"Really?" He's genuinely a little surprised at that. He'd expected something in the balcony, or possibly the orchestra section. But then, he thinks, getting someone's best friend out from under a blackmailer and a murder charge is above and beyond a first-row-grand-tier favour. "Well. I'll have to find him later and--"

"Sherlock?"

He turns, momentarily thrown off.

"Sherlock Holmes! I knew that was you." An older woman, wearing an elegant green silk dress and a frankly excessive amount of diamonds, sweeps towards them out of the crowd. Sherlock takes in a dozen tiny details about her before the flashy necklace at her throat sets off a reminder in his brain. He's pulled that necklace out of a haggis in front of a dozen gawping police officers.

"Mrs Stafford." His tone is polite, but he doesn't smile.

"Christabel, please."

She eyes him, largely ignoring Molly, and somehow his pettiness and pride roll together in a strange chemical reaction. He draws himself up a little--if he were a peacock, he'd be fanning out an enormous tail.

"Yes. Molly, this is Christabel Stafford, a former client of mine--I recovered the necklace she's wearing after it was stolen from her at a premiere much like this one. Christabel, this is Dr Molly Hooper, my date."

That last word comes out a lot more easily than he'd thought it would.