At precisely nine o'clock she locked the door of her flat and placed her keys in the ridiculously expensive purse she'd bought on impulse with the credit line from Mycroft. The whole ensemble must have cost a fortune. She hadn't seen the bill. It had all been handled quite discreetly. So she didn't know how much everything was, but she could guess.

Waiting by the car was Sherlock, carefully holding open one door for her. He used his free hand to guide her inside. He wore a simple but well-tailored black suit. On his wiry frame it looked elegant. The blue tie matched her dress perfectly. Her eyes traveled up him and then down again. What a pair they must make this evening.

"Don't tell me we're going to a fruit market dressed like this," she teased. "Finca is the only game left."

"I'm done playing games," Sherlock said.

"Then where are we going?" Molly asked anxiously.

"On our first date," he said.

The drive was made longer by her nervousness. She knew they were in Fulham. She just had no idea why.

"Welcome to St. Andrews Star Center," Sherlock announced with a sweep of his arm.

They left the cab behind as they walked together down a long path. On either side were apple trees with the last of the seasons harvest. Then they were sheltered under a canopy of grapevines.

"Where are the bananas?" Molly asked. She held onto one of his arms with both hands and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"No bananas. This will have to suffice," he replied.

"This is a lot of effort for one date," Molly said softly.

"It was worth it."

Molly licked her lips and shot him a quick glance. His face gave nothing away. He led her into a small room where a group of musicians was playing chamber music. It was absolutely delightful. In a corner of the room was a small round table. Candles were lit in the center and a table cloth pooled down to the floor. There was a bottle of wine already open sitting in a bucket of ice.

Molly knew nothing about wine and yet she knew by her first taste that it was of the highest quality, rich with flavor and substance. Each pour was paired perfectly with a light dish. First there was Riesling for the bruschetta, then a Pinot with an assortment of cheeses. After that it was all a blur of delicious foods. Soon the wine was warming her stomach and she felt herselt relaxing. Their conversation was minimal but the silence was comfotable and neither seemed to mind. The waiter was discreet as he took each plate away and Molly barely noticed his presence.

"I have a surprise for you," Sherlock said as they finished up their meal. Molly hoped there wasn't desert. She was completely full.

"Really? Another one? This entire day has been full of surprises," she replied.

"There are only a few left."

With that he pulled out a case from under the table and carefully lifted out his violin. The musicians were already putting up an extra music stand and they greeted Sherlock with warm smiles as he joined them.

"A little Bach," he told them and they laughed together like it was an inside joke.

She had heard Sherlock play but she had never heard him play like this. He was pouring his very soul into his instrument and it made her want to weep with its sweetness. It ended too soon and then Sherlock was pulling her up out of her chair.

"What are you doing?" she asked, smoothing out her gown.

"Teaching you to dance," he said, placing her hand in his. He guided her free hand to his shoulder and then wrapped his own around her small waist.

"I'm a terrible dancer," she said.

"Good thing I'm an excellent teacher. Just ask John. And here we go. One two step, three four step. You have to hear the music. It's a waltz. It was created for you to dance to it. It serves that sole purpose. Good, feel the beat. And let me lead. You need to relax into my arms until you can feel how I'm moving you."

Molly felt a flush rise across her cheeks. His words made her think of other rhythms made in the shelter of darkness. Soon they were gliding across the empty floor while the music went on and on. She could have danced for hours or maybe it was minutes. Either way the music came to and end and the musicians were packing up. Then they were completely alone.

Molly and Sherlock sat together within the silence of the room. After the sounds of glassware and silverware clinking, and the beautiful background music, that seemed very quiet indeed. Molly sat staring at her hands, somewhat overwhelmed. She also realized she was tired. It had been a long day. It had also been exhausting.

The wine had made her brain slightly fuzzy and she wasn't thinking straight. She knew this wasn't a dream but it could have been. The room was swaying like she was still dancing and her body was demanding she close her eyes and sleep.

Sherlock took her hand and held it in his. He looked contented. It was something she hadn't seen before. Usually he was full of anxious energy or at an emotional lull. This was different. It was almost gentle.

"Let's get you home," he said softly.

Even thought she was exhausted that simple comment made her veins turn to liquid heat. Sherlock at her home, Sherlock kissing her by the door, Sherlock leading her to a bed that was soft and welcoming to them both.

"Let's do that," she managed.

The gentle sounds and bumps from the road below rocked her into a light doze. She nodded off, only waking up when Sherlock carefully shook her shoulder, then let his hand caress it instead. He helped her up the stairs and her hands gripped his arm tightly as the elevator went up to her floor.

They stopped at her door and he had to help her fish her keys from her purse. She stood there a moment before she put the key in the door. Then she turned back to face him.

"I'm very sleepy. That doesn't mean I didn't have a wonderful time," she told him.

"I understand. Good night," he said, turning to go.

"Without a kiss?" she asked shyly.

He stopped in his tracks, turning back around. There was a new light in his eyes. Molly could only describe it as hunger. His arms held her tight and she wrapped hers around his neck. She stood on her tiptoes to meet his lips, kissing him back as he kissed her. His lips felt so soft, so inviting. She could drink from them all day.

Sherlock pulled away and his head hung low.

"We can't keep kissing like this. I'll end up regretting the evening. You've had quite a bit to drink," he explained.

"I don't mind," she replied, surprising herself. It must be the wine, she told herself. Maybe her was right.

"I do," he said. "Good night."

Molly hung her dress back up in its bag and put away her beautiful things. She lay down into the softness of her pillow and fell fast asleep. Her dreams were full of the sweetest music and piercing blue eyes.