Disclaimer: All original characters and such belong to the BBC.
Summary: SPOILERS FOR SIGN OF THREE - Sherlock's leaving the party when he gets a second shot at having some fun, though he'd never admit dancing was anything more than an intellectual fascination with physics.
Chronology: Post - Sign of Three
Pairings: None for the moment
Rating: T for themes and language
Author's Note: I'm so sorry I haven't posted anything in so long, especially since I've gotten absolutely slammed with emails lately telling me you guys are reviewing my stuff and adding it to favorites and alerts and I'm both flattered and embarrassed. Part of my 2014 goals is to actually write (including an original novel; still working on ideas but I feel like this is the year I finally have the stability and discipline to do it), and I think updating and adding to these fanfics will be a good starter exercise to lead me into working on my original projects. So, though I know I've said this a thousand times and never followed through, *hopefully* this time will be better and more productive. Happy new year!
The Way You Move
He couldn't stay. Part of him wanted to, despite the loneliness in a room full of people, despite the feeling that everything was sliding downhill fast. That was the part Sherlock silenced violently as he retrieved his coat and stepped outside, sliding on the wool with ease but wrapping his scarf with fingers that seemed to shake a little. He scowled and forced himself to concentrate. Ridiculous. Sentiment.
He was halfway down the path when he heard the retching noise coming from a stand of bushes in the garden. He paused, squinting into the dark that was alternately lightly lit in reds and blues and greens from the disco ball flashing illumination in snatches against the windows of the hall where everyone still partied away. He stepped off the path as he caught sight of a figure crouched in the grass, his senses on extra alert after the incident with the attempted murder.
But it was a young woman in a Grecian style pastel gown, leaning heavily on the edge of a bench and wiping at her face as she stared into the bushes.
"You all right?"
The woman jumped and turned to stare up at him, her hand over her chest in surprise. "Wow, um, yeah, fine..."
His first instinct had been to write her off as a drunk, but her eyes were clear and she appeared well in control of her movements. "My apologies." He offered her a hand up.
She took his hand with the one of hers that was clean. "Thanks." She stood and looked down at the contents of her stomach in the grass and shook her head.
"Not drunk," Sherlock stated, looking for confirmation.
She seemed surprised. "No, you're right. I just can't travel." She put her hand over her stomach and made a face. "All the way from Cardiff this morning and my stomach's still trying to escape. Told my sister she shoulda just taken her ex, would've been less trouble."
He allowed a small smile. "Which explains why you're out here, instead of decorating the hall with your breakfast."
She gave him a weak one back. "Thought everyone might appreciate that." She rubbed at her arms in the slightly chill air. "What're you doing out here? Party's just started and you seem to have control of your insides."
Sherlock tightened his jaw instinctively, trying to formulate a response. A thousand thoughts and emotions he despised traipsed through his mind for a moment but he shot them all down as nearly as they appeared. "Parties...aren't really my thing." He took a step back, intending to get back on his way.
"What, not even to take advantage of one of the few times a year that you can dance like an idiot and no one can say anything?"
"I don't dance like an idiot, who says I dance like an idiot?" He was instantly on the offensive, his back straightening and his arms behind his back formally.
She laughed. "No one said it, it's just a thing everyone does."
He leaned in towards her, enunciating carefully. "I am not everyone."
"Clearly," she said, a grin breaking over her face. Then, after a moment: "Want to?"
"Want to what?"
"Dance of course."
Sherlock stared at her.
She tipped her head at the hall. "We're both out here missing it all, yeah?"
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her and then at the building. Despite himself, the idea sounded...not despicable. "I suppose so."
She smiled and took her mobile from her purse, swiping her fingers across the touchscreen several times before an upbeat, 1940s big band style song began to play. She adjusted the volume. "This all right? I have some modern stuff in here too, but as it's a wedding I feel like I have to start with something more classic."
He tried to hide his pleasure at the sound, but the feeling, the one he always got just before dancing, had overwhelmed him and it was all he could do to keep the grin hidden. Already he'd shrugged off his coat and scarf and laid them aside. "This will do nicely."
She smiled, resting the mobile on the bench and holding out her hand for his. "Chelsea, by the way."
"Sherlock." He knew she knew who he was - he'd interrupted his own best man speech to solve a murder after all - but it seemed the polite thing to do and for once the polite thing came naturally. He threaded his fingers with Chelsea's, gently resting his other hand on the back of her shoulder as he slipped into the music. He was used to a slower tempo, but something about this music was infectious and he found it easy to bob along in short, defined movements, twirling Chelsea around the garden.
The young woman laughed in surprised delight. "You're trained!"
"Not really, just sort of picked it up."
"Well you're good." Chelsea disconnected her hand from his, taking two flourishing steps out as his hand slid from her shoulder down her arm to hold that hand and then twirl her in to rest against his body. They danced several steps like that, her back to his chest, before they resumed their previous positions, transitioning into bolder movements as the music swelled and they had better stock of each other with every movement. They got daring, they got tricky, they got happy. Pretty soon Chelsea was giggling at her own enthusiasm and even Sherlock couldn't help grinning.
They were unprepared when the song ended and they stumbled over each other, laughing. Chelsea went to her mobile and played with the screen again. Something modern started playing, something with an insistent, throbbing beat.
"What is this?" Sherlock asked as he caught his breath.
She shrugged. "Dunno, something American about clubbing. Never set foot inside a club, but it's a fun sound and seems like a party thing."
She dashed back over to him, now dancing near him but on her own, swaying to the beat and pulling moves he had only seen in music videos on YouTube that he'd watched over Mary's shoulder as she had worked up a playlist for the wedding. Sherlock hesitated, his first instinct to walk away now, but it was still dancing and his pulse was rushing and though he had no idea what he was doing he started copying her movements as best he could, letting the music take over and tell him how to move.
Chelsea spun suddenly, her arms up, the twirl controlled, then transitioned immediately into swinging her hips, though after a moment she paused and put a hand to her stomach, blinking.
Sherlock paused, reaching a hand towards her should she need it. "Are you all right?"
She smiled up at him. "Yeah, I just shouldn't push it like that." She looked at him for a moment in the dim light, the disco balls managing to scatter some weak colorful light on his face now and again. "What about you, you all right?"
Sherlock considered her question for a moment, listening to the party beat on without them in the building on the other side of the garden. "Not bad," he finally said. He cleared his throat and nodded at the source of the music. "Now. Put on a waltz and try to keep up."