Reminiscent Regret and Conjunctive Kismet

The Beginning of the Rest of Their Lives

One year later, Sherlock is better than he has ever been, his injury long forgotten, and his personal struggles very much dimmed by his enlightening relationship with Molly. They are a well-oiled machine in every way. She gives him space for cases when he needs it, and he respects her things in the lab when he comes 'round with a case or to visit.

On this particular drizzly day in London, Sherlock strolls along the familiar route to the morgue, having just paid his cabbie. There is a particular case that could pay very well if he solves it. Which is a very good thing because he had already solved it, the problem is that it is a person of high regard and status among the richer community of London. This means that the suspect is most certainly a very discreet individual with his affairs, especially the ones that go against the law. Sherlock had to catch him in the act, but John is not exactly the right partner for this case. Not where he needs to be that night. Luckily, this brings him a big amount of joy, as this case requires a particular skill that he possesses that he never believed would come up in crime-solving.

Whisking into the morgue in the way that he does, double doors flinging open and Belstaff billowing behind him, Sherlock grins brightly and throws his arms around Molly from behind, panicking for a moment before realizing he is very lucky that she isn't in the middle of slicing up a cadaver.

Molly gasps and chuckles lightly, smacking his arm gently. "Sherlock! You are so glad I wasn't-"

"-cutting up a cadaver, yes, I know, I thought of that after the fact", he smirks, turning her around in his arms to face him. "Listen, I have a big favor to ask of you."

Raising her eyebrow, she brushes some flyaway hairs from her face. "Alright, well, what is it? I can try to help you."

Sherlock can't help but smile, seeing as how beautiful she is. "Well, Molly...I have this high-profile case to solve. One of Mycroft's, of course, but it'll pay very well. The thing is, John can't assist me with this one."

"Wait, you want /me/ to assist you again? I thought we'd tried that before and I wasn't exactly on par with your speed and such..."

"No, no, you don't understand!", he exclaims.

"Then make me understand", Molly giggles. "You don't get this giddy for no reason, so spill it."

"I have to catch the suspect in the act. The only way I can do that is to attend one of his illustrious parties. Mycroft got me an invitation with a plus one somehow, through his weird governmental circle or something or other."

"Riiight...still not getting it. Last time I checked, you hate parties, Sherlock."

"Normal parties, yes. But this...this, Molly Hooper, is a charity ball, and it's being held tonight. A ball. I can dance!"

"A ball? Wow...so..."

"I want you to come to the ball with me as my date. It would be best for my illusion of being a straight-laced upperclassman if you played the part of my wife, though. More convincing. I'm sure people would start talking again if I had given John that role, now don't you think?"

Molly gapes a bit and blushes. "I'd love to attend with you Sherlock but I-I'm...we both know I'm not the most graceful person. Believe me when I tell you that I'm not a very skilled dancer. I can shuffle and bob and that's pretty much all. I don't want to embarrass you or blow your cover."

"Nonsense. I'll be there with you, and I'll guide you. You won't have to worry. Please?" He gives her his best puppy dog eyes, the ones she can never ever resist, and she sighs in defeat, eliciting a bright grin from him.

"Alright. But...please remember I'm not as skilled as you are."

"I will. I'll be a good guider."