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When Sherlock treads on Mycroft's shoe for the fifth time today, Sherlock plunks down onto the floor and crosses his arms. If he hears "One, two, three" just once more, he's going to scream. He knows how to count to music, he's learnt several waltzes on both the piano and the violin, but he'd have a better chance of following the scales with his fingers than the beat with his legs.
Mycroft is nothing if not encouraging and it rankles Sherlock having to rely on him. Mummy's promised to teach him herself, but she has taken ill. Mycroft, won't you be a dear? Why certainly, Mummy. It would be my pleasure, and so on.
Yet Sherlock's vowed he would dance with her on her niece's wedding, and he'd hate to disappoint. Even if it means letting Mycroft witness his failure.
"This is stupid," Sherlock scrunches up his face. "Why do you have to lead, anyway? Mummy is not going to do it when I dance with her."
"If that's all this is," Mycroft chuckles. "Let me guide you one more time, then. If you manage not to step on my feet, we can switch for the next song."
Sherlock's eyes, yes, his whole face lights up. A challenge!
"It's on," he chirps and jumps to his feet quicker than a bullet.