Hey guys! This turned out to be a really fun one. I think you'll like it. And it's party time again, woohoo! Things are certainly happening, and Sherlock doesn't know quite how to handle it yet. That's a fun kind of Sherlock to write for me hehe!
Now I wanted to address a review that I got from a guest. I apologize that I'm doing it here, but Idk what else to do with you people who don't have accounts haha! So anyway, Bossysara, this is my response to your review- I can understand how it may seem too cliche and "knight in shining armor" like for Sherlock to pull the whole "saving the girl thing." And I agree that it's not the Sherlock and Molly dynamic that is canon to the show. (And it's also not always a romantic dynamic that I enjoy in general) But...this is an AU. And it's a regency AU, so there's historical accuracy to account for. Not that I'm perfect in that, clearly haha! But I definitely try not to veer too far from the norms back then. The fact is that Molly would genuinely be in a horrible situation if she was alone, without money, and without a husband back then. Someone would have had to step in and do something in order for the situation to change. And it would have had to be a man. I figured, what better way to show that the shell around Sherlock's feels is cracking haha! Basically, I'm toning down and changing a lot of things about these characters and their circumstances for the sake of historical accuracy. Hope that kind of makes the whole thing a bit more understandable. :)
Sorry to everyone else for my long winded response, but it was one of those things I just had to answer. I think when I see a concern a reader has that I can relate to, and it's something I myself might think while reading a fic, I can't help but address it as best I can. Alrighty, enjoy the latest and I'll see you at the bottom of the page! ;)
"Are you mad?!" Mycroft demanded as quietly as he could manage, so as not to alert anyone else in the household.
"I fail to see what the problem is," Sherlock shrugged dismissively.
Mycroft let out a huff of annoyance. "Well allow me to enlighten you, brother mine! You will trigger a wave of gossip and speculation if you insist on seeing this through. There is no logical reason for you to be connected to this. This is not, and never need be, our problem. A successful man of trade decides to needlessly uproot his small family and spend all his money to do so, thus throwing him into a continued spiral of debt for the next twenty years, and eventually ensuring that his only moderately eligible daughter will be on the streets at the time of his death. Tragic at most," he said with an added look of distaste, clearly indicating that he didn't see the tragedy himself, "but it still has nothing to do with you!"
Sherlock rolled his eyes and threw his hands up. "And why precisely do we care what anybody else thinks of us? Have you ever known me to care for the circulation of gossip?"
Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose before pulling his hand away and glaring at his brother. "Do you want people speculating that you've put Miss Hooper in a...compromising situation? Or perhaps that a marriage below your station is likely to be announced soon? How many more reasons are there for a man of your situation to do such a large scale favor for a lowly man and his unwed daughter?"
Sherlock snorted out a laugh. "Give the gossiping old women nine months, and I'm sure they'll come to the startling realization that they've guessed incorrectly."
"It is not just the possibility of a child, Sherlock! This is about reputation!" he sighed.
"Again, Mycroft, I care nothing for reputation! You seem to be using the wrong methods for discouraging me!"
Mycroft leaned back against his the chair at his desk. "And what exactly would discourage you?" he asked wearily.
"I am not looking to be discouraged, Mycroft."
The two men paused, and Mycroft narrowed his eyes at his younger brother as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk surface. "What I haven't asked you yet is, why are you doing this? I assume the reasons that gossiping women would concoct are without basis. But that leaves me to wonder, what is it that motivates you in this endeavor? Surely this is not an act of...sentiment?"
Sherlock twitched in his chair a little and broke eye contact for just long enough to give his astute brother the answer he needed. But Sherlock still attempted to make his argument.
"It is a logical solution. They are in need, Dr. Hooper has cared well for the medical needs of our family for the past twenty years or so, and we are able to provide aid with little or no financial hardship to ourselves," he said casually.
"Actually, I believe Dr. Hooper is about to be relieved of all his earthly needs. I think you mean to say, Miss Hooper is in need," Mycroft corrected pointedly.
Sherlock cleared his throat. "If Miss Hooper is in need, then it is a need of her father's as well. The man is about to die, after all, and his death would be easier knowing that his daughter is not in immediate dire circumstances."
