A/N: Now comes Louise's pow. I will try to keep it up this way, and to make it into a slowburning story, taking place shortly before and then during the Covid-pandemic, to have a look how someone like Mycroft would deal with it :)

Please leave a comment, on anything you like (or don't like).

Chapter 2 – A la gran muñeca

Louise was late. She had been grading papers from her latest seminar on Greek Mythology in Romantic songs of the 19th century and had completely lost track of time. It happened rarely enough, but – she got so immersed in one very interesting attempt a student had taken on the interpretation of Schubert's Ganymed that really sucked her in, and before she knew it, it was 7:30. She would have to pedal hard…

She arrived only few minutes late and, had it not been for her bike lock that had once again set her off on a quiet Turett-tyrade in front of the dancing school, her late arrival would have gone unnoticed, as Isabella and Paolo, the both tango instructors were rarely on time themselves. Yet, she wasn't all too sorry – she apparently just avoided the yoga portion of their warm-up routine.

She was just putting on her black shoes, somewhat absently as she was still trying to wrap her mind around her student's suggestion that the rise towards the G5 in Schubert's song might in fact represent Ganymed slowly achieving orgasm while rising towards Zeus (intriguing, how no one else has stumbled upon this until now…), when a pair of black and white flats caught her eyes. She tilted her head curiously and while her fingers were still fumbling at the small silver clasp on her left shoe her look was slowly following the two strange feet, at first fixed on the shoes and their steps, but as those came to a halt, her eyes moved very slowly to follow the pair of legs attached to them… they were long legs, slim, and wrapped in dark grey trousers which – with the left knee bent just ever so slightly carrying the weight – were augmenting the flattering silhouette. Those legs didn't seem to end… she was so in awe and focused on them, that she got a mild scare when one of those particular legs suddenly moved to take a decisive, long step to the right, following the directions of Isabella and Paolo. She shrugged and under the sudden impatient swift click of her fingers the clasp on her shoe finally yielded and she got up and moved towards the group.

She gave Paolo an apologetic look for being late, to which he responded with a fake strict narrowing of his dark eyes, before pointing her with a forgiving smile to the direction of a gap at the back of the classroom.

The warm up, led largely by Isabella, was over and now Paolo joined her in a demonstration of today's focus: sacadas in a giro. This wasn't an entirely new step to her, she remembered dancing those – or trying to – with Friederike… who didn't seem to be here tonight.

Friederike was Louise's favourite partner to dance with, what with male tango class attendees being scarce she often had to dance with a woman for training purposes. Yet Friederike – or Fred for short -, a tall and sleek lawyer of 45, was an excellent leader. She had danced tango for years as a follower, and by the time Louise got to know her a few months ago in the tango class, Fred was determined – as she had put it – to make things interesting and to learn the "other part", which Louise found commendable. And she was a joy to dance with at any evening.

Louise didn't mind to lead herself, if necessary, and the two teachers were also anxious that the students of both genders learned the steps for both roles, but still…

She was a bit disappointed to find Friederike apparently wasn't coming tonight. On the bright side – so wasn't Olaf as it seemed.

Olaf was Louise's least favourite partner to dance with. She would never let on about it of course. If Fred was an open-minded dancer, embracing all the possibilities of a tango in the 21st century and looking to lifting up others and to improving her own ways of dancing, which included taking over a male lead, Olaf was the complete opposite. He was all for improving alright, or rather correcting, just not of his own. Every dance with him, however short, would start with him tapping on her elbow to indicate she wasn't giving him enough tension. Then, usually after up to six steps he would pause and patronize her because of her legwork or her slumped back, and he wouldn't even shy away from sliding his spidery long legs and feet against hers to push her feet into what he considered the correct position.

So no Olaf, and no Fred, it's a draw then, yet it still meant she'd need a partner. Her eyes swiped over the room once more, and suddenly came to a halt on a new face. Piercing bright blue eyes were focused and in a slight frown fixed on Paolo's current leader demonstration. The tall man was leaning onto a wall with his arms crossed on his chest. As she sized him downwards, she suddenly recognized the long, seemingly non-ending legs that had caught her attention before. He was wearing dark grey trousers, a matching waistcoat – really? a waistcoat? who wears a waistcoat to a tango dance class? – and a pale blue shirt with a - oh yes – an actual tie, a night blue colour with a discreet rose print that one would only notice up close… She got so puzzled by the tie that she didn't notice how its rose print was getting clearer and clearer until she could actually discern the individual small leaves and petals… very lovely…

"Well, shall we then?" A clear voice sounding from right in front of her brought her back. She jerked away a little and raised her head from the tie that was now only few feet away to look into the blue eyes. She raised her brows to collect herself. He looked around them as if checking something, then said calmly, "It appeared the two of us were the only ones left without a counterpart," before turning back at her.

