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221B Baker Street had always felt like home to John Watson. Even now that he was living in an elegant suburban house, a part of him just couldn’t help missing that scruffy and dusty flat. But more than that, he missed the person who lived in it. For this reason, he was more than happy when Sherlock asked to go visit him.
"So, Sherlock, what’s the matter?" John asked as he walked into the living room.
Sherlock Holmes was standing in front of one of the windows, his hands behind his back. The sunlight filtering through the curtains surrounded him with a golden aura. The tips of his curls were shining softly, as if he had a bright halo around his head.
"Hello John, it’s good to see you. Since you requested my help with the wedding planning, the thought of the dance occurred to me. The traditional dance between the groom and the bride, I mean. According to wedding etiquette, the newlyweds must…"
"Yeah, yeah, I know, unfortunately. I’ve never been a great dancer, and I’m also a bit out of practice. Embarrassing, isn’t it?" John smiled bitterly.
"Not at all." Sherlock replied in a completely serious tone. "Anyway, we’ll figure that out later. The main reason I wanted you to come here today is because you need some music to dance to, and I took the liberty, or rather the privilege, to choose it for you. More specifically, I composed it myself."
John raised his eyebrows in surprise. He was struck speechless.
"I thought that a waltz would be most fitting for you and Mary. Would you like to hear it and let me know what you think of it?"
John nodded, still in awe of Sherlock’s revelation. No one had ever composed some music for him, and that really tugged at his heartstrings.
"Please, be my guest." Sherlock gestured for John to take his seat at his comfy armchair. "I have it recorded, but I need to find…"
"Oh, wait. Why don’t you play it yourself? It’s been a while since you last played the violin for m- I mean, since I last heard you play the violin."
Sherlock froze and turned to look at him. A single glance at John’s hopeful smile was all it took to convince him.
He gently picked up the polished and elegant instrument from its case, along with the bow. He placed the violin on his shoulder and took a deep breath.
For John.
The bow glided gently on the strings and produced a sweet melody which reminded John of spring and happiness. It was simple and yet graceful, elegant but lovely at the same time.
John wanted to express his appreciation, but he didn’t dare interrupt his friend. He had really missed listening to his friend playing the violin. It was almost an ethereal experience.
Sherlock’s expression showed calm and composure, and yet John sensed there was something more. Sadness? Regret? He really couldn’t tell.
When the melody came to an end, John had a lump in his throat.
"Sherlock… That’s beautiful, really. Amazing, I love it."
The man in front of him put up a small, satisfied smile.
"Seriously, thank you. From the bottom of my heart. I’m sure Mary will be delighted as well." John continued.
"I hope so. It’s, uhm… my gift, to both of you… sort of." he babbled, embarrassed.
John looked at him tenderly, grateful and still in awe of his best friend’s impressive musical talent.
"So… I am supposed to dance to this, right?"
"Well yes, it’s the tradition."
"Bloody tradition." John sighed.
Sherlock sensed John’s uneasiness, and tentatively suggested:
"If you want, I can teach you a couple of dance moves. A waltz isn’t impossible to deal with, you just have to keep in mind two or three basics steps. I can show you and guide you, but only if that doesn’t make you uncomfortable, of course."
John was stunned.
"You know how to dance?"
Sherlock tilted his head shyly and raised his shoulder innocently.
"Yes, I do know how to dance. In fact, I love dancing. Nearly nobody knows about this."
"Well, I think there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Turns out it’s actually pretty helpful in this situation. Alright, Mr. Dancer, show me some moves." John laughed as he got up.
The detective’s heart raced faster as the blond man approached him awkwardly.
Control, Sherlock. Control.
"Okay, so, uhm, traditionally the man is the lead and the woman is the follow. So, you need to learn how dance as the lead. I’ll be the follow, but don’t worry, I’ll guide you and give you instructions."
John nodded with a hint of insecurity. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of Sherlock. God, he really didn’t want to step on his toes. He didn’t want to hurt him in the least.
Sherlock stepped in front of him, and they stared into each other’s eyes.
"First of all, keep your feet at hip distance and your arms relaxed. Now, put your right hand on my left side, just under the shoulder blade. Mary will put her left hand on your right shoulder… like this."
Sherlock hesitantly touched John’s shoulder with his long and slender fingers, and then he gently placed his whole hand on it.
"That’s perfect. Then you’ll need to take her right hand with your left, and intertwine your fingers… Like this." Sherlock explained with a pounding heart.
The detective then guided his friend and taught him how to perform the steps correctly. At first, John was a little stiff, but then he let himself be carried by Sherlock in that soft and intimate atmosphere.
Sherlock’s movements were gentle and confident, as if he was a professional dancer patiently teaching a pupil the basics of dancing. He had a serious and focused expression, but his slightly trembling breath gave away his emotions. Good thing John was secretly as much overwhelmed as him to notice.
"So… How am I doing?" John asked, but immediately regretted breaking the perfect and almost magical silence between the two of them.
"Quite well, considering you’re learning just now. But more practice may be necessary."
Sherlock immediately realized the implications of his words, and hurriedly added:
"With Mary, I mean. You should… I mean, you must try it with her. With Mary."
John cleared his throat and let out a little laugh.
"Well, I don’t mind some more practice with you."
He raised his eyes and met Sherlock’s gaze. The two stared at each other for a few seconds. Sherlock’s face was frozen, nearly as confused and dumbfounded as the time John asked him to be his best man. But then he saw the genuine look in John’s eyes, and his expression softened.
"It would be a pleasure, my dear John."