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Yuujin was no stranger to waking up and finding a stranger sitting in his living room. Holmes was particularly fond of the people who came in to tell their stories, and every now and then would get so excited that he would simply forget to wake him and allow him to hear the story as well. 

“Ah, Mikotoba! It seems that today we have been gifted with a most fascinating case, you will not want to miss this. Get ready quickly, for we have very much to do and little time to do it in.”

Mikotoba smiled. It was quite like Holmes to not even explain what the case was about, and just expect him to come right along. He, of course, wanted to, but it was the principle of the thing. It was always a mystery what he would and would not learn by the end of the case, though often it was fun to discover them as Holmes was willing to share. 

“We are needed tonight at a most interesting ball, at Lord Riley’s country estate, just outside of Bedford. I would like you there with me, though that will necessitate you learning how to waltz, at the very least. If you are unable to pick it up by early this evening, I am quite afraid I must leave you at home, and I would very much prefer to have you with me.” 

“It sounds like quite a difficult thing to learn so quickly, Holmes.”

“Nonsense! Anything can be learned in a day, if one applies oneself towards it. Come now, let us begin our practicing.”

“What, right now?” Mikotoba sputtered. “I've hardly just woken up!”

“Mikitoba, you know full well that the best way to energize the mind and body is to begin the day with a bit of exercise! Is that not correct?” Holmes gave him a dazzling smile. “If you are to learn this dance at all, we will need to get you started as quickly as possible.”

Yuujin nodded his head once, stepping towards Holmes and brushing himself off. His partner made his way around the room, pushing furniture off to the side, clearly very excited about the prospect of dancing. Mikotoba turned to change into a more proper attire for dancing, out of his nightgown and into his day clothes. When he arrived back in the room, all the furniture had been cleared and Holmes was sorting through his records, trying to find one that suited his needs. 

“Is everything alright, Holmes? You seem quite agitated.” 

“Splendid!” He exclaimed. “This is precisely what we need.” He set the record down, starting off the song and humming along, snapping a few times, apparently to get himself acquainted with the rhythm. 

“The waltz, my dear Mikotoba, is a close contact dance. It is about the trust between two partners, and it is quite the fantastic social dance. One may even call it fun, if you know what you’re doing, and quite simple to learn besides. It is a box step, and it involves a basic step with six moves. Two moves of three. Are you following thus far?”

Mikotoba blinked a few times. Sherlock was snapping up a storm, clearly very excited to continue, so he nodded his head.

“Wonderful! Now, as you are a man, you will be dancing as such, and shall learn the man's part. This is all to say: you shall be leading, Mikotoba. It begins on your left foot, stepping forward, then your right foot to the right, where your left foot will meet it. This is the first half of the box. For the second half, you step backward with your right, then to the left with your left, where your right foot will meet it, like so.” Sherlock held his left hand in the air, his right arm curled protectively around an invisible partner, and demonstrated the steps. 

It was certainly a lot to take in. Yuujin attempted to watch how his feet moved, but it was more than Sherlock had just explained. Not only did his feet move, but his knees bent, and his head stayed in the same place as his chest did not move, his arms stayed perfectly still, and the grin on his face only grew with the steps. It was overwhelming, trying to figure out which part to watch. 

“Do you think you can replicate my steps?”

Mikotoba’s ability to dance was something that he knew he could not always depend on. He had a knee that provided him near constant troubles, and Holmes was most certainly aware of that fact. Where Sherlock did give him sympathy and helped him to do the things he could not do, he also never allowed Yuujin to be caught up in what he thinks he can or cannot do, until he had tried it once. 

“Holmes… I’m afraid not. Try as I might, I cannot recall the steps.”

“Left foot forward, right foot to the side, left foot closes in. Right foot back, left foot to the side, right foot closes in.”

Yuujin stared at his feet. “Left foot forward—”

“You are moving diagonally, my dear boy. The left foot must go straight forward.”

He frowned. “I thought I was going forward.”

“If you are staring down at your feet, you are bound to move in the wrong direction. It is somewhat easier with a partner, if you would not mind my assistance in the matter?”

“Yes.” The answer was immediate, though Yuujin wasn’t quite sure what it would entail. As it went, it seemed that Sherlock was pressing up against him, right hand raised in the air and left hand resting gently on his right arm.

Mikotoba felt as though he couldn’t breathe, and he knew it was not simply from the pressure against his chest.

“Now, your left hand must meet my right, and your right arm must come around my back, like so.” Sherlock grabbed his arm to position his hand in the right place, stopping when he seemed satisfied. “Be sure and keep your fingers together, else the lady will be ill at ease. She needs a strong grip, and a solid lead, but not to feel as though you are going to hurt her. She must feel safe in your arms.”

Yuujin swallowed, doing his best to follow Holmes’s instructions. He could feel his partner’s heart beating under his hand, feel his chest move as he breathed in and out. 

“Now, the waltz requires you to stay somewhat low to the ground. It is an elegant, airy dance that can be ruined by the stamping of feet—which, as we both know, you are wont to do.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Do your best to keep both feet on the ground at all times. The lady's dress should be able to hide the movement of your feet, but the sound of your dancing shall be the final determinant of whether or not you know what you are doing. The point of tonight, my good man, is to fit in with the rest of the crowd.”

“So, I must be passable at dancing, but not so good that I stand out? How am I to manage that balance, given that I am not even adept enough to be considered bad at waltzing?”

Sherlock chuckled, shaking his head. “Just because your nerves threaten to fail you does not mean you can put this off, my good man! The first step must be strong. If you step straight forward and I step straight back, we will not trip on one another. Be aware of where you hold your weight, however—you do not want to tip over, and neither will your partner.” 

