The case of Aromanticism

The Ball

{Sherlock's POV}

People. I hate them. Well, not all people, I can tolerate Enola, Watson , Tewksbury, Mycroft...
But barely.

'Mr Holmes, how nice to see you...'

These people.

'Lestrade...'

'Didn't take you for a ball person, Mr Holmes.'

I'm not ,my sister is making me. But I can't say that out loud, nor can I punch the infuriating man. If I punched him I would lose the support of the police detectives, not that I need their help.
I sighed, plastering on my 'I-totally-care-about-what-you-have-to-say-I-totally-don't-find-you-boring' face. I looked down at the man beside me, he stood a foot shorter than me. But then again everyone is shorter than me, not many have my 6'1 frame.

'Taking a break from a difficult case, then Sherlock.'

I snapped back on Lestrade.

'No, just difficult people.'

And with that I turned forcing myself away from the man and into the crowd. Wrong move. Now  that I had freed myself from one conversation, I had opened myself up for more. The ball had turned into a battle field of who could reach me first.

'Hello, Mr Holmes...' a voice trilled

I Looked down. It was a canary. Well, not an actual canary but a young women who looked like one. She wore a hideous yellow dress, an atrocious yellow side hat and a thick golden necklace, all of which did not suit her in the slightest.

'Hello...' I asked hesitantly.

I quickly donned my I-totally-think-your-beautiful-mask and looked less grumpily at the women.

'How can I help...'

I barely finished my sentence when she interrupted me. I sighed inwardly. Here it comes.

'Could I interest you in a dance, Mr Holmes,' the women smiled, in what I assume was meant to be seductively. I felt my face pale. She fluttered her fan, then placed one hand on my arm. I felt my entire body tense. Touching was a no go. As was dancing.

'Aaa, no I'm terribly sorry, um, I have to meet someone about a thing...' I flustered. Great, for being one of the greatest detectives, I can't even think up a decent excuse.

And with that I spun on my heel and walked quickly through the bustling crowd of poshly dressed ostriches.

Quite suddenly,I found myself at the drinks table. Alcohol. My saviour in this senseless facade of dancing. Ugh, how I hate dancing.

I once again began to force my way through the crowd, at least this time with a glass full of sherry. Suddenly, I felt a harsh thump against my chest and something wet around my kidneys . I looked down. There was a women, dressed in a deep green, extremely flustered, her face turning a deep red.

'Oh, sir I am extremely sorry. Sorry. I'm so sorry, wasn't looking where I was going-

'No, no the fault is mine, I was thinking. No, need to apologise.' I interrupted.

The women looked up. Her face paled.

'Mr Holmes. I, I , I'm so sorry. Sorry I -

'No,' I interrupted her again, I stared into her hazel eyes. They were a unique colour. ' The fault was mine.'

'But your shirt Mr Holmes...' she said, near tears. I looked down. So that was why I felt sticky. On bumping into the lady I must of spilt my drink over myself. Damit, now my favourite shirt had a stained deep red sherry smelling patch on it. Damn, Enola and her stupid balls.

'Oh well, at least I can make a story out of it, say I got stabbed.' I chuckled, trying ,in vain ,to cheer up the flustered women. Since when do I try to cheer women up?

'I'm so sorry Mr Holmes...'

And with that, she half ran off into the crowd. How peculiar she was. If it had been any other women in this hall, they would have offered to help me clean myself up, and...other things.

I made my way to the men's room, my thoughts still consumed about the woman.

-.-.-.-

Hi readers, sorry for the late update, I have been studying for the exams.

Next update soon, I promise.

Also I you have any ideas about the story line, please comment.