Can't Stay Away (BBC Sherlock) -2-

10. "Into Battle."

"Stop fidgeting, your life isn't being threatened," Sherlock scolded me. "It's not hard, Rachel. Just stay with the tempo."

I grimaced. "How can I when you keep scolding me? You're discouraging me more than helping."

"I can't help it if you won't listen to what I'm telling you."

"I'm trying."

"How difficult is this? It should be something a child can learn."

I huffed, squeezing his hand, hoping I was hurting him. "You would make a terrible teacher. Teachers are to help their students, not bring them down with harsh criticism."

"That kind helps people strive harder. Kindness doesn't get people very far."

"Do you do this on purpose? Put people down? You ask for trouble by doing that."

"I've gotten into plenty. Who says I can't get into more?"

"Sherlock, this should be simple, but you're making it sound much more complicated! So what if I'm not precise? So what if my body isn't set up the proper way? I don't exactly take dancing seriously."

Apparently, the world's only consulting detective was a fan of dancing. Who could ever associate Sherlock Holmes with dancing? At first, I'd laughed, because the idea sounded ridiculous, but after a little display, I believed him.

So on top of finishing his song—which I found out, was for Dad and Mary—Sherlock had another mission to complete. The mission: make me have some experience in dancing. Let me tell you, the mission sounded silly. But somehow Sherlock tricked me into it. Damn him. He could be persuasive when he wanted to be.

I wasn't sure that was a good thing.

"If we'd done this a few times before, this wouldn't be as bad," I told him. "But instead you decided to try this on the big day, which is hours away, mind you. We've still got to get ready."

"Right now this is more important."

I continued to try and match Sherlock's pace with the music. I could tell he was making snide notes in his head, ready to tell me them. As if I hadn't gotten enough already this morning. I'd barely gotten a chance to eat a proper breakfast before he roped me into this. He'd convinced me when I was half awake.

I noticed a break in our monotony as I saw the door slide open. Mrs. Hudson had a huge smile on her face, in her hands a tray full of tea things. I couldn't help but smile sheepishly back at her. Naturally, Sherlock noticed, looking over his shoulder.

"Shut up, Mrs. Hudson," he commented.

"I haven't said a word."

Sherlock sighed. "You're formulating a question. It's physically painful watching you think." I was thankful when the lesson was cut short. Silently, I was grateful for Mrs. Hudson's intrusion. "And the same can be said—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, my dancing is horrible," I snapped. "I don't need another reminder."

"I thought it was you playing," Mrs. Hudson kept going. Though Sherlock and I had stopped, the music hadn't.

"It was me playing," he clarified. With a small remote, he cut off the music, making some note on the sheet music on the table. "I am composing."

"Still composing," I corrected.

"I've been busy."

Mrs. Hudson placed the tray on the small table near Dad's chair. "You were dancing."