Mikotoba took a deep breath in, shutting his eyes and wincing. He could hear Sherlock murmuring words of encouragement, explaining that he would not allow them to fall or bump into anything, but that wasn’t exactly what was bothering Yuujin. It was more how close Sherlock was with him, the clear trust in his eyes, the bright smile on his face at the prospect of dancing. 

“Come on, Mikotoba. Give me a first step at the very least. There is no way to practice without first moving your feet.” 

Yuujin nodded his head, stepping forward with his left foot, feeling as Holmes took a step back in turn. They both simultaneously took a step to the side, with him taking a step back as Holmes took a step forward. They stepped to the side once more, completing their box, and Holmes grinned brightly at him.

“Mikotoba, I must say! That was quite excellent. For a first try, your waltzing is quite impressive, one may even call it passable! Those are the basic steps, and while I call for some breakfast for the both of us, I would like for you to practice some. You may dance with a cushion or a broomstick, if you need to feel as though you have a partner. You must master the box step in order to be comfortable with this dance, but once you have it, your skills should be as such to allow you to at least muddle through all which this dance involves.”

Mikotoba nodded his head, watching as Holmes left his grasp and feeling distinctly colder from it. He picked up a pillow, holding it against his chest with his right arm, wishing he could keep dancing with the man he’d grown so fond of over the years.

The pillow would have to do in his stead. 

As he danced, he pondered their relationship over the years. They had been through many hardships together, endured many seemingly impossible circumstances, with Sherlock’s wit always able to pull them out when they needed it. It was incredible to him that Holmes continued to want to journey out with him, despite his obvious shortcomings in terms of intelligence and ability, but Sherlock continued to insist he come along, if for nothing else, on the basis that he did not want to be alone. It was something that Mikotoba respected but could not pretend to understand. 

“You are drifting to the right, my good man. Try to stay in the centre of the room as much you are able, and keep your side steps even.” Holmes called out from where he was preparing the food. Mikotoba paused his dancing and noticed a smirk on Holmes’s face, and a roll of his eyes when he knew he’d been seen. 

The lean was from his poorer leg. The detective was, once again, accepting no weakness from it. 

“Yes… I will keep that in mind.” Mikotoba murmured, using the pillow to hide some of his face and not show Holmes that he was smiling right back. 

He continued practicing until he was sweaty and out of breath, which took a considerable amount of time as he was fairly fit. Holmes moved from the kitchen to sit on a couch, pushed up against the wall, ankle propped up on a knee and nodding along to the music. He ate some toast, apparently waiting for some threshold to be met until he would tell Mikotoba to stop. He refused to stop until then. 

Sherlock brewed himself a cup of tea, sipping it leisurely as he commented in Mikotoba’s form: his ankles, his thighs, his arms, his facial expression, nothing was safe from his careful scrutiny. It was very much like him to notice every stray detail, though it was not quite a pleasant experience to be the man being examined this time. He felt a bit like a bug underneath a magnifying glass, unable to leave the field of vision and still distinctly aware he was being closely watched.

Long after Sherlock had finished his last swig of tea and had stared at the cup in his hand, he stood and placed a hand on Mikotoba’s shoulder, finally pausing his dancing.

“Enough! That was a test of stamina, Mikotoba, and you performed most admirably. If you are to attend the ball tonight, we are going to need that same energy once more. Balls such as this are about socializing as much as you can in as little time, and that means movement. All dances are dances of a constant movement. You cannot stop nor pause, not even for one minute. Now! There is one last thing you must know before we are on our way, and that is the turning. As I said, balls like this one are absolutely full of people, and as such, there will be many others sharing the same floor as you and your inevitable partner. You must be able to dance your way around obstacles, and the turning is how it shall be done. I feel this step, especially, is much easier with a partner. May I?”

Holmes extended a hand toward him, which he gladly accepted, pulling him in close, wrapping an arm behind him.

“Excellent form. Your partner at the ball, whoever she may be, will be secure, at the very least.” Sherlock grinned from inches away from his face. “Now, I want you to lead, and try to turn us ever so slightly. From there, we shall work on gradually larger and larger turns, until you are completely comfortable turning. Once finished, we will be free to make all the necessary preparations in regards to our attire, and we will be as ready as possible for the ball tonight. Now, shall we begin?”

Mikotoba pushed off and realized, the moment he was dancing with his partner, that the music had changed at some point and he had never noticed. The tempo of this new song was faster, harder to dance to. This, along with the added element of turning, should have been quite the hindrance to Mikotoba, but, with Sherlock as his partner, he welcomed the challenge. They flew about the living room, filling him with such a thrill he felt as though they could take on anything the world could throw at them. 

Then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped. Sherlock curtsied his way out of the dance, pantomiming that Mikotoba should bow. He bowed with both hands at his sides, causing Sherlock to give him a pained frown. Quickly, he adjusted his arms to bow in the proper British away, Sherlock giving him a soft clap of approval. 

Sherlock gave him a dazzling smile, and a plate of bread with butter and eggs. “As a reward for all your hard work." He explained. "You will need your energy for tonight, after all. Do eat quickly, we still have much that needs doing.”

“Quite unfortunate that you do not have anything suitable for this occasion, but I suppose it cannot be helped. As it is, we will not have the time to have anything fitted properly, but perhaps luck shall be on our side, and we will be able to find something which needs little altering.” Sherlock explained, the moment they had left their flat. “Our goal will be to find something that not only fits you marginally well, but which is also appropriate for the event in question. This would be much easier had we more time, as I am no stranger to the finer arts of tailoring, but my speed and lack of skill would be entirely unhelpful. No, we will make do with the limited time which we have.”

