“Take my hand, Sherlock.”
“But John –”
“You wanted me to teach you, now do as I say. Take my hand.”
“Fine.”
“Good. Now put your other hand right here.”
“Where?”
John sighed in exasperation. This had been going on for the last twenty minutes, and he had quickly learned that trying to teach the most intelligent being on the face of the planet something new was simply insufferable. “Right here, Sherlock,” he instructed drawing Sherlock’s hand to his waist before settling his own on the detective’s shoulder. “Now, ready?”
“What do I do?”
“Just follow my lead.”
Sherlock looked straight down at the floor, carefully studying the movements of John’s feet and mirroring them perfectly with his own. This went on for the remaining length of the song that was softly drifting through the speakers of John’s iPod dock. When the song ended, Sherlock abruptly halted his movements and dropped his hands. “That’ll do, John, thank you,” he muttered, turning to make for his bedroom, his blue dressing gown flourishing around his long legs.
John grinned and swiftly caught his arm, spinning him back to face him. “Not so fast, there, I thought we were having a moment.”
“A moment? Of course we were having a moment. We’re having a moment right now. That’s what life is, John, a series of indefinitely short periods of time, which we refer to as ‘moments.’ Really, John, even I know you’re not really that senseless –”
“Sherlock,” John snapped, laughing in spite of himself. “Enough of being a smart arse, you know what I meant.” The detective furrowed his brow, feigning indifference and confusion. The man was a wonderful actor, if anything, but he couldn’t fool John. The doctor smiled up at him and grabbed his hands, pulling him closer again. “Dance with me, Sherlock.”
“Oh please, John, this is so…sentimental.”
“Well, maybe if you started acting more like a boyfriend normally would, I wouldn’t force you into these situations. Now come on, it’s not that often that we’re alone.” John wrapped one arm around Sherlock’s shoulders, and grasped his hand firmly with the other. He then closed his eyes and rested his head against the taller man’s chest before swaying gently to the music. “Mrs. Hudson’s gone out for the day, you haven’t got a case, and I don’t have to go into the clinic today. It’s just us.”
Sherlock tenderly slid his arm tightly around John’s waist, and laid his head on top of his. He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes. “Yes. Just us, John.”
