AN: So, the next bit, still slow-burning :)

Chapter 4

Milonga sentimental

Mycroft

Another week has passed and Mycroft entered the tango classroom with a single thought on his mind: only ten more times left, then this madness is over. He could get through this. Ten times equalled… twelve and a half hour… 750 minutes, ten more weeks… no, that didn't help.

At least the class started, unlike on the previous two evenings, on time. Yet despite that he found himself annoyed. His last tango partner hasn't arrived yet. She had been late before, but when the warm-up was over and it was time for the attendees to pick their partners, it became clear he would be forced to make do with someone else. This was all very inconvenient. After all, what important errand could a gold-fish like an ordinary college music teacher be running on a Friday night that would prevent her from attending the dance class, he smirked thinking.

"Is Loo coming tonight, do you know?" He heard someone ask. It was a small elderly woman, with a heavy Italian accent. He remembered her from the two previous evenings when she danced with an elderly small man, clearly her husband, who wasn't here tonight. It took him two seconds and a look at the old lady's dress and hair to determine that her husband had a minor surgery this week, probably something with a knee and had to sit this – and very likely the next two nights out, but managed to convince his wife to go without him.

"I think she said they had a rehearsal tonight, a big one," the tall lawyer who had tortured Olaf last week replied, "they're playing at the Purcell Room next Thursday."

Mycroft moved the right corner of his mouth in a short smirk of satisfaction. Baroque ensemble it is, then. He still got it.

That was a small comfort, however, given that he now found himself standing between the two strange women – the lawyer and the old Italian – a retired tailor with a heart condition and an entirely out-of-hand Fisherman's Friend addiction.

"Weeell, looks like we'll be borrowing you," the latter said with a wide smile and looked over at the lawyer. "What do you say, Fred?"

Friederike didn't seem to be quite as overly enthused or at least she didn't show it. She merely smiled at him and raised her brows, indicating both that she felt sorry for him but that also he had no choice. The old woman was already grabbing his right arm and placing it on her massive hip…

A week later at Sherlock's flat:

"I'm begging you, Sherlock, please, I'll do anything, just please, please, release me out of that wager, please, I'll even take mother and father to see Cats next time they're in town…"

This was what it has come to. He had lost all his pride, abandoned all his resolutions to carry on with dignity and endure his ordeal. There simply were limits… and his had been crossed the second the old woman – on purpose as he was certain – confused a pasada with a caricias and lifted her leg and instead of just stepping over his foot barely touching it she slowly slid her lower leg alongside his, rubbing it way too long upon his. And though he was usually unimpressed by such assaults on his person – the woman was clearly trying to seduce him –, this physicality was going way too far, even for a tango lesson. At least his previous partner had been able to follow the instructions for the current lessons properly.

"I'm sorry, Mycroft, I'm afraid there's nothing I can do," Sherlock said without raising an eye from the newspaper he had been reading. "You had agreed to the terms and conditions before the bet."

"I only ever agree because I never lose," Mycroft said impatiently.

Sherlock raised his eyes from the newspaper and glared at him. "Well, there's a first time for everything, brother dear," he said mockingly and suddenly jumped to his feet energetically. "See it as an opportunity!" he added on his way to the kitchen.

"But you don't understand," Mycroft protested in frustration, "you cannot imagine the horrors I had to endure… the noise…. the people", he said with an outrage in his voice.

John who had been feeding Rosie in a chair raised his eyes with amusement.

"The noise?" He asked. "You mean – the dance music?"

Mycroft merely looked at him gloomily, "I mean all that… that little chitter-chatter of those people about… stuff," he pronounced the last word with an utter disgust. And he had been completely nauseated: all those little people laughing and talking about their little excitement about the everyday, mundane things, like what the best tango shoes were or their favourite tango song… or their plans for the weekend – whether to go shopping or take a trip to the country. All their merriment and all the little emotions and their jabbering about the trivia were giving him a headache.

"And the touching," he still shrugged when the old woman came into his mind and how she painfully squeezed his shoulder at every ocho. Even after a week his arm still felt sore.

