After the Day

This is a short, stand-alone (for now) fic that takes place right after Mary and John's wedding in The Sign of Three when Sherlock leaves early and the last shot is of him stepping under a tree. Perhaps he did dance that night.... P.S. Chemise is my character but Sherlock isn't, sadly...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock strolled out of John and Mary's wedding, his mind on the head bridesmaid, Janine. She had been so nice...why did he have to /him/. Her words echoed in his head,

'I wish you weren't whatever you are.' Why did he have to be a sociopath? If he wasn't such a freak, maybe they could have tried to be together...whatever. Why did he have to point that bloody sci-if geek out to her? He tried to shove the subject from his mind and it was swiftly put aside when a figure melted from the shadows of a willow tree just ahead of him.

"Who's there?" If this was some sort of threat, there was no way in hell that they were going to ruin John and Mary's wedding. The figure moved more out of the shadows and he recognized the silhouette. Irene Adler wasn't the only woman whose measurements Sherlock knew,

"Chemis." He greeted, "What are you doing here?" She always knew when to turn up.

She stepped from the shadows and the moonlight shone on her glossy, midnight-black locks. They curled around her bare shoulders and matched the color of her dress. It was a fine, black, silk piece, tight fitting to the hips, then loosening with a few ruffles and fine black lace. It was strapless and had a fitted bodice that accentuated her waist and curves. She was nearly as skinny as Sherlock. A gauzy black shawl was draped from her elbows, making it look like she had smoke wrapped around her arms.

"Oh, you know...respect and some of that sentiment you and Mycroft seem to find so dangerous. I'm here the same reasons as you, Sherlock. They just don't happen to know I exist. The thief stepped entirely out of the shadows and closer to the detective, her little black dress swishing gently against her knees.

"Only by choice." Countered Sherlock.

Chemis laughed, a pleasant sound that Sherlock didn't mind,

"You enjoy keeping me your little secret. Don't deny it." She was standing quite close now. Her heels clicked as she walked a slow circle around Sherlock, whose hands were folded behind his back. Sherlock looked down at her when she stopped in front of him again,

"Mmm. Perhaps. I'd never hear the end of the questions if I didn't. My parents have nagged my for years to settle down with a nice woman."

"I wouldn't say I was exactly nice..." Sherlock chuckled. A deep, rich sound that could liquefy Chemis' brain quite easily. She liked Sherlock more than she let on. "Why didn't you stay for the dancing?" She asked. The party music floated on the abrupt side the windowed hall that the reception was being held in.

"I'm afraid I can't dance much outside of traditional partner dancing." He wasn't going to tell her that he knew ballet, "My chosen partner was a bit...occupied."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. She seemed really lovely."

"Quite."

"Your playing though...that was absolutely gorgeous, Sherlock."

"I do try."

"I wish you would play like that for me..."

"Perhaps someday."

The two were quiet a moment before Chemis extended a hand,

"A dance, sir?" Sherlock looked surprised for half a second but was back to his cold facade a moment later,

"Im afraid such modern music isn't possible for me to dance to."

"Well, it's a. Good thing the song changed, eh?" The raven-haired thief was right. A slow, classical piece had just come on. He looked at Chemis' outstretched hand,

"I do believe it is the man who should ask the lady to dance."

The mysterious woman grinned and took Sherlock's hand. He bowed at the waist and she curtseyed,

"Thank you. Does this mean you'll lead?" She asked, a hint of mischief in her voice.

Sherlock smirked at her and led her out onto the grass. It was a. Smooth plot in the light of the windows. He gently pulled her into the hold, one hand on her waist, the other holding her right hand. She rested her left on his shoulder, still having to reach up a bit despite being in heels. Chemis was glad that Sherlock couldn't see her blush when his hand came to rest on her side, only the thin, black silk separating their skin.

"You should wear coattails more often." Another smirk. They swayed to the song and after a moment's hesitation, Chemise moved in closer and rested her head on Sherlock's left shoulder. He stiffened and she was about to retreat and apologize when he relaxed and snaked his arm further around her back. She put her hand further up his shoulder and behind his neck, letting it trace the fair skin on the back of his neck. She could feel the bones under the fair skin as his head craned down to rest just beside her face. They spent the remainder of the song like that. Chemis was never more glad that classical songs tended to be long. At the inevitable end, there was the sound of glass breaking from the hall. Sherlock let go of Chemis and turned his head to look toward the hall, wanting to be there if any trouble arose. He felt a chaste kiss on his left cheekbone and when he turned to look at Chemise, his thief was gone and a single, black rose was stuck in his lapel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, there it is....hope you liked it! Chemise was supposed to be mysterious so...I hope she was! Please, comment, review...whatever. ily you all.