Bloom

For Megan, on her birthday xoxo

"Both of you now, go dance. We can't just stand here, people will wonder what we're talking about." Sherlock broke the moment, unwilling to let the silence go on any longer. With Mary now expecting a child, he couldn't look too far into John's eyes. He was afraid of what he might find there.

"What about you?" Mary reached for his arm with a watery laugh.

John jumped in abruptly, "Well, we can't all three dance, there are limits."

He met Sherlock's eyes only for a moment before Sherlock shifted his gaze to the floor. "Yes, there are."

"Come on, husband, let's go." Mary broke the silence this time.

John replied, uncertain, "This isn't a waltz, is it?" Mary shook her head.

"Don't worry, Mary, I have been tutoring him."

"He did, you know, Baker Street, behind closed curtains. Mrs. Hudson came in one time. Don't know how those rumors started."

Sherlock watched as the newly weds took to the dance floor, and allowed himself to fall back into the memory.

xxXXXxx

Sherlock was sat at his laptop, fingers steepled under his chin as he searched for a case. He'd watched an excessive amount of videos online about how to fold napkins and other such trivial weddings things, and was itching for a rush of adrenaline.

He wasn't even sure why he was trying so hard to make this wedding beautiful, when he knew that he resented it. In the time he'd been away, a tiny sprout had popped up in his chest, reminding him who he was doing everything for. He let it grow for a bit, but when he returned and found John with Mary, he tried to push it away and suffocate it. This had worked for a time, but the feeling was persistent, and soon was impossible to ignore. Now, he was forced to feel the small bud struggling to grow in his heart. Anything for John, he supposed.

He suddenly became aware of a presence at the door, and he lifted his gaze to see John. John cleared his throat, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "How long have you been there?" Sherlock inquired.

John shrugged before blurting out, "I don't know how to dance." The sentence hung in the air for a moment, as the the two men processed it.

"And the problem is?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

John scoffed, kicking at the floor. "Apparently, Mary and I can't just sway during the first dance. She wants to do a waltz."

"Yes, that's why I'm currently composing a waltz."

"And that's fantastic, but I don't know how to dance to it."

"Take a class?" Sherlock suggested, but when he saw the horrified expression on John's face, he wished he could take it back.

John squared his shoulders. "Forget it, I'll figure it out."

As he turned to leave, Sherlock stood abruptly in a surge of confidence. "I could-" He cut himself off when John turned around as quickly as Sherlock had jumped to his feet. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, before shyly saying "I could teach you, if you like."

John stared at him blankly. "You?"

"Yes, of course."

"You can dance?"

"Mother made me and Mycroft take lessons when we were small."

John stayed silent, countenance unreadable. Sherlock felt embarrassment bloom in his chest. The bud began to wilt.