Mikotoba nodded his head, somewhat overwhelmed with the fear that this plan could go terribly wrong.

“As I think you expected, I did not know your exact measurements, so I was only able to give Hatch an estimate of what we are looking for. In the interest of being precise, I shall need to collect your measurements once we arrive, unless you are very much opposed."

Mikotoba gulped.

He hadn’t been properly measured in years, and there was no way he’d be able to remember his measurements. It would involve either Hatch or Sherlock touching him, and he very well knew which one he’d rather it be. 

The thought sent a nervous shiver down his spine. 

“All in the pursuit of a well-fitted outfit.” He murmured under his breath. Sherlock chuckled faintly and responded with a wave of his hand.

“Mikotoba, how disheartening! You could have so easily rhymed pursuit and suit.”

“You are disappointed?”

“To be perfectly frank, I am a bit disappointed, yes. However, we have all the time in the world to compose, should you be inclined.”

“Is that so?”

Sherlock nodded his head with an unrestrained grin. “Of course! I have found that when the body is occupied, the mind shall be as well. Even myself is held to this, as I find it difficult to do much more than speak when I am otherwise engaged. I expect it to be the same when your measurements are being taken”

“Quite a fair point.”

Sherlock shrugged. “I find myself making quite a number of those at any given time.”

They both laughed, and Mikotoba marveled at how easily Sherlock was able to diffuse a tense situation. Had he seen in him a nervous reaction when threatened with the prospect of new clothes?

At any rate, he found himself stepping onto the London streets faster than he was in any way prepared for, in front of Hatch’s pawn shop that his partner was so very fond of. 

Sherlock waved him over, throwing the door open in enthusiasm, much to the chagrin of the man running the shop.

“Did you receive my message?” Sherlock clapped his hands together, holding them under his chin.

“I most certainly did. Found it downright bizarre, but I have done what you asked.”

“Marvelous!” Sherlock grinned, rushing over to the far corner of the room. Mikotoba followed to find a rack of various suits of different sizes, and he hoped more than anything that one of them would fit.

“Now, you know as well as I do, Mr. Holmes, that we have no place for him to get changed into those clothes aside from my personal quarters or the back room.”

Mikotoba flushed at the thought of changing in the same place where Hatch’s wife tended to be.

“I am well aware of that fact, yes. In fact, I distinctly remember suggesting to you that he do so in the back room.”

“That is where our most valuable goods are stored, Mr. Holmes. If I cannot guarantee the safety of those objects, I will lose the faith of my customers, you understand?”

“I know perfectly well how your shop works, Mr. Hatch, and I can assure you that if there is any man I trust on this earth it is my investigative partner. He would not steal from you, and indeed, he will not steal from you.”

Hatch begrudgingly nodded his head, retrieving a key for the room as Mikotoba looked over the assortment of clothes. There were not nearly enough to inspire confidence that any of them would happen to fit well, let alone fit with the other pieces, but he could do his best to at least try on what was in front of him.

Sherlock quietly approached with a measure of string, fingers tracing over his arms, legs, and hips, trying to most accurately gauge his measurements. He mumbled to himself, words that Mikotoba strained to hear but found himself quite unable to. He worked quickly and, Mikotoba assumed, efficiently in gathering all the necessary numbers and finished with a smile and a hearty pat on the shoulder.

“There is no mirror in that room, so if you want to know how it looks, you are going to have to rely on the judgment of Mr. Holmes.” Hatch explained as he unlocked the door. “Take all the clothes in with you and knock when you are ready to be let out. I trust that Mr. Holmes will not damage any of the other objects in the store?”

“Mr. Hatch, I hardly see it fair to punish me so harshly for one accident.”

“You knocked over an entire assortment of china!”

“That is in the past now, Mr. Hatch.”

As Sherlock and Hatch descended into yet another of their lively discussions recounting that particular event, Mikotoba took the time to slip into the back room and properly try on the clothes in front of him. 

He was ever thankful that his everyday shirt was suitable enough to be worn with a coat and pants, else he might have to try on yet more clothes. 

As it was, he would put on one set of pants with one coat, would allow Sherlock to intensely examine the clothes on him, and would be sent back to try the next outfit without a word of input from his partner. 

After all the clothes had been tried on and Yuujin was back to his regular outfit, he left the room to be greeted by the sight of his partner thoughtfully tapping his foot on the ground. He leapt to his feet the moment he noticed the presence of the other man in the room.

“I believe the conclusion here is obvious.”

“Is it?”

“The second outfit is not only the one which fits you best, but it has the advantage of looking more natural on you as well. The others were merely passable, through no fault of your own, but yes, the second one is best. It also has the distinct advantage of requiring minimal tailoring, which I am capable of performing, and is, quite fortunately, within limited price range. Hatch, we will be taking the blue.”

Mikotoba watched as Sherlock handed over a sufficient amount of money, emphatically gesturing towards him to retrieve the outfit from the other room, smiling brightly at him when he saw the clothes in his arms.

“There is still much to be done!” He grinned. “We must be off. Thank you, Hatch, for your ever-wonderful service.”

“Aye.” The man responded, giving him a deep frown. “You tell me if you have any problems. And come earlier next time.”

Sherlock waved him off, shaking his head. Mikotoba chuckled. There was no way Sherlock would ever do anything within a reasonable timeframe.

