Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sherlock Holmes or the tv-series this story is based upon.

13. The dance

'Auhhhhh…'

'Quack-quack.'

'Auhhhhh…'

'Quack-quack'

'Auhhhh…'

"That's it!" John hollered and slammed his palm down on the table. He glared with unmasked irritation at the two responsible for the noises flying back and forth through the air. "I've had it! You're in the same room, stop texting each other and talk!"

Irene and Sherlock sat on either end of the table beside him, with matching looks of innocence on their brows while their phones rested in each of their palm. John and Mary had come over to help finish the latest case with the ten missing people, but their run-through of the evidence had soon erupted in the cacophonous symphony that irked the doctor to no end.

With regards to the previous night, the blond man figured this form of chosen communication was part of the couple's distancing tactic. Then again, it could just be an attempt to drive him mad from irritation. Mary gently rubbed his back as she smirked in amusement.

Mrs Hudson entered the living room then, dressed in a jumper and slacks, carrying a tray with five tea cups on it. As she set the tray down on the table beside the detective, she looked up at the doctor and commented, "Oh, John, let them be. Though, I wish you would change that awful noise alert, Sherlock. Just awful."

John cleared his throat and irritably turned to the pictures on the wall once more. He was starting to wonder if both Mrs Hudson and his own wife were rooting for the unlikely couple to be real-life lovers. It was clear that their landlady had, at the very least, taken a special fancy to the younger brunette during this past month. In the early days of the woman's return, Sherlock had done his best to keep the two from chatting (for reasons no one knew but the detective), but neither woman was famous for playing along. John was more surprised to realize Mary genuinely seemed to like Irene, even though the two young women didn't see each other too often.

With a warm smile, Mary turned from her husband and faced the tall detective as she asked, "What were you texting about anyway?"

"It's Irene's fault!" Sherlock excused himself to his friend and looked up from his phone. "She suggested we should treat our friends to a dinner party."

"Dinner?" Mrs Hudson asked in a joyous tone and a seldom seen light shone in her eyes, which took years off her features. "Oh, what a lovely idea! But is your health strong enough for that, my dear?"

Mrs Hudson placed a hand on Irene's shoulder and the woman smiled her. Sherlock squinted his eyes in an attempt to read the unsaid but stopped himself. John had suggested the reason he couldn't read The woman was because he was trying too hard. Perhaps he really ought to start with what was simple to behold and build a foundation from that. The detective shifted in his seat and leaned back slightly to behold Irene and her response on surface level.

For a second, he saw the same carefree twinkle in the woman's eyes that he had only seen once before, when she had looked at the colorful sunset on the horizon. The moment had until this one remained the only time she had seemed able to lower her walls. The detective supposed he could see why she felt such comfort in the presence of Mrs Hudson. The elder woman did have a motherly quality that seemed to affect most people who met her.

"Thanks for the concern," the woman smiled, "My recovery's going well. I think it's helped going on walks every day with my friend."

"And you still won't tell us who it is?" Sherlock questioned gruffly.

Irene pretended not to have heard. "I told you: if you want to know, all you need to do is follow me. But you're right, I could use… oh, one more week."

"You can have all the time you wish, we're not throwing a dinner party," the dark-haired man blatantly refused and threw her a challenging glare.

"Don't be so boring," the woman smirked and the detective tried to read her plain intentions. She'd raised another wall between them, and there was nothing more to be found on the surface.

To rub salt in his injuries, the woman simply winked. "Too bad, and I who was intending to play for you all."

Sherlock frowned. "Play what?"

"The violin, of course," Irene shrugged her eyebrows as if this was an obvious answer.

The man felt his interest peak and he couldn't help but feel drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Subconsciously, he stepped closer to her seat and put both hands behind his back in a flawed impersonation of an man not interested.

"Oh, you play?" Mary asked in genuine surprise. "I didn't know that."

" haven't had a tutor in over ten years. I can only play by ear, I don't really remember how to read sheet music."

Sherlock's gaze was relentless as he soaked in the new information as if he was a sponge. Irene must have noticed that the man was practically drooling for more as she breathed, "If you liked that, you should hear me sing."

"Sing?"

