AN: Here the next bit, this time I managed to put both Mycroft's and Louise's pow into one chapter, and I think I'll try to keep it up this way :)

Thank you for the first review, very encouraging.

I really hope to be able to keep Mycroft in character so I'm eager to hear from you, readers, how it's going on that front.

If you're interested in tango or wonder what all those steps might look like, check youtube, I found the videos by "Tango Space - Argentine Tango School" or by "Tango 303" really lovely.

Chapter 3 – Paciencia

Mycroft:

A week has passed and with a sunken heart Mycroft was walking towards the large glass door of the dancing school, his umbrella on his right arm, the silk bag with his tango shoes in the left hand, and on his face the usual frown. He was grumpy, or more so than normally.

He had left his brother few hours ago, and Sherlock had enjoyed himself immensely by teasing him endlessly about the lost bet. Yet Mycroft wouldn't give him the satisfaction of admitting just how much he was suffering under the ordeal.

He arrived on time to his 2nd tango class, to his annoyance the both teachers weren't there yet, only couple of the participants, chatting in small groups and exchanging their week's news. He put on his tango shoes. He had to admit he rather liked them. Just as he did the high mirrors that were panelled on the walls of the classroom, he thought as he was observing his reflection in one of them and adjusting his tie. It was his one vice, being vain in that aspect. He liked seeing himself all dapper and dressed up and exuding that look of power and aloofness that others would easily confuse with arrogance. He couldn't imagine why.

It wasn't a secret that he has always been a good dancer. It was part of the social graces that had proven very useful to him on various occasions over the years. He was well versed in the conventional ballroom dances like waltz and slowfox, and his skills in the others were tolerable at worst and definitely could be seen.

Did he like it though? Dancing? Like most things in his life, he neither liked it nor disliked it. Like with most things in his life, he had no relationship with dancing. In those instances where there was something to be gained by it, like at political ballroom events where it would appear beneficial to beguile some high ranking foreign officials – or their wives – he enjoyed it well enough. But it was nothing more than a mean to an end at best - it was serviceable.

Five past eight, five minutes past (!) the scheduled start of the lesson, the two teachers finally entered the classroom as did the woman he had danced with the last time, clearly in a hurry as her flushed cheeks and somewhat dishevelled hair would testify. A cyclist, Mycroft noticed the reflecting stripes on her large pannier that she threw next to her as she sat down and took off her boots.

The warm-up started, following very much the same procedure as last time – some basic tango walk, then to Mycroft's exhaustion a portion of yoga-elements and finally a preparation for today's new steps – the calesitas. This was mostly challenging for the followers, whereas the leaders were just supposed to turn around backwards on the spot. They would practice the calesitas with the inner foot and a boleo at the end, then the calesitas with the outer foot.

He was distracted a little. His visit at Sherlock's wasn't the only source of discomfort on this evening. Sir Edwin had informed him earlier that day that there was no news on Randall King. And on that front no news as a rule translated to bad news.

King had been the last missing member of the Sherrinford crew. Following Eurus' containment after the misfortunate events at Sherrinford and at the Musgrave manor over a year ago, Mycroft and the small circle that was acquainted with the situation of that particular "institution" had spared no effort to minimize the fallout: That meant to find and to contain everyone involved, every guard, every medical officer, every nurse – everyone under even the smallest suspicion of having been "enslaved" by the Holmes sister. They managed to track down everyone else rather quickly, everyone but one – Randall King. They had been following leads around the entire continent, so far without success. Mycroft was growing weary of the situation, as it was hindering him to put an end to the whole episode for good.

Finally, the warm-up was over and Mycroft let his eyes swipe across the room in order to find a partner. There seemed to be only two women who were not attending the class with a partner. One was the music teacher he had danced with the last time – Louise was her name if remembered correctly – he heard someone call her by it last week, and the other one was a new face – a slim, very tall woman about his age, clearly a professional of some sorts, Mycroft guessed most probably a lawyer. But as he was something of a creature of habit and pursuing as little change as possible, he moved with swift steps towards the first. However, he wasn't the only one. To his annoyance, a dark-haired tall man wearing a jeans-shirt tucked into his jeans crossed his path and was already stretching out an arm towards Louise. Mycroft sighed inwardly and was about to turn away, when the tall woman came rushing towards them, tapped the other man on his shoulder and said with a bright smile: "Olaf! Why don't we give it a try?" And she was already grabbing his left hand and pulling him away from Louise. Mycroft observed the short exchange between the three with some fascination. No one said another word, but their faces spoke volumes. Clearly, Louise was grateful, and… relieved, he noticed somewhat puzzled. The tall lawyer seemed amused and just a tad… daring, perhaps, whereas Olaf looked simply… worried. No, not just worried, terrified.

