The Case of the Dancing Thief
Title: The Case of the Dancing Thief
Author: jaune_chat
Fandoms: Sherlock (BBC)/Leverage
Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Sophie Devereaux, Parker
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 999
Spoilers: general for the series premise
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
A/N: Written for tvnetwork2_las for the prompt - “Dancing.”
Summary: Sherlock is dancing for a case. Parker is dancing for a job. John and Sophie are wondering what the world’s coming to.
“Oh, no.”
John turned towards the table next to his at the sound of utter dismay. A handsome, dark-haired woman was watching the dance floor with poorly-concealed horror.
“Is it all that bad?” John asked. Sherlock had abandoned him so he could ask questions of the fundraiser guests about the recent thefts. Not that John hadn’t tried to stay by Sherlock’s side to keep a restraining hand on him. But this was a gala, and though Sherlock fit in, John was decidedly on the outs. He counted himself lucky that he hadn’t gotten thrown out yet just for being under-dressed.
“Probably worse,” the woman said. “A friend of mine is attempting to dance.”
John looked in the general direction she was to see a manically grinning blonde woman in a blue dress attempting a possibly illegal tango with…
“Oh, no,” John echoed faintly.
“Yes?” she asked.
“I didn’t even know he could dance.”
“The feeling is mutual. I’m Sophie Devereaux,” she said.
“John Watson,” he said, shaking her hand.
“Care for a drink?”
John looked out at the dance floor and shuddered. “Please.”
---
Parker hitched her leg up a little higher on the tall guy’s hip, and tried her winsome smile; the one Sophie made her practice in front of the mirror. She was pretty sure that between all her dance moves, she’d manage to frisk her mark pretty thoroughly. No gun and no police ID. He wouldn’t shut up with the questions, but at least they were interesting ones.
“That’s quite impossible. You would need two minutes to bypass the laser net,” he said imperiously.
“Unless you were using an encoder to disarm it,” Parker said.
“That’s incredibly expensive for your average thief.”
“Oh, come on. Who’s ever been knocking over this place is no average thief.”
The guy (what was his name? Sherman? Sherwin? Sure-is-pretty…) spun them both hard in time with a musical sting in the song, and his hand slipped pretty far down her back. Eliot glowered at her from the sidelines, ready to remove the man’s hand from the wrist if Parker asked it of him. She shook her head subtly; things were just starting to get fun!
“No. No average thief would be here, as I am here to catch him. I do not get out of bed for average,” he said.
“Oh goody!” Parker said enthusiastically, throwing her arms around his neck and putting her stiletto heel right on his toes. “Because I’m not.”
--
“Your friend looks like he’s enjoying himself,” Sophie opined.
“That’s what frightens me,” John said.
Sophie laughed. “Parker’s enjoying herself too, which is always a cause for concern, but I think I’m not going to let it bother me today. She seems to have everything under control.”
John looked back out on the dance floor, where Sherlock’s social damage was being restricted to one apparently tolerant woman, rather than spread around to all of London’s elite at the party. Also, Sherlock had that expression on his face that he was busy processing facts. So John could either interrupt and have a full dose of Holmesian wrath, or relax with Sophie and get the completed monologue later.
Sophie laughed softly to herself as her friend whispered something that actually made Sherlock blush, and then turned to John.
“Would you care to dance, John?”
“Oh, I’m rubbish,” he protested, and downed the balance of his champagne at a gulp.
“So am I,” she said, standing up and reaching for his hand. “So let’s go be rubbish together.”
Well, put that way, how could he refuse?
--
“So, that is a member of your team,” Sure-was-pretty said, wincing against the pain in his foot as he subtly indicated Sophie with his chin.
“Isn’t Mister Two-left-feet who’s dancing with her one of your guys, consulting detective?” Parker asked, rattling off the title from the business card she’d extracted, then returned, to his billfold.
“Don’t be absurd,” he scoffed.
“Better not tell me that. Sophie says absurd is one of my specialties.”
“Parker, it’s not nice to play with your food,” Nate said in her ear.
“Your team is listening to every word you say, as your expression indicates intense listening at every possible break in conversation. From the behavior of the long-haired man in the waiter’s uniform who’s been circulating in the same twenty-foot area for the past seven minutes, he’s your physical back-up. Ex-special forces, possibly American Army Ranger. The gentleman who’s been nursing four scotches this evening has maneuvered to get the best view of the whole area, so he is coordinating things. The woman dancing with Dr. Watson is undoubtedly a skilled liar. And judging by the amount of sophisticated hardware you’ve been talking about, you have a technical expert, mostly likely off-site or hidden somewhere off the beaten path in this building, to handle the electronic details.”
“I told you!” Parker said, not to Sure-was-pretty, but to the team at large. “Only time I’ve ever been caught, it was this guy!”
Sure-was-pretty started. “The Case of the Vanishing Vase!”
“I didn’t do anything to the guard either.”
“Obviously. He accidentally shot himself and blamed it on the thief. Clearly we’re not after the same goal.”
“Unless you’re clearing Kimberly Garber’s name, not so much,” Parker shrugged.
“She was having an affair with the janitor in the third-floor closet and couldn’t have possibly been involved with the theft,” Sure-was-pretty said immediately.
“The real thief is spider-walking across those new banner wires to get to the cases without tripping the alarms.”
The song came to an end, and Parker spun away from Sure-was-pretty with a nod of mutual respect.
--
“I do wish you luck, John,” Sophie said, smiling warmly. “I think my friend is finally finished.”
“As is mine. Thank you, Ms. Devereaux.” John waited, watching her disappear into the crowd with a parting wave, until Sherlock appeared at his elbow, uncharacteristically and frightening ebullient.
