A/N: Not the best chapter ever written. I have to say, thank you to the reviewers. x) The two of you made my day. Anyway, enjoy.

I don't own Sherlock.

Molly flushed bright pink as he took her hand. She couldn't help it. He was looking at her, only her, those beautiful eyes locked on hers and a rare smile on his face. She was having trouble keeping her own smile level. Her thoughts ran a million kilometres a minute, heart fluttering. Who knew that Sherlock actually had knowledge of things like this?

He wasn't really sure why he'd done it. After all, the man normally couldn't care less about women and romance. It wasn't his field - his life was more devoted to his work, as he'd always wanted it to be. So it made absolutely no sense to him why he'd taken her hand in his. Probably, he decided, because he hadn't wanted to disappoint her. But why would he care?

"We're almost there," a voice called from the front seat, pulling both of them back to reality. Molly gave a sheepish smile and withdrew her hand from his, leaning back against the seat. Each drew deep breaths, attempting to slow their minds. The rest of the ride was silent, all two minutes of it. Occasionally she'd steal a glance at him but Sherlock seemed more focussed on the window than anything. 'Fine,' Molly thought, 'but I hope he's not like this all night.'

The limo came to a rumbling stop outside of a rather large building. She didn't recognize it, but why would she? Molly wasn't exactly the richest person in all of London. She considering a night out at the bar indulgent most of the time, so this - this was absolutely extravagant. She stepped out of the vehicle, a small smile creeping onto her face again. Even if Sherlock didn't acknowledge her for the rest of the night, this was sure to be fun.

Behind her, John and Sarah exited. She giggled a small bit. They hadn't really paid attention to anything, thank God, and had been sitting a full minute in the limo before realizing that she and Sherlock had already left. The pair looked a bit flushed.

"Sorry 'bout that," Sarah apologized quickly. "Ah, just got caught up in the conversation is all. Well, isn't this lovely."

She was obviously looking around too. The men didn't seem half as impressed, but that hardly mattered. Considering just how expensive Sherlock's scarf alone must be, it would hardly be easy to be surprised at their neutral reactions. Molly snorted. Sherlock probably visited this place at least a dozen times.

"Shall we go, then?" John rumbled, offering his arm to Sarah, who took it. After a moment, Molly realized that Sherlock was doing the same for her and she took it somewhat hesitantly. He stared at her curiously for a moment. Why the hesitation? He'd thought she'd wanted to come to this. Far more than he had, anyway.

"Y-yes," Molly nodded after a few moments. The four of them took the steps slowly, both women solely focussed on not falling over. High heels. She hated them so much some times. Fortunately, however, neither fell and they soon found themselves inside the building. It was as extravagant inside as it had been outside - more so, even. Polished wooden floors and high marble walls. Men dressed in dark suits carrying champagne, women dressed in light gowns leading guests to the ballroom. Molly suddenly felt very underdressed.

"I suppose we'll have to meet Blackford first," Sherlock decided, speaking more to himself than the others. They all nodded anyway. He led the group towards the ballroom, ignoring the offers for help from the employees. It was true, he'd been here a dozen times - this place was not unfamiliar to him. 'Just down the hall,' he thought, 'second door on the left.' And, of course, he was right.

They stepped into the room, far vaster than the hallway they'd just left. The women stared around in amazement while John and Sherlock exchanged a knowing look. Of course, this place amazed them as well, but the effect wore off in time. It was just another visit to a place that neither really liked to go. Classical music played from a band on the side of the room, reminding them, yet again, of just how they were supposed to behave here. Classy, polite. It was too bad that neither really possessed those qualities.

"Sherlock! Thank God," a voice greeted them. All heads turned to see Lestrade striding towards them, an odd sort of smile on his face. "Blackford has been asking how early you'll be here. I owe you for this. Really, I do. Can you come see him now or would you prefer a few minutes to get settled?"

"Now would be ideal," Sherlock replied. "I suppose you expect John to come as well. Very well, then, where is the man?"

"Over there," Lestrade pointed towards a rather short man standing by the band. "Come with me. He'll be pleased to see you."

Shrugging, Sherlock followed the man, and the others followed him. Molly clung to his arm like it was a lifeline. She was beginning to get the familiar anxiety again. She was about to meet a very influential member of Scotland Yard, was she not? Of course, it wasn't because the man wanted to meet her, but she could easily jeopardize this for Sherlock if she said something wrong. Best to keep her mouth shut.

As they drew close enough to see the man, Molly nearly laughed. She'd expected a tall, formidable man. Instead, Blackford was rather short. His hairline receding and most of his hair tipped gray anyway. He didn't seem to really have much for strength, despite the years in Scotland Yard. Perhaps he'd spent his last ten years working paper work, she decided. That would explain the lack of formidability.

"Ah, gentlemen, ladies," Blackford greeting, nodding slightly to them. "Pleased to see you, of course. DI Lestrade, please, introductions."