AN: Hi! Uh, well, yes, I bring you another (stunning) fanfic! Not really. You may read it anyway. See you in the bottom AN.
Disclaimer: no one on this website owns anything.
"John, I said we were going out, why aren't you dressed?"
I opened my eyes groggily to meet Sherlock's annoyed stare inches from my face. I frowned and tried to make sense of the detective's words.
"I just woke up," I argued, but apparently that wasn't an argument. My flatmate dashed out of my room, already yelling more instructions from the living room.
"Get dressed right now, we're going to be late!"
I abandoned the warm coziness of my blankets and pulled on my trousers right as Sherlock galloped back into my room without knocking.
"Sher-"
"No, no, no! Get that off yourself!" he commanded, pulling my trousers off of myself before I could utter a sound of protest.
"Sherlock, what in the-"
"Put this on! Come on, can't you even get dressed yourself?" he growled with exasperation, forcing me into something black and red, puffy, and suspiciously feminine. I was awake enough to notice the décolleté which my friend – colleague? – glanced at critically before stuffing two socks into it.
"Isn't that a-"
"Brilliant observation, now hurry up, we are late!" Holmes articulated the last three words before flying out of my room exactly the way a penguin wouldn't.
"Wait! We're late where? And why do I have to wear a dress?" I cried, hoping he would hear me and possibly even consider answering at least partly. Thankfully, he ran back to me, although I decided to revise the "thankfully" when I saw what he was carrying – tights, high-heeled shoes, a garter and a blonde wig.
"Well obviously we're going to a tango lesson, where else do you want to go like this? And you have to wear a dress because you are going disguised as a lady, naturally," he professed, throwing me the tights and shaking his hands in what I interpreted as an invitation – or rather a command – to put them on while he rushed around me, trying to pull the infamous mass of curls onto my head.
"Wait, naturally? And why are we going to this tango lesson thing?" I protested weakly as the hair octopus settled on my head and Sherlock occupied himself by helping me pull the tights on. Then he threw me onto my bed and gave me one of the shoes and the orders to put it on as he tried to do the same with the other shoe, quite unsuccessfully, although that was mostly due to the fact that he was trying to force it onto the wrong foot.
"I'll explain later."
"Sherlock, wrong foot, wrong foot, ouch!" I pushed him away and pointed to my other foot. "How did you know my shoe size?.."
"Oh, don't be obvious. And put on the damn shoe!" he exclaimed. Only then did I notice that he was wearing a matching costume – black smoking and trousers, red shirt with ruffles, and even no blue scarf – for the moment.
"Sorry, darlings, am I interrupting? Oh John, you look lovely," Mrs. Hudson peered from the door opening, something large in her hands. "I just thought a bit of make-up could be-"
"Perfect, Mrs. Hudson, you are a genius! Ah, thank you! John, sit down, and give me that shoe!" the detective interrupted gleefully, ushering our landlady into the room.
"This is not what it looks like-" I started as the old woman put the make-up kit down next to me and rummaged through it.
"Oh, don't worry dear, I know what it's like to be part of Sherlock's plans," she smiled, winking at me with her usual conspirator look.
Five minutes later, the shoes were on and my face was plastered with diverse beauty products, which my flatmate thankfully didn't touch, leaving the dirty job to our landlady. My eyelashes magically looked thrice as long as they usually did, and my red lips combined with dark eyeliner and white toner made me look like a horrible ghost I would never even dream of in the worst of my nightmares.
"Sherlock, will you explain what all of this phantasmagoria this is-"
"Thank you for the make-up, Mrs. Hudson. Dinner would be nice, thank you, see you later," the world's only consulting detective shouted out before grabbing my hand and dragging me away. I stumbled behind him, trying not to trip over my dress, my high heels, or anything else, quite unsuccessfully.
"Not your housekeeper!" came the reply, conveniently ignored by Sherlock, who was already throwing me onto his shoulder, deciding that stairs were too dangerous an adventure for me. I attempted to kick his face without much success and settled for slapping his back repeatedly.
