Mycroft cursed Sherlock in his head. He hated being surrounded by so many "goldfish" at once. Unfortunately, Sherlock was even worse in social situations like this and had not managed to snag an invitation to the masquerade. Mycroft had. And so had you, a suspect in Sherlock's latest case. It left Mycroft in the unique position of being able to get close to you. That was how Mycroft found himself discreetly scanning the large room for you. Thanks to Sherlock and a couple of carefully placed spies, he knew exactly what you were wearing. He merely had to find you in the sea of other people.

"Looking for someone?" a voice to his right asked. Mycroft glanced over to see you standing next to him, a soft smile on your lips. Your features were even more pleasant up close. "No one in particular. I simply found myself bored with my acquaintances and decided to relieve myself of their company." Your smile grew a little. "I see. Perhaps you would care for some more agreeable companionship for the evening? I've been told I'm quite pleasant to be around."

Mycroft couldn't believe you'd made it so easy to get close to you. He was about to reply when a waltz began. Time to put his plan into action. He placed his drink down and offered his hand. "Would you care for a dance?" Your eyes widened for a moment as if you hadn't been expecting that, but you nodded anyway and took Mycroft's outstretched hand. With effortless grace, Mycroft twirled with you onto the dance floor.

You spoke softly as Mycroft lead you in the dance. He responded to your words, but Mycroft was waiting for a dance where he could hold you a bit closer. He was fortunate that the next song was exactly what he required. You looked slightly unsure. "May I?" After a split second, you agreed and Mycroft pulled you closer. Your eyes looked up at him through your mask and a shaky smile made its way to your lips.

Being so close to you allowed Mycroft to learn that you had no weapons on your person, something you picked up on quickly, it seemed. After a moment, you rolled your eyes. "I have no weapons, Mr. Holmes. And I didn't do what they think. I've never committed a crime, especially not murder." There was a fire in your eyes that took Mycroft by surprise.

"You know who I am?" he asked. You nodded. "Of course I do. You play a 'minor role' in the British government, after all. I know how to do my research. Your reputation precedes you. I know how intelligent and observant you are. I. Did. Not. Kill. Him," you emphasized through gritted teeth. To the outside world, it looked as though the two of you were simply enjoying the dance. You were apparently very good at keeping up appearances.

Mycroft studied your face for a moment, but with the mask it was difficult to tell whether you were lying or not. Your body language indicated that you were being truthful, but if you were as intelligent as he'd heard, you could easily fool him. He needed to get you alone where you could remove your mask and speak freely.

His eyes scanned the room to find a balcony. With ease, he danced you over to the balcony and pulled you outside. As soon as you were outside, you ripped your mask off your face. Your eyes flashed with frustration and anger. "I had nothing to gain from his death. I simply had the unfortunate luck of being the last person to have a disagreement with him and the last one to see him alive. I didn't kill him." You were staring Mycroft right in his eyes, trying desperately to make him believe you.

Mycroft searched your face. He learned how to spot a lie early on in his life, having much practice with Sherlock, and you were most definitely telling the truth. "Do you know who is responsible then?" he asked you and you shook your head. "I don't. I only know that whoever is responsible has gone to the trouble of making me look guilty." Mycroft studied your face as you spoke. He deduced that you were in fact intelligent enough to get away with a crime, but you hadn't the emotional capacity(or lack thereof) to do so. You were anxious simply speaking with him about it.

Before Mycroft could answer you, his mobile rang. The elder Holmes brother bit back a groan of annoyance. "One moment, please." He stepped back to answer his brother. "I am quite busy, brother mine. Is this of great importance?" Sherlock was quick to inform him of the fact that Lestrade was on his way inside. Mycroft cursed under his breath before hanging up.

"We need to leave. The detectives of Scotland Yard shall be here momentarily." Your lips drooped into a slight frown. Fixing your mask back over your eyes, you headed back inside without a word. Mycroft followed you merely out of curiosity. Why would you head right back into the crowd instead of finding a stealthy escape?

"The best chance I have of escape is by blending in until I can leave without drawing attention to myself," you explained as if reading his mind. Once you were back on the dance floor, you turned back to Mycroft. "Will you dance with me once more, Mr. Holmes?" Mycroft thought for only a moment. You were innocent so what was the harm? He took you in his arms and began dancing with you again. It wasn't long into the dance that he heard the tell-tale sounds of Scotland Yard entering the ballroom. Mycroft pulled you a little bit closer. Your eyes glanced up at him from behind your mask.

"We must make it convincing, mustn't we?" he asked, earning a cheeky smirk from you. "If that were the case, I think a kiss would be much more convincing." Mycroft nearly tripped over his own feet for the first time in a long time. That wasn't what he was expecting. He searched your gaze for any sign of jest or discomfort. When he saw none, he smiled. "If you insist," he whispered, leaning closer to you.

"YOU KISSED THE NIGHT YOU MET?!" Rosie Watson, now aged thirteen, screeched. You opened your mouth to reply, but Sherlock butted in, "They did more than that."

"Sherlock!" you admonished with a hiss, "You shouldn't say things like that." Sherlock merely gave you a pointed look and continued on with his own devices. You looked over at Mycroft. "You really should do something about him," you muttered. Mycroft shook his head. "Nothing to be done I'm afraid, my dear. But yes," he said and turned to Rosie, "That was the night we met and the night that our relationship began." Rosie smiled. "And now you're getting married?" You smiled at Mycroft. "And now we're getting married."