A/N: Hi! It's me again! I was struck with inspiration a few weeks ago and this little thing just sort of... happened. Anyway, it hasn't been beta'd, so if you see a mistake, please point it out so I can go back and fix it. My knowledge of pointe and ballet is limited to my own experience, which is pretty okay because I'm currently at a dance college taking pointe anywayyy, soo...

Well, anyhoo, here's the fic, I hope you enjoy it. I should have the next chapter up soon!

Chapter One: A Good Looking Man

Addie Parker. Singer, dancer, exceptional babysitter, visionary. Well, maybe not visionary. And perhaps not exceptional babysitter, if we're not excluding that time when I was fifteen when I urgently needed milk so I took the two toddler-age children and the baby I was babysitting with me to the store. I got stopped on the way, and I, being fifteen, only had my permit, which was at the time sitting on my bedside table. That didn't go over well with the cop or the parents of the children. But, other than that, my babysitting record has been nearly perfect.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, checking myself out from the ground up. My legs are covered in white tights; my upper thighs obscured by a pink skirt. My black leotard clings to me in a comfortable way. My hair is pulled back, aside from those pesky strands that are too short to pull back into a bun. I grab my bag off the floor and smile at myself; I am the picture of perfect pointe.

Which is obviously only so important today out of all days because I want to make a good impression. Today we have a new teacher at the Bernier School of Dance. Our previous teacher, a stern and slightly scary Miss Lindana Ault (a very ballerina-esque name, isn't it?), was suddenly preoccupied with a death in the family that required her to move back home. This was, needless to say, extremely confusing to me, because she had on many occasions told me seemingly endless stories about her childhood here in London. Some of the girls in our class gossipped about it - I think at one point I heard a girl say she was almost sure Miss Lindana had accidentally murdered someone and needed to get out of the country, and fast - but I kept my mouth shut, despite my extensive confusion on the subject.

I slip on some flats and hurry into the kitchen, abruptly remembering that I can't stare at myself in the mirror all day. I'll start nitpicking if I keep looking at myself, and then I'll be standing there for ages. I down the half-glass of orange juice still sitting on the counter and rush outside, pulling on my coat on the way downstairs.

My apartment, thank God, is only a few blocks away from school. It's pretty much inhabited solely by other Bernier students. I'm pretty sure that's why it was built in the first place, as a housing unit for the Bernier kids so they wouldn't be late to their first class every day. Whatever the reason may be, I hurry down the old, creaky stairs and out the front door, frowning as the wind blows my stray hairs into my eyes. I keep my head down as I start down the sidewalk, hoping my bun will survive the short walk.

I wave to Greta as I pass the coffee shop - she's a barista there. Which, by the way, cracks me up. The coffee shop, a place mostly staffed by 20-25 year olds, was certainly not where you would expect to see a seventy-something year old woman serving up cappuccino. And slowly, too. It takes her near a half an hour just to get somebody their morning fix. But I'm pretty sure the owner's too scared to fire her, so Greta still has her job. And probably will until she dies, an event which can't be too far away.

The lobby downstairs is cold when I enter. I'm surprised- usually it's like a furnace in here. Alas, it's even chillier in here than it was outside, so I'm left to shiver in my thin leotard as I head upstairs to my class. Our room is on the third floor, as are half of the dance studios. The first floor is devoted entirely to big stages and auditoriums for the shows. I usually get a mediocre part in said shows, because, according to three or four of my classmates, I myself am mediocre. Be that as it may, it's always me that gets stuck with the shitty parts. Lindana used to say if I would practice more and perhaps be a little more outgoing, I would get the parts that I wanted. It's not like I wanted the leads, or anything, but something with more than a few minutes of stage time would be great.

As I pass the second floor, I listen as closely as I can to make out the lyrics of the showtunes playing down the hall. I don't succeed, but before I can get too frustrated with that endeavor, I hear some girls behind me. I steel myself for one of my many weaknesses: contact with another human being.

"Oh, Addie! Hey!" I plaster a smile on my face as I turn around to greet the two girls.

I almost sigh in resignation when I see who it is. Belle Bailey and Alice Livington. They're not in my class, so luckily I don't have to deal with them every day. Every once in a while, though, they catch up to me before class, or after, or while I'm on break, and annoy the living daylights out of me. Most of the time, they're just plain rude, making remarks that they have no right to even make, or criticizing my dance outfits (who even does that? I'm wearing this to dance, okay, there's no reason to look like a goddess). They're the type of girls who are stuck in high school; still mean, still stupid, and still competitive as hell.

I clear my throat. "Hi, Belle, Alice."

Belle, blonde and about about a foot taller than ginger-headed Alice, smirks as she says, "Heard you've got a new teacher. You think this one'll like you?"

I can tell by the way she's saying it that there's no real harm in the blunt question. It's still rude, though.

"I'm not sure," I reply, turning to trudge up the last of the stairs. Belle and Alice fall into step with me. "We haven't found out who the new teacher is yet. Today's the first time we get to meet her."