"Put me down!" I squawked. The tall brunet obeyed, although that was probably caused by the end of the stairs more than anything else.
Soon enough, we were in a cab, going somewhere – as usual, my dear friend hadn't bothered telling me where – and Sherlock was looking at me critically. He arranged one of the socks in a rather impolite gesture and then leaned back into his seat with a smug smile.
"We're going to that lesson to learn how to dance tango so that we can go to the dance party Wednesday with my fat brother and find the person who stole more of his plans of "national importance", as he says," Holmes clarified.
"Why do I have to go as a woman? Why do I have to go with you at all?" I questioned, sensing it was the right time to ask questions.
"I need to have you as a partner so that some stupid lady doesn't ask me to dance with her and blabber all night into my ears, and I didn't feel like going with Mycroft as his new girlfriend," he elucidated with what looked like a smile.
"Wait, so I want to go with you as your girlfriend?" I asked, looking at him with indignation, hoping he would notice the crossness in my voice, which he obviously did not.
"Of course you do," he shrugged it off. "Now please, do me a favour and shut up."
"Sherlock-"
"What now? I'm thinking!" he glared at me and went back to looking through the window. All my further attempts at yelling at him were ignored, and my one attempt to abscond at a red light was blocked effortlessly.
Eventually, we arrived to some… Place. It looked like a regular building. Except Sherlock didn't go to normal places.
"Remember, you're a woman, try to act like one," Sherlock advised, pulling me closer. I gave up on trying to fight him and let him keep his hand somewhere between my waist and my hip, not sure which one he was trying to hold.
"Yes, fine, I got that," I scoffed back and tried to look less aggressive as Sherlock poked me in the belly with his free hand.
"Stop worrying. We won't see anyone we know there or anything."
"Hey, freak, what are you doing here?" a familiar voice intervened right as I was about to mutter something moderately hostile in reply. My blood froze in my veins, and time stopped as Sherlock turned to face Donovan with a hateful smile. He forced me to spin around, and my heart missed a beat as I noticed that Lestrade was there too.
"Hello. Fancy meeting you here. We were just going to the tango lesson. What about you?" my "date" replied. I noticed that small talk sounded very natural from him, even though he never did small talk.
"Same. Is that your girlfriend?" Sally nodded at me with a glance of evaluation.
"What a nice coincidence. And yes, this is… Jane. Jane, this is Inspector Donovan, a colleague. And this is Inspector Lestrade, a friend."
"Nice to meet you, very nice, yes," I swallowed, realizing my impression of a female voice was probably even worse than my disguise. "Sorry, sore throat, you know how it is, the weather…"
"Yes, awful weather," the Senior Inspector agreed, cutting in before "Inspector Donovan, a colleague" could place a remark about my looks, my sore throat, or Sherlock's social capabilities. "Shall we go? The lesson starts in 5 minutes."
"Yes, we should hurry up," my flatmate agreed quickly and dragged me towards the entrance. The two police officers followed us.
"Nice dress," I smiled at Donovan, trying not to show my face too much.
"Thank you, love yours," she shot back the same way she would have told me to go jump off a roof. Perhaps that was the hidden message behind this compliment.
"Thanks," I replied, unable to think of a better answer.
My companion opened the door before us and held it politely. I tried to engrave this moment deep into my memory as the only time I've ever seen him do anything mildly polite.
I allowed him to lead me inside and glanced around. We were in a large room with dimmed lights more or less filled with people, mostly well dressed, although none as well as my future dancing partner. One wall was occupied by some sort of stage where the moves would be demonstrated. It was a free lesson, but a table in a corner, behind which sat a gloomy individual, awaited any potential clients who would want to attend the lessons weekly.
Small groups of people, mostly pairs, moved about the room, chatting and laughing. The lesson was about to begin.
"Let's get closer to the stage and escape from our favourite police officers while we are at it," Sherlock whispered, leaning closer, and pushed me in the general direction of said stage.