Mycroft gave him a small mocking smile. "As I said...sentiment."
Sherlock groaned as he stood from the chair and stalked around the room a bit. "Call it what you wish, Mycroft, but I did not speak to you in order to receive your blessing, or be given any sort of a lecture. I will use part of my personal funds, and the whole situation needn't ever cross your mind again! I am simply informing you since I know you will notice when I move any money, and you will end up inquiring on the subject eventually anyway."
"Quite right, I would certainly notice. I always notice," he said in a slightly ominous tone. "I will leave you to it then, brother. And may the consequences, whatever they may be, fall on your head alone."
"I know what I'm doing," Sherlock retorted quickly, and exited the room.
Mycroft leaned against the desk once again and whispered to himself, "Do you, Sherlock?"
"What is the matter with you this evening?" John asked as the carriage began moving, taking them to the Hawkins' ball.
Sherlock frowned at John. "Nothing is the matter with me. Why do you ask?"
"You look almost...cheerful tonight. I hope you're not somehow aware that a murder is about to take place."
"Nothing so enticing, Watson," Sherlock laughed. "No, I wouldn't exactly say I'm cheerful. I'm simply...content."
He was. Sherlock had settled into the rhythm of life lately, and wasn't so constantly unsettled being in the country. He'd also recently concluded the last bit of business that was necessary to free Dr. Hooper of debt. Yes, he'd gotten the strange looks from the man's lenders, but he didn't care about that. He gave them a generic answer about how closely Dr. Hooper had worked with the Holmes family through the years, and that they were simply doing him a small service. Mycroft was probably right; people would still talk, despite the excuses Sherlock offered. But Sherlock was excellent at failing to listen.
He did hope that the gossip wouldn't quickly reach Molly though. He had hoped to delay, or completely avoid discussing his involvement directly with her. Sherlock had also discreetly given Dr. Hooper a modest amount of money to go toward Molly's dowry. Dr. Hooper put that into a private account, so it was possible that there would at least be no scandal in connection with that money. And it was even less likely that Molly would have any knowledge of his involvement in that part of the deal.
"Content hm? Well...that must be nice," John said glumly as he stared out the carriage window.
Sherlock chuckled lightly. "Ah yes, you're still pining, are you?"
"Is this amusing to you?" John glared at him.
"Oh relax! Surely it can't be that terrible."
"She is obviously avoiding me, Holmes! Things were perfectly fine until I asked to have a private audience with her last week, and then she became incredibly distant. I can't understand it." John let out a heavy sigh.
Sherlock looked at his friend as he stared back out the window, and he reminded himself that this was not his secret to tell. Mary would absolutely murder him if he told John everything. Best to let things run their course, one way or another.
"My cousin is an independent and strong sort of woman. You may need to learn a bit of patience."
John let out a laugh. "I would be much more likely to accept your advice if I felt that you had any sort of clue at all about what you are speaking of!"
Sherlock looked insulted. "I know enough! Besides, everything can be compared to solving cases...and some take longer to solve than others."
"Not everything can be compared to solving cases, Holmes!"
Sherlock grinned confidently, "Oh, I beg to differ on that point, and I will argue it to the death!"
"I've no desire to argue with you tonight." John shook his head. "You're far too pleased with yourself, and I'm in no mood to see that!"
Sherlock and John arrived in their carriage, with Myroft, Anthea, Mary, and Lady Holmes not far behind in a second one. When they entered the ballroom, there was already a large crowd gathered and mingling, and some soft music played in the background. John immediately announced that he'd like a drink, and walked away from Sherlock, leaving him to survey the crowd.
He saw Janine glance at him from across the room, and quickly decided that he'd like to avoid asking her for the first dance again. He had plans to enjoy himself this evening, despite whatever talk people wanted to entertain. And just as he was thinking about that, he saw her.
