The night before they were to go, Sherlock came up to Mycroft's flat in London to stay the night. He ran through the flat in striped pajamas and an old blue T-shirt looking through all of Mycroft's things and tsking at the flat's small size only to slide to a stop at the sight of Mycroft combing black dye through his hair.
"Mycroft, what are you doing?"
"Can't you tell? I am dying my hair black."
Sherlock stood very still watching him before asking, "Why exactly?"
"Because, Sherlock, we are going into a country where to be a ginger is extremely rare. I don't want to stand out."
Sherlock considered this for a moment. "You're doing this so as not to 'stand out'? Have you seen yourself? There is no crowd, other than those cronies from that club of yours, where you wouldn't 'stand out', Mycroft. You are a being unto yourself."
"All the more reason not to make it easy for those who might wish to track us." He put down the comb and examined himself.
"Perhaps I should do the eyebrows as well." He turned to Sherlock. "What do you think?"
"I think you look ridiculous."
Mycroft picked up a bar of soap and threw it at him. He missed.
.
On the flight, the Caribbean sea shining turquoise blue below them, Sherlock returned from the bathroom wearing a black silk shirt and black trousers.
"Good God, Sherlock. Can you button at least one or two of the buttons on that shirt. People are staring."
"It's a costume, Mycroft. People are supposed to stare at it. And why exactly are we putting on our costumes while we're still on the plane?"
"Because of that," he said pointing out of the window. Sherlock leaned over to glance at the white clouds drifting past below them.
"What about that? It's the sky."
Mycroft sighed. "We were heading steadily toward our destination, but since then we have started to circle in a holding pattern. An out of season tropical storm has delayed flights in the region. Although the storm has dissipated, the backlog of flights has not, thus our delay."
"So?"
"Use your brain, Sherlock. The delay will mean that we will not be able to go to our hotel room before our scheduled arrival at the auditorium, thus our changing now. We will go directly there and get our first dance out of the way giving me more time to search for the dance scouts. There are three or four people who have been known to invite dancers to the party. I will identify them. Then we will dazzle them."
"You mean I will dazzle them."
"If you insist. You will dazzle them, and then I will be able to complete my mission. You should do some stretches."
"In here? There's no room."
"Sherlock."
"Alright." Sherlock said pulling his knees up into his chair. He lifted one leg and then the other holding himself in a jacknife on the seat as he flexed first one foot and then the other. A bespoke leather shoe fell off his foot and landed in the seat behind him. He leaned around the seat to look at a shocked older woman who was no doubt wondering what he was doing that would require holding his feet in the air. He winked at her, holding out his hand to take back his shoe before sitting back in his seat with a smirk on his face.
.
When they left the airport, the heat and humidity crashed into them like a wave. They got into a taxi, and Mycroft immediately took off his coat revealing his high-collared, sleeveless, black waistcoat. He called out the location to the driver and they sailed through the streets driving past rows and rows of palm trees. Information flooded in with every glance, from the brown-skinned people to the traffic lights and Spanish-language signs. The only evidence of the transition that he spotted at first glance was a yellow, blue, and red flag painted onto the wall in an alley.
There were green hills above the city with winding roads leading up them. They drove past buildings of stone, brick, glass and steel. And even though it was definitely urban, it felt so much different than London. Even the color of the sky was different.
Mycroft looked over at Sherlock's shirt which was open in a V that reached to his navel and he sighed. "Please button up your shirt."
"It's thirty-four degrees outside!"
"I assume that the arena will have some form of air conditioning."
Sherlock glared at him and then looked out of the window without buttoning his shirt.
As they approached the arena, there was less traffic, not more. Mycroft began to get nervous as they turned into the parking area to find a marked absence of cars.
"Espera un momento, porfavor" he said as he climbed out of the taxi to walk toward the door. The doors were chained shut, and there were signs on them. Perhaps they had got the time wrong, or the event had been moved to another location. He rushed forward needing to know what was happening. Sherlock followed behind.
When he arrived at the doors, Mycroft stood still in shock. The hastily scrawled sign read…
El Concurso se ha cancelado.
There was more writing below, but Mycroft could not get past that last word...Cancelado. Canceled! How could the event be canceled?
"It says that the roof collapsed due to the rain," Sherlock read. "So, what do we do now?"
Mycroft stared open-mouthed at the sign unsure what to say. He had made countless plans for what to do once the competition had begun. He had plans for what to say to get invited to Carillo's house, and what to do once they were there. He had scouted out several escape routes, some easy, and some difficult, in case things got dangerous once they were there, but every plan that he had made required the competition to occur, and for he and Sherlock to dance.
"Mycroft?" Sherlock asked. "What should we do now?"
"I don't know," Mycroft said, defeat causing his voice to shake. "I honestly don't know what to do."
"Don't worry, Mycroft." Sherlock said grabbing his arm and pulling him back to the taxi, "I'll handle it this time."
Sherlock shoved Mycroft back into the taxi and climbed in after him.
"¿A dónde vas?" asked the driver.
"Llevarnos dónde se venden whisky," Sherlock said looking over at Mycroft who had leaned back in his chair, one arm crossed over his chest. His other hand against his forehead.
"Si!" the driver said, and they sped off in search of a bar.