A/N: Thank you everyone for your lovely reviews. I'm so happy everyone seems to be enjoying this little summertime romp! And a special thanks to Mouse9 for reading this chapter over for me. Go, Beta!
Rosie's dancing exuberantly, arms flung wide, spinning in a circle to Dancing Queen while Gwen and Stacey spin right along next to her, when the Stag Do crashes the Hen Party. Only instead of joining in on the fun as originally plotted out by the two of them (why spend even one night apart when all they want to do is be together forever?), Danny grabs her by the hand and tugs at her. She stops dancing, Gwen and Stacey too caught up in the fun with their new partners - Danny's best mates Guy and Hal - to notice as Danny practically drags her from the dance floor.
"What's wrong?" she demands once they're outside, where the music isn't so loud and they can hear each other without shouting.
After Danny lets go of her he starts pacing, running his fingers through his hair, and she really starts to worry. She grabs his hands, forces him to stop and look at her. "Babe, what's wrong?"
"We stopped by your Mum's place on our way here so Hal could get that green shirt he likes, you know the one, he calls it his lucky shirt?" he says, looking a little dazed - and a little sick. "Anyway, I thought I'd peek in and see how my dad was doing, and maybe check on your mum, and there they were, the two of them, kissing!"
"My mum and your dad?" Rosie gasps in shock.
"What? Oh, no, not your mum - your Aunt Janine!" Danny exclaims, still looking shell-shocked - and no wonder! "She and my dad were outside his room, they didn't see me, at least I don't think they did, I just sort of backed out the way I'd come. I just...wasn't expecting that." He shakes his head. "I mean, I know people hook up at weddings all the time, but he's my dad!" He lets out a deep breath, then looks at her, as if he's just now realizing who he's talking to. "Sorry, love, that's not what I dragged you out to tell you."
"But it bothered you, seeing them like that," Rosie says, reaching up to caress his cheek in a gesture of both sympathy and solidarity. "I'm sorry, Aunt Janine's just sort of…"
"Oh, I'll be fine, don't worry about me!" he rushes to assure her, taking her into his arms and pressing a tender kiss to her lips. "It was just - I wasn't expecting it. I'll be fine once I can wrap my head around the idea." He grins. "D'you think I can get away with calling her Mum next time I see her?"
Rosie giggles, relieved that he seems to be getting over the shock of it. After all, it's not like his parents are together, or have been for a long time. She knows that Danny was way past hoping for something like that since long before she'd even met him. "So if it's not that, then what?"
He steps back a bit, takes her hands in his. "After...that...I sort of wandered off in a daze and ended up near our room. I was about to go find Hal when I saw the door to your mum's sitting room open, and she came out." His hold on her hands tightens a bit. "Rosie, she wasn't alone." He gives her a sober look. "John Watson was with her."
Earlier That Evening
When Mary opens the door to her bedroom something brushes across her face; instinctively she bats it away, cursing as she flicks on the light with her other hand. She ducks and turns to see what she's run into, and her cursing takes on a more colorful tone when she realizes a roll of wrapped condoms has been taped up over her door, designed to unroll when it opened. "Janine!" she grumbles, shaking her head but unable to keep back a smile at her friend's somewhat questionable sense of humor.
She pulls out her mobile and brings up Janine's number.
We used protection, you stupid cow, she types affectionately. It just didn't work. Obviously.
Seconds later she receives the response. Well use more this time round less you want Rosie to become an older sister instead of an only child.
What makes you think I'm going to have sex with any of them again? Mary shoots back.
Woman's intuition.
Mary laughs - but puts the condoms into her bedside drawer instead of binning them.
Her mobile dings a different tone; it's Molly this time. Joining us for dinner?
Thought I'd make an early night of it, Mary types back. Been a busy day, tomorrow won't be any easier.
Ding. You can't avoid them forever.
Mary sighs. Molly's always been too damned perceptive for her own good. While she dithers, her mobile dings again. Seriously, you need to join us. Janine's half in the bag already and putting the moves on Ajay. Says it's practice for Greg.
Mary laughs out loud at that one. Typical Janine! But even without that incentive she knows Molly's right; the Gruesome Threesome can't be avoided forever.
As she heads out the bedroom door and passes through the sitting room, her fingers are busy on her mobile. Maybe you should have kept the condoms for yourself, she types to Janine with another grin. Leave my bartender-cum-front desk clerk alone, you shameless hussy!
