Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

A Holmes Family Reunion (Part 10)

Y/N blinks.

Sherlock's deduction skills must not be as good as he thinks. He must have thought she had been enviously gazing at the couples waltzing about the room---

---but they are not whom she had been admiring.

His invitation hovers between them like a moth, his eyes still on her expectantly, waiting.

"Yes please." The tips of her ears blush pink, for the first time in a long while feeling shy under his gaze. Not realising she's smiling, she nods. "I'd like to very much."

They stand and he holds out a hand, which Y/N takes.

The touch makes his cheeks turn pink but he returns her smile, obviously reassured by her enthusiasm.

Timidly, they stand together and for a moment Y/N dithers, not knowing what exactly to do.

Discreetly, she tries to glance over at The Colonel.

How is he moving his feet like that?

And his wife, she's matching his rhythm as though they're one person. When he steps forward she immediately steps back, their bodies like two quantum entangled atoms---

A strong palm takes her waist and she turns back to Sherlock, surprised. He's directing her other hand to the broad line of his shoulder and Y/N grips it, her world narrowing to him, his face so close he's a little fuzzy, all pink lips and chocolate curls and alabaster cheekbones.

His shoulder is warm and muscled below her palm, his other hand softly linking their fingers.

"I'll lead," he says quietly. "Just step where I step."

Y/N nods and they begin, Sherlock moving as though gliding over the carpet, Y/N stumbling to keep up. Ducking her head, she looks down at their socked feet for the first few rotations of the room, watching them carefully as not to tread on his toes. It makes Sherlock chuckle and she feels his finger curl gently below her chin.

Directing her eyes up, all the way up to meet his:

"It's easier without looking."

Moistening her lips, she nods. It's difficult because looking into his eyes is always difficult. They're sometimes green and sometimes blue, and sometimes, like now, mostly pupils, all black and focused wholly, sharply, intensely on her.

Submitting to him makes dancing easier. Trusting his competence, Y/N lets Sherlock lead entirely, his hand guiding where they'll go, his feet deciding when. They turn in sweeping circles, the red rug, the wallpapered walls, the books and curtains all merging into a shifting mosaic; time and space melting around them until all Y/N can feel is the squishy carpet below her toes, the latent strength of Sherlock's wide, strong hand smothering her smaller one.

His other palm supports the small of her back.

She's aware of its weight, its warmth, of each finger through the material of her shirt.

He seems unbothered, moving with fluid, instinctual steps. He doesn't need to look where he's going; he's not looking at anything besides her, his almond eyes creased at the corners with a soft smile.

The song has changed.

Y/N doesn't know when, but it's slower than it had been when they'd started.

They're moving slower too, their circles so small they're simply swaying from one foot to the other.

Sherlock has drawn her closer.

Inch by inch, until she can smell the shampoo he likes to use on his hair.