𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

𝐀𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐨 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞

"Shhh, he's playing," Mrs Hudson whispered, smiling. She was standing at the bottom of the stairs, hands clasped beneath her chin as she swayed slightly, in time to the gentle music. She had been stood there for at least half an hour, loosing herself in the sweet melody, over and over again.

221B always went silent when Sherlock played. It was as if the music that echoed from the strings banished all that was evil in the world.

Y/n's smile grew after quietly shutting the shiny front door. Listening intently, she took off her grey scarf and hung it up, almost dancing as she moved. Nothing made her happier than the sweet sounds of the strings. Silently, she slid off her thin black jacket, took off her shoes, desperate to not disturb the consulting detective, and slowly ascended up the stairs in her black tights, her smile growing with every step as her satiny burgundy dress fluttered above her knees with the movement. The deep walnut staircase creaked lightly under her gentle step, until she had reached the landing. Almost shuffling, Y/n pressed her ear to the door and turned to see that Mrs Hudson was now waltzing on the floor below, eyes closed. Y/n chuckled silently.

Cautiously, she opened the door a fraction- she loved to watch Sherlock play. But she was met with a rather pleasant surprise. Sherlock wasn't playing, he was dancing.

He was twirling around the small, dark space, with just the soft gold glow of the lamp to ignite his path; the stars from the wide windows twinkled down, watching him like an awed audience. It was incredible, how gracefully he moved- almost floating. 

Y/n's smile had now grown so that her cheeks were aching. Silently, she stepped into the room, her eyes following his every step- the placement of his feet, the swishing of his deep dressing gown.

"I didn't know you could dance," she spoke, making Sherlock jump. His eyes flashed open and blood rushed to his cheeks. He suddenly stopped, standing awkwardly.

"You don't have to stop. We thought you were playing."

"I was playing," Sherlock began, "I mean, it's a recording of me playing. I'm composing."

Y/n nodded, grinning, "for John and Mary? It sounds lovely."

"I know, but it's not quite right. I'm talented, but not quite talented enough to dance and play at the same time."

Sherlock stood for a second, glancing hopefully at Y/n. Her smile wavered,

"You want me to dance while you play?"

He nodded, smiling.

"Ugh. Fine, but you can't moan or laugh. If you do, I'll just leave. Got it?"

"Thank you," Sherlock smiled, making his way over to the violin.

Y/n undid the top button of her dress, allowing for a more comfortable outfit to dance in. Gingerly, y/m moved so that she was stood in the space between Sherlock's chair and hers, standing with her arms limp by her side. Sherlock grabbed his bow and began to string up the beautiful melody.

Y/n started to hop from foot to foot arms swinging wildly in the air- Sherlock almost screeched and hadn't even been playing for three seconds when he brought it to a halt.

"What the heck is that?" He screamed, aghast.

Y/n put her hands on her hips, defensively. "I was dancing- like you wanted me to."

"That was not dancing!"

"Well, that's how I dance!"

Sherlock stood, agape. He threw his hand up to his forehead, "right, well, I need you to waltz. This song is for a waltz, which is why it's called Waltz For John and Mary, you know, a wal-"

"Yes, okay, got it. A waltz." Y/n huffed, rolling her eyes. Who knew the consulting detective could be so uptight about dancing? "Well, play it then!"

They both huffed. Sherlock then began to string up the music again, watching y/n intently. She awkwardly shuffled to her left, her right arm held up high, almost saluting. The she shuffled to her right, moving her left arm up.

"You have no idea how to Waltz do you?" Sherlock had stopped playing, hand in his hair, ruffling up his curls.

Y/n shook her head, "no idea."

Sherlock sighed, moaning. "Well, actually, you have no idea how to dance, let alone Waltz-"

"That's it, I'm leaving," Y/n spun on her heel, dress swishing, heading for the door.

"No, no, y/n, come back, I'm sorry!"

Y/n froze. Sherlock never apologised. Never. Slowly, she turned back around.

"Please, I really need help with this." Sherlock was solemnly stood, his arms limply hanging by his side and an almost pleading glint in his eyes. Y/n folded her arms, holding his stare.

"I'll teach you," he said softly.

"What?"

"I'll teach you. You'll need to learn to dance a Waltz for their wedding anyway." Sherlock smiled, his eyes softly glowing. Y/n bit her lip, thinking.

"Okay. But don't be too harsh, I'm very inexperienced."

Sherlock lit up, placing his violin down and reaching out his hand. Slowly, she took it, moving closer to him.

"It's essentially just a basic box step and I'll lead, so all you have to do is follow my movements," he began softly, placing his hand on the small of her back, causing blood to rush to her cheeks. "Put your hand on my shoulder." Y/n obeyed and gently placed her pale hand on him, as he held her other hand tighter.

"What about the music?"

"We don't need music. This is just teaching you the movements, I can practice later. Ready? 1, 2, 3."

It was a lot easier than Y/n had expected. Sherlock was right, all she had to do was follow his slow movements- he placed his left foot forward, her right foot went back etcetera. He was a strong, steady dancer, leading her small body in a tight circle. She stepped on his feet a few times, but he didn't care- he realised now, that holding her this close was the closest he could ever come to heaven.

As her skill grew, so did his smile, until his cheeks were aching. Sherlock hadn't taken his eyes off her. Although, y/n didn't notice, she had been looking down at their feet. Y/n never noticed, Sherlock thought. Every time- on Christmas, when she had worn those black trousers and silky red blouse, with her hair curled, he had spent the entire time gazing at her. Then on John's birthday, when they went to that restaurant, y/n had arrived in a long blue dress, hair pulled up and Sherlock just couldn't take his eyes off her. It happened time after time, day after day. Sherlock Holmes had never been wrong. Never, in his entire life. But every day, Y/n was more beautiful, and he swore that she couldn't get any more stunning. Yet every day, he was proved wrong. He had been taught and told that love was a weakness. A fault in the evolution of the human race. But after meeting Y/n, Sherlock realised that love was the best thing that could have happened to him. And now, holding Y/n, he realised that all he had ever been looking for, all that he had ever been living for...was her.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Y/n's soft voice broke his trance. They were millimetres apart now. Sherlock spun their bodies, twirling slowly.

"Just thinking," he replied.

"About what?"

"You."