It is day of the party. Everybody is busy with their hair or bow ties. Well the invitation card did say formal wear which had sent Stiles into a frenzy because he had not "PACKED MY FANCY CLOTHES! WHAT WILL I WEAR OH GOD!" Jackson and Molly had come to his rescue. He gave Stiles the tuxedo and she got him the dress shirt. Sherlock let him his one black tie.
Molly saw Sherlock giving up his one dressy tie and had squinted her eyes. She had gone shopping next because like the daily dilemma of every woman on earth, she had nothing to wear. So after three hours of aimless wandering, window shopping, mentally crying over her constricting budget, she had finally stumbled on the perfect dress. It was a red, lace-y, long, A-line affair, off-shoulder with a scalloped neckline and quarter length sleeves. She had also picked a little something for Sherlock.
Now, Molly is making her way to Baker Street. Even though leaving from her apartment would have been better, she had come to the conclusion that the less Sherlock and Derek met, the better. The taxi stops and she gets out after requesting the cabbie to wait. She notices his appreciative glance and a full on blush creeps up her face. Well, a lot of people were staring. And why would not they? She felt beautiful in her dress. Sure that shade of alarming red is something she would never buy but it looked so fantastic she had to wear it. Her hair is swept to one side, held in place by a shiny barette. She kept her make-up simple, opting only to match her lips with the dress. The only jewelry she is wearing are earrings.
She grabs the package she had bought along and carefully walks in her heels and knocks on the door. Mrs Hudson opens it. Molly smiles as Mrs. Hudson gasps and claps her hands. She says, "Oh dear, you look gorgeous!" she turns around and shouts, "Sherlock, Molly is here!" she then turns to Molly again and says, "Ooh wait till he sees you!"
"I don't think he will say anything."
"Oh it will be a different kind of speechless dear."
Molly smiles tightly as butterflies start dancing in her belly. What is she thinking? The most he could do is say something scathing or comment on how red is not her colour or something. She braces herself as she hears his footsteps.
Sherlock descends the stairs and making sure he has his phone on him, when something red catches his eye. He looks up and suddenly feels at a loss for words. It is Molly. In red. He goes immobile at the third last step and just stares. His heartbeat rises and he wonders if she could hear it.
Molly notices the silence and scrutiny first. She also sees how disgustingly handsome he is looking in the tuxedo. She almost hears his horrid comment coming when she hears something new. His heartbeat, which is steadily rising. Another blush creeps up her face. She clears her throat and walks closer to Sherlock. She notices his naked neck and shakes her head. She was right. Thank God she went shopping. She opens the package in her hand and dangles the bow tie in front of him.
He narrows his eyes. Guess she does know him better. He sighs a little and walks down the last three steps. He is about to take the offending black thing when she gets closer and puts her hands under his collar. The heat from her fingers seeps through the fabric and touches his skin. He looks down at her. Her doe brown eyes look at him. He finds himself not able to hold her gaze, so he looks away. Molly takes a deep breath and finishes tying the bow. The proximity is killing her as she could smell him and his aftershave and it is not helping her shaky fingers at all.
Mrs. Hudson watches the exchange and smiles. If these two do not hook up by this year, she will change her name to Hudders. She looks on as Molly walks back towards the door. She places her hand on the doorknob and says, "Good night Mrs. Hudson." She leaves. Sherlock nods his head at Mrs. Hudson's direction and follows Molly outside.
Mrs. Hudson just cannot stop grinning.
"Werewolves. Weird people. And posh parties. I should have come to London long ago," Stiles comments. Anything to break the silence in the taxi he is sharing with Derek. The tension is dangerously palpable. Derek, in Stiles and Jackson's opinion looked like a bouncer in those casinos in Las Vegas in his tuxedo. Some would say handsome, they say scarier than normal. Anyway, Derek does not say anything in return as his face his scrunched up again.