"Trained singer. Impressed?"

"Very."

The woman swiftly returned to the old topic, "Let me throw a dinner for your friends."

"… Fine," the man nodded and returned to the paper.

John felt his jaw fall to the floor as he turned back to watch his best friend so fast, he swore he heard something pop in his neck. As he massaged the sore spot, he hesitantly pointed in the man's direction. "Really? I always had to debate at least three months before you concede to my suggestions to gather our friends when I lived here. But you accept her proposal after a couple of texts and a promise to play the violin?"

Sherlock shrugged and walked over to the wall and looked up at the clues. "Perhaps you're asking wrong... Ah! Of course! A sect. That's the answer we were searching for."

"What?"

"The ten people who disappeared. The star maps retrieved at the different locations they disappeared holds the answer. They're members of a sect. Another one of those gatherings that have interpreted the stars and comets to mean an aliens ship will come to retrieve their souls."

"Like 'Heaven's Gate' in USA?" Mary questioned as she easily left the old topic behind. "Didn't they commit mass suicide?"

"To leave their earthly bodies behind and be picked up by the Hale-Bopp comet they mistook for aliens, yes. A bright comet passed the London sky the night before yesterday," the detective nodded. "Call Lestrade. Tell them I know where they can find the other bodies."

On a cold Thursday evening at the very end of January, a whole month after Irene had first reappeared in the detective's life, the man found himself in deep regret over the fact that he had agreed to throw the dinner party. John had on several occasions in the past explained that spending time with friends was a necessary part of maintaining relationships, but the meaning of that was one Sherlock had yet to fully understand. Especially not since he'd known back then that John's friends secretly disliked him. The doctor hadn't kept most of those friends after the detective had presented him with his essay on the matter. Not his best gift, Sherlock could agree.

In truth, he hadn't of course been part of the "planning committee" for this night. Irene, John and Mary had done it all while Sherlock had played every tune he could think of on his violin to set the bar for the woman's performance.

Invited for the evening, besides the four already present, were merely Lestrade, Molly and Mrs Hudson. Sherlock had failed to think of anyone else he would like to invite among friends. The others hadn't been surprised by this notion.

"Sherlock, put down that violin and help set the table, will you?" Mary asked from the kitchen where she and John were preparing the last of the food. The detective reluctantly lowered the instrument and put it back in his case as Irene entered the living room carrying a tray of wine glasses. Where both Mary and Molly were simple, black dresses, the woman had instead opted for a red, one-shoulder dress that hugged her slim figure. It seemed no matter what the occasion, she never passed on a chance to affect the people around her with her appearance.

"I still think you should have gone for your other dress," the detective whispered impassively into her ear as she offered him a glass. He declined her gesture and instead past her to help Molly set the table. The young woman wore her long hair up in a fancy hairdo that seemed rather more intricate than usual for the scientist. Though her dress was a simple black she was still sporting a lot of cleavage and makeup. She was plainly dressed up for someone. He just hoped it wasn't for him.

"Need a hand?" the man asked.

"Eh. No, I don't think so," Molly shrugged without even gazing up at him in acknowledgment. "It's just the plates left. Greg went to get them."

Sherlock hesitated a beat and then smiled down at her. The detective wasn't sure he'd ever actually heard the young woman turn down his offer to help. It was unexpected, but refreshing.

Suddenly, sweet angst-filled violin music filled the air. The man turned around to gaze at the woman in red with his precious violin close to her shoulder. The first thing he realized was that he actually liked to see this glimpse of the woman she hid beneath her walls. Sherlock's trained ears could tell the notes were far from perfect but had he not been an expert, he might have been fooled into believing she actually mastered the instrument. The others seemed to think so, at least.

Secondly, he recognized the tune. It was the same song he had written for her two years prior; it was her song. Irene had said she couldn't read sheet music, but played from memory. The implication of her choice of music did not pass Sherlock unnoticed, but he merely squared his shoulders and pretended to enjoy the tune with the rest of them.

When the sad tune ended, Mrs Hudson enthusiastically clapped her hands and entered the living room. "Oh, that was beautiful, dear."