“That was very enlightening. We both really must go dancing more often.”
Author: jaune_chat
Fandoms: Sherlock (BBC)/Leverage
Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, Sophie Devereaux, Parker
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 999
Spoilers: general for the series premise
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
A/N: Written for tvnetwork2_las for the prompt - “Dancing.”
Summary: Sherlock is dancing for a case. Parker is dancing for a job. John and Sophie are wondering what the world’s coming to.
“Oh, no.”
John turned towards the table next to his at the sound of utter dismay. A handsome, dark-haired woman was watching the dance floor with poorly-concealed horror.
“Is it all that bad?” John asked. Sherlock had abandoned him so he could ask questions of the fundraiser guests about the recent thefts. Not that John hadn’t tried to stay by Sherlock’s side to keep a restraining hand on him. But this was a gala, and though Sherlock fit in, John was decidedly on the outs. He counted himself lucky that he hadn’t gotten thrown out yet just for being under-dressed.
“Probably worse,” the woman said. “A friend of mine is attempting to dance.”
John looked in the general direction she was to see a manically grinning blonde woman in a blue dress attempting a possibly illegal tango with…
“Oh, no,” John echoed faintly.
“Yes?” she asked.
“I didn’t even know he could dance.”
“The feeling is mutual. I’m Sophie Devereaux,” she said.
“John Watson,” he said, shaking her hand.
“Care for a drink?”
John looked out at the dance floor and shuddered. “Please.”
---
Parker hitched her leg up a little higher on the tall guy’s hip, and tried her winsome smile; the one Sophie made her practice in front of the mirror. She was pretty sure that between all her dance moves, she’d manage to frisk her mark pretty thoroughly. No gun and no police ID. He wouldn’t shut up with the questions, but at least they were interesting ones.
“That’s quite impossible. You would need two minutes to bypass the laser net,” he said imperiously.
“Unless you were using an encoder to disarm it,” Parker said.
“That’s incredibly expensive for your average thief.”
“Oh, come on. Who’s ever been knocking over this place is no average thief.”
The guy (what was his name? Sherman? Sherwin? Sure-is-pretty…) spun them both hard in time with a musical sting in the song, and his hand slipped pretty far down her back. Eliot glowered at her from the sidelines, ready to remove the man’s hand from the wrist if Parker asked it of him. She shook her head subtly; things were just starting to get fun!
“No. No average thief would be here, as I am here to catch him. I do not get out of bed for average,” he said.
“Oh goody!” Parker said enthusiastically, throwing her arms around his neck and putting her stiletto heel right on his toes. “Because I’m not.”
--
“Your friend looks like he’s enjoying himself,” Sophie opined.
“That’s what frightens me,” John said.
Sophie laughed. “Parker’s enjoying herself too, which is always a cause for concern, but I think I’m not going to let it bother me today. She seems to have everything under control.”
John looked back out on the dance floor, where Sherlock’s social damage was being restricted to one apparently tolerant woman, rather than spread around to all of London’s elite at the party. Also, Sherlock had that expression on his face that he was busy processing facts. So John could either interrupt and have a full dose of Holmesian wrath, or relax with Sophie and get the completed monologue later.
Sophie laughed softly to herself as her friend whispered something that actually made Sherlock blush, and then turned to John.
“Would you care to dance, John?”
“Oh, I’m rubbish,” he protested, and downed the balance of his champagne at a gulp.
“So am I,” she said, standing up and reaching for his hand. “So let’s go be rubbish together.”
Well, put that way, how could he refuse?
--
“So, that is a member of your team,” Sure-was-pretty said, wincing against the pain in his foot as he subtly indicated Sophie with his chin.
“Isn’t Mister Two-left-feet who’s dancing with her one of your guys, consulting detective?” Parker asked, rattling off the title from the business card she’d extracted, then returned, to his billfold.
“Don’t be absurd,” he scoffed.
“Better not tell me that. Sophie says absurd is one of my specialties.”
“Parker, it’s not nice to play with your food,” Nate said in her ear.
“Your team is listening to every word you say, as your expression indicates intense listening at every possible break in conversation. From the behavior of the long-haired man in the waiter’s uniform who’s been circulating in the same twenty-foot area for the past seven minutes, he’s your physical back-up. Ex-special forces, possibly American Army Ranger. The gentleman who’s been nursing four scotches this evening has maneuvered to get the best view of the whole area, so he is coordinating things. The woman dancing with Dr. Watson is undoubtedly a skilled liar. And judging by the amount of sophisticated hardware you’ve been talking about, you have a technical expert, mostly likely off-site or hidden somewhere off the beaten path in this building, to handle the electronic details.”
“I told you!” Parker said, not to Sure-was-pretty, but to the team at large. “Only time I’ve ever been caught, it was this guy!”
Sure-was-pretty started. “The Case of the Vanishing Vase!”
“I didn’t do anything to the guard either.”
“Obviously. He accidentally shot himself and blamed it on the thief. Clearly we’re not after the same goal.”
“Unless you’re clearing Kimberly Garber’s name, not so much,” Parker shrugged.
“She was having an affair with the janitor in the third-floor closet and couldn’t have possibly been involved with the theft,” Sure-was-pretty said immediately.
“The real thief is spider-walking across those new banner wires to get to the cases without tripping the alarms.”
The song came to an end, and Parker spun away from Sure-was-pretty with a nod of mutual respect.
--
“I do wish you luck, John,” Sophie said, smiling warmly. “I think my friend is finally finished.”
“As is mine. Thank you, Ms. Devereaux.” John waited, watching her disappear into the crowd with a parting wave, until Sherlock appeared at his elbow, uncharacteristically and frightening ebullient.
“That was very enlightening. We both really must go dancing more often.”