Right as we arrived next to the stage, an evil-looking lady with big eyebrows appeared on it, along with a tired young man whom Sherlock immediately labelled as "gay programmer with a passion for horses". The woman greeted us all, explained something about the soul of the dance and the deep emotions in its moves before explaining the theory of tango.
According to her, this school taught three different types of tango: tango-waltz, milonga, and tango. Today's lesson would be tango, the most simple of the three.
Then she demonstrated some moves, and we were instructed to try them out as music started to play. Sherlock grabbed me and we started dancing. Well, he started dancing while I tried to keep up with him, which ended up with him almost falling onto me.
"Did you already dance this before or what?" I whispered, frowning. He couldn't possibly be learning this quickly!
"Maybe one or two times," he shrugged. I stopped in my tracks and put my hands on my hips.
"Look, I agreed, well, kind of agreed to dance with you, but you'll have to slow down. I can't keep up with you, and I've never done this before!" I hissed. He rolled his eyes impatiently, but I made him nod before letting him put his hands back in place.
After a few dances, a small crowd of 6 or 7 people had formed around us, staring at us. Apparently, we were the best dancers in the room – mostly thanks to Sherlock. I clung to him, dizzied by the rhythm of the dance, and tried to keep up with his steps.
"Let's sit this one out. I've got to go to the lavatory," he declared, leading me away from our little public.
"I'll go with you," I proposed, not wanting to lose him.
"Men's lavatories? I don't think so," he smiled, gave me a pat on the shoulder, and disappeared into the crowd. I cursed inwardly and stumbled towards the benches where a few lonely women sat, scanning the room for a victi- partner.
I hated these shoes.
"Hey, honey. Looking for someone to dance with?" an expressive, slightly over-dramatic but melodic voice asked from behind me. I turned around and felt my face grow paler under the layers of make-up. Suddenly I was thankful for the poor lighting.
Before me stood Moriarti.
I tried not to faint, which, on second thought, would have been the most feminine thing I could do anyway.
"Uh, I'm not really good at this. Actually, I've been thinking about-"
"Oh, darling, don't be shy. A woman like you," he winked, grabbing me rather inappropriately.
"I really don't think-"
"I'm sure you're a great dancer," he grinned and started dancing, almost as well as Sherlock, and I followed his moves clumsily.
Half a dance later, help arrived. Finally.
"You, here? And what are you doing, flirting with Jo… ahnna?" Sherlock asked, interrupting our dance.
"Sherlock, what a pleasant surprise! Johanna? Is that your girlfriend?" Moriarti's eyebrows went up as he grinned at me. I died on the inside a bit more.
"Yes, we've met a few months ago. Johanna, this is Jim Moriarti, a colleague," the detective introduced us.
"A friend," the man corrected and, before I could utter a sound, he kissed my hand.
"Hey, freak," Donovan's voice interrupted us from behind my shoulder. "Introduce me to that friend of yours? Lestrade found himself another partner for this dance."
"Yes, of course," my friend smiled at her. "Sally Donovan, Jim Moriarti."
"I was just looking at Sherlock's new girlfriend. Didn't know he had one. Quite a surprise, isn't it?" the evil mastermind looked me over, his voice full of excitement like a schoolgirl sharing the latest news with her best friend.
"No it's not," my partner muttered under his breath.
"Yes, very surprising. Jane, you should stay away from-"
"Jane? I thought your name was Johanna," my friend's nemesis addressed me with the same look of surprise we could have cherished if Sherlock had shot him at the pool.
"No, it's definitely Jane," the inspector frowned, her lips pursed in incomprehension.
"Uh, well, I-"
"Her full name is Johanna, but I prefer to call her Jane," my flatmate cut in, interrupting the conversation, which was getting rather unpleasant. A short pause followed.
"Shall we dance now?" Moriarti smiled at the police officer. She gladly took his hand and off they went, chatting and laughing. I prayed they didn't find out about each other's profession.
"That was a close call," I breathed out and clung to Sherlock's hand for support. "Maybe we should go away now-"
"Hey, Sherlock, I told Molly you were here, and she really wants to dance with you," Lestrade's voice interrupted. We spun around to face the inspector and the young woman, who smiled at my friend with great delight.
