his heartstrings that opened his mind to the feelings he'd suppressed for years.
And now he stood at a precipice. He could step back, lock those emotions away once again, and they would fall back into their usual rapport. Professional, somewhat friendly, but nothing more.
Or he could take a step, one single step, and fall over the edge into something deep and unknown. Molly would never pressure him one way or another. She loved him and he had kept her living with a vague hope that he might reciprocate her feelings, though he never had any intention of doing so.
Until now.
Reaching out his hand, he slowly entwined his fingers with hers. Her breath hitched and he stepped closer until they were almost touching. Her eyes stared up at him, wide and wary and hopeful.
He lowered his head slowly. As he pressed his lips to hers, he stepped off the precipice. The doors in his Mind Palace that contained all the emotion he'd sealed away, were unlocked, ready to be explored as he tumbled over the edge. Molly reached a hand up and pulled him further down, her fingers sliding through the hair at the nape of his neck. She hummed happily, though she held herself a bit uncertainly.
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss until they were both starved for air.
Panting, Sherlock closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair. Without words of his own, he brushed his lips by her ear and softly sang, "You won't believe me, but I love you only…"
Molly pulled back and stared up at him in shock. The vulnerable smile on his face eased her worried and she beamed up at him as she finally relaxed in his embrace.
With a cheeky wink, she pulled his head back down and mumbled against his lips.
"You might find the night time the right time for kissing…"