"Irene, where did you learn how to play?" Mary asked from the kitchen. Sherlock was grateful it had come up and only hoped the woman would offer a good explanation in return.

The brunette however failed to deliver. She shrugged and put the violin away in its case. "I can't remember."

"Oy, Sherlock," Lestrade said and the detective turned to look at the elder man by Molly's side. "If you buy a second violin the two of you could play duets!"

"Oh," the scientist laughed and handed the policeman a bottle of beer. "Wouldn't that be something? A duet! Do you do requests?"

"No," the detective refused as he beheld his two friends. There was something different about Molly and Lestrade tonight. He only needed a few seconds to figure out what. Based on Molly's fresh appearance, Greg's new tie, their proximity and the lingering hands on the beer bottle, the answer was clear as day.

"Change your mind about the wine?" Irene's voice interrupted his train of thought as she held out a glass for him. Taken by surprise, Sherlock glanced down at the liquid and then up at the smirking woman beside him. "You look like you could use a glass."

"You know something about this," the detective said in a low voice and glanced over at the couple, who were making casual small talk over their own drinks.

The woman nodded and the misbehaving twinkle seemed to glow like the evening star in her pale, penetrating gaze. "Greg's divorced, you know."

"I know that. How did you know?"

"I saw it the first time I met him, though drugged by you I was," she explained. "He cleaned himself up before approaching to greet me. Something only men interested or available do. Lestrade is obviously an honest, kind man, and not one who would send signals unless available. Then, of course, there was the obvious tan-line on his finger. Divorced."

Sherlock could not help but smirk as the rest of the pieces to the puzzle fell together. Looking back on the past few weeks, it all seemed so obvious in retrospect.

"'A friend'. You've gone out so many times these past weeks to meet your 'friend'," the man said and his voice was soft and content like a purring kitten. "Oh, I was wrong to make the assumption you meant a past client. Let me guess… You decided to help her find a man as a thank-you for her contribution to saving your life? Jealous much?"

"Who? Certainly not me," Irene smiled knowingly.

Sherlock tried to cover his own smile that teased at the corner of his full lips. "Oh, you are getting better and better."

The woman raised her glass to toast with his. "I'll drink to that."

"Alright, dinner's ready!" John exclaimed happily as he served the last dish on the table.

The dinner progressed surprisingly well with uncharacteristically few sarcastic remarks or blatant words of discomfort from Sherlock's end. The man had, however, not been able to keep the "secret" of Greg and Molly's romantic relationship. This revolution had been enthusiastically received by the others, though Molly had flushed bright red at the detective's blatant reveal and the police man had shifted about in his seat just as awkwardly.

After they had eaten their three course meal, Mrs Hudson requested a small dance to be held in the living room. (It had been too many years since she last had a chance to stretch her old dancer legs, she assured). Greg and John had thus cleared a space in the room.

Mrs Hudson, meanwhile, dug through the CDs John had left, fished out something she recognized and put it in the stereo. Without waiting to be asked, the landlady then took the blond man's hand in hers and spun them around in a foxtrot to the simple tune. From the sidelines, Mary laughed at the awkward, surprised look on her boyfriend's face.

"What are you laughing at?" John asked her in between swirls, though there was laughter in his voice, too.

"I thought the man was supposed to lead, dear," his wife smirked teasingly as Sherlock walked over to stand beside her.

"And she is!" Mrs Hudson exclaimed with a laugh.

John chuckled as he tried to keep up with her. "Mrs Hudson, I don't know where you get all your energy."

"It comes with getting old, dear. When you get older you have no other way to lose energy but to dance it off! Now twirl me, boy!"

Mary smiled from the sidelines and glanced up at the man beside her. "Fancy a dance, Sherlock?"

The man bowed his head and led her onto the makeshift dance floor. Not half a minute into the dance, the blonde beauty whispered, "So, Sherlock... What's going on between you and the lovely lady? John doesn't have any answers."

"You know that question is superfluous, Mary," the tall man berated as his gaze remained over her head. "I don't function like that. Feelings are not my thing."

"Please, dear..." she shook her head and watched as Greg and Molly joined the dancing couples. "You're still human, even if you insist human nature is foreign to you."

"It is."

