Hi, for the one word Sherlolly prompt, how about "mutual"?
This was harder than I thought it would be! I started off with only the last sentence, and eventually, piece by piece, the rest of it filled in. Hope it’s not too disjointed! Thanks for the prompt!
Molly huffed in exasperation; of course he was here. It seemed she could not go anywhere in London without that odious man suddenly turning up. She could not understand how a man such as he could merit an invitation to Almack’s. The society mothers loathed him, saying that no mother in her right mind would wish for her daughter to marry such a man. And yet, there he stood, polished and poised in his finery, looking far more handsome than he had any right to do.
Molly would never admit it to anyone, but his handsomeness was one of the reasons she disliked him. How could a man so horrid possess such a face? His keen eyes, a hypnotic swirl of green and blue, seemed to pierce the soul of any person who should gaze into them. The cut of his jaw and his prominent cheekbones sent wild, wanton fantasies through her head. And oh, those lips... just the thought of kissing those full, lush lips set her blushing like a fool.
However, despite her attraction to him, one had only to speak with the man for a few, brief moments to realize that he was no gentleman.
Her skin crawled even now as she recalled that first meeting...
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Holmes,” she smiled cheerfully. “My cousin has told me of your adventures in London.”
The man scoffed, rolling his eyes for good measure. “Stamford is prone to exaggeration and over-exuberance, and has a knack for missing the most important details. I should think his retellings woefully inadequate.”
Molly blinked in surprise, then gave over to indignation. “I-I beg your pardon?”
“I will not repeat myself, Miss Hooper” he sneered. “My ‘adventures,’ as you called them, are not the business of anyone but myself, least of all a plain, stammering country mouse with a head full of fancy and a decided lack of wit.”
The sound of her hand striking his face seemed to echo, even in the small, modest parlor of her cousin’s home. A hush washed over the party, and all eyes were trained on them. Molly’s face grew warm at being the center of attention, but she refused to cower before him. Tears welled in her eyes as she held his surprised gaze.
“How dare you?” she breathed, her voice low and unusually even. “How can you say such horrible things? Have you no shame, Mr. Holmes?” She shook her head, not allowing him time to form an answer. “You haven’t, have you? No sense of what your words might leave in your wake.”
She brazenly stepped forward, and his eyes widened a fraction, but he did not move. Craning her head to continue holding his gaze, she whispered the parting blow: “One day, Mr. Holmes, you will find yourself entirely alone because of your cruelty, and you will wish you might have behaved more like the gentleman you claim to be.”
Molly had never done something so bold in her life, and she recalled the sheer exhaustion that had set in the moment she reached her room. And since that night, she had taken pains to avoid the horrid man, although fate, with her cruel sense of humor, seemed keen to throw him into every situation in which she found herself. She had nearly crossed paths with him every day for the past week, only just managing to escape each time. Even now, she considered how and when she might make her excuses, but her heart weighed heavy at the thought of leaving her first ball at Almack’s. It’s not fair, she moaned petulantly in her head.
“Molly!” a familiar voice called, and she turned to see her dear friend Mary Morstan approaching.
“Mary!” she beamed, her displeasure nearly forgotten as she embraced her friend. “How wonderful to see a familiar face!”
The women smiled at another, then linked arms and took to walking around the edge of the vast ballroom. Mary chatted with exuberance, telling Molly of the handsome doctor she had met the night before, and hoped to meet again tonight. And fate, it seemed, was very much in Mary’s corner… but decidedly not in Molly’s. Within only a few minutes, they had indeed met with Dr. Watson, who was in attendance with his closest friend… Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
A stream of words terribly unfit for a lady poured through Molly’s head as she saw him. Her throat closed in dread, and she cast her eyes about, hoping to find some escape, but none came. With an inward sigh, she resigned herself to her fate.
“Miss Morstan!” the cheerful doctor greeted her as they neared. “Lovely to see you again!”
“And you, Dr. Watson,” she smiled in reply. “May I introduce my friend, Miss Margaret Hooper?”
The customary bow and curtsy were exchanged. “A pleasure, Miss Hooper.”
“Likewise,” she said in a small voice.
The doctor half-turned toward Mr. Holmes, with the intent of making his own introductions, but before he could speak, Mr. Holmes said, “Miss Hooper and I have already met.”
“Have you?” Dr. Watson faced her again, eyebrows raised.
Her face turned scarlet. “Yes, we… met at a dinner party hosted by my cousin, Mr. Stamford.”
“Stamford is your cousin?” he asked, his surprise increased. “Good heavens, what a small world we live in! I studied with Stamford at Cambridge, more years ago than I care to admit. I should like to renew our acquaintance, is he here tonight?”
Molly nodded once. “Yes, sir, though I’m afraid I’m not entirely sure where.”
Dr. Watson chuckled. “Very easy to lose someone in a crush like this. Well, it was lovely to meet you, but if you will permit, I would very much like to steal Miss Morstan for a dance.”
“Certainly, Dr. Watson,” Molly beamed, and away they went.
It was only after the music began that she remembered that Mr. Holmes still stood nearby. She glanced up at him, then gave a start at the realization that he was watching her. Nervously, she smoothed her skirt, her hair, her gloves, anything that did not involve looking at him.
“Would you care to dance, Miss Hooper?”
Her eyes snapped up to meet his in bewilderment. “What?” she blurted out, too stunned to think much of manners and propriety.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked again.
Molly stared for a moment. “Why?”
A small, confused pucker formed between his eyebrows. “‘Why’? Because I would like to dance with you. Is that truly so difficult to comprehend?”
“Yes,” she answered without delay.
Mr. Holmes sighed, but rather than exasperation, she saw… remorse? “Miss Hooper, I am sorry for the way I spoke to you before. I was wholly out of line, and I am ashamed to think of it. I would like to make amends, which I am sure will take some time, but I hoped a dance might be an initial step in the right direction.”
He met her eyes, a look of boyish vulnerability shining through them. For a moment, she was lost in their mercurial depths, mesmerized by the swirl of ever-changing color. Still half-ensconced in her stupor, she again spoke bluntly. “I find you exceedingly puzzling, Mr. Holmes.”
A smile curved his lips, and the effect it had on her was startling. Her entire body grew warm, and she was certain a flush had spread from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. Mr. Holmes held out a hand to her, and she took it mindlessly, staring at his beautiful face, utterly entranced.
“I can assure you, Miss Hooper,” he said, leading her to join the dance, “the feeling is decidedly mutual.”
