"I thought you liked dancing," he heard her purr. "Or perhaps that's not the dancing you had in mind." He turned his head to the left to see her standing there, dressed in a familiar white dress.

"And I thought only the bride was supposed to wear white," he remarked. She threw back her head and laughed, placing a hand on his cheek while her thumbnail made its way towards his bottom lip.

"Oh Sherlock, when did I give a damn about rules. And besides, I didn't pick this outfit out." She winked at him. He offered her his arm. She flashed him a coy smile as she happily took it. They walked alongside one another, allowing the faint sounds of the party to overtake the silence.

"You've changed," she said. "Giving in to the unavoidable? Or admitting defeat?"

"Neither: adapting," he replied as they made their way out onto the walk.

"Like me," she replied. "Told you we're alike you and I."

"Aren't you supposed to be in hiding?"

"I was until you dug me up. Sentiment, Sherlock, isn't that a sign of weakness?" She looked up at him.

He flashed a look from the corner of his eyes. "Not sentiment, respect."

"So you respect me?" She replied, feigning shock.

"I do," he said without hesitation. She pulled her arm tighter around his.

He stopped in their walk, reached into his coat pocket and removed a pack of cigarettes. She watched him as he lit one.

"It's not like he'll be gone forever," she said, which made him pause in putting the cigarette to his lips. He gave her a queer look. "You've never been in love, have you?"

"No," he said, finally taking a drag.

"Tell me," she said, taking a step closer to him, "as you stood there, next to two people who-despite all your faults—admitted they loved you, did you finally understand something?"

"Yes."

She took another step closer to him.

"That it can't last forever." He closed his eyes and took another drag on his cigarette.

"Clever," he heard her say.

He opened his eyes to nothing but an empty street and his thoughts of the future hanging in the air.