Molly Hooper felt stunned.

Angry.

Thrilled.

Confused.

And a little turned on.

But most of all she was frustrated. One of her Top Sherlock Fantasies was unexpectedly coming true and she was too distracted by questions to enjoy it.

Over the years, Molly had compiled in her mind a detailed list of Sherlock fantasies that she would sometimes indulge in when she was bored or if he came into her lab looking particularly handsome. She had decided waltzing with Sherlock at a ball fell between his cooking her breakfast and his feeding her grapes. Having this dream actually unfold before her eyes was something she wanted to savor.

But Molly also had a strong and equally compelling need to know how he ended up bidding on her. Sherlock, however, wasn't revealing anything.

From the moment he had vaulted onto the stage to, as Mike Samford had put it "claim his pathologist," Sherlock hadn't met Molly's questioning look. He had simply taken her by the hand and led her down the few steps to the empty parquet dance floor where they waited for the music to begin. When the orchestra played the first dreamy strains of Johann Strauss Jr.'s Vienna Waltz, Sherlock had held her closer than was the customary form. The warm hand firmly pressed on her back left no doubt that he was leading.

~s~s~s~s~

When Sherlock jumped on the stage, Sarah stared agape with the rest of the audience. She was both amazed that he had bid on Molly and worried for her friend's tender heart. Molly's feelings for Sherlock were not a secret.

Sensing John silently sliding into the chair behind her, Sarah leaned back. "Todd?"

"Gone," John reported, still wishing he could have punched the guy.

"Was he really going to steal Molly's necklace?"

"Yes."

"Poor Molly," she said, closing her eyes.

John wrapped his arms around her from behind as they watched Sherlock escort Molly onto the dance floor.

"This will either turn out very, very good or very, very bad," John predicted quietly.

"He doesn't do things in half measures, does he?"

"Sherlock? Never," John scoffed.

~s~s~s~s~

Molly hadn't danced since a friend's wedding two years earlier. Feeling self-conscious under the unwavering gaze of her coworkers, she tried to remember the steps and not make a fool out of herself waltzing with Sherlock Bloody Holmes. Luckily for her, the masterful way he guided her around the floor made them both look elegant.

"You dance," Molly managed, her left hand resting just below his right shoulder.

"Yes," he replied, keeping his head turned.

"You dance very well," she observed.

"Thank you."

Gradually, more couples joined them and became part of the colorful kaleidoscope of swirling images and sounds. One-two-three, one-two-three, they wheeled and spun in clockwise circles. Still, Sherlock refused to meet Molly's searching stare. Well, she would make him look at her. Giving his left hand a painful squeeze, she finally caught his eyes, those beautiful eyes that held so many different shades of blue and green, like the clear waters of the Caribbean.

But what amazed her was the actual emotion she read in them.

Over the years, she had gotten fairly good at deducing his emotional state, even when he tried to hide it. And what she observed tonight took her breath away. He was worried about her. He cared about her. No, it was more than that. It was …

"I'm dizzy," she whispered.

"What did you say?" Sherlock pulled Molly closer.

For one glorious moment their movement became poetry.

"Don't stop," she whispered. "Don't stop …"

And he didn't until the music had faded into a memory. Slowly she stepped out of his strong arms, dazed. She had to know if what she just experienced was real.

"Why did you bid on me?" she asked, a hopeful, tremulous smile ghosting on her lips.

Sherlock wanted to look away. Feeling Molly in his arms had stirred something within him, something he had buried in the darkness long ago. Those emotions raged behind an inscrutable mask as he decided whether to tell her the truth about Todd. When he finally did speak, his tone was even and calculated.

"Todd asked me to bid on you. I was nearby, so it was not a problem to drop in and save you from an awkward moment."

Molly felt as if she had been sucker punched. She had been mistaken. Horribly mistaken.

"Why didn't he bid himself?"

Sherlock could always think quickly on his feet. "He said to send you his regrets, but he had to leave unexpectedly."

"Oh," Molly said in a small voice. She glanced over to where John and Sarah sat. Their sympathetic expressions told her they knew. Her face turned beet red.

Could this night get any worse?

Apparently it could.

She cleared her throat. "Where did Todd go?"

"He had to fly home to America. Tonight," Sherlock said, wishing he were anywhere else at that moment.

Reeling, Molly protested, "What? He wouldn't leave without saying goodbye!"

Sherlock's hatred of Todd was growing exponentially. "He did say to tell you that he admires you greatly and is very sorry if you are upset."

Exhaling a ragged breath, Molly walked back to the table and picked up her small beaded evening bag.

"Are you all right?" Sarah asked, concerned.

"No." Molly felt utterly humiliated. As a white-hot anger began to boil within her, she turned and blasted it toward Sherlock. "It was you, wasn't it?"

Startled, he shook his head. "What?"

"You did something or ... or said something wretched to Todd, didn't you? He isn't the type of man to get a girl's hopes up and then leave her flat. You had to have done something awful to make him leave. Tell me what it was!"

His fists clenched at his sides, Sherlock's temper flared, but he maintained his icy control. "I am sorry."

