Summary: Sylvia attends a formal Ball with Mycroft.
Chapter 9 - The Ball
After a thorough lesson in etiquette and various tidbits of information about a few guests, I suddenly remember something.
"May I see a photo of the dress?" I ask.
Mycroft inhales slowly and exhales with "Sure, why not? You've exhausted every other possible detail out of me."
He stretches his arm out, holding his phone screen in my direction across the seat and I lean in. It's a beautiful deep red gown with exposed shoulders and a corset top, with a frilly flowing bottom half to hide my belly. This actually might work. I turn to look at him and find him staring at me intensely. I blush at our proximity but make no move to lean away.
"It's beautiful. Thank you." I say quietly.
"I have a good eye." he replies with a small smile and a softness in his eyes that makes me blush even further.
"Clearly." I reply and turn away, smiling at the window and all the way to the hotel.
As we slow to a stop, Anthea turns back on her seat to face me bashfully. "I have some soothers if you'd like one…to take the edge off."
I smile vacantly at her. "Oh, no thanks I can't take tho…I'm fine thank you."
She smiles. "Don't worry, you're gonna dazzle them all." And shoots a knowing look at Mycroft.
I follow her gaze and see him eye me with a hint of curiosity. "Quite so. Shall we?"
We both exit through our respective doors and I oooh and aaah all the way to the entrance and inside the foyer, marvelling at the golden interiors of the hotel. We could have stayed directly at the Ritz but, to avoid any unnecessary danger of running into a member of the terrorist cell, Mycroft had decided to stay at another hotel close by.
As we make our way inside, he walks beside me and eyes me with amusement and pride.
We reach the front desk and he nods to the clerk who immediately hands him two sets of keys. "Have a lovely stay Mr. Holmes."
"Thank you." he replies politely.
The clerk eyes me curiously, and I immediately feel out of place in my jeans, scuffed trainers and loose shirt under a goddamned army green parka. Standing like this next to Mycroft in his impeccable suit always makes me feel quite underdressed.
We ascend the elevator in silence and walk the corridor until Mycroft stops in front of a door and hands me a key. He hovers it in midair and says "Your stylist will be here in exactly 45 minutes. Do try not to take too long getting ready, we must be downstairs at seven sharp."
I nod and take the key, my fingers brushing against his palm and the familiar warmth rushing through me.
He turns around and I watch him go.Hate to see you leave but love to watch you g...Oh for God's sake Sylvia, shut up. He strolls over to the next door and calmly pauses, entering his key and I hurry to unlock mine and push inside it, so he doesn't notice I was staring at him.
I enter the room and am immediately stunned. My eyes scan the boxes on top of the bed and I see a giant one with a ribbon on it, which I assume to be the dress along with a smaller one for the shoes, and an Intimissimi bag. Did this man buy me underwear?
I rush to it and find very tasteful black lingerie, lacy but comfortable and most importantly, seamless. I bite my lip imagining Mycroft imagining me in it and picking it out. No, no time for that. I take all my clothes off, toss them in the laundry basket in the bathroom, before taking a shower and washing my hair. I get out and dry it off but I don't put any product in it though, not knowing when the damned stylist will get here because I'm too excited to check my phone. All I can think of is Mycroft getting ready in the next room. I slip on the underwear and the dress, being careful and gentle so as to not ruin it. I realise it's slightly backless and love the silky feel against my skin. I zip it up easily and scoff to myself knowing Mycroft had won once again. I look in the mirror and think that if I look this sexy with wet hair and no makeup, I'm gonna be looking stunning by the end of it.
Beneath the dress on the box there was a beautiful pair of satin black evening gloves. I slip them over my arms, thankful for being able to hide the picked skin on my fingers and unmanicured nails. There's also a velvety black clutch and I slip my phone into it and my trusty salt vial. There's a knock on the door and I nearly jump out of my skin. I open the door to the lovely stylist who is efficient and amazing. I put on the black heels to show her the finished look and she smiles happily. She turns to leave and I grab my purse checking my phone. Damnit, it's already 19h02.
I quickly run to the door, while slipping my phone back inside the clutch, then curse under my breath and turn back to fetch the room key. I am surprisingly fast for not having worn heels in so long. I stride down the corridor and decide to take the stairs when I notice people waiting for the elevator. I will have my slow motion entrance in front of Mycroft if it's the last thing I do.
