But what if it happened like this... they’re in 221B and John just had his big and necessary emotional breakdown about the Mary-baby-issue, blaming Sherlock for it, or at least blaming him for not telling him the truth from the beginning, and is about to storm out of the flat, just because, not because he really wants to. In the heat of the argument both of them had completely forgotten that the radio was on, couldn’t hear it because of the occasional shouting, but the silence between them is so overwhelming now that they couldn’t even pretend not to hear the faint music.
And suddenly, John froze.
Could it really be this goddamn song playing now? That song Sherlock had taught him how to dance to?
Almost as if looking for help, John glanced towards Sherlock, but no, damnit, he shouldn’t be asking him what to do now, he was the reason things were like this now in the first place, he shouldn’t...
But this look, this fraction of a second, was enough. Enough to change the mood in the room completely, to turn it upside down, enough for Sherlock to suddenly start approaching John, enough for John to decide not to leave, at least not yet.
The invitation to dance was unspoken, so desperately unspoken as so many things are between them, but neither of them backed off.
If that’s it, if that’s how this ends, then it’s fine.
One last dance.
One last time.
Their hands fell into their respective places much too naturally and, since it’s the only part John had learnt in the end, John took over the leading. Sherlock couldn’t have minded less.
For a minute or two, they were shifting their feet, carefully avoiding to dance closer than necessary, John desperately trying to remember what Sherlock had taught him back then, because the last time he had done this was, when, ages ago? The last time he had danced like this was... oh.
“Don’t you think I’m not still mad at you.”
“Huh?”
John’s breaking the silence between them was so unexpected, his words so muffled, that Sherlock really needed some moments to process them.
“You heard me just fine.” John didn’t even try to hide the sulky tone in his voice. Not sulky, though, justifiedly upset. What Sherlock had done was not okay and John would not try and downplay this just because.
Sherlock furrowed his brows, but nodded, even if John didn’t look at him to actually see his reaction.
Some more skilful steps, and when exactly had they started to move closer together?
“So... where are you actually going now?” Sherlock tried to sound as casual about it as he could. The dancing somehow made it easier, acted as sort of a catalyst for this unpleasant and slightly awkward conversation, so completely taken out of their actual reality.
Though this question caught John quite off-guard, because, he really hadn’t thought about that. Storming out of the flat, okay, spending maybe a night over at a friend’s place, but then... what exactly? Look for a place of his own, obviously. He had nowhere else to go, now. Not anymore...
Throwing a furtive glance at Sherlock, John shifted his jaw, pondering, not answering. Why would Sherlock ask him that? Why would he care? After all the nastiness that had happened between them just now - okay, John had to admit that this had mostly been quite one-sided and reviewing all the things he actually had said, he felt a bit... no, why should he feel guilty about it, Sherlock should feel guilty for lying to him, betraying him. Yes, that’s what it was, John felt betrayed.
Betrayed by Sherlock, of all people.
“Well... maybe staying over at Greg’s for some days– oh, Sherlock, seriously? Lestrade.”
At least now Sherlock would have an excuse for the slight blush on his cheeks if this was to be made a topic. He waited a moment for John to finish the sentence, but grew impatient nevertheless, “... and then what?”
The expression on John’s face told Sherlock more than John actually admitting that he hadn’t got a clue about the “then what”. The dancing now was so naturally part of this conversation, that they both didn’t waste a second thought on it anymore.
“You know... it would be a lot easier for you to just stay here until you’ve got everything sorted.”
“Sherlock...”
“We could agree on an arrangement here, or I’ll just move out for the time being...”
John hissed in disbelief as the song slowly approached its end. Did Sherlock even realise how ridiculous he sounded?
“So I should stay here just so that you have to find a place somewhere else, because I–”
Just in time John stopped himself from finishing this thought. What would he have said anyway? Because he wanted to leave? That was true, but that wasn’t all of it, was it? Because he couldn’t stay here with someone who didn’t trust him, who lied to him? Closer, yes, but still.
“Because you, what?”
This idiot needed an answer for everything, didn’t he? Wasn’t it obivious, did John really have to explain...
The final notes of the song and they both got ready for their final turn.
“Because you, what, John?” Sherlock repeated himself, as the last note played and John...
... dipped him.
His eyes suddenly wide in horror, John tried his best not to drop Sherlock out of pure shock. How had that happened? Had he seriously been that preoccupied with the situation that he just recalled his last choreography and enacted it 1:1 in this doubtlessly absolutely different situation? Was he completely out of his mind?
Sherlock didn’t seem to be flabbergasted at all by this unexpected turn of events and John could nothing but secretly admire the calmness with which he asked, again, completely ignoring the slight tremble in his voice, “Because you what? John?”
“Oh for God’s sake...”
Unchalantly dropping both of them on the floor, John’s lips finally found Sherlock’s as the next song started playing.
Seemed like John wouldn’t leave 221B tonight after all...