A few guests moved aside, clearing the view to one of the far walls, and Sherlock saw Molly standing there looking unlike he'd ever seen her before. That was clearly not her dress. She wore a sea green silk with layers of fabric making up the skirt. Each layer was hemmed with delicate lace, and the same lace also accentuated the capped sleeves and rather flattering neck line. There was a bit of beading along the empire waist which, despite it being daintily done, gave off a bit of shimmer from all the way across the room. Sherlock would have been lying if he'd said he wasn't momentarily captivated.
He did what he'd already been planning on doing since his arrival. He walked straight over and planned to request at least the first dance, because, for whatever reason, there wasn't another woman in the room who he felt nearly as comfortable with. There was nothing remotely appealing about any of the other young women present, so he wanted nothing more than to enjoy a more carefree dancing experience with...a friend. And he was quite sure she would want exactly the same thing.
"Miss Hooper," he said as he approached and stopped in front of her. Now that he was standing closer, he saw that her hair had been more artfully done than at the first party he'd seen her attend. Her long dark tresses were swept gracefully up and pinned in a few large swirls on the back of her head, though she had the same few stray tendrils around her face and neckline as before. "Good evening."
"Good evening, Mr. Holmes," she smiled, and he was sure he saw her cheeks change shade before his eyes.
Sherlock gave her a quick and confident smile. "I had come over to secure the first dance, Miss Hooper. Shall I come and collect you when the music starts?"
Molly's face began to fall as quickly as he'd seen it light up a moment before. "Oh, um, well you see I...I cannot." He saw her swallow hard.
"You cannot? What exactly do you mean? Surely you haven't come here tonight intent on sitting out every dance." Sherlock laughed as he spoke the words.
Molly frowned a little then, looking mildly confused. "No, Mr. Holmes, what I mean to say is that I cannot because, another gentleman has already claimed the first two dances."
Sherlock let out another laugh, and was next to oblivious as her expression took a quick turn to hurt and irritation.
"Excuse me, Mr. Holmes, what is so funny?" she said with a little tremor in her voice.
"The first two dances? And who here has claimed the first two dances, might I ask? Surely you know a precious few gentlemen in attendance!" he said in a mocking tone.
Molly straightened up and set her mouth in a tight line as she took a breath. "I am not sure why you care, but it is that man over there, standing by the fire. He's talking with Mr. Hawkins right now."
Sherlock turned, the laughter having faded away as he realized this wasn't some sort of silly joke, and he saw the dark haired young man who Molly was referring to. He was about John's height, but of a bit slighter build. A moment after Sherlock looked over, the man turned and made eye contact with him, which for some reason made his blood run cold.
"He is Mr. James Moriarty," Molly added, almost proudly, as Sherlock turned away and looked back at her. "He's a gentleman here in town on business. He met Mr. Hawkins by chance and was invited to their party. The Hawkins introduced him to me shortly after my arrival."
"And he asked for the first two dances?" Sherlock questioned with a raised brow.
"Yes he did," Molly answered, again looking a bit injured at his tone. "Perhaps, Mr. Holmes, you see me as an unskilled dance partner. But I must confess that I do enjoy being asked to dance by a man who isn't simply acting out of charity. Perhaps Mr. Moriarty would simply like the pleasure of my company." She had to look away for a moment.
"Charity?" he questioned, the word stinging his mouth. He suddenly felt equally as irritated as her. "Well, Miss Hooper, forgive me for insulting you with my request for a dance. And I wouldn't want to keep you from all the men who simply want the pleasure of your company. Wouldn't that be a sorry waste of your borrowed gown? Good evening." Sherlock gave her a curt bow and promptly walked away.
Molly left her lips parted for a few moments as she watched him walk away. She wanted to say something, anything. But she didn't know exactly what that something should be. Half of her wanted to tell him how infinitely much more she would want to dance with him. She didn't care about any other man in the room, and she wouldn't have cared if they all disappeared into thin air at that moment. And the only waste of her dress that she could think of was for Sherlock not to acknowledge that she looked nice in it...The other half of her though, wanted to slap him for his rudeness. How dare he act as if there couldn't be another man here that would see her as a desirable dance partner? She may not be Janine Hawkins, but surely he couldn't believe that no gentleman would find her appealing to dance with!
