A/N: Reviews are always appreciated.
Sherlock felt the smooth wood of his violin bow under his fingertips as he moved it along the strings of his instrument, making the sweetest sound he had ever heard. Possibly it was the euphoria of music in the morning that made it so sweet to him. He doesn't dwell on these notions, but it was nice to pretend, sometimes.
The notes became slower and longer, sounding almost… Depressing.
As his song faded away, he stood there in the moment, the sound of the long last note hanging in the air. He opened his eyes slowly, savoring the memories that accompanied the song. The memories that would soon be few and far between, the memories and feelings that would fade away, just as the last note did.
He pressed the record button on his stereo, and the small red light went off. He sighed. He couldn't bring himself to look at his chair. It's just a stupid chair, why is it so difficult to look at it?
He knew why. He just wasn't willing to admit it. A childish thing, really. He wasn't a child anymore. He acted like one, but he was not a child.
His phone beeped.
"Lovely song, brother. –MH"
Sherlock glared at his phone. It beeped again.
"It reminds me of the ballet. –MH"
Sherlock picked up his phone and threw it at the couch, falling into the crack between the cushions.
He hadn't thought of the ballet in years. It was part of his childhood, which he had deleted most of.
His mother and father used to take him and Mycroft to the ballet. That's where Sherlock discovered that he loved to dance. He had taught himself how to dance. It was simple, really. Just copying the dancers he saw on stage.
He thought about when he taught John to dance. John was an awful student. It had taken days to make him an acceptable dancer. He was stubborn and wanted to stop dancing as soon as he stepped on Sherlock's foot once or twice. After much persuading, Sherlock managed to successfully teach him, and discovered that John was a quick learner when he wanted to be.
Sherlock pressed the play button on a remote and the song he haf been playing flowed out of the speakers of his stereo. He went through the motions of the waltz, bringing his memories to life as his eyes shut. He saw John there dancing with him, laughing as he had in the last few days of lessons.
"I'm getting to be a better dancer than you are, Sherlock."
"Highly unlikely. I have been dancing for years, whereas you have just learned. I am obviously a far superior dancer."
"Oh, come on, Sherlock. Admit it. You're impressed at my 'mad skills.'"
"I am impressed with my own 'mad skills,' John. Your skills are sub-par."
John twirled Sherlock, who had to duck a bit to get under John's arm. "Teach me something new. Teach me a new move, so that I might master it and put you to shame."
A mischievous smirk spread across Sherlock's lip and he switched arm positions with John, making himself lead and John follow. He grasped John's hands in his and raised their arms, spinning John into a position next to him, hips touching. John was on Sherlock's right, his arms crossed at his abdomen and either hand in Sherlock's.
"What move is this called?"
"The cuddle."
"Let me try."
Sherlock spun John out of the cuddle, noticing when John's warmth wasn't at his side. He didn't like that.
John took the male position in the dance and attempted the move.
"No, no, wrong. John, you need to lift yourleft arm, not your right."
"Alright, alright. I'll try it again."
John lifted his left arm and brought it over Sherlock's head, standing on his tiptoes and Sherlock ducking again.
"Very good, John. Try it again."
John lifted his arm and spun Sherlock out and did the move again, successfully.
"I'm nearly impressed, John." Sherlock told him, moving back into the leading position.
"Oh, admit it. Youare impressed."
Sherlock scoffed. "Wrong again. You're the one who is impressed. I can read it in you, John."
"Shove off, arsehole."
"Make me."
In that moment, Sherlock dipped John. He wasn't very heavy, so he could support John's weight, seeing as John was caught off-guard and didn't have the time to support his own weight.
John's face was inches from his, his eyes wide, clearly not expecting to have been dipped.
Sherlock looked deeply into John's eyes. He wanted to commit them to memory. He never wanted to forget the color of John's eyes, the warmth and devotion in them. He was worried, afraid, scared that he wouldn't be able to look into the eyes of his army doctor for much longer. The emotions and thoughts and feelings he saw in John's eyes would no longer be only for him to look at in a few day's time. John would develop new attachments and feelings and emotions for other people, and soon John's eyes would be purely cleansed of anything involving Sherlock.
Little did he know, John was doing the exact same.
Sherlock leaned in closer to John's face. "And this is where you kiss her, John." He said in a low voice. He looked back and forth between John's lips and his eyes.
"Is that so?" John breathed, looking down at Sherlock's own lips.
Maybe, just maybe… If Sherlock leaned down a few more inches… He could...
"Oh, how lovely!"
Sherlock and John broke eye contact and Sherlock lifted John out of the dip at the sound of Mrs. Hudson's voice.
"Oh, don't stop now! That was lovely. Do it again!"
"Hello, Mrs. Hudson. How… How much of that did you see?" asked John, shaken.
Sherlock remained silent and stoic.
"Just the last bit, but I feel like I saw the whole thing! You're a wonderful dancer, John."
"No, not really. I'm only just learning. Sherlock's thereal wonderful dancer here." John blushed.
"You're both wonderful, dears. But you're very good for someone who is just learning. You two should take a dance class!"