As I begin to descend the stairs I see him immediately. He is in a gorgeous black tuxedo with a bow tie and classic waistcoat, a stylish curl at the top of his head making him look even fancier than usual. A golden watch chain shining at his waist. He reaches into his vest and checks his watch impatiently, then looks up and I immediately look down because I damn well know even grabbing the railing for dear life, I would fall to my death if I met his gaze now.
I arrive at the bottom and walk to him, his eyes glinting and a satisfied smirk on his face.
"Well, you were right, it does fit." I say with a small smile. I feel the eyes of the people in the foyer searing into my skin. "Does it look okay? I feel everyone staring."
He takes a step closer to me and my skin heats up. "They're staring because you look stunning, Miss Sylvia."
I smile widely and let out a soft chuckle. "Thank you Mycroft, you look quite ravishing yourself."
His lips turn up into a smirk. "Shall we?" As he says this, he moves beside me and places a hand at my back, leading me away. My brain ceases to function and I try to concentrate on not tripping. A bell boy opens the door for us and I smile sweetly, thankful for being able to have Mycroft's hand on my skin for a bit longer.
As we reach the top of the stairs outside the hotel, I stop and he looks at me puzzled. I turn slightly to him. "May I take your arm? I'm afraid to fall."
He immediately removes his hand from my back and moves his elbow to his side wordlessly and gracefully. I take it smiling and lean on him with full confidence, enjoying being the one to touch him this we reach the bottom of the stairs, the driver opens the door for us and Mycroft helps me in with his hand. I struggle with the grace of a chicken I'm sure, and he closes the door and enters through the other side.
During the car ride, I fidget with my fingers softly, thankful again for the gloves. Anthea had told me upon entering that I looked amazing and I blushed, mumbling my thank you's but now we were silent and I felt the dread wash over me. Suddenly Mycroft says:
"Don't worry Miss Sylvia, everything will go according to plan."
"Thanks Mycroft." My arm twitches as if I was going to hold his hand across the seat, but I stop myself. I can't be carried away by the fact I'm attending a ball with Mycroft. After all, this is just for the mission.
When we arrive, Mycroft opens my door for me and leads me away on his arm. I focus on not tripping and grip his arm a little too hard.
"Careful there Miss Sylvia, you'll wrinkle my suit."
"Oh I'm so sorry!" I reply, finally looking up at him from my shoes and he frowns.
"That's quite alright, I was only joking."
"Joking? My goodness, call the presses!" I chuckle. He sticks his tongue in his cheek and places his hand on my back again to lead me inside, successfully shutting me up.
Throughout the night, I notice a lot of men and women looking at Mycroft, then at me, and sneering. I feel a pang of embarrassment while we stroll around, looking at several paintings that are hung in the beautiful high walls. Mycroft's gaze around the room is piercing and I don't want to distract him, so I hold onto his arm gently and look at each painting, trying to take them in. We stop at one of a river under a bridge, with the moon reflected upon it and I lose myself in thought, thinking about the day we met.
"You like this one?"
I look at Mycroft and swallow and immediately look away as I notice he has his gaze fixed on me. "Yes it…it reminds of…the river."
"Indeed." Mycroft softly replies.
We move along to a seated area and I am thankful to rest my already aching feet. Mycroft watches the auction intently, scanning the crowd and texting Sherlock. I feel rather useless on this mission so far, but soon a distinguished short gentleman approaches Mycroft, greeting him warmly and attempting to make small talk with a heavy french accent. He leans in to whisper something in his ear to which he replies:
"I'm afraid I have company tonight, but you may schedule an appointment with my secretary."
The man looks at me and his eyebrows shoot up. "Oh! I did not rrealise you had a lovely mademoiselle with you tonight Mycrroft. Have an excellent evening. Madame. Monsieur." he makes two small bows and walks away.
I bite my lip to stifle a laugh. "I didn't know you knew Herrcule Poirot."
"Believe me, if he were half as smart as Poirot he wouldn't be in massive debt and embezzling government funds."
"Well, at least I'm being useful for the mission." I retort and shoot him a smile.
The rest of the auction goes swimmingly well, mostly because we're sitting down and all I have to do is exist as a person. But soon, there's a closing ceremony revealing the amount of money raised for the charity and we're all led into a ballroom. Christ, come down from heaven and help me, I think.
As the dancing began, accompanied by a small orchestra, a few waiters wandered around with flutes of champagne and I gladly took one, not wanting to bear the awkwardness of telling Mycroft I can't dance. He took one too and scanned the room again. I took the chance to admire his elegant side profile and I must've looked like a love sick fool because I was interrupted by a handsome blonde man saying: "May I have the pleasure of this dance?"
