Okay! A new fic. I hope its going to be okay. (= Basically, this dancing competition is a rip off of Strictly Come Dancing, or, I believe you Americans had a show called Dancing with the Stars. I'll explain it all later.

Enjoy!


Chapter One - The Only Way...?

First Day, Saturday, 11.00 AM

"No. No, and for the third time, no!" Sherlock's voice wafted down the staircase to where John was struggling with three bags of shopping.

John paused for a moment, and then heard the screeching of a tormented violin as Sherlock scraped that appalling sound out of it. He sighed. Mycroft. He heard a softer murmuring, that was obviously Mycroft, trying to persuade Sherlock to do whatever he wanted him to this time.

Struggling up the final few steps, John pushed the door open with his shoulder and dumped the shopping bags in the kitchen. He winced as Sherlock elicited a particularly gruesome note from his violin. He turned to see Sherlock lounging on the sofa, and Mycroft seated in a chair, umbrella resting on his lap.

"Think about it Sherlock, this will help you." said Mycroft sternly.

"I am not humiliating myself in front of the whole nation," Sherlock sniffed. "I do have some pride."

"Embarrassed Sherlock? I really wouldn't expect it from you." said Mycroft slyly.

The violin expressed Sherlock's anger at this statement, even Mycroft winced.

"I'm offering you an unique opportunity, and it will help you catch Moriarty." said Mycroft.

The violin halted mid scream.

The merest mention of Moriarty was always enough to catch Sherlock's attention. He was obsessed with the man, ever since the 'pool thing', Sherlock had been desperate to catch Moriarty, but so far, after two months, had gotten nowhere. John was sick of the whole thing, but he knew he would sleep easier knowing that Moriarty was safely stowed away somewhere. He wouldn't mind the fact that Sherlock was chasing Moriarty, except that after two months of fruitless searching, Sherlock had gotten more and more annoyed, and very, very cranky.

"I want Moriarty caught as much as you do, Sherlock. So let me help you."

Mycroft's expression seemed sincere to John, but then he wasn't Sherlock, maybe Mycroft was lying... Sherlock's face was blank, cold grey eyes watching Mycroft's every move, trying to figure out the same thing as John.

"Moriarty is being deadly careful, he knows he can't slip up while your watching," Mycroft paused. "So he needs to think that your busy. And it needs to be very public, otherwise he'll know it's a ruse. This will be perfect."

"I still don't see how appearing on millions of televisions and-"

"Moriarty will love it, and he'll relax. You can make you move easily." Mycroft sat back, waiting for questions.

"How do you know that Moriarty wont guess this is a ruse?" asked Sherlock, keeping his voice emotionless.

"He will suspect it at first, but after a few weeks, he'll forget the notion."

Sherlock allowed the slightest frown to draw his eyebrows together. John hurried into the kitchen, and began to put the shopping away. He wasn't sure what Mycroft wanted Sherlock to do. It didn't sound good, if Sherlock - the man who could do almost anything without the slightest sign of embarrassment - would shrink away from the prospect. He switched the kettle on, and returned to the living room. Mycroft was fiddling with his umbrella, watching Sherlock intently, Sherlock in his turn was idly plucking at the strings of his violin, forehead creased in thought.

"Tea, Mycroft?" asked John, breaking the silence as he hovered in the background.

"Yes please, John. No sugar, strong." said Mycroft, while Sherlock gave a terse nod.

John nodded, an pulled three mugs out of the cupboard, waiting for the kettle to boil.

A few minutes later he returned to a scene which had not changed in the slightest in his absence. He handed Mycroft his mug, placed Sherlock's on the coffee table, then seated himself on his chair, gaze swapping from one Holmes to another. The two brother interested him greatly, especially when they interacted. Sherlock, cold and unemotional Mycroft, a little more cordial.

It was a few more minutes of intense silence, before Sherlock righted himself, and took the mug in both hands, downing the tea in one. Then he eyed Mycroft a little suspiciously.

"I'll think about it. I need to know more about this... thing. And what I'll have to do." he said slowly, eyes narrowed.

"Good. John can fill you in on all the necessaries. You will have my complete backup in this scheme, and if you require any assistance... Tell me your decision tomorrow."

"Yes. Yes, okay. Now, go." snapped Sherlock, flinging his violin to the far end of the sofa, and glaring coldly at Mycroft until he rose.

"Thank you for the tea, John. Try to persuade Sherlock. See you tomorrow." he nodded cordially, and left.

The two flatmates waited until Mycroft was well and truly gone, before turning to look at each other.

"What's this all about?" asked John suspiciously.

Sherlock sighed, rolling languidly onto his back and staring at the ceiling.

"Mycroft wants me to enter some kind of dancing competition, you know why." he drawled, eyes closing in thought.

"W-What"?

Sherlock's eyes snapped open, and he stared coldly at John.

"Mycroft wants me t-"

"I heard that alright, but can you actually dance?"

"Of course," said Sherlock, having the nerve to look affronted. "Mummy forced me to as a child... But it wouldn't matter if I couldn't."

John frowned.

"So, what competition is it?"

"Oh, I don't know. The Dance something or other. Is that really important?" he asked, taking a slight double take when he saw John's jaw drop. "Are you alright?"

John burst out laughing, managing to spill tea everywhere. It was at least a minute before he managed to set the mug down, and suppress his giggles.

"You... in The Dance Floor. Now that would be worth watching!" he sniffed, wiping away the tears.

"Please John. This is no joke. Mycroft seems to think this way help me catch Moriarty, and he could easily get me a place in this show."

"Your serious..." said John.

"Yes. Now tell me what's so funny. Though on second thoughts, I don't want to know. It would no doubt be insulting." Sherlock sniffed superiorly.

John hiccuped, biting his lip as he face scrunched up with silent laughter again. He quickly regained composure.

"Do you think it would help you catch Moriarty?" he asked, serious.

"I think my brother may have a point, just this once. All I need is for Moriarty to make one small mistake. If he thinks I'm busy dancing or whatever, then it'll be the perfect chance to get him."

John nodded, it made sense. If you were a genius.

"Okay, so you enter Dance Floor, and Moriarty is so busy laughing his head off, you catch him?"

"I suppose that's the plan, though if Moriarty 'laughed his head off' I doubt I would need to catch him." said Sherlock.

"I didn't mean literally. But wont your time be taken up training?"

"Training? No. I'll just do the dance a few times, and that'll be it." said Sherlock, bringing his finger tips together, and watching John closely.

John chewed his lip for a few seconds, trying to find a flaw in the plan.

"Why does it have to be The Dance Floor? You could just pretend to do a case."

"Well, I suppose. It would certainly be easier, but I think it more likely that Moriarty fall for the trick if he finds it... amusing." said Sherlock.

John nodded, at the 'pool thing' Moriarty certainly seemed to have some kind of sick humour. There was a long silence. In which John tried to push the image of Sherlock twirling round the stage, covered in some kind of glittery stuff. Sherlock watched him, obviously waiting for an answer.

"Look, your the genius, Sherlock. You decide." said John finally, unable to bear the cold gaze that fell upon him.

"I suppose your right." said Sherlock, languidly rolling onto his back and stretching out across the whole length of the sofa.

John shrugged, and made his way back to the kitchen.


Review would be nice *hint*