Sherlock preferences

Sherlock x Ballerina!reader

A/n - Hey guys! I was thinking about doing a few requests now that I have a lot of free time. I don't know how many I can take on at once, I suppose it depends on how many I get. I'd like to do all of them eventually but if i get like 20 (which won't happen) I'll obviously have to cull some. Hope you enjoy this chapter and DM me or comment if you have a request. Anyway, I'll shut up now... Enjoy 😊
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Sherlock-

It had been unusually hot and wet this summer, and the humid cloyness -which hung about the house in heavy drapes- was inescapable. Sherlock had grown into the bad habit of working late at the yard because of the extend days. So now, even though it still looked like dusk as the copper sun bowed its head behind the buildings, he would get home blissfully unaware of the fact it was nearing 11 o'clock. This had been happening for two weeks straight and you missed him terribly while he worked, however, these free hours allowed you to express your hidden passion... dance.

You had been dancing since you were six years old, starting after you saw 'Swan Lake' with your grandparents at Christmas. Everything about ballet seemed perfect. It was strong and soft, reckless and calm, powerfull and alluring... You never had the intentions to persue dance as a career because (though you loved it dearly) you were never as good as the other girls. You could do three spins and land; they could do four. You could do a split in the air at a height of one meter; they could do 1.2 meters. You could slide into a sideways split; they could leap into one... but this didn't smother your fire. Your secret passion wanted to remain that way. A secret. But, unbeknownst to you, that was about to change.

It was a Tuesday. Nothing unusual about it except that it was raining. Raining, but still hot... The past three Tuesday's had been glorious but this one was determined to remain an anomoly. As you watched the rain hammer against the windows of the flat, you sighed and glanced down at you watch. It was nine. Sherlock wouldn't be home for at least another hour yet. You smiled to yourself inwardly and tied your hair up into a haphazard bun, water still pouring up against the glass like sap down a fractured tree. You skipped to your bedroom and dragged out a rickety cardboard box from under the bed. From this, you removed a beaten and worn pair of ballet pumps; you knew that 'real' ballerinas went through three or four pairs a week but you only used yours on occasion. Swiftly tying the ribbon round your ankles, you rose to a standing position with a plié and exhaled deeply, allowing the tense air to flood from your lungs. The feeling of extacy the shoes gave you completely muted the heat. You felt completely neutral. You were ready.

- switch focus to Sherlock -

Sherlock frowned as the rain abused his head. Although london was rife with taxis, he refused to get in one. He was thinking, and any human contact might break his fragile concentration. His oaky curls seemed to dissolve as they clung to his forehead wetly and his lips were pulled taught into an unsmiling grimace. Work (or rather Lestrade) had forced him to leave early after Sherlock called a murder witness an idiot for forgetting which brand of shoes the suspect was wearing. He was now idly on his way home through the multitudes of London's grey...

- back to reader -

You stretched your arms out to your sides and then slowly raised them into an elegant arch above your head. As the music began to play, you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to drown in the sanctity the melody brought you. Your legs amd arms moved seamlessly through the air, not touching a single thing in the flat as you did high-kicks and twirls. The music was not loud but its emotional swells still managed to drown out all other sounds -seemingly from the whole of London- even the sound of Sherlock's footsteps coming up the stairs.

Sherlock froze for a moment. The music coming from behind the door was unmistakably the etherial keys of 'a river flows in you' and he tapped his fingers against his lean thigh, emulatimg the fingering techniques neccesary to master such a piece. He smiled as the chorus angelically rolled on and he placed his hand flat against the door, pushing it open, stopping only when he caught a glance of your figure gliding about the room as if on air. Sherlock ducked back in shock and his eyes widened to an exreme proportion. A dazed smile slid across his face and tugged at the corner of his lips, willing them to strech further.
"Wow..."
He murmered under his breath as he stood, awestruck by the spectacle. How did he not know you did ballet? And so beautifully at that... Suddenly, for seemingly no particular reason, your eyes fluttered open mid step and -on seeing Sherlock's pale face through the open door- you fell to the ground, banging your hip against the coffee table.

"Ahg shit!" You exclaimed, clutching your side in agony. The music was still playing but now it just seemed stupidly out of place. Sherlock rushed in and lifted you to your feet, cradling you and clutching your afflicted hip with his comforting hand.

"Are you okay? Sorry I startled you" he cooed as he rubbed your bruised bone.

"Uh, I.. y- yeah.. um.." you managed to stutter out. You didn't feel that much pain now but the embarrassment you felt, knowing that sherlock had seen you dance, was a pain ten times as great.

"You don't sound okay... what is it?" Sherlock pried as you raised your head up off his chest but avoided his direct gaze. You were overheating, you could feel your cheeks grow redder with every breath.

"I... didn't know you'd be home so early..." you mustered still without gaze.

"What are you afraid of?"

"Okay sherlock... i just... didn't want you to know i do ballet ok? I enjoy it but i know full well that im not that good... i thought you'd think it was silly."

Sherlock held your head now, gently forcing your eyes to catch his. His lips parted, letting out a small sigh followed by a smile.

"(Y/n)... your ballet is absolutely stunning. How could you ever think i'd call your passion silly? You should have heard me play the violin as a child! Mycroft hated it!"

You giggled as his smile grew.

"Your dancing is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot... don't doubt your abilities and don't be embarrassed about what you love to do."

You rolled up onto the points of your toes and kissed his soft, cold cheek.

"Thank you sherlock... could you play for me?..."

You whispered, gesturing to the violin which laid like a priceless artifact against his leather chair.

"Anything for you (y/n)"

Sherlock repayed the kiss by stroking your hair behind your ears and placing his lips against your forehead. You smiled and broke apart from him, getting into first position and bowing your head to signal him to begin playing.

"I love you sherlock..."

You both danced and played long into the night... well past 11 o'clock.
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What the piano sounds like:

And with sherlock also playing:

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A/n- sorry if the layout looks odd, I've just started using my phone for Wattpad instead of my Ipod and it kinda looks different. I hope you can still read it.