Deerstalker - a Sherlolly story

The Night of Her Life

While the houses on the side of the road flashed by and the school came in sight, Molly realized that riding a motorcycle wasn’t the only thing she hadn’t done before tonight. It was also the first time she had forgotten to think something trough. Only when Sherlock pulled up in front of the school’s fence did it hit her that beside the fact she would get strange looks from the entire school, she had no idea how to actually have fun with Sherlock Holmes.

“Nervous?” Sherlock asked as if he had read her mind. He started to reach for Molly’s helmet, but she was adamant to take it off herself this time.

“A little. It’s all just very…uhm… unexpected, you know.” She answered, mustering up a smile.

“I like the unexpected. So, let’s go,” he replied confidently, while he started to lead her towards the front door.

The moment they entered the school’s gymnasium, they were swallowed in a sea loud music and moving bodies. When they started to move towards the dance floor Sherlock grabbed her hand. Molly could feel the stares on her back and swallowed hard. She was nervous alright. 

They were still moving when Molly heard a voice coming from behind her. 

“Molly! Molly!” Molly turned around and saw  Meena standing near the table with drinks, trying to get her attention. She tugged Sherlock’s hand a little to let him know he should stop moving.

“Molly! You came!” Meena tried to make herself heard above the music, when Molly had finally reached her. Only now did Molly see Sally and Sam standing beside her. “I thought you wouldn’t come anymore.” 

Molly was about to reply when suddenly all her friends looked as if they had seen a ghost appear. Off course they hadn’t seen a real ghost, it was Sherlock. He was standing beside Molly, still holding her hand tightly in his.

Eventually Sally decided to break the awkward silence.

 “Molly, I thought you were going with David, but I haven’t seen him yet. So, where is he?” 

In that moment Molly had the desire to fall through the floor and disappear, as well as the longing to smash in Sally’s head. She just really didn’t want to relive the humiliation of being stood-up. 

“He isn’t here. When it turned out he wasn’t quite ‘the perfect gentleman’ everyone thought he was, Molly was kind enough to let me bring her to the dance. Oh, and try to stop looking so constipated, it doesn’t go well with your dress.” Sherlock replied without hesitation. 

Molly squeezed his hand a little. In other circumstances she would have found it annoying that he had spoken for her, but right now she was just very grateful he didn’t mention her being stood-up. He didn’t even claim her as his date.

Ignoring Sherlock’s insult, Sally continued her interrogation.

“So, is he your date?” 

Molly realized the choice was up to her. For a moment she hesitated, but then she felt Sherlock’s cool hand in her sweaty one. Without any further doubt, she answered; “Yes. Sherlock is my date.” 

While she saw Sally’s face turn sour, her hand received a little squeeze.

 “And as her date I have the obligation to dance with her – if she wants to – so if you’d please excuse us,” Sherlock cut in. 

Molly could feel her nervousness return. Dancing? With Sherlock? An image that was both horrifying and hilarious came to her mind. 

Yet, when she looked up Sherlock’s green eyes (hadn’t they been blue before?) were looking in hers expectantly.