Yet Sherlock, always the compassion personified, was already dragging him towards the door where he gave him one last pat on his back, saying, "well, maybe try to enjoy it this time. Bye-bye."

And so, he left his brother's flat at half past eight, very much dreading the coming two hours.

Yet when five minutes after the class started the music teacher entered the classroom with her red cheeks and somewhat messy hair, Mycroft could sense the tension in his body releasing a little. He wouldn't go as far as to say that he was relieved, but at least he knew he would get through the evening with a little less pain than last time.

Today's lesson was a bit different and brought a little more distraction for him as Paolo and Isabella decided to teach them a milonga, the faster-paced predecessor of the Tango Argentino that was still being danced at most milongas all over the world. It was in many ways easier than tango. It may have lacked the serious elegance and the grandeur of tango alone due to its speedier steps, but it was more entertaining in a way.

Mycroft didn't like this spontaneous change of genre. He wasn't quite as familiar with milonga as it wasn't a dance that was being danced at any high society ballroom events he would go to. He always rather associated it with the lower classes, something the "common" people would dance in their tango lofts and their Tango Gardens. The mere idea of that made his nose turn up.

Still, at least that woman was back, a small comfort in all this… unpleasantness. The six basic milonga steps were rather straight-forward. Even with all the possible variations. No, the challenge on this one really was the higher speed as Mycroft had to admit. It painfully brought to light just how bad a shape he was in, when after the second milonga he was already gasping for air. He just hoped his counterpart didn't notice. An extra session on the treadmill clearly was long overdue.

He would not admit it out loud, but there was something about this dance now that was appealing to him. Maybe it was precisely that speed, because it made him – just a little – lose his stern focus and turn off the analytic part of his mind. There was little time for observations or deductions other than where the next move should lead or how to direct their steps so they wouldn't collide with another couple in the room. It was exhausting, yet not in a bad way, he thought at the end of the class as he threw himself on the wooden bench. Sweat running down his forehead, and still breathing heavily he began to take off his shoes.

Next to him the tall lawyer named Friederike was talking to Louise who just approached the bench and seemed to be looking for her things. Only now Mycroft noticed the colour in her cheeks and a few wet strings of hair, sweaty and darker than the rest of it they were framing her face and somehow accentuating her dark eyes.

"So, how was the concert last night?" Fred asked.

Louise, who was just slightly out of breath too, replied: "Good, good. It was a nice turn-up, it got almost sold out from what I saw."

"That's nice. I'm still mad that I couldn't make it," Fred said apologetically. "If it wasn't for the case…"

Louise waved her hand to dismiss any guilty conscience. "Don't worry about it. I know baroque isn't exactly your thing… But we're playing in Manchester in six weeks, so, you know – if you feel like making the trip…" she added jokingly.

Mycroft collected his things and, unlike on the previous nights he didn't leave with his gloomy frown on his face, but bowed slightly towards the two women before saying "Good night" and turning on his spot.

He was less amused to find that Anthea and his car were again late. He was just about to call and scold her when the Jaguar arrived in front of the dancing school and he got in. He gave Anthea a strict glare, but she was typing something on her phone and barely acknowledged him. On every other night he would not let it pass, but he felt too tired right now. Not just tired… he felt… relaxed… which was a new sensation for him. Whether he realized it or not, the milonga seemed to have unclenched him a little, it allowed his brain a rare break and he almost fell asleep on the ride home.

Louise

Well, it's becoming rather a tradition, so why change now, Louise thought after she had looked at her watch on the Friday night and realized with horror that she would again be late for the tango class. She didn't even have a good excuse this time. She was shopping at the Woodwinds, it was the end of the month, that meant money, and money meant she could treat herself to new stuff, even it was just new powder paper for her flute, a silver cleaning cloth or a new sticker for her flute case. The store was closing at 7:30 and she was the last customer. She payed quickly, then hopped on her bike and pedalled fast. At least the ride activated some of her energy reserves: she was still very tired as she hadn't got much sleep after the concert they had given last night at the Purcell Room. But it was worth it. They had played two concertos by Telemann, one for a Traverso and Recorder that they performed on historical instruments, and the other for flute and basso continuo that they had decided to play on modern ones. They had been some apprehensions as to how the audience would react to this mixture. Reviews, of course, weren't out just yet, but from the immediate whispers after the concert they gathered that they played and were received very well and thanks to some mingling and buttering up the right people at the cocktails afterwards she and her co-players even foresaw a new recording contract in the near future.