"Oh, Molly, how very lovely to see you here. Shall we dance?" the detective was obviously making great efforts not to scrape the policeman's eyes out.
The morgue employee took his hand with obvious pleasure before turning towards me with a hurt look.
"Is that your girlfriend? Am I interrupting?"
"No, no, Jane is just a… Friend," Sherlock tried to drag her away, but Lestrade held him back.
"I thought she was your girlfriend? You said she was," he frowned with his usual motherly look.
"No, I said she was my friend. She's Mycroft's girlfriend, in fact. He asked me to take her out because he has a meeting of national importance to attend and because he is a fat idiot," my sometimes-fake-boyfriend-but-sometimes-my-fake-boyfriend's-brother replied and merged into the crowd with his new partner.
"So, now that they're gone, shall we..?" Lestrade offered his hand.
"Well, uh, I'd rather-"
After three or four dances with Detective Inspector Lestrade, I faked a headache to abscond from the battle- I mean dance field. I slammed onto the bench to which I was directed when Moriarti had caught me. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Finally a moment of silence.
"Really no way to find a partner. Horrible, isn't it?" a familiar voice addressed me and I almost choked on my own saliva.
Sarah.
"Um, yes, awful, very awful, yes," I mumbled, trying desperately to find an excuse to run away before my girlfriend recognised my face.
"Are you alright? Your voice sounds a bit hoarse. I could take a look at your-"
"No, no, thank you, I'm fine, just a little cold. Oh, I think I see my date there. Oh, he's waving at me. Gotta go, sorry," I replied and flew off, hiding my face at the best of my capabilities.
I was wandering through the crowd when someone's large hand appeared on my shoulder, followed by Sherlock's quick whisper telling me that we were going away, and quickly, which made me all but sigh with relief.
"We didn't really get to dance a lot though," I remarked as we made our way towards the exit hurriedly.
"I did. I'll teach you at home," the detective pushed me out of the door and we found ourselves outside in the rain. It was around noon, and the sun shone brightly behind the clouds. The cold shower took away the dizziness from the darkness, the loud music, and the crowd.
And suddenly, we were dancing in the street. We didn't know why or how, but the rain was our music and it felt so natural, and so real. And London twirled around us, the fresh air was a part of us, and we were a part of it, and our bodies swayed in perfect harmony.
The dance ended, the rain stopped, and as we became still, Sherlock bent down and we kissed. I didn't resist.
Then it was over, and we took a cab home, where I took an entire hour to clean off the make-up and get the dress off, after what Sherlock forced me to dance with him for the entire day until we knew each other's moves, bodies and rhythm well enough to be able to follow the dance.
The next day, he disappeared, claiming he had important research to do. He came back the next morning, covered in dirt but very satisfied, took a shower and declared it was time to go to Mycroft's dancy thing.
He was busy pulling me into a corset, which he had deemed necessary after last time, and telling me to stop screaming when his phone rang. He picked up impatiently, holding me down on my bed with his foot. I glared at the corset.
"Good evening, fat brother. What is it?.. What, no. Impossible…. Mycroft, please go hang yourself and never call me again… Ok… Yes, I got that… Stupid fat jerk… Yes, yes… I upset mummy? You upset mummy!.. Well you are fat!.. No… Whatever… Have a horrible evening," Sherlock grinned at the phone the same way he would look at Anderson had he arrested Mrs. Hudson.
"What is it?" I asked, wondering why Mycroft would call when we would meet him in an hour.
"We're not going anywhere," the detective declared, letting go of me and pulling me out of the goddamn corset.
"What? Why? Don't tell me it's because you had a little fight with your brother," I frowned.
"John, the plans weren't stolen. He just forgot they were in his pocket."
AN: Ehehehehe John will kill everyone. So yeah, if you enjoyed this, review? Or go read my other stories? Maybe? In any case, hope you enjoyed. Uh, see you next time?
PS: who wants to read about Cancan Sherlock. You do. You know you do. Beg twice.