"I'm not denying it," she promised. "But I do think you're in denial."

"What about?" Sherlock frowned down at her, but she simply looked up at him with a knowing smile.

Meanwhile, Irene walked over to the sofa where she could enjoy the show more properly. A few dances later, Molly excused herself from her partner and joined the other woman on the couch. The brunette smiled as her company sat down beside her.

"I know I haven't said it yet... but Greg's great, you know," the scientist began and waved a hand before her face to cool down her cheeks after the dance. a confident smile spread over her lips as she glanced up at the man in question to make sure no one could overhear. "He really is. A gentleman. It's very new, of course, but he's so kind to me. Thank you, for… How did you know he was going to…?"

The woman's smile widened. "Stop second-guessing yourself, dear. Just enjoy life. Or more importantly; enjoy Greg."

The other woman flushed brighter red before she managed an embarrassed, "How… are things with you and Sherlock?"

Irene took a slow slip of her wine. "Fine."

"He can't be an easy person being in a relationship with. In fact, I wasn't even sure it was possible. But I am amazed you two-"

"We're not a couple, Molly," the brunette clarified with a half-smirk. "I don't do 'couple'. Oh, wait. A few times during my previous career, I did do couples-"

"That's enough. Thank you," the scientist swiftly interrupted. "I… I thought you and Sherlock-"

Irene smirked. "I can see you did. You thought wrong, I assure. There's no emotional bond between us. I just flirt at him."

Molly hesitated a beat. "Would you want to… be his girlfriend?"

The woman couldn't help but contain a proud smile. The scientist certainly had learned to push things further, even with the woman who'd taught her. Irene had to award such bravery with a genuine answer, though with her own twist to it, of course. "I don't think anyone ever becomes Sherlock's girlfriend. Just like you, I doubt he can have girlfriends. If I did the couple thing, I would have girlfriends."

"Oh! Oh! Oh my…"

"Don't worry, Molly. You're not my type."

"But… neither is Sherlock?" the young woman pushed and Irene merely threw her a pointed look. Molly glanced back over at the others dancing. "Well… how about a dance? With him! I meant with him."

Irene shook her head and raised her voice somewhat, "No. I only dance the last dance of the night."

"Did I hear 'last dance'?" Greg asked from across the room where he danced with Mary. "It is rather late, I suppose. What do you think, Molly? Guess the fat lady is about to sing, eh? "

"Don't make such jokes, Lestrade. They don't become you," Sherlock commented snidely.

"What about you?" John asked his wife. "Feeling about done, too?"

The blonde woman nodded and walked up to the host. She sweetly pecked his cheek and smiled up at him. "Thank you for tonight, Sherlock. I had a lovely time. Dinner was great."

"You would know, since you cooked it," the detective pointed out in amusement.

Mary winked. "I do know."

The fair woman turned as Irene stepped up beside the tall man. "Thank you, too, Irene, for convincing Sherlock it was a good idea," she said and hugged her. John and the others said their farewell, too, and it wasn't long before the flat was just about empty except for the detective, the ex-dominatrix and the landlady.

"Oh, go on," Mrs Hudson said to the couple as she switched tune and walked towards the table. "Have the last dance while I help with the dishes."

With a smile directed at the woman, the detective held out his hand, "What do you say?"

Wise men say only fools rush in.

"It's a start, I suppose," the brunette shrugged as Sherlock took her hand and pulled her closer for a waltz.

But I can't help falling in love with you. Shall I stay?

The two swayed close together in beat with the music, though most of the dance occurred in the space between their locked gazes. No words needed to be spoken, instead both simply swayed closer together.

Would it be a sin, if I can't help falling in love with you?

"Really, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock said in great irritation as he recognized the song and turned to glare at the elderly woman.

Like a river flows surely to the sea, darling, so it go-

The old lady swiftly turned the gentle cover by Ingrid Michaelson off with an apologetic grin on her lips.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I just thought it fit the moment," she shrugged innocently as the man rolled his eyes.

Half an hour later, Sherlock had put back the furniture to their regular positions and Mrs Hudson had said a hearty goodnight to him for treating her to this night. After she'd gone downstairs, the detective opened his bedroom door and stepped inside his private arena.