Sherlock stalked quickly back across the room to where John stood. John watched his friend approach and take his place statue still next to him, staring directly ahead with mouth set tightly. The music began to play as John frowned at Sherlock, and looked a bit amused.
"I do believe that something just altered your mood. What happened since our arrival only a few minutes ago?"
"Nothing of consequence," Sherlock answered quickly.
"It does not appear that way."
Just then, John happened to catch a glimpse of where Sherlock was looking.
"Oh, who is that gentleman? Is he dancing with Miss Hooper?"
"As you see," Sherlock said flatly, then making a point to look elsewhere.
"I haven't met him yet. Does he know Miss Hooper?"
"They were just introduced. He claimed the first two dances."
"Did he? Well, I suppose I can see why. She looks quite stunning in that gown, wouldn't you say?" John peered at his friend again, who looked back toward the dancing couple.
"It...fits her properly," he managed to say.
John laughed at him. "Fits her properly? Is that all you can say? I do hope that someday you learn to give better compliments than that, Holmes!"
"To what end?" Sherlock said, punctuating each word, clearly asking as a rhetorical question.
"Ooh, I don't know, perhaps as a means of expressing how you're really feeling," John said giving Sherlock a weighty stare.
"There doesn't happen to be anything I'm in need of expressing, but thank you for your input. I'll be sure to tuck it away for use in a future case, if needed."
Sherlock continued to purposefully avoid John's gaze, and ignored the way John shook his head in dismay. In doing so, he found himself having a constant view of Molly Hooper moving to and fro on the dance floor, in her dress that looked like a wave on the ocean. And although he didn't know one tiny little thing about the man who moved with her throughout the dance and continually grasped her small hand, he found that he wanted nothing more than to have the man out of his sight...and far away from Molly.
A bit later in the evening, Mr. Hawkins approached Sherlock, John, and Mary. He had with him, Mr. James Moriarty, who kept his eyes glued to Sherlock as Mr. Hawkins began speaking.
"A good evening to you, I'm so pleased all of you could come! I had to introduce you to one of my guests. In fact, he made special request to make your acquaintance!" The man laughed jovially.
Despite the fact that Mr. Moriarty had apparently wanted to meet them, his eyes were cold, and his smile was slight at best. Sherlock himself wasn't warm in social situations, but something about this man raised red flags in his mind. He exchanged a quick look at John and hoped that he conveyed his concern clearly.
"This is Mr. James Moriarty. We met by chance and were happy to make him welcome during his stay. And this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, and Miss Mary Morstan, who is a cousin of the Holmes family."
Mr. Moriarty gave them a graceful bow and a half smile. "What a pleasure to meet all of you. Mr. Holmes, I was especially pleased to see you in attendance tonight. I've heard so much about you."
Mr. Hawkins excused himself, saying that his wife was beckoning him at the other side of the room.
Sherlock frowned slightly as he looked down at Moriarty. "You've heard about me?"
"Naturally. I'm a business man, and I know countless people. When a wealthy young man chooses to spend his time solving crimes with Scotland Yard, people tend to...talk." He narrowed his eyes a bit as he finished speaking. "A man like that tends to attract attention."
"Flattered, I'm sure," Sherlock answered, almost suspiciously.
Moriarty's gaze then flicked over to Mary. His smile widened a bit as he examined her face closely. "Morstan...I know that name," he said slowly. "I knew a man once, and he married a woman named Mary Morstan."
John watched as the color drained from Mary's face, and he almost stepped in and asked if she was alright.
"Surely you must be thinking of a different Mary Morstan," she said quickly.
"I see," he said slowly as he smirked at her. "Well, I suppose I only knew the man for a short time. I don't forget a name though, or a face."
"Really?" Mary asked, trying to control her voice. She swallowed hard. "What a useful skill."
"Mm, it is. Though I'm sure some people would love to be able to forget things. Memories can be a burden at times, wouldn't you agree?" he drawled.
Mary stared back at him, silent and straight faced.
"Well," Moriarty went on, smiling at all of them, "it was a pleasure. Perhaps we'll meet again soon. In fact, I very much hope we do." He bowed, then turned and walked away.
The moment that he was a few feet away, Mary rushed past them and left the room leaving John to watch in concern.