"Sherlock? In a dance class? I would pay to see that." John laughed nervously.
Sherlock smiled slightly when he remembered that Mrs. Hudson had said that. He had briefly wondered what it would be like to take a dance class with John, but shoved the thought away into the bottom of a chest in a locked room in the 'John' section of his mind palace.
Sherlock heard the door open and turned his head to see Mrs. Hudson standing there with a tray in her hands. "Shut up, Mrs. Hudson."
"I haven't said a word!" she told him as she walked into his flat.
Sherlock huffed, "You're formulating a question, it's physically painful watching you think."
He didn't mean to be rude to her, but he was in his John place at the moment and did not want to be disturbed. He dropped his hands to his sides.
"I thought it was you playing." She smiled.
He dug into the pocked of his robe, looking for the remote. "It was me playing." He grabbed the remote from the desk, paused the music, and threw it back onto the table. "I am composing." He said matter-of-factly and began jotting down notes for the song.
"You were dancing!" Mrs. Hudson pointed out as she set the tray down on the table next to John's chair.
"I was road-testing." He corrected.
"You what?"
Sherlock dropped his pencil on the desk. "Why are you here?" he accused, turning to her.
"I'm bringing you your morning tea." She told him as she poured the cream and tea into a cup. "You're not usually awake."
"You bring me tea in the morning?" he asked as he sat down in his armchair.
"Well, where did you think it came from?" Mrs. Hudson laughed.
"I don't know. I just thought it sort of happened."
I thought John made it for me.
"Your mother has a lot to answer for." Mrs. Hudson handed Sherlock the tea.
"Hmm, I know. I have a list." He took the tea from her and added, "Mycroft has a file."
Mrs. Hudson giggled and sat in John's armchair. Sherlock wished she wouldn't.
"So, it's the big day then." She tapped her knees in excitement.
Sherlock took a sip of the tea. Now that he knew it was Mrs. Hudson who made it, he did notice a difference in her tea and the tea that John made. He liked John's better. "What big day?"
Don't remind me.
She looked at him in disbelief. "The wedding! John and Mary getting married."
Sherlock winced slightly. "Two people who currently live together are about to attend church, have a party, go on a short holiday, then carry on living together. What's big about that?"
"It changes people, marriage."
"Hmm, no it doesn't."
"Well, you wouldn't understand, cos you always live alone."
Sherlock decided not to take another sip of his tea. He tried to keep his heart from falling to the bottom of his chest cavity, so to speak.
He tried to change the subject to her. "Your husband was executed for double murder. You're hardly an advert for companionship."
"Marriage changes you as a person in ways that you can't imagine."
Oh, I'm sure I can imagine.
"As does lethal injection." He reminded her and set the tea down on the table to his right.
"My best friend, Margaret, she was my chief bridesmaid-" Oh, no, not a story about her life!"-we were going to be best friends forever, we always said that, but I hardly saw her after that."
Don't. Remind me. About. Things. Like. That.
"Aren't there usually biscuits?" He asked, wishing she would just shut up and not discuss a topic that shouldn't be painful for him, but was.
"I've run out."
He stood up and walked to the door. "Have the shops?"
"She cried the whole day, saying, 'Oh, it's the end of an era.'"
"I'm sure the shop on the corner is open."
Get out of here before I lose it.
"She was probably right, really. I remember she left early." She said in a sad voice.
Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and looked away.
"I mean, who leaves a wedding early? So sad."
"Hmm. Anyway, you've got things to do."
"No, not really. I've got plenty of time to get ready…"
"Biscuits!" he shouted.
Mrs. Hudson gasped. "I really am gonna have a word with your mother." She told him as she was ushered out the door.
"You can if you like, she understands very little." He told her as he closed the door.
He sighed and paced about. He didn't want to do this. He knew he had a lot of time, as Mrs. Hudson had just stated.
When you're scared of something, you start wishing it sooner, just to get it all going.
He clenched his jaw. He was nervous, worried, frustrated, heartbroken, scared. He had dreaded this day since the moment he was aware of its happening.
He turned to John's chair.
He imagined John sitting in it, reading the news, drinking tea, updating his blog. He remembered the pair of them sitting in their chairs on John's stag night. John had been sitting low in his chair, his shirt riding up a bit and exposing some of his midriff. Sherlock had wanted to lean over and run his fingers along it. He would have been successful if it weren't for the client who had showed up at their door. Damn her. Why couldn't she just have left when she saw them in their drunken state? It was late at night, too. Very rude of her. The night had been going so well…
John had promised that he wouldn't leave him when they were in the jail cell. Sherlock hoped and hoped that he would keep his promise. But promises were made to be broken, and logically, John would eventually put Mary and his own life and his own needs before Sherlock. And it was already beginning to happen. John not sitting there in his chair was only the beginning.
Sherlock pulled his eyes away from John's chair and straightened himself up.
"Right then."
He walked into his bedroom, pulling off his golden robe, and went up to his tuxedo that was hanging on his closet door.
He took a deep sigh.
"Into battle."