(A/N: This is my first Sherlock fanfic, so I hope you'll bear with me, leave plenty of reviews to let me know what you think, and just enjoy the fun. At the moment I'm adding this note 4/10/15, I already have 12 chapter written, though they aren't all added, but if I have enough interest, I'll put them up rather quickly. So far, everything is written in Sherlock's POV. Hope you enjoy, and I look forward to hearing what you think!)

They were right, just as I feared. Just as I knew and couldn't bring myself to say aloud to anyone who told me, definitely not Mycroft. I most certainly did not wish to see more of him due to the irrefutable alteration of my status with John.

I did not wish to see less of John; however, given the general expectations within the institution of marriage and the impending arrival of a child, deducing the possibility of any result other than a growing distance seemed outright stupid of me and admittedly, childishly selfish wishful thinking.

"Leaving already?"

Caught unawares, I spun around to find someone most unexpected following behind me.

Victoria Taylor. Table three. Mary's neighbor and friend of two years, seven months. American, specifically New York, Long Island, Queens. Third year Professor of Psychology at Regent's College. Undergraduate degree from Harvard. Doctorate from Cambridge. Intelligent. Aged thirty-four. Ah, no. Make that thirty-five, birthday six days ago. Mary mentioned it. Unmarried. Non-smoker. Owns one cat, black. Comfortable wearing a dress yet not in those heels. Natural ginger. Sectoral heterochromia iridus. Left handed. Hm… No, no… Prefers left handedness. Naturally ambidextrous, quite uncommon. Interesting.

"I … I was just getting a bit of fresh air."

She smiled and took a step back toward the reception hall. "Okay. Well, Mary said someone thought they saw you leave. I didn't think the best man would disappear without even a single dance, but here you are, looking like some felon escaping a prison sentence." Narrowing her eyes, she looked me over carefully as if deducing me, then smirked and laughed quietly. "You know, Mr. Holmes, being here alone is only as bad as you let it be."

Alone. RSVP did not include a 'plus one' attending.

"Is that so?"

"Yep." Popping the 'p' at the end, Victoria shrugged her shoulders in a rather noncommittal gesture. "At least that's what Mary said to me."

"Well, I certainly didn't see anyone else standing alone on the dance floor before I left the room."

"That's probably because I slipped off to the restroom, trying to figure out how to fix this ankle strap on my shoe. The damn buckle broke earlier, now I'm about to kick the stupid things off and just dance barefoot. Or at least I would, if I had anyone to dance with. … Which would be how I ended up out here chasing you down instead of inside dancing the night away." Wrapping her arms around herself, she rubbed her hands furiously against her upper arms. "And I would be warmer. For being mid-May, you really would think it wouldn't be so chilly outside. This weather is ridiculous."

"It's English," I joked lightly, slipping out of my coat as I closed the distance between us, enveloping her in its warmth.

Pulling it tighter, she looked down to how long it was on her. "Good grief, you're tall."

I refrained from laughing at her completely obvious statement. "A few people have mentioned that a time or two before, I believe." The smile she gave me was quite lovely, and I found myself smiling rather unreservedly in return. "Although, I believe if you were to toss your shoes aside and dance with me, you'd find I appear quite taller than I already do. Would that be a problem for you?"

"Is that an invitation to go back inside and dance?" Her eyes didn't waver from mine.

Puzzles, psychopaths, serial killers, solving crimes, logical deductions are so simple. Human interactions, the potential for emotional entanglements are impossibly complicated, messy, and most definitely not my area of expertise, but if there was anything I had learned from my friendship with John, it was this:

Alone does not protect me. Alone is painful. Undeniably, horrendously painful.

My mouth gone suddenly dry, I swallowed and cleared my throat. "Um … yes. Shall I escort you back inside, Miss Taylor?"

She took my offered arm, and I pulled her closer to my side, aware her left shoe was loose and the terrain was uneven. Having deduced she ran to keep fit, any injury would not only prevent dancing, it would surely put her out of commission from her preferred method of exercise for approximately four weeks, and a sedentary life bored her.

"Please, call me Victoria."

"Not Vicky? That is the most common shortened version of Victoria used socially, is it not?"

"Use it at your own peril, Mr. Holmes," she replied sarcastically, smiling with false sweetness and batting her eyelashes, much to my amusement.

"Very well, Victoria. And please, do call me Sherlock. No nicknames for me either. Same terms apply."

Opening the door, I allowed her entrance first then followed, lifting my coat from her shoulders and hanging it before holding out a hand, assisting her balance as she slipped off the troublesome heels. John had always attested I had no social graces, but I did. Choosing not to use them in favor of focusing on pursuits of logic and reason does not mean a lack of such things. My brother and I were raised to behave as proper gentlemen with all the skills necessary to treat a woman appropriately.

They were so pointless, useless, and absolutely inapplicable to my intended goals in life. At least they had been.

"Thank you, Sherlock." With her shoes removed, Victoria still held my hand, and I made no effort to change that, instead, stepping nearer. "You were right."

I smirked. "I generally am."

She rolled her eyes but kept looking at me. "Uh huh. I gather you usually think that about yourself. But this time, you were. You do seem much taller this way." The top of her fiery hair barely reached my shoulder as she stood barefoot in front of me. "Good thing I happen to like tall men." Lifting a hand, she flicked her fingers through the hair on my forehead, surprising me in the action. "Tall men with seemingly untamable curls."

"I… I…" I blinked several times, blanking on how to reply. "I like to dance. Shall we?"