"John?" Mrs. Hudson called up the stairwell. "John, dear, Sherlock's here!" She smiled at the detective standing next to her in the dim foyer. "I'm sure he'll just be a minute," she explained.

Silently, Sherlock nodded. He ran a hand through his curls and sighed, prompting an observant Mrs. Hudson to say, "I was nervous, too, my first date. Took me nearly three hours to get ready, can you imagine that? But don't fuss, dear, you'll be fine. She likes you very much; I can tell!" She beamed at him, and he smiled weakly in response.

Suddenly, they heard the door to 221B burst open, and John came sprinting down to the landing. "Shit! No, wait, hi!" He grinned mischievously at his friend before running back inside, bellowing, "Mary! Molly! Come on, he's here!"

Both Watsons reappeared a moment later, and Mary smiled at the anxious detective. "Hello," she greeted him. "Are you ready to see her, then?"

"I believe I am, Miss Watson," Sherlock affirmed, straightening up a bit as she shouted up the stairs, "Molls?"

"Coming!" A shy reply sounded from around the bend. Molly came dashing down the steps, muttering, "Sorry, I'm coming," under her breath as she went. Upon reaching the landing, she stopped abruptly, finally noticing the detective standing below her. "Oh," she breathed, "Hello, Sherlock." Blushing a little, she smiled at him, and he gave her a blank stare for a moment before smiling back.

The one-shouldered dress Molly had chosen was a pale blue in color, paired with a sash at the waist in a light ivory. Ending a little above her knee, the chiffon skirt was done up in layers to look like swirls of rose petals, creating an A-line silhouette that perfectly flattered the pathologist's petite frame. Mary had helped her find a pair of cream, patent leather heels that were studded with pearls, as well as a set of pearl earrings and a matching bracelet. To finish, her hair fell loosely across her shoulders, set into large curls with the help of half a can of hairspray.

"Hello, Molly. Mrs. Hudson, if you'll excuse me," Sherlock said lightly as he moved to offer his arm to the pathologist. Her eyes widened at his uncharacteristic chivalry, but she shook herself back to reality to give Mary a quick hug, saying her goodbyes to John and Mrs. Hudson on their way out.

A black sedan was waiting for the pair, thankfully empty, save the driver in front.

"I do hope I am in no way inconveniencing you?" Sherlock asked as they pulled away from the curb.

"No, not at all," Molly said quickly. She paused before asking apprehensively, "Um, where are we going, again, exactly?"

He grinned slyly at her. "One of my preferred establishments is hosting a dinner party tonight. Nothing special, really, but I think you'll enjoy it."

"A dinner party? Don't people have to invite you to those?" She waited expectantly until the answer dawned on her, a white pallor replacing her usual blush. "Oh, no. You're sneaking us in, aren't you?"

"I prefer to think of it as 'blending in'. Don't worry - as much as I despise my brother, Mycroft has voluntarily provided us with valuable assistance. Unfortunately, the entire procedure will be rather pedestrian," he reassured her, plucking an ID belonging to one Mycroft Holmes from his pocket.

"Only you would consider slipping into a high-society event 'pedestrian'," she replied, giggling. On any other occasion she would be more concerned, but if the British Government himself was offering, then she saw no reason to protest.

"Well, it would have been much more fun if he had let me handle it," replied a defiant Sherlock, crossing his arms in a false pout.

"I'm sure you would have come up with something brilliant," Molly smiled as the detective jumped to open the car door for her. She thought she might have seen a hint of a flush across those cheekbones, but she wasn't entirely sure.

He extended his arm to her, but was met with a curious look in response. "What?" He asked, sounding slightly amused.

"Mummy isn't here," Molly replied with a small smile, linking her arm with his. "And yet here you are, opening my door anyway." She watched him raise an eyebrow as they entered the massive venue alongside dozens of other couples, all dressed in tuxedos and evening gowns.