"Well, it looks like you've dressed for success," Alice says. "If you do your best, maybe this one will actually recommend you for a good part in this year's show." I'm about to get angry when I look over and realize that she's not saying this to be mean; she really means it.

I nod, trying to force a smile. "Thanks for the advice." I nod to the doorway into the dance room. "Well… see you guys later."

"Bye," they say in unison as they head off to their class.

I turn to open the door to my class and jump when it is opened for me. Three girls- Jessica, Kristen, and Sam- are poking their heads out of the doorway. "Finally! Addie, you'll never believe the new teacher," Jessica says. Jessica likes to think of herself as my best friend, a position that is currently taken by one Stephanie Ashworth. Anyway, I'm content to let Jessica think that she's my best friend, as long as she doesn't try to spend the night or anything.

Jessica paws at my arm, trying to pull me into the classroom. "Why won't I believe it?" I ask, wondering what's so different about this teacher.

Sam grabs my shoulder and pulls me down to her height. In my ear, she whispers (not very quietly and with a great deal of spittle) "He's a guy!"

I stand up straight again and make it look like I'm brushing my hair back as I wipe the Sam-spit off of my ear. "So? Lots of dance teachers are guys." I push the door open and start to step in, with Sam, Jessica, and Kristen all flocking around me. "I mean, yeah, it's a little odd that he's teaching an all girls class, but it happens." I go to the bench to drop off my bag and pull out my empty water bottle, heading to the double-spouted fountain to fill it up.

"But seriously," Sam says, quieter now that we're in the classroom. "When he comes in just look at him and you'll get why we're all so freaked about it."

"I should hope so," I reply. "Or you guys would be getting all worked up over nothing." I take a swig from my water bottle and set it down next to my bag. Sitting down on the bench, I pull out my pointe shoes and start putting them on. Kristen and Jessica sit down next to me, and Sam sits down on the floor by my feet.

"So, did you guys have a good weekend? I heard you went out for Kristen's birthday." I was hoping to start up a meaningless conversation that would carry us on until class started.

"Oh, yeah, about that," Jessica started, sounding apprehensive. "We were gonna invite you, but I know you don't really like outings like that, so… sorry…"

"It's okay," I reply easily. And it is. I wouldn't have had fun anyway. "Happy birthday," I say to Kristen."

"Thanks," she utters, giving me a smile. I return it as I finish tightening the ribbons on my shoes.

"Oh my god, there he is," Sam says, smacking my leg repeatedly.

I shake her hand off. "Ow," I say pointedly, glaring at her.

"Look at him!" She looks almost distressed. I roll my eyes, smiling at how flustered she is.

The smile falls off my face when I catch sight of the new teacher. He's tall, six feet or taller, and thin, and his head is covered in a well-tamed mop of dark curls. His eyes are a color I can't make out from this side of the huge dance studio, and his physique is… marvelous. His black dance pants don't leave much to the imagination, and his white tee shirt is practically transparent.

"Oh my god," I say involuntarily.

Kristen makes a noise in the back of her throat and grimaces. "I don't like him at all, Sammy. He's all… weird looking."

"Says you," Sam murmurs quietly. Jessica is about to say something, but before she can, the new teacher is striding purposefully up to the front of the class, clapping his hands on the way.

"Quiet please," he says. "Gather up here, girls." He pulls one of the chairs from the few sitting by the door nearer to the middle and sits down. Most of the class has already gracefully fallen down at his feet, but a few, including our little group, wander over when he asks for us. We sit down near the back of the group and tuck our feet under us. The new teacher clears his throat and grins.

"Well. Hello, class. I'm the new teacher. I'm Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. You may call me Sherlock, Mr. Holmes, Sir… one thing you may not call me is Sherly." A few girls giggled and his lips quirked up again. "Anyway… yeah, that's it I think."

"Welcome to Bernier, Mr. Holmes," said a girl at the front. Mr. Holmes glanced down and winked at her. She giggled ridiculously.

"Thank you, Miss…"

"Morwood. Arabella Morwood."

"Thank you, Miss Morwood." He looked up again, clapped his hands decisively. "So! I understand that your previous teacher was in the middle of choosing a show for this year." There are murmurs of agreement, and he continues, "She didn't leave me with any requests for that, so I'm thinking something by Tchaikovsky, yes?"

The murmurs are louder this time. Jessica leans over and asks, "D'you think we'll get to do The Sleeping Beauty? I've always wanted to do that one."

"Quiet please," Mr. Holmes said again. He stood up and went to the back of the room, where an almost completely clear desk sat. "Miss Ault informed me that you girls usually do your own thing for the first ten minutes or so of class. After that we'll organize- half of you over here," he points to the space we currently occupy, "And half of you over there," he gestures to the adjoining room separated by a half wall. "I'm going to do a quick skill assessment, nothing to get worked up about, just trying to see how I'm going to pick up where Miss Ault left off. After that we'll take a break and then you can vote on a new routine. Sound good?"