"I don't like him," Sherlock whispered, still looking in the direction that Moriarty went.
"Neither do I. And I don't believe your cousin cared for him either," John sighed. "Why did he say that to her, do you think?"
Sherlock looked at John, knowing that things were doubtless to come into the light now. He simply said, "I think you should ask her, Watson."
John nodded, looked toward the doorway, and gave Sherlock a pat on the arm before he followed the way Mary had went a moment before.
Sherlock wasn't terribly concerned about the state of his friend's romance with his cousin. He was too preoccupied with who this strange man was, and why he was really here. He wanted to tell himself that there was nothing terribly incriminating about Moriarty, but sadly Sherlock knew that wasn't true. In the space of a minute, Moriarty had dropped enough hints to alert Sherlock to the fact that he was not a man to be trusted.
"Miss Morstan?" John said softly as he entered the quiet sitting room that she'd escaped to.
She turned briefly when seeing him come in, but then looked away again. She appeared to be wiping at her eyes as well.
John approached slowly and took a seat across from her. "Miss Morstan, what's wrong?"
"I'm fine, thank you," she said, barely looking up.
"You're not fine...Was that true? What Mr. Moriarty said in there...were you married?" John asked gently.
Mary looked up at him slowly and still didn't say anything, but her eyes told a story.
John swallowed hard before asking the next question. "Are you married still?"
Finally Mary opened her mouth after sighing and shutting her eyes for a moment. "No, I am not married now. But yes...I was married before. My husband died, about nine months ago," she answered quietly.
"Why did you not tell me?" John asked shaking his head and smiling. "Did you believe that would change anything? Why should that change anything? I can understand more now. If you're still mourning his loss-"
"I have never, and will never, earnestly mourn his loss," she cut in quickly.
John stopped and pursed his lips. "I see. But I want you to understand that this changes nothing for me. It changes nothing about my feelings for you."
Mary got up quickly from her seat and walked over to stand facing the nearest window as John went on.
"I do not care if you were married before. Perhaps that would bother some men, but I am not one of them. It doesn't change who you are, and it doesn't change how I feel about you," he repeated.
"Dr. Watson I- I cannot explain everything. Please understand that it was a time in my life that I would wish away if I could. That man, Mr. Moriarty, was right. Memories can indeed be a burden. And it's a burden I'd never needlessly place on another person," she said sadly.
"Miss Morstan," John said, standing up and advancing toward her. "We cannot all carry our burdens on our own. And I wish you would allow me to help. I would consider it a privilege to lighten any load that is weighing you down."
Mary's lip began to quiver as she turned to face him standing behind her. She could see he was serious. But she also knew that this was more than the simple fact of her having been married before. It was a much uglier history, and she reminded herself that he didn't know what he was offering to take on.
But despite that, she couldn't help reaching out and placing her hand on the side of his face. John's eyes clamped shut for a moment as he basked in the warmth of her touch.
"Forgive me, Dr. Watson. You're so very kind, but," she said with a tremor in her voice, "I just- I can't. Please understand that it's better if we don't..."
John reached up and wrapped his fingers around her hand, bringing it away from his face and placing it firmly against his chest. Mary's breath caught in her throat as she felt the speed and the force of the pounding beats beneath her palm.
"I hope you understand that this is yours," he whispered. "It's yours, Miss Morstan...and that's all that matters to me. Please tell me that it matters to you."
A tear escaped and rolled down Mary's cheek. She sniffled, looking at him with a pained expression. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry."
Mary shook her head and pulled her hand away from John's chest, then hurried off, leaving John alone in the silent and darkened room. The only sound he was left with was the pounding of his gradually slowing heartbeat echoing in his ears.
"Ah, where have you been?" Sherlock asked his cousin, as she took a place standing beside him while sipping some wine. "Did Watson find you? I believe he went looking for you."
She looked at him with darkened and red rimmed eyes and nodded.
Sherlock nodded. "I see. Well, I'm certainly not one to give counsel on such a subject, but perhaps you are not making the correct choice."
"But, how do you know that I was the one making a choice? How do you know he didn't just tell me he wants nothing more to do with me?"