Janine's response is short and cheeky. Come and make me!
With a laugh, Mary starts to do just that - only to find herself face to face with the one man she's yet to have a heart-to-heart with today.
"Hi Mary," John says.
And all she can do is say "Hi" back to him.
oOo
Janine frowns at her mobile. "Mary's stopped answering. She usually keeps up the text banter till she's about two feet in front of us. Something's wrong." She starts to stand up, but Sherlock Holmes shakes his head at her. "What?" she demands.
"John hasn't returned," he says, as if that explains anything.
"So?"
"So he doesn't know anyone on this island except me and Molly, Mary, Danny, and Lestrade. And Rosie, of course," he adds consideringly. He holds up his hands, one with all fingers extended and one with just the thumb, the others curled together. "Danny's at his Stag Do." He closes down the thumb. "Rosie's just left for her Hen Party." The opposite thumb is closed. "Molly and I are here." Two more fingers close. "Lestrade has just come up looking for us." He closes down another finger and nods at the figure making its way through the crowd to join them at the bar. "That leaves Mary. And I think it's obvious to all of us that he's very keen on talking to her alone, before we all sit down to dinner tomorrow night."
That last bit is news to Janine, but before she can say something, Molly speaks up. "He knows David, or at least he's met him," she objects. "What if they're off getting drunk together or something?"
"David is currently sticking his tongue down that woman's throat," Sherlock responds with distaste, this time nodding at a couple on the opposite side of the terrace. Molly and Janine both turn in surprise, and are even more surprised to see Mary's Cousin Meena very enthusiastically snogging - yes, it's David.
"That still doesn't mean John's with Mary," Janine continues to object. "Or that she doesn't need rescuing from that lying, cheating…"
Molly lays a hand on her friend's arm. "Come on, Janine, this is Mary we're talking about. She'll be fine, I'm sure. John's a good man, there's nothing to worry about."
But Janine can't help but notice the nervous glance she darts toward Sherlock, as if seeking confirmation. Nor can she help recalling the gossip she'd heard from Ajay and others at the bar about the little shouting match at the docks after the three men arrived on the island.
Greg Lestrade joins them just in time to hear Molly's last sentence. After giving her a kiss on the cheek and nodding a genial hello to the rest of the small group, he throws in his two cents. "John Watson? Hell yeah, one o' the best." He gives Sherlock a hearty clap on the shoulder. "Keeps this one in line. Why, who's worried about John?"
Janine gives him her most dazzling, flirtatious smile. "No one, if we can take you at your word, Detective Inspector. Are you a man of your word, then?"
Sherlock rolls his eyes and rises abruptly to his feet. "Dance, Molly?" he asks/demands, holding out his hand as the live band finishes their tuning up and starts playing something fast and upbeat.
Molly looks startled, then blushes a bright pink, biting her lower lip as she nods a rapid "yes" and accepts the hand Sherlock's offering. Janine watches them move to the part of the terrace that's been cleared out for a dance floor, grinning and giving her friend a double thumbs up when she glances back at her. Hmm, maybe Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Oblivious isn't as oblivious as Molly thinks.
"Bout time," Greg mutters, and Janine gives him an inquisitive look as he settles onto the bar stool Molly just vacated. He nods at Sherlock, who's busy showing Molly the steps of the - samba, is it? Damn that man has the hip-thing down! If that isn't flirting then she, Janine Layla Hawkins, has never seen flirting in her life.
"They make a cute couple," she allows. "But I thought he was gay or something? Wasn't there something about it in one of the tabs, about him and Johnny boy being a couple?"
Greg shakes his head in an emphatic 'no'. "Nah, not John, he's always been a ladies' man. Sherlock, well, he's never shown any interest in either the ladies or the lads - least, not til Molly started workin' at St. Barts," he adds with a grin. "Thought maybe I was just imaginin' things til just now. Could've knocked me over with a feather when he confirmed he was in the runnin' for my son's future father-in-law." He shakes his head again, then fixes his gaze on Janine, his expression turning from bemused to what she'd have to label 'interested' as he says, "But enough about those two, eh? What about you?"
"What about me?" she asks coyly, knowing exactly what he means but always willing to make the interested party work for it.
