The Magpie & The Raven

f i v e

And she hated herself, just a little bit, as she let her uncle spin her around on feather light feet so they could see all she had to offer. She hated the spark of fear his hand on her lower back, sliding round her waist as she spun, set off within her.

It was the fear that made her comply, she supposed.

The fear that made her spin faultless, even as her eyes met with the detectives, now somehow across the other side of the room, again as she made it half way around. Calliope was flushed before she stopped spinning.

Her uncle frowned.

Almost faultless.

She managed to control her face, just enough not to frown. To betray herself more as she curtsied low and accepted the young man's lazily held out hand.

Her uncle rapped his knuckles between her shoulder blades, twice, short and sharp, as she rose from the curtsy. Calliope pulled her shoulders up, tucking her spine back into that elegant line she knew her uncle liked.

It was something near to relief that made her half smile real as she followed the slouched man onto the dance floor — she didn't even know his name. Although, it was highly likely he hadn't bothered to retain hers either.

She was just glad to put a little bit of distance between her uncles reprimanding hands and his fathers hungry, mocking gaze.

Letting his slide a hand around her waist, to sit on her hip as the next lilting tune started up Calliope let herself fall into the dance. The music, at the very least, was beautiful.

And Calliope, if she was honest with herself, liked to dance. It felt a little humiliating to admit, but she liked that she didn't have to think much to dance. Someone else was leading, she was following, and her body knew to do the rest.

But this time? With a partner who was bored at best, and forgetting the steps entirely at worst, Calliope was left to stumble through the steps and try to lead from the position of the follower.

Suffice to say, it wasn't working.

She was beginning to hear tittering around them as she tripped over the young mans foot — the young man who didn't even notice as he then stepped too many times backwards and swung them awkwardly round, narrowly missing another couple.

Calliope was on the verge of making up some half baked excuse (or perhaps falling flat on her face and stopping the dance altogether) when a body, tall and broad, blocked their path.

Her dance partner lead them to a stumbling stop that made Calliope wince, and then sway into the new arrival just enough to set her face aflame.

"Mind if i cut in?" His deep voice rumbled and Calliope realised with a start that it was Sherlock. He didn't seem like the dancing type.

The young man merely shrugged, retreating to the crowd before another word could be uttered.

Calliope was left feeling a little unsure, tucking her hands into her chest and, for some strange reason, now entirely unable to make eye contact with the beautiful man in front of her.

But Sherlock didn't seem to mind and moved in to dance with her nonetheless, not bothering to bow but giving her enough time to run from his slow advance should she choose too.

She stepped forward, just a fraction, instead and relaxed herself into Sherlocks hold, gentle but sure. His hands exactly where they should be.

And, as he stepped back, leading them easily into a smooth path around the floor in the middle of a song, she was able to look up at the man.

He was even more beautiful in person. He had the sharp, cleanness of a member of high society in his suit, pressed collar, and styled hair. But maintained the rugged five o'clock shadow and slightly sunken eyes of a working man. Possibly one who works too much, she thought dimly as she met his eyes.

She couldn't help the sharp breath at that eye contact. Nor the holding of that breath that followed as the corner of his mouth tipped up in something akin to amusement at her reaction.

If she was burning up before then she was practically on fire now.

The realisation sobered Calliope and, still following Sherlocks sure and steady steps, she pulled herself back into the positions she knew were favoured. Tucked her spine, her stomach, pulled her shoulders up and adjusted her eyes to look resolutely at his chest.

The song trickled out and there was a beat of silence. Calliope prepared to return to her uncle.

But Sherlock didn't falter, merely led her into an easy walk around the dance floor. She found herself easing up, far more comfortable now she knew who she had to follow, who to listen to.