Sherlock was not like other children. He'd rather stick to books than go to a birthday party. He'd love to make friends and play and talk with other children, but any attempt to do that had proven to be futile. No matter what, he'd find that his only companions were his family and his pet goldfish (he was still in denial about the fact that one of Mycroft's experiments had gone wrong and killed the poor thing).

When Mr. and Mrs. Holmes first found out that Sherlock didn't get along with other children they worried. Mycroft had been somewhat similar to Sherlock in that manner that he was exceptionally bright and had had some trouble making friends. However, the difference between the two rested in the fact that, even if he didn't exactly make friends, Mycroft was at least able to socialize well with others by Sherlock's age. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes kept trying with Sherlock, but nothing ever seemed to help. Many children simply found him boring and showoff-y. So after exhausting their efforts on getting Sherlock friends, his parents decided to instead give the boy lessons in music to fill his time and to quiet his mind (as he'd also had much trouble with that).

Sherlock had decided he'd like to play the violin, and like it he did. In fact, he loved it. He loved the way his bow would glide across the strings, though to adults and more experienced musicians his movements were still very choppy and uneven, and the way that the simple melodies he'd play would flow over him and fill him with their intended emotions. He also liked how so much of music was interpretation, not just something that could be placed in a box. The violin soon became his stress outlet and a way for him to find peace in his mind. But however much he played there was always a physical tension left behind that still clung to him.

The day Sherlock went to the ballet was the best in his life up to that point and for many years to come.

"Mycroft," Sherlock whined. "get off me."

In response, Mycroft held his seven-year-old brother even tighter.

"Gerroff! Ugh. Mycroft! Stop it!" Sherlock began pounding on his brother, struggling to get free of his grip.

"Never, me hearty!"

"Hey, I'm captain and I get to make the rules!"

"No, I'm captain," said Mycroft loftily before standing up, placing his foot on Sherlock's chest, and pointing his plastic sword at the younger boy's throat. "And I say ye'll walk the plank."

"You cheated!" proclaimed Sherlock, who then proceeded to shout, "Mum, Mycroft's cheating!

"I didn't cheat!"

"Did too!"

"Did not! I overthrew your power. Now you're part of my crew. Unless you want to be a prisoner, of course."

"Mum!"

"Oh, Mycroft," Mrs. Holmes said as she rushed into the boys' room, "get off Sherlock. Look what you've done to his shirt! All wrinkled…" She fussed about the two boys for a minute, straightening their clothes and taking off Sherlock's eyepatch. "Please, boys, behave. It'll only be a few minutes, now."

"But we don't wanna go," Sherlock complained. "Mycroft says it'll be all fancy and boring and full of old people."

She looked down at the two boys and sent Mycroft a disapproving glare. "It's for your father's friends. Please just behave. Any minute now–" she was cut off by a knock at the front door, which was promptly answered by Mr. Holmes. From where they were the two boys and their mother could hear greeting being exchanged. "Come on, let's go greet them."

Mycroft exited, ushered off by his mother, who was about to follow when she felt a tug at the hem of her dress. Turning, she bent down to Sherlock's height. "Yes?"

Bashfully, Sherlock looked up at his mother. "You're beautiful." A genuine, whole hearted smile broke the woman's slowly ageing face.

"Why thank you, sweetums." The Holmes were not wealthy by any means, so she'd had to make do with an old evening gown that was long out of style and was probably not quite elegant enough for the occasion. But what the woman lacked in clothing she had made up for in her hairdo. Her dark curls were twisted up in an elegant bun that was accented by an equally elegant pin. "And you look just as handsome. Say, would you mind being my escort?" She stood held out a hand which was quickly occupied by a smaller one, and together mother and son went to greet the guests.

Sherlock was absolutely and completely bored out of his mind. The adults were talking about subjects that would bore absolutely any child and even some adults, and after ten seconds of speaking to the Woods's son Sherlock had deemed the boy obtuse and ignorant. No doubt Mycroft had thought the same, but at least he still found topics to converse on. The car belonged to the Holmes', so there was nothing particularly interesting about it for Sherlock to think about.

The young boy turned his head to look out the window. Considering how tiny he was compared to everyone else, all he was really able to see in full was the sky. It was surprisingly blue, streaked with clouds that seemed as if an artist had lazily pained them into being. The westmost side of each cloud was rimmed with the gold light radiating from the only just-setting sun. As the minutes passed by nothing much of interest came to Sherlock's attention. He couldn't see the buildings very well and really, the tops of the London buildings weren't all that fascinating, except for one building with much grandeur, which Sherlock guessed was the one they were going to.

Inside the building everything was indeed fancy, but only a few people were old, and by no means was it boring. There were people everywhere. People that Sherlock was able to study and, to use Mycroft's term, make deductions about. By this point Sherlock's older brother had worn out his social skills and was now standing beside Sherlock, people-watching with him.

They looked out over the balcony. Mycroft was speaking but Sherlock wasn't listening. His attention had been turned from the people to the stage, where he could see shadows moving in the sliver of light beneath the heavy red curtain. He could feel a strange mix of excitement and anticipation coursing through him. He'd never seen a ballet before; he didn't know what would happen. Of course there would be music, judging by the orchestra pit, and dancers, considering the obvious fact that ballet was a form of dance, but he didn't have any knowledge on the subject beyond that.

Just then the lights faded out and, quite curiously to Sherlock, all the chatter around them quieted to a hush and then to silence. He could feel someone tugging at his arm and looked up to see Mycroft standing above him, pulling him to their seats.