Sherlock smiled knowingly at Mary. "Why do you think I am telling you to consider things more closely? I know Watson, and I know he didn't just reject you based on your past. Perhaps that alone should tell you something."
Mary stayed silent. She didn't want to acknowledge Sherlock's words at the moment. But there was something else she felt needed to be said.
"Sherlock, that man, Mr. Moriarty, I don't think he's a good man," she said in a serious whisper.
"Nor do I, Mary. We are certainly in agreement there."
"If he knew my husband, I question...the company he may keep. If he knows the same people, then I wouldn't imagine he is of much better character."
"My thoughts precisely. And despite the fact that I am somewhat of an oddity among the wealthy, I can't imagine that literally everyone speaks of me. I wonder that he knew exactly who I was, and made it a point to be introduced to us. I've certainly never heard of him till now. And perhaps that has been by design." Sherlock looked at Mary though, and gave her a confident smile. "No need to worry. I'll keep an eye on him."
Mary looked away from him and smiled a little. "I'd say that's wise, Sherlock, especially since he seems to be keeping an awfully close eye on Miss Hooper right now."
Sherlock's head whirled to where Mary was looking. It was true. Moriarty was watching Molly disturbingly closely as he sipped his drink. Sherlock saw him glance at the musicians who were currently preparing their music as he set his drink on a table, and he began walking. Absolutely not, Sherlock thought.
"Excuse me, Mary, must take care of something," he spat out and rushed off.
Sherlock moved quickly past people in an effort to reach his destination before Moriarty did. He was grateful for the fact that he had longer legs. But even still, he was only seconds faster than Moriarty, and literally had to step in front of Molly just before the man had reached her.
"Miss Hooper, good evening...again," he said quickly with a peripheral look over his shoulder.
"Good evening," she answered softly, with a look that told him she wasn't completely over the conversation they'd shared earlier.
"Might I request the pleasure of the next dance?"
Molly looked a little taken aback as she struggled to form an answer. "Well, yes, thank you. One more dance, I suppose. I need to be getting home after this."
"Well then, it seems I was just in time," he smiled, his words meaning more than she knew.
As he stepped aside to stand near Molly, he caught a glimpse of Moriarty walking back to where he'd been standing previously. Sherlock smiled to himself, knowing that he'd successfully thwarted another possible dance between the pair.
It was only a moment later that the music started and Sherlock took Molly's hand. They took their places among the other dancers, and Sherlock noticed Mary smirking at him from where she stood.
The music began and everybody started moving smoothly across the floor. Sherlock soon felt compelled to fill the silence.
"You father was unwell tonight?"
"He wasn't well enough to come, yes. He insisted I attend anyway though. That is why I don't want to stay too long. I don't like to leave him for longer than necessary if he's not especially well."
As Sherlock turned, he caught another glimpse of Moriarty's cold features watching them. He didn't respond to what Molly said, but instead, completely changed topics.
"That man you were dancing with earlier, Mr. Moriarty?"
"Yes," she said, sighing inwardly. Why did he have to speak of this now, as she was trying to simply enjoy dancing with him? "What about him?"
Sherlock spoke his next words as he grasped her hand and they moved in close to each other, "You'll want to avoid any future attention from him," he whispered firmly, their faces only inches apart.
"W-what?" she squeaked back.
Just then the music signaled the change and they had to step back again.
"You heard me," he said simply.
"But, why?" she said more clearly.
Sherlock took her hand again as they walked in a quick circle around each other. He turned his head to face her. "He is not a man to be trusted. I would bet my life on it. And it's rather unlikely that he's seriously interested in you."
Molly's eyes snapped up to his. "Why do you say that it is unlikely?" she asked with barely contained hurt in her voice before they separated again and walked around some other dancers.
"I have deduced him to be the sort of man who thoughtlessly takes what he wants, when he wants it, and only cares for himself. This also means he is hardly the sort of caring and trustworthy man you would be looking for in a husband." Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.
Molly's cheeks burned. "Forgive me, Mr. Holmes, but what do you know on the subject? It's hardly your business to lecture me on what sort of man I seek as a husband!"