Mycroft merely raised his brows briefly, then turned to Louise saying: "Shall we then?"

So they danced. Mycroft was bored rather quickly, even though – or perhaps exactly because – his counterpart was a decent dancer herself. Not perfect, but she seemed to be able to follow his lead without hesitation – a fact that he would actually compliment himself for rather than her. So out of boredom he decided to resume his mental exercise from last week trying to work out more and more facts with less and less clues about her. Given the state of the callus on the side of her left index finger he deduced that she spent a fair amount of time practising her instrument every day. Was she a member of an orchestra? Mycroft wondered. He tried to recall the faces of all the female flutists he could remember seeing over the years. He was a frequent concertgoer, at least he used to be. Like dancing it was useful on occasions to be seen at the start of the season here or spend the interval at a ballet talking to the Russian ambassador there. But he would be lying if he said it was all just business. He had always had a faible for classical music (something that his parents kept misconceiving and assuming he was hence the right person to accompany them to a musical). But his interest has somewhat abated in the past few months. He had other things on his mind. Also, the thought of being seen in public or talking to all the important people during the interval no longer seemed to hold the same appeal as it used to… before Eurus.

Anyway, back to deductions: London was home to over fifty orchestras. That was including the big and renowned ones, just as some smaller ensembles that specialized in certain era or in a specific instrumentation. He was certain that she didn't play in any of the large orchestras like London Symphony or any of the Philharmonics, he would remember as his facial memory was infallible. So it was more likely that she was part something smaller. There weren't that many groups that would have use for a flute though. Mostly they were groups for chamber music. Playing flute in a smaller ensemble either meant it was something rather obscure or – more likely – she played in a group dedicated to historical performance practice. That again would mean she probably played some period instrument, as a flutist possibly a traverso, which then led him to the conclusion that she was most likely a member of some small baroque ensemble. But, who knows. He was a lot more careful when it came to relying on his deductions these days. After all, they were the reason he ended up in this dance class.

Yet, if her occupation was strictly practical, why was she always covered in chalk? He asked himself. She had to be teaching on some level, at least so on Fridays, as the state of her skirt would testify…

"I'm Louise, by the way," her voice brought him momentarily back to the tango class.

He only looked her in the eyes long enough to reply curtly, "I know," before returning his focus to the small birthmark on her left collarbone where his look had been fixed for the past half an hour.

He suddenly sensed a minor reluctance in her step. She dropped her elbow a little and the forward ocho he was leading her to do turned into a confused sidestep. He frowned. Right up till then they were dancing rather flawlessly, so the hesitation made him look up at her again. He saw her raised brows and her dark eyes looking at him… expectantly?

"Ah," he understood – and sighed quietly before saying in a hardly audible, somewhat petulant voice, "Mycroft." Then he added his trademark short painful grin that he assumed was a fair enough impression of a polite smile.

From then on the rest of the class flew by, uneventful. They trained the new figure of calesitas in all possible variations – well, his only job as the leader was merely to slip his right arm across her back in order to get a stable grip of her waist and hold tight to it while slowly turning her around while she could do all those small adorning figures there really was no particular use for.

But, he survived this class too, it was over sooner than he thought, and with a quick bow and a relieved sigh he hurried to change his shoes, collect his things, and then hopefully, Anthea and the car would already be waiting for him outside so that he could just hop in and leave this nightmare behind him for another week.

Louise:

"Oh, crap!" Louise cursed as she looked at her watch. It was again way past seven on a Friday evening. She had been deepened in a discussion with her student, the author of the paper on Ganymed that had kept her late last week as well. She had found his approach so innovative that she had decided to encourage him in submitting it for publication in one of the small academic journals. They met tonight in her office in order to discuss the details and perhaps to polish a thing or two in his writing to make it as appealing as possible to the peer reviewers.

And now she was running late. Again. She hurriedly apologized to her student, packed her pannier and rushed out of the old college building that held her office towards her old bicycle. The roads were emptier, the traffic lights more gracious to her than last Friday, and so she arrived almost on time. Well, at least she wasn't later than Isabella and Paolo.

She was happy to see Friederike, who winked at her as she was chatting with the elderly Italian couple. She was much less happy to see Olaf, who was already practicing some steps in front of the mirror and gave her a magnanimous smile when he saw her that made her innards curl.

