AN: This was written for challenge 4 for round 1 of tvnetwork2_las, over on livejournal. The prompt was "Dancing". The set-up is inspired by the beginning of the Billy Wilder film 'The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes'.

Not His Glass of Tea

"I beg your pardon?" Sherlock Holmes had pulled himself up to his full height to stare down the short, excitable man looking up at him.

"I said the lady would like you to … make child with her."

Sherlock knew he should never have agreed to go see this modern dance performance, but John had looked at the two tickets they'd been sent with such longing that he had been unable to refuse. Besides, he'd suspected that the person who'd invited him had had an ulterior motive, he'd just thought it would be something interesting – like a murder or a threat to his life or something.

The woman herself, Salene Levaque, was not too complicated to read, even with the language barrier. Determined, committed, hard-working, used to luxury and the good things, very glamorous, very very single.

"Mademoiselle Levaque would like child and would insure the … donor is intelligent and attractive, to secure successful offspring. She needs it to be done in natural way to avoid bad publicity. She hears that you are man for job from your brother. He say you owe him. She has approached others, but they have been … unsuitable."

Ah, Sherlock cannot help but think, a possible escape route (He does owe Mycroft one, but he wasn't expecting him to go this far in revenge). "In what ways unsuitable?"

"Too old, too married, too crazy, too … how you say, women not their glass of tea."

Well, he clearly can't go for the first two. "You know I have been diagnosed a high-functioning sociopath?"

The translator had a quick exchange with Levaque before turning round, grin still firmly in place. "People misunderstand genius, we do not mind."

OK, three excuses down. Here's hoping John will forgive him. "I'm sorry, but I have been living with another bachelor for two happy years and I doubt he would be very happy about this arrangement." All this is technically true, John would likely be furious if he found out that Sherlock had decided to procreate with some random woman on a whim, especially with his firm views on the correct role of fatherhood and his belief that Sherlock would not be appropriate. This view, considering the evidence, is most likely to be correct. "He was in the army. He is rather private about our personal life."

He may have been a bit too obvious in his implications, but at least both of the other people in the room were looking a bit less like they were stripping him with their eyes and naming his children.

"This Mister Watson, he is your glass of tea?"

"Well, if you want to put it that way. Now, I must be off, things to do, people to see, crimes to solve." He rushed out of the door.

It wasn't that long after he got home (settled on the sofa with a nicotine patch and John's laptop) that he heard John's footsteps thundering up the staircase (no sign of the limp, so he wasn't too mad).

"Why the hell did you tell that lot that we were shacked up? I just got a lecture from a group of six modern dancers I was trying to pick up about how hurtful it must be to my 'boyfriend' that I deny how much we love each other."

He didn't even sound as frustrated as he used to when Sherlock messed up opportunities for him to 'get his leg over', as it were, and he tried, unsuccessfully, not to be pleased. Sherlock had tried to pretend to himself that it wasn't deliberate, that he wasn't unhappy with John having someone else. It had lasted about a week. It was hard to lie to yourself when you made a living reading people.

"They were dancers, Sherlock. Do you have any idea how hot that is?" John seemed to be waiting for an answer, but when Sherlock didn't look up from his laptop he took that deep long-suffering breath he was so prone to and went into the kitchen. From the sound of it, he was getting a cup of tea.

He tried not to ask, but found himself doing so anyway. "So you don't mind that they thought you were a self-denying homosexual, merely that you couldn't have sexual intercourse with an attractive dancer?"

There was a startled snort from the kitchen. "My sister's a lesbian and it's not like I've never slept with a man before." His clattering continued.

Sherlock was surprised. That was hardly a common occurrence. Although, now he thought about it, the way John sometimes talked about Murray, who had carried him to safety after everyone should have thought him dead …

Well, that was certainly something new to think about. And if the next case required Sherlock to go under cover as a dancer, well, who could say that wasn't a coincidence.