Mycroft looks at him up and down.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm afraid I don't know how to dance, but I thank you kindly for your invitation." I reply with a warm smile, but in truth I am terrified.
"That is no problem, I am known to be quite an excellent teacher if I may say so myself Miss…?"
"Sylvia. I really thank you but I'm afraid I'd rather make a fool of myself."
"Well, what is it they say…dance like no one's watching?" At this he holds out his hand for me to take. I chuckle and look at Mycroft for confirmation but he just looks away scowling. In a panic and with no more excuses, I decide it's best to just say yes. Just one dance and then I'll be back at Mycroft's side.
"Well in that case, how could I refuse?" I smile. "But just one dance!" And so, I dreadfully make my way to the floor with the blonde man and surprisingly, he teaches me quite easily. He makes jokes and has an easy laugh and it puts me at ease for the close contact. After the song is over and transfers to a new one, I stop.
"Thank you so much Mister…?"
"Call me Derek. If your boyfriend keeps scowling, give me a signal and we'll have another dance."
I giggle and look at Mycroft and my skin prickles to see him staring right at us. "Right. Thank you Derek, have a good evening." We exchange a bow and a curtsy and I walk back to Mycroft.
"Did you enjoy your twirling?" He asks, in an annoyed tone.
"No. It was terrifying. Please don't let that happen again."
"And how am I supposed to do that?" He quips.
"I don't know, but he offered to take me for another dance again if my boyfriend kept scowling." I smirk and hold onto his arm again.
"Yes. Most amusing." Mycroft replies with a sneer, before taking another sip from his flute and straightening up. "While you were having your dance lesson, there's been progress. Sherlock caught someone from the staff that was part of the terrorist cell and is currently interrogating him. Hopefully, he'll tell us who the others are but until then I must keep an eye out. I can't afford distractions."
"I'm sorry Mycroft, I didn't mean…I didn't know what to say to refuse him politely and you didn't help! So just pretend you're talking to me interestingly so no one will ask me again."
Mycroft scoffed amusingly and leaned in close to my ear, as if telling me a secret."There's no use Miss Sylvia, there's already another gentleman approaching you from your right, eager to ask you for a dance." My skin prickled again, feeling his breath so close to my neck, I could barely concentrate on a word he was saying.
I look over to my right and wrap my hand around Mycroft's arm tighter as the man approaches. Unfortunately, he doesn't take the hint.
"Good evening Miss, may I have the pleasure of this dance?"
"I'm sorry, I hurt my ankle. But thank you, young man." I reply, feigning pain.
He nods politely and steals an annoyed glance at Mycroft before drifting away.
Mycroft takes another sip and asks me with a smirk: "Young man?"
"I was trying to appear older and less desirable to him."
"How subtle of you."
"Oh, shut up, Mycroft." I reply, swatting him slightly with the hand not holding his arm. I feel him chuckle and my skin prickles again. I let my other hand rest on his arm too and I turn to him.
"If you want to be a convincing boyfriend you should dance with me soon, or another gentleman might show up to steal me away." I say playfully.
"I seem to remember you being quite horrified at the idea of dancing in the car."
"Well, that was before I tried it for the first time, now that the fear is gone I want to do it again!"
"You really had never danced before?"
"No."
"What about the secondary school prom?" he asks, raising a brow.
"I danced with my female friends. My crush didn't ask me to dance." I confess, sighing wistfully at the sad memory.
"Did you ask him?"
"No, I didn't want to bother him. I had already confessed my feelings for him and he rejected me, so I wanted to leave him alone." I cringe at myself. "Sorry that was a bit of too much information." I pause, and seeing no visible reaction from him I continue: "So will you dance with me or not?"
"Miss Sylvia, I can't exactly pay attention around the room if I'm dancing."
"Very well, then let's take a turn about the room like they do inPride and Prejudice."
"This is a good position, I can see everyone."
"Alright, then let's keep pretending we are having a lovely conversation." I squeeze his arm and smile warmly at him before following his gaze around the room. "Have you spotted anyone yet?"
"I will, if you stop distracting me."
I stick my tongue out and bite down on my lips. "Sorry, I'm just pretending to talk to my plus one."