And then she spotted the tall newcomer from last week. Seeing him again she had rather mixed feelings about. He had danced really well, and what she liked even more – he made her dance really well, too. But there was something about him that was… irritating, disturbing even. Plus she had a strong feeling that he didn't really care for being in this dance class. Which made her wonder why then did he come again.

She was still staring at him when Fred came to her and nodded with her head towards him, asking, "Who that?"

Louise quickly looked away from him, feeling a little caught. "A new one," she replied turning to Fred.

"Was he here last week?"

Louise nodded and gave her a meaningful look.

"That good?" Fred grinned.

The warm-up began and Louise found a spot in the room that was furthest away from Olaf.

When Isabella and Paolo introduced the new element of today – the calesitas, she got really excited as she had wanted to this for a while. She loved the way it looked and all the possibilities for adornments that the calesitas were offering for the follower. She was going to enjoy this so much… The warm-up ended and to her horror there Olaf was rushing towards her, already stretching out his large ogre-like grabby hands after her. No, no, no, no…

But then, just as unexpectedly, Fred came to her rescue and pulled Olaf away. Louise couldn't help but feel a little gleeful. He had it coming. She knew he didn't like Fred because she wouldn't put up with his corrections, her tall stature alone somehow had the effect on Olaf that he wouldn't dare to patronize her in the same way as he so easily did with Louise.

As Olaf was being dragged away, the tall newcomer offered her his hand with the same words he did last week. She smiled and nodded, throwing a grateful glance at Fred for offering her the lucky escape.

She was right. She really loved these new steps. And she was now even more grateful for dancing with this stranger rather than with Olaf, for the calesitas turned to be in a way more intimate than any other steps she had learned so far, and required a higher amount of trust between the two dancing partners: the ability of the leader to support the follower in a new way and the complete faith and reliance the follower would place into the leader's tighter embrace. Yet the way this man so matter-of-factly slipped his arm across her back to support her during each and every one of these calesitas and released her after such made her feel very comfortable. It was intimate in a way, and yet it wasn't at the same time, it was hard to describe. It simply felt natural.

She saw Olaf struggling with Fred, he had a hard time supporting her as she was taller than him and wearing high heeled tango shoes. Louise thought she would have to buy her dinner for this.

She would keep her eyes fixed on his tie, a mustard coloured one with a small black flower print. When she dared to look stealthily into his eyes, he seemed highly focused on the dancing. There was a frown on his face just like the week before. Again it made her question why he attended the class at all.

"I'm Louise," she suddenly blurted out, much to her own surprise. As if something in her wanted to make a connection, to make it more agreeable for him, if there was a way.

If her own blurt came as a surprise, it was nothing compared to his reply: "I know." She was so baffled by these two words that she momentarily fell out of her step. Now he looked up, a bit irritated she could tell, and after a second said, "Mycroft."

Well, if there was a way, this clearly wasn't it, she thought. Wait, what's Mycroft?

She decided against any more talking and was actually glad when Isabella came over to them to show her some of the embellishments for the follower's free foot, like tracing a circle on the floor or drawing small circles in the air just inches above the ground. She loved and tried them all, but she could tell he didn't really care for any of it.

The class ended and just like last week Louise saw he couldn't get out of there fast enough. She merely shrugged, feeling a little itch of longing for a good partner to take with to the Tango Garden afterwards, but… so be it. She turned around and saw Fred tapping on Olaf's elbow with a strict glance, while the poor man was clearly trying to escape.

When she finally left the dancing school as the last person, everyone else was already gone and headed towards the Green Lion where they used to dine every Friday in order to strengthen themselves for the milonga at Tango Garden. She saw Fred and Rebecca talking at the next corner, possibly waiting for her. It was dark and as she was buttoning up her coat she almost walked into the figure standing on the pavement, with a closed umbrella in one hand. She came to an abrupt halt and realized it was her new partner. She slowed down, he didn't seem to have noticed her. He appeared to be waiting for something and kept looking down the street, slowly changing the weight between his feet. She wondered when she saw his look stop for a moment at Fred and Rebecca in the distance – could it be he changed his mind and was perhaps just hesitating whether to come along with them tonight?

She thought for a second, then walked the last step up to him, feeling determined (and just a little scared). She just opened her mouth to ask him, when a slick, black Jaguar, coming seemingly out of nowhere, came to a halt right in front of him, and she heard him say in a low, gloomy voice, clearly supressing anger, "finally," before a driver got out and held a back door open for him.

Her eyes widened as she closed her mouth, then shrugged and turned left, feeling resigned. Oh well…

AN: Please review, comment, critique. Can you picture Mycroft in this mess? :)