Muttered approvals litter the air as we all stand up and start stretching. Sam and I head to the adjoining room and immediately go to the barre. Sam hoists her leg up and I follow suit, trying to take my mind off the new teacher. He's something else, that's for sure. Something about the way that he walks, the way that he holds himself- it's pretty obvious that he's not here to dance. No, he's here for a purpose… And I'm trying to figure out what exactly that purpose is when Sam snaps her fingers in my face.

"Hello?"

I shake my head. "Sorry," I mutter. "I was thinking. What was that?"

"Port de bras! Come on, Addie!" I roll my eyes. As she continues. "Fifth en bas… to first… to second… and back to fifth en bas…"

"Samantha Chadwick?"

Sam visibly jumps. "Just Sam, please," she says, smiling nervously at a space behind my head.

"Alright, Sam…" He says good-naturedly. I turn around and he's holding a pen and a clipboard, looking at Sam expectantly. "Well, Miss Chadwick, show me what you've got."

Sam gets through the little exam easily. Mr. Holmes nods a lot and scribbles things on his clipboard. I pretend to exercise at the barre the whole time. When Sam's finished, he looks at me pointedly.

"What's your name?"

"Addie Parker." He nods and flips to another sheet on the clipboard, running his eyes up and down it. "Ah, here we are. Parker, Adelaide. Would you like to go next?"

I shrug. "May as well," I say, throwing him a smile so I don't seem rude. He reciprocates it, although his is more of just a pull of the lips, just him doing it to placate me. I move to stand about six feet away from him.

"Oh-kay… Plié… Good… Arabesque…" He makes a surprised noise of approval after I finish the move. "Pirouette… Very good… Assemblé." I'm surprised, considering the moves he'd asked me to do before, but I comply. "Lovely. Fouetté en tournant?"

I do three, partly because I find it a bit hard to stop and keep my grace. When I do, he nods, smiling at his clipboard. "That's all, Adelaide, thank you."

I nod, smiling at him as he walks away. "Your fouettés en tournant are great," Sam says from beside me.

"Yours are better," I say.

"Psh. Yeah right. He didn't even ask me to do one."

"Well, he looks like he's asking everyone to do different things, so…"

By the time Mr. Holmes finishes testing everyone, it's too late to do much else, so he tells us we'll decide on a new routine tomorrow. We all go pack up our things and change. I take off my toe shoes and put them back in my bag, flexing my feet and sighing. Sam and Jessica leave immediately after Mr. Holmes dismisses us, but Kristen and I stay behind. I have to wait for Stephanie, who takes classes upstairs in costume design, and Kristen still has things to pack up. I go to the bathroom, but when I come back, Kristen has already left.

I decide to go down to the lobby to wait for Stephanie instead of waiting for her to come here, to studio 3C, like she usually does. I pick up my bag and head back out into the main studio, pushing my stray hairs away from my face. I catch sight of Mr. Holmes sitting at his desk. His feet are propped up on a pulled-out drawer and his laptop is sitting on his thighs. I don't think he sees me.

I clear my throat. "Uh, Mr. Holmes?" He looks up at me, a surprised expression flitting across his face.

"Oh, hello," he smiles. He frowns. "Miss…" he pauses, and I think he's trying to remember my name. "Parker?"

"Yes, sir."

"Please, Miss Parker, call me Sherlock, or something… Mr. Holmes sounds too…" He waves his hands around awkwardly. The amount of secondhand embarrassment I'm feeling is astounding. "Formal," he finishes.

"I thought you said-"

"Yes, well, I was lying. Anyway, what did you want?"

I look at the ceiling, biting my tongue. "Uh, just wanted to know when you think we'll know what the show is for this year."

He nods. "The other instructors and I are having a meeting tonight to discuss, and another tomorrow night to decide. The earliest you'll know is Wednesday morning."

"Thank you, Mr.- um, sir."

He nods and goes back to his laptop. I take one last look at him as I let the door to studio 3C swing closed.

"There you are!"

I jump, dropping my book and uttering a small, "Oh my God," when Stephanie surprises me in the lobby. She laughs, picking up my book for my and ushering me out of the double doors at the front of the building.

"Christ, Steph, don't scare me like that."

"It's not my fault you're so jumpy," she giggles, skipping ahead of me. "Look what I did to my shirt today." She pulls her coat aside to reveal a giant blue stain on her tee shirt.

"Oh my God," I blurt. "What happened?"

"I was dying a skirt today and it spilled," she says, beaming. "Good thing I didn't wear a nice shirt today, right?"

"Very right, yeah," I laugh. "Are you busy tonight?"

"Not really. You wanna get something to eat?"

"Yeah," I answer. "I've got to go change first, though."

She nods. "Hey, did you get a new teacher?"

"Yeah, you didn't hear?"

"No. But hey, I'd call you lucky. He is a good looking man." She waggles her eyebrows at me.

"You think every man is good looking," I quip.

But she's not wrong, really…

Don't forget to review! -Blake