The taxi stops on front of this sleek building in Soho. The exterior is ordinary—the only indication of a party being the cars halting in front of the gate and men getting out in tuxedos and women dressed to the nines in the flashiest clothes ever. Stiles pays the cab driver and scampers after Derek who has almost made his way inside. As Stiles catches up with him and shows the invitation card to the bouncer at the gate who gives a crooked smile after checking them both out with badly hidden amusement, Derek facial expression gets angrier still.
They get inside, and Stiles is gobsmacked. The interiors is like a happy marriage with the past and present. It is done up in subtle tones of cream and gold with a vintage ornate chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The building is three floors high and the last floor had a garden where the party is actually congregating at.
They make their way through the crowd, keeping their eyes open for Sherlock and Molly. Stiles spots them first. Sherlock scanning the crowd and Molly leaning against the terrace boundary with a glass of champagne. Stiles almost trips on his feet when he looks at Molly properly. He feels someone crashing into him from behind but he pays no heed.
It is Derek who accidentally runs into Stiles. He is about to reprimand Stiles when his gaze falls on Molly. He smiles a little and says, "I thought she was too old for you."
Stiles jumps a little. He turns around and sees Derek standing right behind him with his eyebrow raised and scowl forgotten for awhile. Stiles mutters, "I mean, no, she-"
"Only has eyes for one person," Derek says. He had obviously noticed this first. He did not care who he accompanied here, he knew that his problem with Sherlock was not because he found Molly attractive or anything. It all had to do with the detective's massive ego. But one had to be blind and deaf (he can hear heartbeats after all) to not realise that those two had an unspoken "something" between them. So he knew he would keep his distance. He just said that for Stiles' benefit.
Stiles says, "Dude I am not stupid. As stupid as it is, those two are meant for each other. I think they don't know that yet."
Derek nods. He gestures Stiles to start walking up to them.
Augustus scans the crowd. He finally finds the lady in red. He smiles. He leaves Gustav Akraka in a nervous mess and saunters up to where Molly with her posse are standing. The music had started and couples were milling around the dancefloor. He stands and smiles at the four of them. He does not recognise one person. He raises his hand and says, "Augustus Lowndes and you are?"
"Derek Hale," Derek takes the hand and gives it a firm shake. Unease crawls up his spine. There is something wrong about Augustus.
Sherlock does not miss the change in Derek's expression.
Augustus mutters, "You are a werewolf?" Derek's eyes turn blue. Then he turns his attention towards Molly. He offers his hand, palm up. Molly frowns. Augustus smiles menacingly and says, "In my area, I'd trust you to do as I say Dr. Hooper. So will you have this dance with me?"
Sherlock grits his teeth and his blood boils but he knows it is not a wise decision to engage with a werewolf. Molly flashes him a concerned look. He gives her a terse nod. She gives Augustus her hand. Her skin crawls as Augustus' smile gets more menacing. She squares her shoulders and reminds herself she is a werewolf, she is strong enough to take on him. She lets him lead her to the dance floor.
Derek crosses his arm and says "She can take care of herself Sherlock."
Sherlock looks at him and nods. Derek continues, "I am gonna go find Vlad and talk to him."
Sherlock says, "Stiles and I will go interrogate Gustav. This truce is suspicious."
They part ways.
Derek finally spots Vlad at the open bar, nursing a whiskey. Derek leans against the counter and gets a bourbon shot himself. He takes a sip when the drink arrives. He racks his brain, trying to find the right way to confront Vlad. He juggles between deceit, physical force and honesty. He takes another sip as he settles on honesty. He says, "Vlad?"
Vlad gets startled. He asks, "Excuse me?"
"My name is Derek Hale. I am working with Sherlock Holmes and I am Jackson Whittemore's friend."
Derek braced himself for a physical assault but instead, Vlad looks confused at first, then he sighs, "And you believe in your friend's innocence as much as I do."
It is Derek's turn to look confused. Vlad downs his drink and says, "Sherlock Holmes you say? I know who that is. They say he is bloody clever."
Derek groans a little, "Yes."