As he inhales to shoot back his next quip, there's a loud clang and crash of silverware and doors busting open as Sherlock comes busling into the middle of the ballroom from the kitchen, with a handcuffed waiter in his trail. I hold on to Mycroft's arm with both my hands now.
"Attention everyone! Sorry to interrupt your lovely evening but we suspect a terrorist cell has planned an attack on this event. They will strike tonight. In this ballroom." As he says this he scans every face in the crowd. "So, let's keep this short. Who is working with this man?"
He soon narrows down the culprit, an average looking man in a suit, thankfully not the one I had danced with, and before long, DI Lestrade appears to handcuff him and lead him away. He tells everyone to remain calm, that all is well, and to get back to the party. After some excited chatter, Mycroft wanders away to have a word with Sherlock and I'm sure the apprehended men, and I'm forced to let go of his arm.
Having the threat been neutralised and the mission a success, I wander outside to the large balcony overlooking the city of London to take a breath. I shiver at the cold, my skin prickling from the heat of the ball. My hands touch the cold cement balcony much like they did the metal railing overlooking the Thames on the day I methim. I find myself smiling at the thought of being arm in arm with Mycroft and I look up at the moon and the gleam of the faraway river reflecting the city lights.
And just like on that day, I hear footsteps and Mycroft stands beside me.
"I trust you had a good time tonight."
"I did. Although the blonde gentleman was rather dreadful."
He snickers and looks up proudly. "And to think how nervous you were just hours ago."
"Yes, you were right Mycroft, as always." I smile at him
He gazes at my bare arms and swiftly removes his jacket, placing it over my shoulders. We face each other. I hold on to the lapels and wrap it closer to me.
"But now you'll be cold." I reply with a furrowed brow.
"For once in your life, accept my help without protesting."
"Very well, Mr. Holmes." I answer with a smile, feeling my cheeks getting warmer.
He turns to face the city's night sky and so do I. I revel in the feel of his silky jacket and the smell of his cologne. I decide to attempt to be smooth then, and say a line I heard in a Japanese movie. When a lover is too shy and wants to compliment their beloved's beauty, they compliment the moon instead.
"The moon looks beautiful tonight." I say, while looking at him.
"Quite so." he replies. Damn it, he didn't get it.
"Of course, she is outshined tonight." I add, smiling shyly at him.
"Miss Sylvia, are you attempting to flatter me?" he asks with an upturned brow.
"No, I'm just stating facts. You look quite handsome, Mycroft."
"Even despite my big head and even bigger nose?" He asks with a narrowed gaze and teasing smirk.
"Oh, I just said that to annoy you. I love your nose. It's quite regal."
He gaze softens. "Your poetic vein is showing."
"I'll sure be writing some about this night." I reply, looking dreamily at the night sky before us.
"The moon has inspired you?"
"No, my muse has." I reply, smiling way too much.
"And who is your muse?"
"I'm afraid that's classified information." He smiles and I add: "And about that, I'm still waiting for you to send me your poetry."
"Ah. I'm afraid I don't show my work to anyone." he replies, straightening up his already impeccable posture.
"That's not fair, you've seen mine." I turn to him with a slight pout.
"It's not my fault you posted it online for the world to see." He slightly tilts his head in a mocking gesture.
I huff and cross my arms. I'm running out of clever things to say.
"But, I suppose I can send you a few lines, if you're so keen." I turn to him beaming. "But only if you send me some of your more recent work in return." he quickly adds.
"I promise!"
He smirks and looks at the city lights again, the background music from the band swelling. I turn ahead too, trying to gather the courage to tell him more. I rest my hands on the cold stone of the balcony again, wishing they were around his arm.
"We should get back to the hotel. I have to return early tomorrow." He says and I feel the crush of disappointment begin. I don't want this night or this feeling to end.
"Yes. Wait, Mycroft I…there's something I've been meaning to tell you." He turns to me with a curious look. Silence. I wonder if he knows what I'm about to say. I'm tired of wondering. I continue before I lose my nerve. "Mycroft I…surely you have deduced by now that I have…feelings for you."
He turns to me, his gaze intense. His jaw clenched. "I…have noticed." He looks down.
I swallow and wait for him to go on. I brace myself for the rejection. It doesn't come, so I look at him and continue. "Do you have feelings for me?"
"I'm…very fond of you Miss Sylvia." Oh no. "But, I'm afraid I cannot reciprocate them."
I look down, my hands twitching on the cement. Does he mean he has feelings for me but can't reciprocate them or that his feelings for me aren't the same as mine? I curse myself.