With a cry, Molly stormed out of the room.

"Molly, wait!" Sarah weaved through the crowd after her friend.

John tried to sound comforting. "You did the right thing."

"Really?" The detective glared at his best friend. "Because it appears as if instead of hating that criminal, she now hates me! According to you, that was not going to happen."

"Molly is hurt right now," John began.

"Which is the result of my 'doing the right thing,' of 'caring.'" He spat the last word. Unaccustomed to the strong feelings surging through him, Sherlock struggled to lock them back into the box he always ignored.

John, too, had recognized the same unprecedented display of emotions Molly had witnessed. Seeing this brief window of openness snapping shut, John stood directly in front of Sherlock. "Don't do this. You do care about Molly, and you know she could never hate you. My God, Sherlock, she loves you."

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. "Is that more of your sage wisdom?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, John wondered if the front desk had any aspirin. "Sarah will bring Molly back, and you two will get this sorted."

~s~s~s~s~

Molly waited impatiently as a doorman hailed her a cab. The rain had subsided into a dreary, continuous mist that blew in her face and blended with her tears. Sarah burst from the hotel a few seconds behind her.

"Don't go off like this," she pleaded as she rubbed her bare arms to ward off the cold.

Molly shivered in the dampness, her mind racing a hundred miles a minute. Every electrical impulse in her body screamed at her to get out of there. "Maybe I can still catch Todd at his hotel!"

Before Sarah could say another word, a cab door was opened and Molly Hooper left into an unfriendly London night.

Sarah hurried to rejoin John and Sherlock as all the other guests of the Angel Wings Ball streamed out of the Pourtales Room. Feeling jostled, Sarah was tempted to elbow a few of them, but instead she nodded courteously, her smile strained.

The two men stood by the table looking grim. As she approached, both silently asked her the same question.

"She jumped in a cab and is heading to Todd's hotel," Sarah reported.

John's face fell in disappointment, while Sherlock's became livid.

"Why were you unable to stop her?" he snapped. "That con man may still try to steal the necklace or do something to Molly. Of all the stupid …"

"Shut up!" John barked and slid his arm around Sarah's waist.

"Go after her," she said calmly to Sherlock. "Don't tell me you don't know exactly where Todd is staying."

Sherlock nodded curtly in agreement. "The Lennox across town."

~s~s~s~s~

Because of the weather, the cab traveled extremely slowly, or at least it felt that way to Molly who anxiously drummed her fingers on her knee. As long as she kept focused on Todd, she could block out the auction, the waltz, those eyes.

When they rounded the corner to Todd's mid-priced hotel, Molly tossed some notes at the driver and jumped out before the cab had even come to a complete stop. Running to the main desk, Molly knew she looked disheveled, but she didn't care.

"Can you tell me if Todd McCarthy has checked out?" she asked.

The woman behind the counter looked her up and down. "I'm sorry, miss, but it's against our policy to release information about our guests."

Out of the corner of her eye, Molly saw Todd step off the lift, suitcase in hand. He had changed into jeans and an off-white long-sleeved T-shirt.

"Todd!" she choked out.

Eyeing her warily, he kept walking across the lobby. "Look, do me a favor and stay away, all right? I got Holmes' message loud and clear."

Molly kept pace with him, only slipping in her heels once. "It doesn't matter what Sherlock told you, because he is—"

"It does matter," Todd interrupted as he set down his luggage to put on his coat. "I don't fancy having him on my trail for eternity, or whatever it was he threatened he'd do to me if I came near you again. The man is certifiable. And come to think of it, so is John Watson! So let them both know your showing up here was your idea. I'm staying away from you and that necklace from now on."

"Wh-what?" Molly stopped dead in her tracks. "What about Gran's necklace?"

Todd stared shamelessly at the glittering gemstones lying against her smooth skin. "That little bauble you're wearing is worth a small fortune, enough money for a man to set up a comfortable life for himself in California. No wonder your mum beat your bum when you wore it outside as a tiara!"

Involuntarily taking a step back, Molly covered the necklace with her hand. "I don't understand."

Frustrated over what could have been, Todd ran his hand over his short-cropped hair. "I got myself into a bit of a bind. Owe a lot of money to a lot of people over a deal that went south. I googled you and saw a picture of you from the newspaper wearing that necklace. I remembered it from when we were kids."

Molly stared in disbelief. "This whole time, it was the necklace?"

Todd looked at her ruefully. "You're a good kid, Molly. My flight leaves in a couple of hours, so I've got to hurry."

Picking up his suitcase, he stepped out into the storm that was again raging full force.

Wet. She was very wet. This was the first coherent thought she could put together.

Molly stood dripping rainwater onto the lobby carpet, swaying slightly as she tried to process what had just happened. Reaching in her purse unthinkingly for a dry tissue, she felt something smooth and soft. She pulled out the pink rose Todd had given her.

She had been a fool, a complete and utter fool, about Todd and about Sherlock.

Sherlock. An unbearable pain took her heart. Molly let the flower slip through her fingers.