The adjustment process on the suit that they had found was a frantic one, but one which eventually turned out quite fruitful. The amount of hard work that Sherlock had put into it was astounding, and the rate at which he was able to carefully mend the garments and make them seem as though they had always been intended to be this way was quite admirable. 

It was also admittedly quite entertaining to watch the faces Holmes made when he was in a different kind of concentration: the concentration that required acting instead of thinking. When he was thinking his way through a problem, he stared up at the ceiling, languishing in smoke, eyes closed, hands pressed together under his chin. As his hands danced around the needle and thread, however, his demeanor was entirely different. His eyes were wide and staring at the work under his hands, his posture horrid as he leaned in far too close. His tongue was peeking out from behind his lips as he closed one of his eyes and tilted his head to get a better angle.

It was far too entertaining. Mikotoba was supposed to be thinking about dancing, memorizing the steps so he could perform well enough to not arouse suspicion, but he simply could not help himself watching Sherlock. 

After a few hours his work was done, the clothes lay out ready for Mikotoba to put them on as Sherlock hurried into his room to change into a more suitable outfit. He emerged once to ask whether Mikotoba knew where Sherlock might be able to find some hair shavings, and to tell him he must shave properly as well, before leaving in his full suit—disguise and all.

Even Mikotoba hardly recognized him. He was truly masterful when it came to disguises. 

He left with little circumstance, seeming to slip into the shadows as he disappeared into the role, leaving Mikotoba with more questions than he had thought to ask, alone and, quite frankly, concerned.

He wanted Sherlock there to guide him through everything he needed to do. 

Fortunately for him, as he entered the bathroom to change his clothes, he found precisely what he needed—a list of steps, carefully written out by Sherlock so as to leave no questions unanswered, everything that he would need to know in order to successfully visit this ball. He even had included a diagram on where to go during the ball, as well as a drawing of all the steps he needed to know. 

It was so like that man to have done something like this—predicted his needs in such a way without ever making him feel ashamed for his want of clarification.  

It made Yuujin smile. He brought the note close to his heart for a moment, unsure of what else he could do in that situation that would not cause a bit of a racket. 

He was filled with the urge to dance. He released it through going through the steps he’d been instructed to follow, though he knew that what he really desired was to stomp and tap his feet in a jolly jig and enjoy the delightful sounds such an action would make. 

Slowly, carefully, he pulled the clothes on that had been tailored just so, checking them several times over to ensure that they were fitted just so to look as though they had been created for him. 

He shaved himself to orderliness, thankful that he didn’t cut himself on the night of such an important event. 

He admired himself once in the mirror, read over his instructions once more, and was on his way to the ball, mask in hand.

The room was large, and Yuujin knew no one in it. 

The nervousness that realization struck in him was nearly too much to bear. As he was approached by a sharply dressed man holding a tray of drinks, he took one, if only to have something to do. Sherlock had long ago briefed him on the proper way to drink among company, and it was a skill that had proved useful in helping him fit in many a time in the past. 

The drink was far from the worst beverage he had ever had, though it wasn’t what he would have preferred to drink. It was sweet enough to almost mask the flavour of the alcohol itself, the flavour complicated enough to keep his mind occupied as he scanned the crowd for Sherlock. 

The younger man had threatened to wear a kitsune mask to the event, something that had greatly entertained Mikotoba to imagine. For someone who wanted nothing more than to fit in, he certainly stuck out quite a bit. 

Eventually, the two of them had settled on wearing the mask that had been given them by the client this morning as well as an old one Holmes happened to have from long ago. It felt tight on his face, having been designed for someone smaller than him, but it would just have to do. He hated the way it dug into his skin, but he put on his best smile as he stared out at the gathering crowd. 

The women were beautiful and the men were pristine, but there was only one person Mikotoba wanted to see.

He took a considerable amount of time drinking and admiring the crowd, but there was only so much time he could waste in that particular way. He was uncomfortable and felt a tad ridiculous as a Japanese man in high British society, but if he felt he did not belong he could at least take comfort in the fact that Sherlock had long ago rejected the bounds of these same people.

They would at least not have to endure a future full of parties and dances, or at least not one that was bound by so many rules.

Mikotoba set down the now empty flute that had once held champagne on the tray of an attending servant, turning to find that it had been spirited away as he attempted to process the thought that had just crossed his mind.

He had pondered his future with Sherlock. A future of happy gatherings and joyful dances, a lifetime of togetherness. It was crushing to realize that this was not the future they would be able to have, as he had duties in Japan and Holmes loved the city he was in, whether he would admit it or not.

He almost picked up a second flute of champagne before thinking better of himself.

Rather than muddle his mind yet more, he went to find the arm of an unoccupied woman, offering his hand for a dance. The dancers were already growing quite lively, the floor becoming crowded as Mikotoba struggled to find the easy balance he’d had when dancing with Sherlock. When other people were added to the mix, the simple act of turning had become near impossible, and he dodged other dancers with every step. 

The woman in front of him smiled, and he did his best to smile back while also worrying about leading her in the right direction. He had been coached never to look down at his feet and actively fought the urge every few seconds, grateful for the distraction to keep him from thinking about Sherlock. Within a few minutes the dance was over and he bowed gratefully, sending her off to dance with a man who most likely would be far more adept than he. 

Quickly he found another woman, invited her to dance with him, and danced. It was much easier now that he had practiced with a woman. The skirts were much more difficult to dance around than the pants Sherlock had been wearing, and he was not ashamed to admit that he was rather woefully unprepared for what he needed to be doing. Fortunately, with each dance partner he went through, he found his skill improving bit by bit until he had become a passable dancer.