Sherlock sat patiently in his seat – well, he sat patiently, but by no means was he feeling patient. He needed to know what was going on, what was happening. As the curtains drew back to reveal an ornate set upon an empty stage his anticipation was brought to a peak. Then out came the dancers.

At first Sherlock thought the ballerinas looked kind of funny in their fluffy tutus and leotards. The music started up and all the dancers onstage began mingling, pretending as if they were at a party. But then, all of a sudden, a character their first dance. It was odd, he'd think many years later, how he was so captivated by her movements. He could feel her childishness and her innocence through her body language.

Even more fascinating was when the entire cast began dancing together as if in a ballroom. The gentlemen led the ladies in a waltz, gliding to the three-fourths time. The rest of the night the young boy was absolutely enthralled in the preformance, and when it came to intermission he panicked (the story was nowhere near other and he wanted to see more dancing) and at first refused to leave before his father explained that it was only fifteen minutes.

The beginning of those fifteen minutes were excruciating. The people kept trying to talk to him, but he really didn't want to. Everything was wheeling through his mind too quickly. He was replaying each and every movement he'd scene over and over in his head. This distraction, however, did cause him to lose his family and their guests.

"Mum?" the little boy called. "Mummy?" Still no response, and he couldn't see her anywhere. "Dad! Mum!" Still nothing.

Sherlock made his way through the crowd, trying to find some bearing. Finally he spotted a sign that said...backstage entrance? Instantly all the fear in him was pushed to the side as he was once again drawn in by the calling of dance. He saw a man in a long coat enter the room, so he raced after him, slipping through just in time.

When he'd seen 'backstage entrance', Sherlock had thought dressing rooms and people chatting. The reality, however, was certainly much different. Everything around him was chaos. Dancers were changing costumes. Instrumentalists were washing out the residue of their snacks. Stage crew was running around, trying to locate misplaced equipment. This was nothing like Sherlock had imagined it.

Once again he felt panic welling up inside of him, but now he didn't know what to do. His mum and dad were most definitely not in here, and he'd somehow managed to lose the doorway. He stood rooted to the spot, his big, pale blue eyes filling up with tears of confusion and fear. How would he find his family? Would he ever see them again? Mycroft would surely notice, wouldn't he?

A hand fell on Sherlock's shoulder, making the boy jump. He looked up to see one of the ballerinas standing over him.

"Aren't you cute? I'm sorry, are you looking for someone?"

She didn't mean any harm. Sherlock could tell that much. She'd probably just been outside with her boyfriend (not husband; no ring) going by the fresh, crisp scent tinged by cologne that surrounded her. He immediately placed her costume as that of the main character's and at that everything flew out of his head. Her dancing had been phenomenal.

"Uh...I love the dances," was all he could think of to say.

The woman laughed. "So you like dancing?"

Sherlock was dumbfounded. She was actually talking to him. "I haven't danced before. Not really. But I love watching it."

"Well then maybe you'd like to learn. I assure you, it's fun."

"Yeah. I'd love to dance."

"Do you live in London?" Sherlock nodded. The woman took a business card from a nearby table. "Here's where I teach. You should ask your parents if you could come some time. We need more men in ballet."

Sherlock nodded, still dumbstruck. "Okay."

"Speaking of your parents," said the woman, placing her hands on her hips, "where are they?"

"Oh. Um, I lost them."

"Oh dear. Well, let's find them, shall we? Where were you sitting?" She grabbed a coat from a rack to cover her outfit.

"The first balcony, I think." He was still ogling her green eyes and perfect brown hair. She was his version of a celebrity.

"Good. Now stay with me." The ballerina led him to the balcony, where Sherlock found his dad was sitting with Mrs. Woods and the two other boys. "I hope to see you soon…"

"Sherlock."

"Sherlock. What an interesting name. I'm Ira. I hope I'll see you again, Sherlock." With that she departed, just as Mrs. Holmes and Mr. Woods arrived back, looking even more worried than Mr. Holmes and Mrs. Woods.

Needless to say, the rest of the night Sherlock was absolutely starstruck, and despite how late they got home he couldn't go to sleep because of all the excitement buzzing around in his head.

The next morning Mr. and Mrs. Holmes found their youngest son asleep on the couch, still in his clothes from last night and looking absolutely exhausted. Had the computer not run out of battery hours before they would have seen on the screen a simple dance tutorial.

He'd finally found something he wholeheartedly loved to do even more than violin, but it would always be his secret, he decided after Mycroft teased him one day about liking dancing. It would be his to keep.

Hello! I have not updated in forever and to be honest I'm probably not going to update my PJO fanfics anymore. Sorry!

I got this idea from the most recent episode (The Sign of Three) when I imagined how Sherlock first discovered the beauty of dancing.

I've always thought that Sherlock, even as a little kid, has always had a really hard time expressing himself through words, and that's one reason why he likes the violin so much: he can express emotions through it. That's also why I think he likes dancing: it's elegant, graceful, and is a great outlet for stress and emotion.

That brings me to my other point. It seems that Sherlock's mind is constantly running, so he'd need some sort of outlet for that stress, which is where his enjoyment of violin and dancing comes in. Violin helps him to calm his mind and dancing relieves the leftover physical tension from the mental stress.

Anyhow, I hope you liked it, and I do plan to write more fics of various fandoms in coming days.

Thanks for reading and, as always, constructive criticism is my best friend. :)