The Engagement (8c/10)thedeadparrotSeptember 28 2010, 23:53:53 UTC
"What was that all about?" John asks. He's wandered back over to where Sherlock's sitting, looking more at ease with himself than he has in a while. Harry has ruffled his hair, and Sherlock decides that he much prefers that way. He resolves to do that himself more often.
"Nothing," Sherlock says, because the last thing he wants to do is share what Irene said with John. "Perhaps we should have our first dance now?"
John looks startled for a moment, and Sherlock wonders if he's somehow managed to get the tradition all wrong. But then John straightens and holds out a hand. "Oh yes, of course," he says.
Sherlock has had lessons in ballroom dancing, of course. His parents believed very strongly in having a well-rounded education, and so on Saturday mornings he would end up in the large ballroom on the second floor of the palace. There, he forced to move his body in absurd ways by a retired professional dancer who liked to step on Sherlock's toes when he thought Sherlock wasn't paying enough attention to his lessons. Sherlock, of course, just got better at hiding the fact that he wasn't paying any attention. There are a formalized set of rules about who gets to lead in any particular dance, and Sherlock erased all of them from his brain as soon as he learned them, because they were just so unwieldy and useless. For tonight, Sherlock just takes John's hand and follows him. The dance floor clears out the second they step onto it, and Sherlock gets that zoo-animal sensation again. He still hates it, but he supposes that he understands the fascination. The quartet starts playing a classic Hayden, and John begins to lead.
They're not any good at first. John's hands are somewhat clammy from the last few dances, and Sherlock is awkward as he compensates for the differences in their heights. Sherlock's never danced with anyone besides his instructor, and he was a few inches taller than John. But all the same, John's body is steady and solid where it's pressed up against Sherlock's. Sherlock's feet remember the moves even if his mind does not. John's lips are quirked into a small smile, and as they waltz around the room, Sherlock's chest feels warm and almost painful, like there's a fire lit up inside of him, and he wonders if this is what it's like to fall in love.
"Nothing," Sherlock says, because the last thing he wants to do is share what Irene said with John. "Perhaps we should have our first dance now?"
John looks startled for a moment, and Sherlock wonders if he's somehow managed to get the tradition all wrong. But then John straightens and holds out a hand. "Oh yes, of course," he says.
Sherlock has had lessons in ballroom dancing, of course. His parents believed very strongly in having a well-rounded education, and so on Saturday mornings he would end up in the large ballroom on the second floor of the palace. There, he forced to move his body in absurd ways by a retired professional dancer who liked to step on Sherlock's toes when he thought Sherlock wasn't paying enough attention to his lessons. Sherlock, of course, just got better at hiding the fact that he wasn't paying any attention. There are a formalized set of rules about who gets to lead in any particular dance, and Sherlock erased all of them from his brain as soon as he learned them, because they were just so unwieldy and useless. For tonight, Sherlock just takes John's hand and follows him. The dance floor clears out the second they step onto it, and Sherlock gets that zoo-animal sensation again. He still hates it, but he supposes that he understands the fascination. The quartet starts playing a classic Hayden, and John begins to lead.
They're not any good at first. John's hands are somewhat clammy from the last few dances, and Sherlock is awkward as he compensates for the differences in their heights. Sherlock's never danced with anyone besides his instructor, and he was a few inches taller than John. But all the same, John's body is steady and solid where it's pressed up against Sherlock's. Sherlock's feet remember the moves even if his mind does not. John's lips are quirked into a small smile, and as they waltz around the room, Sherlock's chest feels warm and almost painful, like there's a fire lit up inside of him, and he wonders if this is what it's like to fall in love.
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