No longer was he haunted by the constant urge to look down and ensure his feet were in the right place, and he enjoyed that he could now admire the beauty of the women in front of them as they surely wanted to be admired. 

It had been several long years since the passing of his wife, and none of the other dancers quite caught his fancy like she had. He wondered what it would have been like to do this dance with her—the smile she would have been wearing, the fondness on her lips as she pronounced his name, the light laugh that would have escaped her mouth if ever he slipped or fell. She was ever so patient, ever so kind. He missed her dearly.

The thoughts of Ayame enveloped him, clouding his mind as he danced, swerving out of the way of another couple and, unfortunately, directly into an unsuspecting couple in the other direction. The bump winded Yuujin, and he was winded more by the sharp eyes of Holmes glinting at him from under a mask, a smattering of facial hair decorating his face where there had been none that morning. The smile the man offered him lasted less than a second, but it was more than long enough for Mikotoba to recognize him and feel his heart sent soaring.

“My apologies.” He murmured, unsure of whether he was talking to the woman in front of him or the man beside him. “That was quite clumsy of me.”

The woman sniffed haughtily, or perhaps laughed strangely, as they continued in their dance. 

From then forth, Mikotoba had the distinct sense that he was being watched over by someone. Sherlock was in the building with him, was quite possibly watching him as well as he could manage, longing to be with him as Yuujin longed the same. There was a gravity about them, a desire to be together that was so hard to ignore. Yuujin’s heart called out for his friend. He no longer wanted to be alone in the arms of a stranger.

He knew it was time to stop dancing once those thoughts pervaded his mind. The floor had begun to thin out at any rate, as men and women of the higher class tired of this toil and took to drinking and feasting upon small desserts. 

The luxury of these men and women was unmistakable. Mikotoba felt almost as though he would have fit in better with the servants, ducking about in hidden corridors and scurrying to satisfy the needs of their masters, though it would have been much harder to sneak in that way. He had no place among these people, so demanding and so soft. 

He could hardly imagine Sherlock ever trying to fit in with them. 

Certainly, he had the money. He even had the manners when he needed to. But it was frankly quite clear that he would never be satisfied in a life like this: he required action, he required excitement. 

So did Yuujin, but he had been willing to sacrifice that to be with Ayame.

Now, it seemed he would have to sacrifice it once more to be with Susato.

The thought was a dark cloud. 

He willed it away as his eyes caught on Sherlock, breaking away from the rest of the dancers to limp his way up the stairs, aided by a cane that Mikotoba had often used on his worst days. 

The sight of it made Mikotoba’s heart lurch. 

That damnable fool, he smiled, knew exactly what I would need. 

He once again had predicted that Yuujin would feel overly confident and would choose not to bring his cane, would overexert himself, and would need it as soon as possible. 

He would need somewhere to sit soon. The thought of his cane brought his focus on the ache of his knee, the unfortunate wobble of his leg that he had been so keen to hide in his dancing. No woman would want to dance with a man who could not walk. They were unfair that way. 

Several long minutes after he’d seen Sherlock, the dance was ending. Men and women were filing out, arm in arm, glimmering with sweat and delight and the hopes of something more. 

Mikotoba had no idea of what to do while he waited for his partner to return, grabbing another flute of champagne and downing it cautiously as he attempted not to draw attention to himself. 

He heard Sherlock approaching, felt the press of their clothes against one another’s, watched him brush past without making eye contact. This was routine. He followed close behind, not drawing attention to their connection with one another. Sherlock sharply called for a carriage and did not complain when Mikotoba got inside after him.

Yuujin eyed him warily, noting that Sherlock had requested, in a voice that was not his own, to be dropped off somewhere several blocks from Baker Street. This meant that Sherlock wanted to talk about something that he did not want a cabbie to hear. Mikotoba honored the contemplative silence between the two of them, noting Sherlock’s expression of deep thought, only being broken for the slightest moment when they hit a bump in the road and brushed up beside one another, Mikotoba feeling a rush of warmth flow through him.

The moment they were out and alone in the street, Sherlock went off with a mad grin.

“Did you enjoy the festivities, Mikotoba?”

He nodded. “Very much so, Holmes. The women were good company and the dancing was great fun.”

“I thought as much.”

Mikotoba raised an eyebrow at the thought that Holmes had not immediately started talking about the truth of the client. 

“Now, there is a certain art which comes with assisting someone who has requested your help. I have a few rather simple rules.” Holmes mused.

“Do go on.”

“If he is rich, ask for his money up front. If he is honest, he will not mind the impudence. If he is not, then he is not worth my time.”

“Holmes, this is certainly interesting, but I fail to see the relevance of this information.”

“Well… I will say more once I have had more time to mull it over. Suffice it to say, the situation this evening was more a great deal more complicated than I would have initially expected. Indeed, it was quite intriguing to discover the inner layers of this case.”

They continued walking in silence, the only sounds being that of their shoes and Yuujin’s cane hitting the stones beneath their feet. 

“One peculiar quirk of the wealthy is that they seem particularly inclined to hold onto their money, with little regard as to its origin. They cling to objects in their homes which can best exemplify their excess. One of these such items was what I was hired to protect. 

“A very wealthy man approached me, concerned about a series of burglaries that have been occurring these past few weeks, all of which occurred in the homes of men much like him-- that is to say, wealthy men. He suspected that over the course of the night, someone would come to take something that he assured me was his by right, and that he would be humiliated in the eyes of his peers. I assured him that I would ensure the safety of this object, and that I would put a stop to this criminal. I took his money upfront, as I am nothing if not concerned for funding at the moment.