"Although I am flattered, I consider myself married to my work and I simply don't have time for…relationships."
"I don't want a relationship. I just want you, Mycroft." I think this clears up my end but I wait for his end.
"Sylvia, please try and understand. A man in my position cannot afford to have…entanglements. I don't get involved with people. It would be careless and dangerous. And it is simply not feasible. I travel often for work and-"
"I'll wait for you." The words leave me before I can stop them.
He looks down at his shoes and clenches his jaw. "I don't want you to."
"I'll wait for you, nonetheless." I declare almost pleadingly.
"I forbid you to do that." He looks up at me finally, with an iron gaze.
I try to chuckle to hide my disappointment but I just let out a small breath. I turn fully to him. "It's okay Mycroft, I understand. You don't have to…explain. You don't like me that way, that's alright. You have every right to. I hope we can still be friends."
"I told you, I don't have friends." He replies, his eyes burning with something I assume to be rage or disgust.
"Pleasant acquaintances then." I smile sadly at the form around him, not able to focus. "I should go back inside now, thank you for the jacket" I take it off and hand it to him. He takes it, his eyes never leaving mine.
I turn around and try to compose myself and bury my feelings deep down. Thankfully, the team is still here so I happily chat with them while they marvel at Sherlock's deductions. John says I look stunning and I thank him warmly. As we share a drink, suddenly my phone buzzes.
I had to leave to take care of a few loose ends. There is a car outside to take you to the hotel whenever you're ready. MH
I read it and breathe out a shaky sigh. Sherlock turns to me. "My brother being an idiot?" I look up at him with already moist eyes. "Whatever he said to you, ignore it. It's obvious you're desperately in love with each other. He just needs to get over himself."
I shake my head. "Don't get my hopes up Sherlock. He doesn't want a relationship."
"You're already in a relationship. He can't keep away from you. Just give him time." He winks at me with a cheeky smile and strides away, his coat flourishing after him.
I smile at him and say my goodbyes to the others, claiming my feet are too tired to go on. In truth, I just want to bury myself in my pillow and cry. I descend the stairs on my own, without Mycroft beside me offering me his arm or leading me with his hand on my back. I get in the car to drive to the hotel.
"You look stunning, Miss Sylvia! How was your evening?" the driver asks happily. He is the same one from our long drive here who witnessed me and Mycroft's ridiculous argument.
"Thank you, it was…lovely." I reply with a fake smile and look down to fidget with my gloves.
As we arrive at the hotel, I ascend the stairs on my own again. The bell boy opens the door for me with a bow and a warm smile and I thank him too. Making my way through the lobby, I move past the stares of the people and enter the elevator. As I'm ascending it, alone at last, I finally allow the tears to fall from my eyes. How could I be so stupid and let myself get carried away by the evening's glamour? Why the hell did I choose that moment to confess my feelings for Mycroft? He must feel so repulsed by me. I should've known, after the hand holding thing. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
As the door finally opens to the floor where our rooms are, I see Mycroft standing there. He looks surprised too and my breath is caught in my throat. I look down to hide my tears. "Oh, hey." I try to say casually.
"Miss Sylvia, there's been a situation. One of the terrorists has escaped." He says, while stepping inside and pressing the lobby button. I move aside to give him space while quickly wiping my tears."We don't know what they are planning and all the members of this mission are at risk. We have to go to a safe house." he continues. He seems to be back in professional mode.
"What? Where?" I ask confused.
"One of my private residences in an undisclosed location. We'll stay there until he is found."
"But my clothes-"
"I'll send for them later. Now what's important is to get to safety."
"What about Sherlock and John?"
"They're being taken to one as well."
"I see." Shit. The last thing I wanted was to be in Mycroft's presence after such an awkward conversation. Hopefully the terrorist will be caught soon. As we make our way back to the car to face God knows how long of a drive, I keep looking down and avoiding Mycroft's gaze at all costs. I decide to distract my racing thoughts by coming up with another poem.
You asked me doth the moon inspire
But my muse is not her
It's you who lights that fire
With your eyes burning brighter
Your hands moving graciously
Your form wrapped in jet-black attire
Your voice commanding sternly
Was all I could admire
My muse, Mycroft
God help me, why do I do this to myself? I hopelessly think, as Mycroft once again helps me into the car, and we begin the most awkward ride of my life.
Notes:
I hope you enjoyed it dear reader! As always, let me know what you thought! :D