A Study In Dancing

Chapter 1

Dancing was never one of John Watson's talents, and when the news of a compulsory dance at work arose, John was nothing but horrified. John pleaded with his boss, for him to be relieved from the burden, but he refused.
"You need to get out more John, not just hanging out with your flatmate,"
"I don't just hang out with Sherlock." John replied, a little offended, "and besides, I can't dance."
"Learn to, because this is important for our clinic, some new sponsors will be there, and we really need them, plus there is a pay rise if you come, so be there. And bring a date...and like five friends, we're running low on people!"

Sulking in a cab, John head home. He couldn't believe he was being forced into dancing. He had been a terrible dancer since childhood, and could recall many embarrassing experiences with the topic. It was certainly something he didn't do willingly.

As John ascended to the door, a loud crash erupted from his apartment. 'Great!' John thought to himself, 'not bloody experiments again!' "Sherlock!", John shouted, "Are you okay?" A sillouette emerged from the top of the stairs, and scuttled quickly down. "Mrs Hudson? Are you alright? Is Sherlock?" John started, glancing worriedly up the stairs,
"I think so, I mean you never quite know with Sherlock, but I think he was just annoyed that he messed up his experiment, and I'm fine. You aren't though, are you John?" Mrs Hudson looked up and down at John with a concerned expression. "John? What's wrong? Tell me."
"Nothing, I'm fine." John lied, looking at the floor.
"John, don't lie to me. What's wrong?"
John sighed. He could never lie to Mrs Hudson and even if he did, she would know.
"There's this dance thing, at work and not only can I not dance, but also, as me and Sarah have just broken up, I have nobody to take as my date."
"I thought you and Sherlock were-"
"Mrs Hudson, for the millionth time, SHERLOCK IS NOT MY BOYFRIEND!"
"Mmhm okay love," Mrs Hudson muttered in disbelief, "Let me know if you need anything." she chuckled as she pottered off. John sighed and started up the stairs.

As John entered the flat, Sherlock, scrounged over the floor, carelessly picking up glass, glanced up at him.
"Oh hello John, didn't know you were home."
John stared at him, utterly confused, he could be very oblivious at times,
"Didn't you hear the-"
"Hmm?" He replied,
"Nothing," John paused and looked down at the glass on the floor, "OH MY GOD SHERLOCK!"
"What?!"
"Oh god, didn't you realise? You've cut yourself!" John stressed, astounded that he, Sherlock Holmes, master of deductions, hadn't noticed.
"Oh," Sherlock started, seemingly unphased by the massive gash filled with blood, violently weeping out of his hand, "I was busy thinking,  sometimes it's hard for me to see both worlds at once."
"What?!" John spat at him. Sherlock didn't reply, so John knelt down and stretched his hand out, beckoning for his. Sherlock reluctantly gave it to him, and in that moment, they both, simultaneously, felt sparks fly through them. Sherlock stared at John, and his gaze was met only a second later, with an awkward five second gaze, and a quick look downwards, from John.  Searching his mind for a way to break the icy silence, John got up and fumbled around the cupboards for his first aid kit. Once found, he sat beside his friend, and began cleaning his wound. "It doesn't look too bad, but if it starts to swell or throb, we will need to seek further treatment, okay?" Sherlock just stared at him,
"Okay?" John repeated, he couldn't believe that Sherlock could be so childish about some of the simplest things, and so adult about others, Sherlock sighed harshly,
"Fine. But know that you made me."

After John had finished with Sherlock's cut, he sat on his chair and whipped out his laptop to edit his famous blog. Sherlock sat opposite, reading the paper. Every so often, John would catch Sherlock wincing in pain, but would ignore it, that was expected. Around an hour later however, this behaviour was worrying. Doctor mode kicked in and John decided to take action,
"Sherlock, are you alright?"
"Me? Yeah fine. Why?" Sherlock spoke, John chuckled slightly before replying,
"You look like you're in pain, Sherlock."
"I'm not in pain, I'm fine." Sherlock assured, before turning back to his paper.
"Okay I don't believe you." John stated before proceeding to seek out something from their shelves.
"John, if you're searching for pills to ease my pain, you got rid of them ages ago to stop me from over dosing." Sherlock added in his low, baritone voice. The memory flooded back to John in an instant, 'shit', tagging along a red confusion,
"Sherlock, I never told you about that, have you searched for them?" John questioned slowly, worry etching in his vocals, he couldn't have him getting back into his old habits, not again.
"Don't worry John, I wasn't going to overdose, it's just very hard to sustain a sober life as an addict, so, sometimes I will need a top up. Luckily for you, I couldn't find anything, so there." Sherlock excused, John just stared at him,
"Right..." John remarked, Sherlock tilted his head questioningly, "Well I'm going to head off to the clinic to get you some pills, you hold tight I'll be back in ten."