He laughs, flashing those gorgeous pearly whites at her. "Well, I'm too old for game-playing, Miss Hawkins. We might have only met a few days ago but something tells me you might be willing to give an old flat-footer a chance to show off his moves. If I'm wrong, feel free to tell me to shove off and I will, no hard feelings." He leans just a bit closer, holding her gaze as he plants one elbow on the bar. As if by magic a pint of beer appears near his hand (Ajay really is good at both his jobs) and he grabs it and takes a sip without breaking eye contact with her. "So. Any chance of me showing off my fairly limited dance moves to you?"
If she wasn't already interested in getting to know the detective inspector a little better already, that little speech certainly would have done the trick. Especially the formal, sort of old-fashioned 'Miss Hawkins'. Janine smiles and reaches for his glass. He allows her to take it with a quizzical smile, then laughs out loud as she chugs it down and smacks the empty glass back onto the bar. Wiping the back of her hand across her foamy upper lip, she jumps to her feet. "Come on then, DI Lestrade, show me what ya got, then!" She gives him a cheeky wink. "Gotta practice for the reception, after all!"
oOo
As Sherlock practically drags her to the dance floor, Molly squeaks out, "It's okay, Sherlock, you don't have to do this just to get away from Greg and Janine. I'll just go -" she gestures vaguely towards one of the few empty tables. "And you can go do -" she gestures even more vaguely, at a complete loss as to what he might find to do to pass the time.
In an utterly Sherlockian way, he manages to both insult and flatter her at the same time. "Don't be stupid, Molly, if I just wanted to -" he flutters his hand in a fairly accurate mimicry of her own gesture "- then I would have just left. I enjoy dancing, I don't know why everyone seems so surprised to find that out, and I know you've taken lessons, there's a definite lightness to your step and a certain sway to your hips that wasn't there before. Preparing for the wedding, I deduce. Well, nothing like getting in a bit of practice before the reception, right? Right." He stops, taking both her hands in his and pulling her up close. "So. Salsa?"
Without allowing her time to answer - not that she can find the breath for doing so since he's fairly knocked it out of her both with the dragging-to-the-dance-floor and with the rapid-fire deductions and comments - he swings her in a small circle that ends with them in the classic salsa pose - and then they're dancing.
She stumbles a bit at first, but quickly finds her rhythm. Judging by Sherlock's approving nod, she's actually not that bad. Possibly even as good as her dance instructor has been telling her, not that she'd believed him until now. She's not used to being the best at anything except, possibly, cutting up corpses. And research, she does love a nice juicy research project…
She loses the beat, just for a second, and Sherlock pulls her close in order to whisper a command in her ear. "Stop thinking, Molly, and just move." Then they whirl back into the dance and just when she thought he couldn't possibly get any sexier he moves his hips just so and she's positive she can feel her ovaries exploding.
When he pulls her close again, his big hands wrapped around her waist, she does something utterly spontaneous, something she'd only done once in her dance class: She holds him by the upper arms and bends into a backward dip, rolling her hips and coming upright to find Sherlock staring at her with something like astonishment. Then he smiles and laughs and pulls her into a series of small spins that end with her backside pressed firmly against his frontside and his hands on her hips - hips that are shaking at near-Shakira speed and absolutely in sync with his until the music comes to a stop.
She's so caught up in the moment and the movement and, frankly, Sherlock, that she doesn't realize until that very second - as applause and cheers and a wolf-whistle or two burst out from the crowd - that there's no one else on the dance floor except the two of them. Everyone else is standing in a circle around them, clapping and cheering; she sees Janine, fingers between her lips as she lets out a piercing whistle, and there's Greg next to her, clapping and grinning and she feels the blush creeping up her neck until her face feels like it's absolutely aflame and with a sudden surge of panic she bolts, pushing her way through the crowd until she fetches up against the railing overlooking the sea.
She hears Sherlock coming up behind her, knows it's him by the sound of his footsteps or the scent of his aftershave or some sixth sense; whatever. She knows it's him. She waits for him to join her at the railing, which she's clenching tightly in both hands, before she speaks. "Sherlock, what the hell was that all about? And if you try to pawn it off as just you liking to dance, I might scream, or, or -" Inspiration strikes. "Or revoke your privileges in the morgue when we get back to London." She gives him her best shot at an intimidating glare. "You know I can do it, too, Mike'll listen to me."
Then she waits, panting with a combination of overwhelming emotional turmoil and pure physical exhaustion, for his answer.
