Notes: Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I'm trying to balance two other multi-chapter fics, a novel I started working on, and real life. Oh, yeah... Real life. That thing I should pay more attention to but probably won't... :/

Anyway, here is the next installment. Now, when this song came up, many ideas popped into my head. But I wrote it this way for reasons... Don't judge me...


Dancing Queen by Abba

John was outside the door to his flat, a jug of milk balanced precariously on his knee and a box of takeout resting on one palm. He was home early from taking a walk and visiting the grocery store, having skipped the walk, deeming the weather to be unacceptable. He could take his walk at some other time.

Yes, he would take it later…

Much, much later.

Entering the flat, he made sure to get a better grip on the milk and food, which was probably the smartest thing he had ever done in his entire life. Had he not had them secured, he most certainly would have dropped them when he walked into the living room.

Sherlock, the world's only consulting detective, with a brilliant mind and enthralling, mysterious exterior, stood in the middle of the room, completely unaware of his flat mate's entrance. No, not standing. He was doing everything but standing. Sherlock, draped in his blue dressing gown and pajamas, was dancing.

John could do nothing but watch in fascination and horror and just plain shock as the detective swayed back and forth to the rhythm of a loud pop song, his arms and shoulders shimmying to the beat. His hips rotated and his toes tapped on the floor whenever his feet weren't carrying him around the room. Every time his head bopped, the dark curls bounced along. He faced away from John as he danced, but from his occasional twirl he had noted that Sherlock's eyes were closed as he was lost in the music.

He wasn't a particularly bad dancer; a little gangly and uncoordinated, yes, but not bad. John wasn't quite sure how to make his presence known to the dancing detective. On one hand, he didn't want to humiliate the detective. But, on another, he wanted so badly to see his face when Sherlock opened his eyes, only to realize he had an audience. He didn't have much more time to think about, though, because the dancing quickly subsided. Sherlock slowly turned around to look at John, his face completely impassive. Without a word, the detective walked over and turned off the music, grabbing the player and cradling it in his arms. He squinted at John for a moment, then rolled his shoulders back and tilted his head a little higher.

"You will tell no one." And with that, Sherlock exited the room, his robe billowing out behind him. Oh yes, John thought, trying not to laugh. He was very mysterious indeed.