When she finally arrived at the dance class, Paolo merely shook his head in resignation at her repeated late arrival while she gave him an innocent smile and hurried to change into her dancing shoes.

Isabella was demonstrating the milonga steps for the followers with some possible variations like the rebounds and the slow-slow-quick-quick cycle. Louise nodded rather to herself in appreciation. She hadn't learned the milonga steps properly until now, though she had tried dancing some at Tango Garden, which mostly ended up with the leader sweeping her across the dance floor like a broomstick. So tonight's lesson looked very promising and useful.

Fred had told her about last week, and she couldn't help but grin when she threw a stolen look at the tall newcomer, trying to picture Maria, the elderly, but very sensual Italian woman, holding tight onto him while practicing the pasadas.

The demonstration ended and she looked around for a partner. She noticed Olaf wasn't there tonight. That's a relief. Also, Maria was on her own – Louise remembered something about Salvatore having a surgery, and there was Fred. She was looking at Fred with a question in her eyes, but the tall woman merely shook her head and gave a meaningful nod pointing at someone behind Louise, then turned around and walked towards Maria.

Louise frowned, somewhat confused, when a voice behind her said, for the third time: "Shall we then?"

She turned around to face a navy blue tie with grey polka dots, before raising her eyes to his.

"Gladly," she said and took his left hand. His face was slightly different than before. She was rather puzzled by it and would throw stolen glances at him to check if she was really seeing it quite right. It would be too much to say that he looked… content, it wasn't even a smile, but the corners of his mouth were no longer facing downwards, and the strict frown on his forehead was missing as was the scowl from his clear blue eyes. She thought he looked… relieved, perhaps. And she wondered what had brought on this unexpected change of heart.

The fast-paced milonga even added some colour to his otherwise pale cheeks. It suited him well, she thought as they were practising the traspiés. It was then, when a sudden heat wave overcame her that, however, had nothing to do with the speed of their dancing. She recognized it, she had felt it before, months ago while dancing with Steve, a very brief moment, a mere split of a second of a very intense attraction towards her partner that came like a flush of heat and would go just as suddenly: after a few racing heartbeats and a short jolt of her stomach it was gone again. She didn't think much of it afterwards. Tango was like that sometimes. You came very close to another person, a stranger, and after a few dances it may have felt like you actually knew them, even though you really didn't. So it really meant nothing, she assured herself, just another moment of delusive fancy.

The last milonga was over and they both were pretty much out of breath. His right arm let go of her waist to loosen up the immaculate know on his tie a little (what was happening?!), while the other hand held her just a little longer after the music was over. Whether he had just forgotten himself for a moment or whether he was making sure that after the sudden stop she was steady on her own feet without his lead before letting her go entirely, it was hard to tell. And there came another fluster of heat over her. She shrugged subconsciously to shake off the idea of getting attracted to him in any way. As if he had sensed that he let go of her, bowed his usual courteous bow and walked off towards the bench.

Louise took a deep breath and slowly followed him. It's nothing, she told herself while her eyes were sliding over his slender back silhouette.

"How was the concert, Loo?" Fred asked her and offered a welcomed distraction from her thoughts.

For a second she had to think. The concert from the previous night had already felt like ages ago.

"Good, good. Nice turn-up, too," she replied.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it," Fred said.

"That's alright, I know baroque isn't exactly your thing… But we're playing in Manchester in six weeks, so, you know – if you feel like making the trip…" She grinned at her friend.

"Maybe," Fred laughed, "any chance you guys are going to play some rock up there?"

In that moment dancing partner who had been sitting next to Fred and lacing up his fancy Oxford shoes got up to his feet and bid them good night. Not with his usual frown as he did on the previous nights, but actually with something remotely resembling… a smile.

AN: Thank you for reading, please review, on anything really :)