I just got done watching Reichenbach Fall with my friend, so I wrote a fluff just for her. This is for you, Gillian.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK.

"Dance with me."

When I first heard those words, I was highly shocked, and it probably showed through more than my expression. Still, despite my confusion, I managed to quickly regain my composure and place a smirk on my face.

"Sherlock Holmes, capable of dancing?" I asked, crossing my arms with a type of attitude that I knew drove my flatmate insane.

"Surely, John, you know how to." He retorted, gesturing to the dance floor, where a group of various couples were dancing. He was avoiding the topic and I just had to see this.

"Oh, of course. But for what purpose?"

"An experiment." Was his last response, as he grabbed my hand and pulled me to the floor.

The music wasn't slow. It had a nice beat to it, and would guarantee a nice workout, but it was also an intimate dance. The only others who were dancing to it were partners, but I had no time to feel self-conscious. I was paying far too much attention to the intricate steps.

My right hand rested in his left, while his right hand settled on my waist. My left hand was on his shoulder. Oddly enough, this position didn't feel odd at all to me. It felt normal, as if I had done this many times before. And the dancing was more than fun. Sherlock added in a few extra steps here and there, and I was getting dizzy with how many times he spun me around.

My giddy laughter made my usual comment seem flirty, though it wasn't originally intended that way. "Now people really are going to talk." I said, getting in reward a nice, deep chuckle from Sherlock.

"Oh, let them." He replied, pressing our bodies closer as we continued to dance.

The heat was nice, and almost familiar, while his scent was relaxing. I found myself involuntarily leaning into him. A second later, we had to pull away, to keep up with the moves, but I could still remember how it felt being so close to him.

Knowing I would be scolded for it later, I looked up and asked, "How's the experiment going?"

To my surprise, he leaned down and whispered into my ear in a husky, breathy voice. "Fantastic."

His breath on my ear felt comforting and just a bit ticklish, and I grinned up at him. Soon, I found myself spinning again as the end of the song grew near.

I found that a part of me didn't want this to end, and my brain began to scramble for ways to keep this going. The end of the song was seconds away and a look of panic crossed my face.

"John." He said my name in so many different ways, it snapped me out of my thoughts. His voice showed concern, curiosity, and something else, which I saw when I looked up into his beautiful blue eyes.

It was determination.

"Sherlo-"

Before I could even finish that one word, his lips were smashed against mine in a frenzy.

They were anything but expertise, and I would probably have a bruise on my lips from his teeth, but I really didn't care. Everything else was far too nice for me to care, or think at all.

His lips, which had been making a constant arrival in my dreams, were much more than I could have imagined. They were soft and warm, and tasted far better than any lips I had ever had the pleasure of tasting.

It was over before I knew it, and I wanted more, but then I remembered who I had kissed ad begun to panic, wondering what his true intentions were.

As if he read my mind, he brought his lips to my ear, probably very much aware of how it sent shivers down my spine.

"That was not an experiment." He said, and my heart soared.

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