Chapter 1: Overture

"Can you tell me again why we're in front of the David H. Koch Theater ?" Joan asked, stifling a yawn.

She had woken up exactly 35 minutes before, only to see Sherlock holding out two dresses for her.

"I didn't know you were interested in fashion." She asked, glancing from one dress to the other. "I could lent them to you if you want, although I don't think purple is your color."

"Very funny, Watson. Capitan Gregson's just called, apparently he wants us to have a look at a rather peculiar crime scene, one that involves expensive clothing and lots of dancing."

"Um, a club?"

"No, you silly." He sighs then looks at watch. "Hurry up, you've got exactly 20 minutes to use the toilet and get dressed and another 5 minutes to enjoy your breakfast."

"Do I have to wear a dress? It's the middle of November, I can't really get a tan." She throws the covers away and gets out of the bed in one swift move.

"It's up to you." Sherlock shrugs, heading for the hallway. "But I like the navy one, it goes well with your eyes." He says simply before closing the door.

Another 25 seconds pass before Joan is able to process his words. Sherlock Holmes, telling her that she looks nice in a dress, that it goes well with her eyes, that he likes it. She takes the dress and studies it in the mirror. It's not something too elegant, but it's beautiful nonetheless. A simple knee length v-neck dress, why would he like it so much?

He still manages to surprise her with all his little quirks, even after months of living in the same house. He is just like that, once you think you know something about him, he goes out of his way to prove that you haven't got the slightest idea what he's up to or what he's thinking about. Joan smiled to herself. It was one of the many reasons she enjoyed working with him so much.

"Obviously, we're not here to see Swan Lake." She looked around, rubbing her hands to warm herself a bit.

"Actually, we are." Sherlock opened the main door for her and they were soon greeted by Marcus Bell and Capitan Gregson.

"Morning, fellas!" he said cheerfully.

"How did you get here so fast?" the former asked the consulting detective and his companion, eyeing them suspiciously.

"Bell, take it easy, I called them personally. I want Sherlock to have a look at something. Follow me, please. We're taking the short route." Gregson awkwardly climbed the stage and disappeared behind the velvet curtain as Joan and Sherlock exchanged amused glances.

"You coming?" he inquired ceremoniously, extending an arm.

"I'd rather take the stairs, thank you" she gestured towards the small steps almost hidden from view.

"Suit yourself."

Joan rolled her eyes, but soon found herself frozen in the middle of the stage, a familiar feeling dwelling inside her chest. She look around, imagining hundreds upon hundreds of elegantly dressed people, all waiting anxiously for the lights to go off and the music to sweep away all their worries, even if just for a short period of time. Three loud gongs would pierce the air, silencing the crowd, before the...

"Joan?"

She blinked twice, suddenly being reminded of the task at hand. She was here on a case with Sherlock, long gone were the days when that was everything she dreamed of. "Focus, damn it." They entered a dark hallway and the feeling vanished as soon as it had come.

"Don't tell me you wanted to be a ballerina." Sherlock casually pulled out his phone, surfing the web for the latest news, just in case something of interest might show up.

"Well yeah. I was convinced I was going to be the next big thing when I was 6. " she shrugged. "I guess I was surprised to find myself here years later after having given up on that idea."

It wasn't long before they caught up with Gregson, who waiting for them outside the girls' locker.

"Did you stop to give a performance?" he raised a brow.

"You'd be surprised to know what I'm capable of" Sherlock said without looking up.

"Wa-"

"Capitan please" Joan stopped him just in time. "What are we dealing with?"

"First of all-"

"Meredith Blackwell, 22 years old was found dead by the cleaning a few hours ago. Quite a prolific ballerina from what I gather." Sherlock finally put the phone in his pocket. Gresgson cursed under his breath.

Finally, he was beginning to focus on the case, Joan thought studying his countenance. Her gaze lingered for a tad more, enough for Sherlock to notice she had been staring at him. She was glad he decided against making a comment.

"Huh, already made the papers, I see. Come take a look at the crime scene. We haven't ruled out the possibility of suicide, as everything points towards that. Let me know what you two think."

Joan was the first to go inside.

The room was dimly lit. Quiet and cold. Unnaturally quiet. Remains of furniture were scattered across the room. Pieces of broken glass shone curiously at every single step. Make up products stood out from the many personal effects of the body. No suicide victim would ever put up this kind of fight.

The body was in the center of the room, lying on the back, eyes open, surrounded by a dozen of pills. Her white costume was torn apart and almost completely soaked with blood. The ex-surgeon grimaced. There was something unusual going on. She wasn't taken aback by the sight of slashed wrists or by the unusual color of the victim's skin or even by the wound just below her jugular. She's seen them one too many times. Yet, just a few feet away, on the remains of a smashed mirror, 2 words written in blood caught her attention. She stepped closer and felt a cold shiver run down her spine.

FOR SWAN

She glanced back over her shoulder, in time to see a small smile plastered over Sherlock's face.

"Now this is definitely worth my time."

I'm back...sorta.

So here you have it, an Elementary fic. Should I go on?