Today, John is about to teach Sherlock the Macarena.

He shouldn't have been surprised, really, when Sherlock said that yes, he did know what the dance was, but no, he didn't know how to do it. Because (really, John) why on Earth would the Sherlock Holmes, the world's first and only consulting detective and natural genius have any reason to clog his Mind Palace with such nonsense as the Macarena? Either way, they have a wedding dance to go to in about a week, and whether Sherlock likes it or not, he's going to learn how to dance.

"Okay, you stand right here beside me, and just do what I do," John says, knowing that his patience, as well as Sherlock's attention span, probably won't last long. He puts his arms out in front of him one at a time, and turns them over, again, one at a time. He looks over at Sherlock. Sherlock is staring at John with his nose scrunched up and his eyebrows furrowed.

"You know, I can tell which is your dominant hand, just from that thing you did with your arms," he says. "You put your right arm out first, and you turned it over first. It really is quite-"

"Sherlock, we made a deal. Just do what I just did." Sherlock rolls his eyes, and imitates John. It's true, teaching Sherlock to dance is part of the deal the two made the other day, when John found a more disgusting than usual specimen in the refrigerator from an experiment that Sherlock never did get around to. After the smell nearly devoured the whole flat, Sherlock did get rid of it, but John was the one who ended up wandering around the flat with a can of Febreeze, and then washing the walls and floor until either the smell was gone or the nerves in his nose were shot. Sherlock had made him clean out the flat, so John decided to teach this lanky bugger how to dance.

"Alright," John says. "Now, you're going to take your right arm, and cross it over your chest so that your hand is resting on your left shoulder. Like this." He gives Sherlock a sideways glance. Sherlock copies John's movement, and then crosses his left arm over his chest.

"It was quite obvious what the next move was going to be," he says with a shrug when John sighs at him. "Okay, now I feel like a mummy with my arms across my chest like this. Now what?"

John puts his right hand to the side of his head, and then his left hand to the other side. Sherlock follows. John crosses his right arm over his stomach and rests his hand on his side, and Sherlock does the same. Sherlock gets ahead of John again, but this time, John ignores him.

"Now, you're going to put your hands on your hips," John instructs Sherlock. "Simple enough. Okay, shake your hips a little..." Sherlock snorts.

"Shake my hips?"

"Yeah. Well, swivel them a little. Kind of like this." John swivels his hips in a circular motion, and Sherlock shakes his head.

"I'm not doing that, John."
"Why not?"

"You said you were going to teach me how to dance. Not how to shake my booty." Sherlock spits out the last three words, as if they were sour in his mouth. They look at each other for a silent moment, and John cracks up. Sherlock gives in and soon, they are both nearly doubled over in laughter. John laughs until his face starts to hurt.

"Okay, whether you shake your booty or not, Sherlock," John says when they're finally calmed down enough to continue the lesson, "you're supposed to go, 'Heeeey, Macarena!' and then once you say that, you turn ninety degrees and clap once. Can you handle that?"

"Of course I can handle it," Sherlock replies.

"Alright, then let's take it from the top."

Sherlock's miles of arms and legs tend to be funny in a normal situation, but now that he's doing the Macarena, John nearly finds it hysterical. WIth each move, Sherlock sort of bows his legs, making it look like he's on a pair of springs instead.

"Hey, Macarena!" John says once they reach the twelfth move. Sherlock stays quiet. John turns around to look at him.

"You didn't say it," he says.

"I know." John crosses his arms. Sherlock sighs. "Fine. Fine. " He puts his hands on his hips, rocks them a little from side to side, and then bellows, "HEY, MACARENA!" He jumps a quarter of a turn, lands loudly, and claps his hands lazily over his head, glaring at John. John smiles.

"Well done," he muses. "Think your brilliant Mind Palace can hold onto this little dance for the rest of the week? It's not that hard; you remembered the moves right away."

Sherlock mutters incoherently, and heads for his bedroom. John takes that as a maybe. He grins to himself. What is he going to teach Sherlock next?