BalletLock

Chapter 5

Hi everyone! Thanks for reading! Be sure to tell me what you think amd give me suggestions! It's so lovely to hear from you!!

       A week and a half later, Sherlock awoke to a spicy scent coming through his slightly ajar bedroom door. Ahh yes, it was Thanksgiving. Because of a difficult case he had solved the night before, Sherlock hadn't eaten in a couple of  days and he felt extreamly hungry.When he emerged from the bedroom clad in his blue robe, the sight of John, Mrs. Hudson, and a tray of hot breakfast met his tired eyes. Mrs. Hudson looked particularly proud with

herself this morning, and her eyes could not stop flicking down to the assortment of oatmeal, muffins,  yogurt, and cider she had obviously  just prepared. John gave a sly smile as Sherlock dug into the suprisingly flavorful meal and took a sip of the steamy cider.

      "Ahem" John cleared his throat. "Sherlock, once we've finished eating we really need to tidy up a bit for tonight."

      "Its perfectly fine the way it is" Sherlock replied, carelessly waving  his large hand at the cluttered living room.

       John sarcastically raised an eyebrow and placed his mug on the table  with a clatter.

       "The party Sherlock!" He exclaimed.

       Although Sherlock rolled his eyes and groaned many times after that, John was able to get him to help quite a bit with the dusting and scrubbing of the long neglected floors. By the time Lestrade knocked on the door at 5:07, the flat was ready and Mrs. Hudson was pouring red wine. Everyone chatted pleasantly while Mrs. Hudson made added the last touches to her Thanksgiving meal and Sherlock played a few pieces on his violin. Everything was going splendidly, and John couldnt help notice  Sherlock's noble disposition,  a perfectly straight back and shoulders elegantly spread wide which exaggerated his prominent collar bone. John's cheeks turned a deep scarlet when he accadentally caught his flatmate's eye. He tipped his glass of wine down his throat and swalled it's contents in one gulp before buisying himself by helping Ms. Hudson set the table. At 5:45, supper waa ready and the table was set for five; Sherlock, John, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade took their places, with Sherlock at the head of the table. As they dug in to Mrs. Hudson's fameous meat pie, there was a knock at the door. Mycroft. John raced to set a place for him at the head of the table opposite his brother while Mrs. Hudson went to open the door. But before she got there however, Mycroft confideny strode in unasked,  placeing his wet umbrella in the  stand. He claimed his seat withought first acknowledging his hosts and sat proudly with his pudgy chin jutted up at a slight but noticeable angle. He kept this position while Lestrade poured him a large glass of wine. Mycroft gave it a loud sniff, wrinkled his nose, then took the tinyest sip imaginable. His face screwed up in exaggerated discust, and he set the unworthy beverage down as far away from himself as possible. Sherlock, annoyed at the unwelcomed guest's childish behavior towards his closest friends, cleared his throat and poceded to say "Mycroft! Do you remember when we were much younger, how you refused to have dinner with us unless you were allowed to sit at the head of the table?" Mycroft lowered his head and glared at his brother, like a bull preparing to charge his opponent.

       "If we are discussing the topic of childish whimsys" he snarled, do you remember when you were set on becoming....... what was it.......a ballet dancer?" Sherlock's cheeks emitted a deeply skarlet glow. Everyone stared awkwardly at him as he shot knives with his gase at his obnoxious brother. Mycroft was treading on minisculey thin ice. But he wasn't finished; his pudgy lips curled into a smirk, as if he was tasting a deliciously sour lemon drop.

       "In fact," he continued in his disgustingly sticky voice, "I may have caught a glimpse of you at a dance studio when i went for my weekly Pilates class."

       Greg, who's cheeks were stuffed with potatoes and gravy looked up sharply from his crowded plate.

       "Wait what?" He exclaimed with some difficulty.

       "Sherlock, why don't you show us your satin slippers?" Mycroft taunted.

       "Be quiet." Sherlock growled in response. Mycroft continued.

       "Oooo, can I try on your tights?"

       Greg sputtered, unable to contain his giggles. Molly and Mrs. Hudson were also hiding small smiles. John however, had become very high in the face and was visibly quite angry at Mycroft' s remarks. Sherlock's flushed cheeks took on a greenish hue. He stood slowly, as if afriad he would lose his balance.

       "Excuse me." His voice was barely audible. Keeping his head lowered, he shuffled out of the room. John put down his fork with a clatter and darted after  his flatmate, giving Mycroft a deadly glare over his shoulder.