Bradstreet regarded the horrified and panicking young man with amusement. "Well, nobody wants to go, Hopkins, but we wouldn't want such fine people to think we aren't grateful."

"But to invite us to a social gathering?" Hopkins insisted. "With dinner, and dancing, and all that?"

"They think they're doing us a favor." Jones put in. "Just think of it as a free meal and a chance to dance with some of the young ladies of upper society." Having given his advice, the Inspector moved on.

Hopkins glared at his retreating back, then turned back to Bradstreet. "Will they expect us to dance?" He asked, his eyes suddenly wide.

Bradstreet laughed. "We'll be expected to dance with the young ladies, yes. We'll even be considered the safe dancing partners, so we'll probably end up dancing most of the night. Wish I had the excuse of being married." He grumbled good naturedly. Gregson, Lestrade, and Jones would be taking their wives with them.

Hopkins looked even more alarmed than he had before. "And we have to go?" He asked without much hope.

Bradstreet nodded. "Every member of the Yard who was involved was invited, and it would be the height of rudeness to refuse." He tried to reassure the lad. "It's not that bad, Hopkins. Just watch your mouth and keep your opinions to yourself, and you'll be fine." He grinned.

"But dancing-"

"The dancing will be the fun part, Hopkins. Dinner-"

Here the young man looked absolutely miserable. "But Bradstreet, I can't dance."

Bradstreet snorted dismissively. "They won't expect you to do more than the basic steps." He assured the lad, then stopped when Hopkins only managed to look more distraught. Bradstreet stared at the young man in surprise. "You don't know how to dance. At all. You never learned?"

Hopkins shook his head. "We were too busy trying to survive growing up." He admitted.

Bradstreet shook his head. "You'll be expected to dance." He worried.

"What's wrong?" Lestrade had caught their worried expressions, and their muted words, and had come over to be sure there wasn't another serial killer on the loose.

Hopkins flushed, and stammered until Bradstreet took pity on him. "Hopkins is worried about that invitation we all received." He explained. "The boy can't dance."

Lestrade mercifully took the statement to mean that Hopkins couldn't dance at all, saving the poor lad some further embarrassment. He eyed the young man thoughtfully. "He'll have to learn, then." Was his brilliant solution.

Hopkins choked. "But the blasted thing is tomorrow! Who's going to teach me?" He insisted. Bradstreet had to concede that the young man had a point.

Lestrade considered this for a moment, and Hopkins was sure he was doomed to be an embarrassment at the gathering the following night.

Lestrade came to a decision. "Come on, then." He said briskly. "We'll start with the waltz."

It took Hopkins a full minute to recover. It took Bradstreet just a bit longer.


Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes does not belong to me.