“Now, this promise was able to be upheld in any number of ways, but the way it happened to go tonight was thus: he was not humiliated in front of his peers. I convinced him not to make a display of his wealth by showing off this item and, when it was inevitably stolen, this forward thinking meant that he would not be shamed in the loss.”

“But Holmes,” Mikotoba gasped, “you promised him that you would stop the theft! ”

“Not so! You will remember, I promised the safety of the item, and the halt of the criminal. I merely came to the conclusion that the item is safest away from his care, and that the criminal in question was none other than my client. You see, I looked into the previous burglaries which he named, and found only one thing all in common—they were all items that had been taken from a particular family that had had a bit of a fall from grace. One misstep and everything had been taken from them. None of the artifacts that were stolen rightfully belonged in the house they were taken from—they were all taken from the creators and spirited away to the houses of the delightfully rich to be nothing more than a conversation piece over cake and tea.”

“So you helped to… expedite this process?”

“I most certainly did. I was there, watching over the artifact, when the thief came. We had a brief chat about his actions and the reasons behind them. I deemed that his cause was a worthy one, and I gladly allowed him to have what was rightfully his. As a man of my word, I even put an end to this crime spree. As it happened, this was the last thing that the man had yet to recover. Of course, if he were to go out and steal something that was not his own, well! Then I will have been made a fool by a smarter man than I.”

Mikotoba smiled. “Your client will not be too pleased with this outcome.”

Sherlock laughed brightly. “He will not speak of tonight's events. The potential for shame will keep him from saying a thing! News of this will never reach the public and my reputation will remain, as ever, unharmed.”

“You are a devious man! ”

“Call it what you like. I personally prefer the term ‘clever’.”

“You clever, clever man.”

“That is much more agreeable.” Sherlock smiled as he fumbled with the keys, unlocking the front door of their flat and twirling his way to the middle of the room. He lit a candle to brighten the room/

Mikotoba closed the door. He could feel the warmth and small bit of sluggishness that accompanied the amount of alcohol he had consumed that night. He did not suppress the giggle that grew in him when Sherlock accidentally bumped into the couch, flopping over quite dramatically and feigning death. 

“Must we move the couches again?” Mikotoba joked, surprised to see the light flare in his friend’s eyes.

“A fantastic idea!” Sherlock cried, pushing the couches to the positions they’d been in earlier that day when the world had just been the two of them. 

He danced by himself in the middle of the room, a blur of tailcoats and buckles and utter delight. Mikotoba watched, only taking his eyes off the man to put a record on and watch his demeanor change with the music, dancing matching the pace of the song, style changing to be something more formal than the dancing that had overcome him at the joy of solving another case.

He watched, sitting on the discarded couch, until he could stand to watch no longer, and wanted to dance with his friend.

He set his cane down behind him, standing up and offering his hand to Sherlock, who looked at it as though it were something to be handled with the utmost caution. 

After long moments, Sherlock took the hand in his own, standing in the position that a woman would normally take, and allowing Yuujin to lead him.

The song had slowed, giving them ample time to dance, pressed against one another, a million thoughts in their minds, none of them making it past their lips. Mikotoba wanted to tell Sherlock about his desire to dance with Ayame, about how none of the women there had been anything like her, about how none of them could match up with Holmes himself. He wanted to talk about how, had Holmes been there, it would have been, perhaps, the most fun he had ever had in his life, but without him there it had been almost dull. He wanted, but he did not dare speak it. Something in this moment was sacred. Something that would shatter the moment either of them spoke.

He could not see Sherlock’s eyes under the mask, and he could not tell what his facial expression was. Likewise, Sherlock could not see the faint blush on Mikotoba’s features that may have been the alcohol or may have been from the close contact. He could not see the way his eyes searched hungrily for any detail in Sherlock’s face that could have clued him in on his thoughts. He could not see the cautious way he’d pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to preserve the silence.

Eventually, the song ended, and the dancing stopped, but the holding did not.

They held one another, and they stared, and they breathed, and it felt like everything.

Slowly, Mikotoba dropped Sherlock’s hand, let go of his waist, reached up and took off the mask. He could now see a peculiar sheen to his eyes, as though he were near tears. He could see the red of exertion on his face, and the regular smile replaced by a tense expression of brooding.

“You are a wonderful partner.” Mikotoba explained, voice only loud enough for the two of them to hear. The world was once again shrinking, only the walls around them mattering, only the floor under their feet being the surface of the earth. It was just them, and no one else.

Sherlock removed the mask from Mikotoba’s face, leaning in for a moment before freezing and turning around. 

“I must admit, I am quite exhausted. I believe it is time for me to retire for the night.”

Mikotoba felt frozen in place by the gravity of the situation. He could not quite put his thumb on what had happened, though he was keenly aware that something had almost happened. “Of course.”

He watched Sherlock disappear up the stairs, sad to see him go. He considered for a moment moving the furniture before he thought better of it, sitting down instead and giving his legs a much-needed rest. The room was dark but for the light of a single candle and what meagre moonlight could make it through the window of a room on the ground floor. 

His face felt warm, warmest especially where Sherlock’s fingers had brushed against his skin in removing the mask. He touched his own fingers to that spot, leaning into the touch as he stared at the stairs in front of him. Sherlock seemed to be in a particularly sombre mood and Mikotoba under no circumstances wanted to interrupt him or make it worse, but he most certainly wanted to sleep.

He braved the stairs, grabbing a change of clothes and stepping into another room to make himself decent, slipping into bed only to find himself already joined by Sherlock, who must have gotten in there near silently as Mikotoba was changing.

