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"You're a man," John says
"Problem?" the man asks, his voice a rumble of thunder across sandy planes.
"No. I just didn't expect..."
"Well," the man says. "Neither did I."
John Watson wants not to be bored, and not to be forced to take these dance classes his fiancée wants him to take. Sherlock Holmes wants to live off of money not begged off of his brother, and to be allowed to solve cases that the idiots at New Scotland Yard clearly can't solve. They meet one Friday at 4 o'clock. Nothing is ever dull again. -
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“Then they're idiots,” John says, his tone slightly low, slightly gruff.
“Pardon me?” Irene asks, with the general air of someone having the time of their life.
“The people that don't want to dance with him,” John says, still in that same tone of voice. He isn't looking at Sherlock and Sherlock is glad, because he can feel his cheeks burning. “If they think he's anything other than lovely, they're fucking idiots.”
***
Really a lot of fun. With dancing!