"Tonight was great," Irene commented as he closed the door and the man merely "Mmm"-ed back at her. The woman sat on the middle of the bed wearing the detective's maroon robe and gazed at the man as he removed his jacket and unbuttoned the top button of his dark shirt.

"But it can still get better, though…" she cooed.

Sherlock sank onto the foot-end of the bed tiredly. If the woman was on the warpath once more, the detective surely wasn't in the right spirit to fight her off. "I'm not in the mood, Ms Adler. Besides, I have a headache."

"That's the abstinence speaking, Sherlock," the brunette said and scooted over to sit by the man's side. "Nicotine abstinence. You need some."

"Yes. Some – as in nicotine. Not sex."

"How do you know, you've never tried it?" Irene questioned as one of her hands somehow found its way to unbutton his second button. "It's a shame, Mr Holmes. You don't know what you've been missing."

Her eyes danced with a truth Sherlock wasn't sure he wanted to understand. For a weak second, the man allowed his gaze to lower to her sensually dark-painted lips. He realized it was probably the wine effecting him, but something stirred somewhere deep within that second. He tried to dissect the sensation that ran through him as Irene's fingers played with the third button and her breath warmed his cheek. Slowly, the woman moved closer until her lips grazed his gently.

Realization struck the brilliant detective like a slap to the side of his head. He jumped from the bed, at once awake and feeling a strange need to distance himself from the woman. Irene leaned back with a restless sigh.

The man spun around and looked directly at the woman. She froze at what she saw in his open, honest pools. The man let her see past all his walls – past the clever detective and into the man he was beneath. In his pale eyes she read his deductions and fears. He had come to a shocking conclusion that not even his head could wrap itself around, she could tell. Sherlock had realized he had felt lust, if even for a brief second, and now let her read this in his eyes so that she would help him understand and rationalize it. He seemed like a lost child in need of guidance. Irene had no idea how to approach the foreign mind of Sherlock Holmes in this, but something told her this wasn't the time to misbehave. Instead, she opted for a revised truth and bargaining-ship.

"You need some," she repeated in a low voice barely above a whisper.

Sherlock knew what she meant. "But I can't use patches."

The man's shoulders slumped as he strode over and sat down onto the covers once more. Slowly he leaned forward and buried his head in his hands as if this was a great torment for his soul. Irene hesitated a beat.

"You can't use patches or cigarettes," the woman agreed. "But I can still give you some."

The tall man shook his head into the palms of his hands and Irene knew what it meant. He wasn't interested in developing such a disadvantage. They both knew Sherlock didn't invest in matters of his own heart. The softer passions he left for all other men, it particularly helped in his line of work to draw the veil between men's motives and actions if love was part of the equation.

"It's not about love, Sherlock," she gently scolded with a frown upon her fine features. "I'm just offering something to replace your nicotine patches with. Those patches helped you focus all that brilliance inside your marvelous hard drive. You needed that fix. Now you're in need of another, so called, addiction to replace it."

The handsome man raised his head and turnedto face her. He spoke no words but nodded for her to continue.

"Sex is healthier than nicotine patches, too, you know," Irene continued cooing. "It won't drive you insane, for starters. And not to mention the workout. Did you know you can burn up to 360 calories per hour having sex? When you do it my way it's closer to 400… And I guarantee you it will feel better than patches ever could. Your brilliance will be channeled in ways you have yet to discover…"

The man pondered the woman's indecent and indelicate proposal. Sherlock had to hand it to her, she had presented a solution which meant that neither had to lose a round of their elaborate mind game. And from what she offered, Irene guaranteed his restless brain an outlet it much craved for without involving his heart. Sherlock was certain no other woman could make such a guarantee. Since the man had never experienced the natural pleasures of sex, he could merely rely on her word.

"It's worth a try at least… isn't it?" the woman inched closer and moved to straddle the man's thighs. Sherlock still did not object to her daring advancement and she slowly sat down, placing both arms around his shoulders, as their eye contact remained constant. Her pupils were dilated and her short breaths seemed to synchronize with his own. "Besides, what have you got to lose?"

To be continued.