"Well, Miss Hooper," he answered, flashing his tiny white card at the valet, "One might say that I am trying to observe the social mannerisms expected when one is attending a formal event. Then again," he continued, encircling Molly's waist as they followed the crowd into the ballroom, "I myself might say that I am simply trying to make a 'good impression', I believe is the term." He deftly slipped two champagne flutes from a passing tray, handing one to her.

She took a sip before answering. "If the first, then thank you, and if the second - well, I should hope you and that massive intellect of yours realize that there is no need for any 'impression' at all." As they took their seats at their designated table, both mobiles vibrated simultaneously. Each giving the other a skeptical look, Molly unearthed hers from her purse to find a text from Mary, while Sherlock's message came from John.

How is he? Are you okay? MW

Behave. And please, remember what I said. JW

Two pairs of eyes were rolled as two replies were sent.

You worry too much! Sherlock is fine - lovely, actually - and I'm fine, too. Promise. MH

I'll have you know, John Hamish Watson, that I have no intentions of doing anything other than just that. And obviously, I will remember what you said, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. SH

Two mobiles were stowed away again as two apologies began.

"I'm sorry, it was Mary-"

"My apologies, Molly, John-"

And then two minds clicked as two eyebrows were raised.

"What is it with those two lately? Always checking up on us - you'd think we were teenagers!" Molly laughed.

"Yes, well, Watsons will be Watsons, I suppose," Sherlock mused, smirking in his trademark, lopsided fashion.

Molly didn't even notice the dinner plate set in front of her - had that smile always been this heartbreaking?

ooooo

Dinner came and went, and soon it was time for the guests to move onto the ballroom floor. "Care to dance, Miss Hooper?" Asked the detective, offering his hand.

"Only if you swear you won't drop me," the pathologist replied as they began a waltz, swirling across the floor in time with the orchestra.

Without warning, Sherlock dipped her agilely, pulling her upright again before murmuring, "On my life," with a grin.

She laughed, not noticing the heads that had already turned at their display. "When did you learn to dance, anyway? I mean, it seems like something you would have already deleted from that mind palace of yours."

"Mummy forced us into lessons when we were little," he replied. "And it does come in handy on the occasional case, so I like to keep it."

"You? In dancing lessons?" Molly stifled a giggle.

"Well, if you must know," the detective said as he twirled her around. "I was a much better dancer than Mycroft. His technique was absolutely atrocious, and he always stepped on my feet." He made a face at the memory.

"Wait... They made you two dance together?" Molly covered her mouth with one hand in an attempt to keep from laughing.

"Naturally. We were a flawed pair, the two of us - Mycroft's extra height and weight made him the lead almost every time. Terrible experience, that."

"Oh, poor you," she said with a smile. "At least you didn't have to do any serious partnering, right?"

"Actually..." A scowl appeared across his features. "I swore to myself on my tenth birthday that I would never, ever tango with my brother again. After all, our past salsa endeavors had been humiliating enough."

Molly reached up to push back a stray curl from the ebony mop. "If it makes you feel any better, I think those lessons paid off."

Sherlock beamed, sweeping her up off her feet into a graceful lift and eliciting a collective applause from the crowd of previously unnoticed guests that had gathered around to watch the couple. As he gently set the pathologist back on her feet, he stiffened. He should have known better, why did he always let his ego get in the damn way? He stole a sideways glance at Molly, who smiled at him and said, "Bow to the fans, Sherlock." She curtsied and he did as he was told, immensely relieved that she didn't seem embarrassed in the slightest.

He really must remember to thank Mummy for those horrid lessons one of these days.

ooooo

Thank you ever so much, my dearest readers, for waiting so very patiently for the (eventual) release of this chapter! My schedule has been rather hectic, and I am immensely grateful for your loyalty and support.

Anyways, I rather enjoyed the sound of tiny Sherlock and Mycroft being stuck dancing together, and hope it is an agreeable little head canon for you all.

If you want to see a picture of Molly's dress (I changed the color and removed the bow at the shoulder), here's the link. Enjoy!

. /i/pix/2012/01/13/article-2085891-0F6FF46500000578-835_

~London Belle