They lay in silence, neither sleeping, hardly breathing, for quite some time. Mikotoba studied how the moonlight glinted off the surfaces of the room, how close Sherlock was to him, how he could easily wrap an arm around this man that he so dearly cared for, and how he was not doing something of the sort.

Mikotoba lay a hand beside him, waiting long minutes before Sherlock repeated the gesture, the warmth between the two of them nearly unbearable. Both opened their mouths audibly, though no words came out. Sherlock was the first to speak.

“Are you aware that my favorite time of the week is Saturday mornings?”

The sudden admission caught Yuujin off guard. It was certainly not something that he was expecting from the depth of the silence they’d had. He gently shook his head.

“No, I was not. Why ever for?”

Sherlock let out a sharp breath of air. “Saturdays are the only days where I know for certain that you will be able to accompany me. Waking up with this knowledge… I often find myself longing for Saturday."

Yuujin couldn't keep the hopeful smile from his face as he nodded. "I must admit, I am rather fond of Saturdays, myself. They often turn out to be quite the adventure."

He could practically feel the gears turning in Sherlock's head and wondered what it was that he was trying so hard to say. He hoped his response had been positive enough that the man would not be afraid to continue, but he could not be sure. 

"Watching the women of the room, in their skirts and petticoats… their bustles and their bosoms, their accouterments! Ah, they must be miserable. I could not help but to feel pity for them, dancing with them and seeing the way they looked at me."

"Pity?"

Sherlock heaved a deep sigh. "When I was a young lad in school, I was told of a group of Greek philosophers. Their names escape me, truly it does not matter who they were, for the sake of this situation, bur rather their object of discussion: the meaning of life itself. One in particular proposed the following: in the early reign of the gods, in the first days of man, people were constructed differently. They were not, as this philosopher posited, individuals, separate from all others, but rather, conjoined in pairs. Supposedly, these pairs were too content, when conjoined, and the gods split them apart in jealousy of what these early humans had. Following this, each half of the former pairs would wander the earth, searching for their literal other half." 

He was silent for a moment. "I had always dismissed this as a fanciful, childish way to explain a… co-connection, as such, between two people. Now, however… I am not as certain. You see, Yuujin, I have found in your presence a contentedness I would have never thought possible. When I am with you, I am… inclined to stop looking."

Mikotoba could not find the words to say what he wanted. He could hardly find the feelings to feel what he needed to after hearing such a confession. It was practically an admission of love. 

That thought filled him with such dread, he did not know what to do with himself. He tensed, and Sherlock must have felt it through their hands, which were still touching.

“I have expected from a young age to merely be… expected. Tolerated, as it were. I have never anticipated being appreciated, my presence desired, my opinions and feelings sought after. This was no longer the case, after I made your acquaintance. Without warning, I suddenly found myself in the company of someone who not only tolerated me, but genuinely seemed to enjoy my presence, and whose presence I enjoyed in return. I will admit, this was such an unexpected surprise that my guard slipped. Not only did it slip, but it fell entirely. I knew quite well that you were mourning the loss of Ayame, yet this fact did not stop me and I nonetheless allowed my emotions to… develop. In ways I should not have permitted."

Mikotoba felt stuck in place. It was certain that Holmes was talking of romance. He could not open his mouth to say what it was that he wanted to, could not entail the struggle he had been through to accept feelings much of the same nature towards Sherlock, knowing that such things were frowned upon, debating whether or not Ayame would be disappointed if he made this choice, weighing the happiness it might bring him against the thought that he would someday need to return to Susato and most likely would have to hide this large part of who he was.

He heard a sniffing sound from next to him, but could not turn to see what it was. If he had to merit a guess, he would suppose that Sherlock was crying.

“The case tonight,” he breathed, “struck me with a fascinating dilemma. It is by no means uncommon, but tonight it was particularly of note. The ever-present question of whether to do something that would benefit the needs of the many, or the needs of the few. You see, Mikotoba, I found the criminal at the end of a spree. I knew where all of the stolen treasures were. It was well within my power to redistribute them among the wealthy who had been housing them, yet I did not. What the man had been doing was illegal, but I at no point alerted any law enforcement to this fact. I decided, perhaps selfishly, that he deserved the happiness that would come with regaining those objects that had been wrongly taken from him, and I acted accordingly. 

“The question that immediately followed was, naturally, if I should extend my own logic and reasoning to my specific circumstance. I could either choose to align with the law, and bring misery to the one… or I could act outside the bounds of the law, and bring happiness to those who have been denied it."

“Outside the bounds of the law?” Mikotoba interrupted.

“Allowing a practiced criminal to remain free.” Sherlock explained, voice quiet. It was not what he had been asking about, but it seemed he didn’t want to answer his actual question. “My decision was complicated, of course, by the fact that either option had the potential to bring great tragedy in equal measure. Tragedy for the men who were stolen from, either of them. Tragedy on my part if… if what I am to say will irreparably damage our friendship.” 

“And what are you saying? I wish you to be… clear, on the matter.” There was no way he would be able to do anything without knowing precisely what it was that Sherlock was saying. He was greeted simply with another sniff. After a moment, he turned on his side, lifting his hand from their embrace to face him properly. 

Sherlock was crying. Silently, stoically, so unlike him. 

“Forgive me for my lack of articulation, please. Even I myself cannot truly grasp the extent of what I am trying to say. I have thought for years about the ideal way to put it into words, and yet the words continue to escape me. Being around you is a delight I cannot help but to indulge myself in. Our conversations are, I believe, the greatest gift I have ever received. Often, I am struck by what my life would be like without you in it and…" He exhaled sharply. Inhaled. "It would be most unpleasant, to perhaps underreact. I do not enjoy the idea of a life wherein you are not there to- to simply be with me, always." 

