A/N: Okay well actually I thought these days led on quite well! Do I continue?
Day 20: Dancing
Practice Makes Perfect
"Miss Hooper." It had been over a month now since the Lady Holmes and her youngest had returned to Elderflower Mansion. The household had settled back into a routine and sweet Molly Hooper, one of the youngest of the serving girls, had also settled down. She greatly appreciated Mrs Bells the housekeeper and Mrs Lamb the cook. Both of the women had adopted the orphan somewhat, they appreciated her help and more so they appreciated her being the one to scurry around after Master Sherlock Holmes.
Lady Holmes called down the hallway to the girl was rushing off to find Master Holmes.
"Yes Milady?" She turned and walked back to see her Mistress' smiling face.
"Sherlock will be in the library. Can you tell him I require to see him straight away? Bring him with you to the ballroom. Escort him otherwise he will never leave. You have my express permission to take anything away from him." She raised an eyebrow and Molly couldn't help but smile at the wicked expression on the older woman's face.
Molly hurried off to the library and found Sherlock in the corner, behind one of the bookcases, the armchair he sat in was worn and threadbare but he had opted away from the comfier, newer seats - this must hold special memories.
"Yes Miss Hooper?" He asked irritably; he had come to like the awkward young servant but he hated to be interrupted whilst reading.
"Lady Holmes requests your immediate presence." Molly held her hands demurely in front of her; she no longer fidgeted in the youngest Holmes' eyes.
"Tell her I will be along in just a moment." He refused to lift his eyes from the page.
"Begging your pardon Master Holmes but she told me I was to use any means possible and to personally escort you to her in the ballroom." Sherlock raised calculating eyes up towards the girl. He'd have expected a blush or some form of submission but she stared back at him. How unlike her.
"Any means possible?" He drawled, closing his book and putting on the table next to him. He propped himself forward and raised one eyebrow towards the young woman.
"Yes Sir." Molly lunged forwards and grabbed the young man's hand. His noise of surprise made her giggle but she tugged on his arm. The surprise attack had worked in her favour and she had managed to pull him almost all the way until the door until Sherlock finally fought back.
"Really Miss Hooper?!" He argued as she was now pushing him through the door.
"Your mother." She puffed. "Told me she would forgive me for whatever means I had to employ to get you to see her." She struggled against his solid form - he was using the doorframe as leverage.
"You could try please." He turned to see the red-faced servant and comprehension dawning. She stopped trying to physically push him and looked up at him with a sceptical look. It was as the cynicism floated across her face that Sherlock had never realised how small his serving girl was - she really was tiny to his six foot 4 frame.
"Would that have really worked Sir?" She was being incredibly bold, even if her words were polite - she was questioning him. He really was a bad influence on the servants.
"No probably not but now it might."
"Please Master Holmes would you join Lady Holmes in the ballroom? Please?" Molly looked up at him, faux-meekness and she was surprised when he burst out laughing.
"Come along then Miss Hooper. I will not be the cause of my Mother's anger towards you." He sniggered and strode off towards the ballroom, with Molly scurrying at his heels.
"Ahh Sherlock. I see Miss Hooper was good to her word." Violet smiled at her son, though she was somewhat curious to the mirthful look on his face. "Do not go anywhere Miss Hooper." She watched the servant bob her curtsey and prepare to leave. "I wish you to remain."
"We need to up that servant's wages Mother." Sherlock bid his mother hello and whispered in her ear. "She is far more cunning than she lets on."
"There is more to her than you know Sherlock although I will bear your counsel in mind." She murmured back before standing upright before Sherlock and Miss Hooper. The serving girl was somewhat mystified and a little scared at being alone with both of the Holmes'.
"I wish for you to learn to dance again Sherlock. Miss Hooper will partner you." She looked, with internal glee, at the shocked looks on both participants faces. "No complaints."
"Lady Holmes, please it is not proper." Molly begged, fearing this was a trap and she would be thrown out either way.
"Miss Hooper, this is not a trick, I wish you to teach my son." At Sherlock's exasperated noise, Violet turned towards him, "Do not move one inch Sherlock unless it is to dance. Miss Hooper I have seen you teach the coachmen and stable lads the dances of your childhood. I wish to see if you can tame my son into dancing at the least. It is heartbreak for a Mother to see her youngest child look so forlorn at the edges of our societal balls." Violet Holmes had that look in her eye, and while Sherlock was a renowned genius, his Mother would always be a mystery. He'd work out her schemes seconds before they impacted upon him. He was now pouting, shoulders hunched and most clearly brooding. Molly was scarlet and looked terrified at the proposal. He looked up to stare at the serving girl. He had learnt a lot over the month she had been working for him.
He knew that she favoured her left arm even though she is right-handed and that her right knee ached when she over-exerted it. He knew that she could read to a much higher level than the average commoner which lead him to believe she was not as poor as she claimed. That had led him to be suspicious for a week or two, treating her poorly. However he came to somewhat of an epiphany when he flung a sugar bowl and she narrowly ducked.
If she was actually wealthy, well most wealthy women were somewhat pretentious and would not stand for the treatment that Sherlock was doling out. It was the reason he didn't enjoy courting women, or spending time with them. They would stamp their feet and scream like Evelyn Mavis had done when she had joined their services. She only lasted two weeks. But when the silver pot had clattered to the floor and Sherlock had glared at her, Molly had forced back tears. She turned and started sweeping up the luxury of sugar, righting the pot and putting the spoon and tub back onto the tray she was leaving the room with.
"Miss Hooper. I apologise." He watched her retreating back pause and heard the faintest of whispers.
"Accepted Sir." She had said nothing more and left. Sherlock was expecting his mother to rage at him for scaring off another servant but Molly Hooper returned silently the next night with his dinner, and the next. She was a bit of a conundrum to the keen mind of Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock found himself drawn from his regrettable memories back to reality, with a nervous, flushed Molly Hooper staring at him biting his lip.
"Fine Mother. You win." He admitted defeat and held out his hand to Miss Hooper.
"Ah excellent!" Violet clapped and sat herself on the armchair before the music began.
Molly had been asked to teach Master Holmes to dance but that didn't seem necessary as he swept her around the ballroom, easily falling into a dance that they both knew and Molly felt herself relax for the first time in a while. Especially in his company.
She laughed and sound mingled with noise of the music and Violet spied a smile cracking on her son's face as the dance became less regulated. She watched as the pair spun each other around the floor, watching Sherlock catch his hand under Molly's apron to lift her towards the ceiling. She span in his arms on the way down and the pair carried on.
Molly's old shoes weren't the best for dancing but Sherlock was hardly dressed for it either. The music came to its end and reality kicked in. He bowed as he released from her arms and shakily Molly curtseyed back, she had never felt so alive as she had when dancing with Sherlock but all hopes of a fairytale were rapidly diminishing.
She was a servant.
He was the son of an esteemed spy.
It was a clash of classes.