His voice was smooth and soft. Like the damper on a grand piano, she thought. Those few words he said sounded like engaging and then slowly, yet with a meticulous precision, releasing the sustain pedal, the felt of the dampers putting a tender and soft end to every single word. It made her wonder if it was a well and long-time practised and conscious choice on his part or whether it was simply… his voice, true and always.

She briefly looked passed him to assess the room one more time making sure there wasn't anyone left, and she was already kind of hoping there really wasn't. Something about him was telling her that he was a meticulous dancer. There was that word again. She couldn't tell why but it would be the first word that occurred to her, should she be asked to describe him quickly. Meticulous. Immaculate, flawless. She knew that a fancy suit didn't necessarily equal an accomplished dancer (remember Steve, her first dancing partner in her first tango class a few months ago… gosh, he was lovely and gentle and very nice, but a terrible, terrible dancer, and rather than following his lead she would worry about breaking him if she held on to his arm too tight).

She looked at this new man, taking an inner deep breath, then saw his offered left hand, somewhat relieved. It was always a delicate thing, dancing with someone new, not knowing what embrace they would go for. But she was glad that he obviously didn't care for the distant practicing embrace that some more shy dancers tended to choose, but instead went for the classical frame, not too intimate, but comfortable and much more practicable.

"Sure," she finally said her first word and took his hand while stepping closer and allowing him to place his right hand on her waist. Well, allowing wasn't quite the right word, as she noted with some amusement: very much unlike most of the other new dancers he didn't seem to have any reservations. He clearly wasn't shy nor did he pretend to be, like some. She got the distinct impression that he wouldn't stand for any nonsense like that. After all this was a tango class, so if you came here, you came to dance, and to dance with a partner meant you came prepared to hold and to be held, no place for false considerations.

It felt nice, he clearly wasn't a beginner. His frame was firm, but his grip not too tight (f*ck Olaf once again), his hand was warm, not sweaty like Steve's used to be… the music started… and she froze. She had got so engrossed in thought that now she completely lost the track of what steps they were supposed to practice together.

But he already made a first step, it was too late to wonder. However, the brief moment of panic passed as quickly as it came and she just let herself being led by him.

She was right. He was a good dancer. So good even that the sacadas in the giros – now she remembered that's what they were supposed to train – came entirely natural to her. Every now and then Isabella or Paolo would come over to show them some embellishments they could try or to offer some minor corrections in their footwork and posture.

She would keep her eyes fixed on his tie, which was really easy as she really liked its print, plus it helped her to concentrate on keeping the frame firm. Only now and then she would look up briefly to give him a short smile. As she did so once, she saw him looking at her lips. There was no lust or any sign of desire or anything like that in his eyes, but she still blushed instantly and quickly looked away.

They didn't talk but for those few occasions where she apologized for getting on on the left foot instead of the right one or vice versa. But the silence wasn't awkward, they were after all dancing. From her small experience, the less talk the more of a sign it was that both parties were relaxed and enjoying themselves. Well, enjoying may have been an overstatement in his case, she had to admit when she dared a stealthy look at his features. He seemed focused and comfortable enough, but there something about him was telling her he wasn't exactly pleased or happy. Whether it had anything to do with her and their dancing she couldn't possibly tell.

But before she could think about it any further, the music of the last tango stopped and he let go of her waist and her hand and with a short bow and a polite smile he turned on the spot and rushed with swift steps towards the wooden bench where the attendees used to change their shoes. She watched him for a few seconds, then slowly followed him when she noticed her own shoes and coat were right next to where he just sat down.

She complimented him on his dancing as he was taking off his shoes. He seemed unfazed, and her attempt at a joke backfired, but thankfully, in that moment Rebecca asked her from across the room whether she was coming along tonight. Louise found the loud question odd, because ever since she had joined the class some six months ago she had been going along to the milongas with the group every Friday night. But then she saw Rebecca's meaningful look and a nod towards the newcomer and she got the hint.

She bit her lip and thought for a moment. Good tango partners, male tango partners were hard to come by these days, even in London. And although she had no trouble dancing with women, or even taking over the leading role if necessary, still it was just too good an opportunity to let it slide.

So she gathered up all her courage and asked him, somewhat nervously, if he perhaps wanted to come along to Tango Garden. She wasn't even halfway through the question and she already regretted it. He was trying to be polite, but she could tell that was the last thing he would consider doing on this evening.

And though she had to admit that moment of his leaving and bidding her goodnight had a certain Darcy-rejecting-Elizabeth-at-the-country-ball quality, she wasn't vain and wouldn't dwell on it for too long. There will be others, she thought.

AN: Please review :) hope to update soon