Mikotoba adjusted himself to brush off the tears from Sherlock’s face, feeling him gently turn to his side, adjusting to the soft touch of skin. 

“It is you. It is—you must be.”

He did not say specifically what it was that Mikotoba was supposed to be, but he could guess easily enough. The other half. The missing person.

“I can see no future in which it would be anyone else.” Sherlock stated. 

Mikotoba could do nothing but stare and stammer, fighting the tidal wave of emotions building in his heart as he stared at the man in front of him. 

“I have tried for so long to reason my way through this issue. The case, while unique, was still solvable, and, though personal and not for a client, deserved to be solved. I looked for every clue, cataloged every interaction between the two of us, worked to carefully test the waters between us, all to see whether I could ever have a chance to find some happiness with you. 

“Things were particularly…difficult for me because, as we both know, I have never been one to look deeply into conversations with my friends. And make no mistake here, you are my friend, Mikotoba— Yuujin, my dearest friend. To lose you would be to lose the most important… but no, that is far from the point. The point being, when you can see as I see, when you know a man's deception from the twitch of his finger, there is nought which remains mysterious. Private. And that is the core of it: I cannot bring myself to ask this of you. I can only know the truth, even if you were to lie, and the possibility of expressing such as I have done and to be met with a lie… that prospect would harm me more than any mortal wound served to me. 

“That fact alone made this case more difficult than any case of murder, theft, adultery, impersonation, or missing persons. It is near to impossible for me to converse with ease in the way we do, simply because my mind works in a way alien to all others, save one. The sole person who does not bear the burden of justifying myself is… you. I did not want to squander that ease for nothing.”

Sherlock flinched, seeming to remember something. “I wrote you letters, long ago. They explained everything so eloquently, so perfectly. I stood over them for hours, for days, searching for the proper words to explain my situation. If I had them now, I could… no. I pored over those letters, pondered them so long, that to think there were any words in them not available to me at all times would be a grave miscalculation.

“The letters had to be memorized, of course, my fear of losing them to the wrong hands, or having you read them at the wrong time… it would have destroyed my careful planning. It had to be perfect. It has to be perfect. I suppose it has not been much of that. I… I believe I have failed. I am… truly sorry, Mikotoba.”

Sherlock’s eyes closed as he turned to face the man beside him, a somewhat desperate look on his face. “How utterly… tragic, comedically. I have spent the vast majority of my life in preparation for solitude. I have braced myself against it, come to terms with my loneliness over and over again, to live with myself and only myself. It all came to nothing the day I met you. I met you, and I realized that I did not have to be lonely. More than that, I realized I did not want to be alone. This, more than all else, is what drove me to break my silence. I realized that with such joy on the line, I must be willing to risk you, my roommate, my best friend, my confidant, my partner. I love you, Yuujin, and I do not wish to be alone."

There was only one thing Mikotoba could think to do. He moved closer, inching his way forward, pressing their foreheads together, slipping his hand under Sherlock’s cheek, pressing their lips together. Sherlock whimpered against the touch, closing his eyes and pressing back up against Mikotoba. 

It was like pressing flowers. The love he endowed into the motion was almost more than he could bear.

In moments, they were both sitting up, Mikotoba’s hands grasping at the nape of his partner’s neck, Sherlock’s hands brushing the tears from his own face. 

“You—?”

Yuujin still did not have the words to answer his unfinished question, delighting in the laugh of joy that was leaving Sherlock’s lips. 

Sherlock broke off suddenly, jumping to his feet as though struck by lightning. “I love you!” 

Mikotoba stumbled to his feet as well, practically running to where Sherlock stood. He offered his hand. Sherlock took it firmly, following as Mikotoba ran them down the stairs to dance for the third time in so few hours. 

“Are you not tired?” Sherlock pondered.

“Quite the opposite, actually. I am floating among the clouds. Try as I might, I am unable to sleep. My love, will you dance with me?"

The way down the stairs was raucous, full of laughter and delight. The dancing was no more quiet, leaving behind the restrictive steps of any proper sort of dancing and simply moving in the ways that they were moved. Sherlock broke away without a word, running up the stairs and leaving Mikotoba to be confused in his absence. He leaned against a couch and laughed when he saw what it was that he’d been doing: he came back down the stairs with a violin case. 

“Are you going to play me something?” 

“I might attempt to play the song within me, though it would never live up to the splendor within my head. No, I will accompany and by proxy, share the feeling.”

He adjusted his violin, setting it gently under his chin, closing his eyes and smiling. He put a record on, a large orchestra playing a bright song, his own violin accompanying as the soloist they would never know that they had. 

The song was perfect for dancing. Mikotoba was grateful for the heavy shoes he was wearing, stamping his feet on the ground, his body jolting with every loud clack , his smile infectious and vibrant. His eyes were closed tight, afraid that if he opened them he’d be unable to hear just how their happiness mixed together. 

The music only stopped after they received an angry knock on their door, asking why they were being so loud at such a late hour. They laughed uproariously, turning off the record, setting down the violin, and embracing one another. Mikotoba wrapped his arms around his partner, rested his head on top of his shoulder as they swayed back and forth. 

Not much had changed between the two of them, aside from something unspoken being spoken at long last. Long, wanting glances has transformed into long happy smiles, and moves of affection in private. 

Their love was unshakable. Their joy could not be stopped. Their partnership was legendary.