"Don't suddenly become a proper lady, infuriated at my insolent conversation, Miss Hooper," he chuckled. "I am simply saving you time. I believe that is considered a kindness."
"Do you think me simple minded?" she demanded.
Sherlock paused, frowning. "N-no."
"Then perhaps, seeing as we are ignoring propriety at present, I should remind you that I am a grown woman, who is already very acutely aware of what I want in a husband and a man." As Molly spoke these heated words, she and Sherlock stepped forward once again, and she could swear for all the world that he held her hand tighter this time.
They stood face to face, eyes locked, as they waited for other dancers around them to become still so they could move again.
"Are you?" he questioned in a low whisper, watching as her eyes grew darker while her pupils dilated largely. He momentarily forgot about everyone else around them...
"I am," she whispered back between heavy breaths. She was unable to prevent the split second where her gaze darted to his lips, before returning to his eyes again. "Acutely aware," she repeated. "I am not blind."
They continued to stare at each other after Molly said this, before finally stepping back with the change in music. Sherlock felt at a loss in that moment. He couldn't define exactly why, but somehow he didn't know what else to say after that last bit of interchange. What had they been talking about? Ah yes! Mr. Moriarty...
"I am...glad to hear it," he said, after clearing his throat.
"You are?" she asked, hopefully, as they circled again around more dancers.
"Of course. I was simply voicing concern. Perhaps the same sort of concern your father would voice, were he here and had met the man in question." He fixed a business like expression on his face as the dance finally came to a stop and he looked up after they bowed across from each other. "But now I can see that you know your own mind, and are unlikely to be taken in by anyone less than worthy."
The same sort of concern my father would voice? she thought in her head, and felt her heart sink in her chest. That was hardly the type of concern she had hoped he was feeling. But she was unhappily reminded that she'd be a fool to hope for anything else.
Sherlock crossed the distance and took her hand, walking back to the side of the room. He released her hand and she turned to face him again.
"Thank you, Mr. Holmes; for the dance, and the um, concern, I suppose," she said with a tight smile. "I should be going now. Perhaps you would do me the favor of telling your cousin, Miss Morstan, that I'll be returning her dress very soon, and that I thank her again for letting me borrow it."
"I will pass on the message," he agreed with a single nod.
"Well, goodnight then, Mr. Holmes," she said, but was slow to move away.
"Goodnight, Miss Hooper," he answered as she turned away and began to leave. He felt like he was forgetting something though. He opened his mouth again, speaking hesitantly, and making her turn again. "I, um, oh yes, Miss Hooper, tell your father he was missed this evening."
"Thank you, I will."
Sherlock watched her walk away and still couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he'd forgotten to say something. She disappeared around the corner after one quick look behind her, and it was only after she was gone that he realized, with chagrin, what had been hanging unsaid on the tip of his tongue. Watson would never let him hear the end of it if he knew...
He wished he had told her how beautiful she looked.
Ok, so Molly was a little too much for Sherlock to handle! Lookin HOT in that dress haha! On that note, thanks to everyone who gave input and links and stuff having to do with what Molly would wear. I really appreciate it! Ultimately I took everything I looked at (my own research and others) and came up with a color and a look that I really fell in love with. I know I'd certainly love to wear that dress! :D And now we have Moriarty entering the picture too! *evil laugh* Again, given the time period, Moriarty will be toned down like a lot of other things. And besides, anyone who's read my stuff before already knows that I don't put the crime and mystery stuff in the forefront, since it's "not my area." So you have been warned, Moriarty will not suddenly be taking center stage. He served his purpose in this chapter though. Making some truth come out and making Sherlock be all jealous and protective and such!
Another note, many thanks to Queencumberbitch (again) for clarifying some historical stuff. I would have gone a wrong direction if I hadn't been told haha! And thanks to my bff Pillowslave for helping me plan stuff out yet again. Sometimes I wonder what sort of craziness I'd come out with if I had nobody to brainstorm with and occasionally slap me when needed lol! Ok, I've talked way too much this time around, so I'll see you all next chapter! Byyyye! ;)