Thank you to everyone who had been following/reviewing this so far! I appreciate every comment and I hope this chapter is just as favourable to you! *hugs*
Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me. Just the idea of the story.
John watched in amusement as Sherlock paced up and down. He knew what was going on in Sherlock's mind, or believed he did. It was the first time since living with Sherlock that John had seen him behave like a human.
It was only half past four in the afternoon. The party would only start three hours later. But Sherlock was so harried and frustrated. And believe it or not, it was all about Molly. Exactly at what point he should meet her – they agreed on 30 degrees, two metres South-West of the entrance of DI Lestrade's house – and all the other mundane trivialities which John was just unable to understand.
"Why, Sherlock, do you stress yourself before a party."
"John, I'm just afraid you don't have the capacity to understand the way my brain works," Sherlock replied as he looked out of the window.
John gave a small laugh. "And I'm glad I don't because the last thing I want to be is like you."
Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "Oh, fascinating."
"Sherlock. I don't envy the way your mind works. No matter how many times I tell you that you're amazing, I believe that I would definitely find it too taxing to be like you."
"I honestly wonder how it's like to be you and practically everyone else. So… carefree and… innocent."
"Are murderers carefree and innocent?"
"No, but their minds work in a different way," Sherlock countered.
"And it so happens you understand how their minds work."
Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh. "What exactly is it that you're trying to tell me?"
John snorted. "Not smart enough to figure it out?"
Sherlock turned from the window and glared and John. John shrugged and got up from his seat. He began climbing the stairs to his room.
"I'm going to have a shower," he called.
Sherlock merely remained silent and focused his thoughts on more relevant matters at hand.
Molly was bristling with excitement as she stepped out of her flat. She was wearing the midnight blue dress and had slipped on a pair of low-heeled, black shoes. She definitely did not want to sprain her feet trying to dance in high-heels. Wait, did she just think of dancing? She shook her head and silently told herself to stop imagining what she would do together with Sherlock. Ah, doing things together with Sherlock. That was something she had always loved to fantasize about.
"No, Molly, concentrate," she told herself as she looked out for a tall, mysterious figure.
She managed to get herself into a cab and was so busy settling into the back seat that she didn't realise that the driver was talking to her.
"– to go?" the driver asked.
"Sorry, could you repeat that?"
"Where do you want to go?"
Molly gasped. "Oh yes, I'm so sorry."
She quickly searched her bag for her mobile and read the address Sherlock had given her to the driver. She leaned against the seat and gave a quite sigh of relief. She was finally on her way to the party. She would meet Sherlock some distance away from the house and they would enter together. It would save them both the hassle of having to mingle with too many people while waiting for each other to arrive. It all sounded romantic but Molly knew better. Sherlock simply hated to mix around with people.
As the taxi came to a stop, Molly gave a ten pound note.
"Keep the change," she said happily as she got out of the cab.
"Miss, are you sure?"
Molly smiled and looked around for Sherlock. She held the amethyst pendant that hung from a thin silver necklace around her neck and waited with excitement. She always had the habit of fingering something when she was nervous. A slight tap on her shoulder brought her spinning around but her face fell as she saw who it was.
"Dr. Watson," Molly said in greeting. She saw the lady standing next to John and smiled. "Sarah."
"Molly, how are you?" John asked in return as he looked at her appraisingly.
Sarah gave a knowing look. "Don't worry, dear, Sherlock will be here shortly. In fact, look, he's coming this way."
Molly didn't want to look. She could feel heat rushing through her body and her cheeks were aflame. For once, she felt so conscious about herself. She raised her eyes shyly to behold the person whom she had been so eager to see. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene.
The tall, handsome man walking towards her was wearing a black suit that brought out the paleness of his skin. As he walked, there was a gallant swing in his steps. The gentle breeze fluffed his hair and gave him a tranquil look. His high cheekbones were so clearly defined by the windswept hair. He stopped in front of her and gave a small smile. Molly's eyes rested on his lips. The thin, baby-pink lips that were usually pursed were curved upwards delicately.
Molly was surprised at how steady her voice was. She had expected herself to waver and lose her composure. But here she was, talking to Sherlock with such confidence she never expected to find buried within her. And oh, how she loved the sound of his voice. The husky, pure English tone of it always captivated her.
Sherlock could not find the words to describe his thoughts on first seeing Molly from a distance. She was simply gorgeous, so innocently pretty in that elegant, midnight blue dress and simple shoes. Her dress stood out vividly against her fair skin. Her long, brown hair was gently floating in the wind and came down in delicate curls to her shoulders.
His eyes travelled downwards from her shoulders. The dress seemed to tease him with the way they nicely hugged her womanly curves that used to be hidden under long, unflattering lab coats. As the wind blew, he noticed how there was a slit rising up to her thighs. Temptation was the root of this little bubble in him.
Sherlock finally brought himself to look at Molly's face. Her sweet face that was slightly worried immediately smoothed into one that was secretly happy. Yes, Sherlock could sense the secretiveness of her happiness because it was hidden under a heavily suppressed smile. As he came nearer, her dark, expressive eyes seemed to twinkle – or was it a reflection from the moonlight?
He mentally traced her face down to her nose and finally her lips – all pink and rosy. He shifted his eyes back to her face and greeted her. She had done the same and surprisingly, didn't stammer one bit. Now what? John had reminded him consistently that he needed to be the gentleman and lead the lady to the party.
With much reluctance Sherlock offered his arm a bit stiffly. Molly gently slid her arm through his and held on. As he turned to look at Molly, he noticed a tiny smile on her lips. She seemed pleased and that was all that mattered at the moment.
"Shall we?" Sherlock asked quietly.
Molly gave a small sound of assent. She didn't trust her voice anymore, not with the close physical proximity between her and Sherlock. As they made their way towards the house, Sherlock tilted his head to the side as he looked at Molly, yet again.
"You look very nice today," he said, trying his best to sound as if he was complimenting her and not stating a fact.
Wait, a fact? Did he just think of it as a fact? What was wrong with him?
"Thank you, Sherlock."
Sherlock looked at Molly in surprise. "You're welcome, Molly. Let's just... enjoy this, shall we?"
Molly tightened her grip on Sherlock's arm as they climbed the steps to the entrance. Surely, even though Sherlock disliked parties and the like, an exception could be made tonight. A little flame lit up in her and her heart pounded. She felt warmth spread over her and a slight flush crept into her cheeks as they entered the house. Together.