"I would like to talk to you. But this ain't the place or time," he grabs a tissue and writes something down, "This here is my number. Call me tomorrow morning. I will fix up a time and place. Bring your detective along."
"Okay," Derek takes the tissues, he is getting excited, "But why-"
"Why I am talking to you? Because no one here is willing to listen to me." He stands up and fixing his jacket, leaves.
Derek rubs the tissue and sits there for awhile, lost in thought.
Sherlock and Stiles find Gustav Akraka in a private room with his face buried in his face and a half finished bottle of whiskey in front of him. Sherlock clears his throat rather loudly. Gustav looks up. For a second he fails to recognise the two men in front of him. When realisation dawns, he wipes his face and stands up. He tries to move his muscles, but it ends in a weak attempt to smile. Stiles walks forward and places his hands on the older man's shoulder. He says softly, "Sir, if it's a bad time…"
Sherlock looks down sharply at Stiles when Gustav Akraka breaks down in loud sobs. It startles them both. Stiles pushes him down on the seat and sits beside him. Sherlock chooses to stand. He looks around the room. A floor to ceiling window gives him a bird's eye view of the dance-floor. He subconsciously starts searching for Molly. When he does, he curves his fingers into a fist and shoves them in his pockets. He forces his attention on Gustav who has started speaking.
"He knows. He knows. He knows. He will take everything for me. Everything."
Sherlock shouts, "Mr. Akraka!"
Gustav looks up with tears running down on his face, "Augustus. He knows. He knows I am no longer an Alpha. He is-"
"Blackmailing you?" Sherlock asks. "That's how the truce happened."
"Yes." He starts sobbing again.
Stiles stands up. He is about to say something when Sherlock, all but, runs out of the room.
Augustus' hand grip her too tight. Molly wants to bite him but refrains. She does not need a tussle. She is sure that she can not take on a roomful of werewolves. She grits her teeth and focuses on finding Sherlock's heartbeat in the crowd. It always calms her.
He smiles lecherously at her and says, "So having fun?"
Molly mutters, "Very."
"I can promise more fun." His hands slip lower.
Molly is about to seriously scratch him when her favourite baritone voice says behind her, "I think I need a deserve one dance with my date."
All Molly heard was the "date". She hardly even registered the terse sentences the two men exchanged. She just felt immensely relieved when Augustus got replaced by Sherlock.
Sherlock gently grips her waist and puts her hands around his neck. He can see her better this way. Molly says, "Thank you. I would have scratched his eyeballs out if you hadn't showed up."
He grins down at her. He presses her a little bit closer to him. He says, "I could see he was bothering you."
"Yeah. Oh! How did your interrogation with Gustav go?" Sherlock repeated what he had learnt. Molly sighs, "What a bastard."
"Yes."
Their gazes lock. Molly gulps at the intensity behind his swirling blue-green eyes. Sherlock drops his voice even more, "Did I mention you look very beautiful tonight?"
Molly gives him a lopsided grin, "I thought you were unaware of the beautiful?" She salutes herself for that comeback when her heart is acting crazy and his stupid eyes were making her warm in all the wrong (or right?) places.
" Doesn't mean I don't know when to appreciate it."
Good thing he is holding her up, because she is ready to melt into a puddle there and then. She drops her gaze and head as a full-on blush colours her face.
He notices the lovely pink tinting her neck and cheeks. He crooks a finger under her chin and gently coaxes her head up. He squashes that rational voice in his head and finds himself rubbing her lower lip with his thumb. He hears her gasp a little. He sees her pupils get dilated. He feels her fingers on his nape. He feels her cool breath fanning his face—he does not remember when he had leaned in closer to her.
"Let's leave," she says a little breathlessly, "Please" Some other time she would have been horrified at the unmasked desperation in her voice but right now she could not care less. Relief, excitement and desire floods her when he nods his head.
Sherlock nods his head and grabs her hand. He drags her along as he throws a quick text to Stiles. He can pay attention to this case later as he hails down a cab.