Summary: Sherlock is a lead dancer at the Royal Ballet, and Rose Tyler is the assistant conductor. The principal conductor has a medical emergency, and Rose is asked to step in, when she's only just been appointed and has had no time to work with the orchestra. Roselock AU. Oneshot. Rose's adventures with the Doctor are still canon, as are many of Sherlock's detective adventures. Just go with it. Long fic is long.

They say write what you know. And I know classical music and conducting. And I love ballet even though I really know nothing about it. So. Here you go. Conductor/Dancer AU. Sherlock is a ballet dancer because it's canon as of Season 3 that Sherlock loves dancing and I just ran with it. And Rose is a conductor because I love conducting and she'd probably be awesome at it. Just trust me?

I believe that classical music is for everyone. It's just that not everyone has experienced it yet. So please don't try to tell me that Rose Tyler wouldn't listen to classical music because she's "not the right kind of person".

One last note: I have tried really, really hard not to make this OOC for either character. I know that the premise seems unlikely, but really, I've tried my best not to impose my own desires on these characters to the point where they're nothing like themselves. Also I'm American, not from the UK, so I may mix up some English terms with American ones, and I am not familiar with the technicalities of ballet, so I may mix up some stuff there as well. Be patient with my mistakes, please, and politely correct me in the reviews if necessary!

Rose was feeling a little shaky. You'll be fine, they said. Isn't this what you wanted? they said. Dreaming about conducting a full ballet, at the Royal Ballet, with one of her favorite ballets from one of her favorite composers, was one thing, but actually stepping up to the podium to do it? That was something else entirely.

Most people didn't really think "classical music" when they looked at Rose Tyler. Most people didn't think "aliens" or "former secret agent" either, but Rose Tyler wasn't exactly someone to take at first glance. Who would guess, really, that the blonde Vitex heiress was really from another universe and travelled with a man called the Doctor, who was an alien, whom she had loved with all her heart and soul?

Who would guess, really, that she loved classical music?

Rose wasn't really sure where it started, exactly. Certainly not in the shops or at home; all that played in either location was pop. Her earliest distinct memory of the style was hearing a commercial on the telly using Luciano Pavarotti's version of Nessun Dorma, not that she knew what it was at the time. Another time it was Also Sprach Zarathustra, or In the Hall of the Mountain King, Die Fledermaus, and of course Habanera. The music was used in a humorous way on the telly, but somehow it spoke to Rose, voiced something to her she didn't even know she wanted. Secretly, as though she was doing something forbidden or perhaps sacred, she sought out classical music on YouTube, in books in the library, everywhere. She couldn't afford to even rent an instrument to play, and her singing voice was no good, so there was no way for her to partake in the making of the sound. Or so Rose thought.

Rose made the mistake once of mentioning her love of this style in school once, during year eight. They had been studying King Arthur, and what else would she think of but Wagner's Parsifal and Tristan and Isolde? The whole class stared as she had rambled about the thematic similarities and contrasts to the original stories and of Wagner's interpretations of the characters as opposed to Sir Thomas Malory's, and as Rose spoke she felt the music inside her swell, filling up her head, crescendo after crescendo, ascending to sacred heights in the stars of her eyes.

Her teacher had spoken to her enthusiastically after class of her comparison, inquiring after any other knowledge she might have, but as soon as she left the safety of the classroom for the halls, the giggles and the stares followed her, and the teasing began. It was toward the end of the year, and she came back to school, year nine, bubbly and blonde and stupid so that it would all stop, even though inside it didn't make sense, and the incident was forgotten by everyone. Was she really better off being "that dumb slut Rose Tyler" than "that weird freak Rose Tyler"? Maybe so, maybe not. But it didn't really matter after a while. Rose stopped listening, and she stopped looking, and she stopped feeling. She had thought that Jimmy Stone or even Mickey might help to alleviate some of the emptiness, but nothing ever came close to what music meant to her. It's funny what lengths people will go to to fit in when really they're meant to stand out.

Sometimes, after long monotonous days working at the shop, she would plug her headphones in and listen, silently, to a suite or a ballet or an opera or a symphony, for hours, staring up at the ceiling, staring out her window at the stars. Somehow, it spoke her longing for an extraordinary life better than any words ever could. But only sometimes, when she was feeling so far from herself it was like she wasn't even breathing.

Only when she began her travels with the Doctor did Rose dare to explore that side of herself again. At her request, in between or on adventures, they would go to the ballet, to the opera, to the symphony-they would see live performances of operas, with Rose's favorite singers or conductors, they would see the first performances of pieces with the original composers-Rose would ramble on and on, wide-eyed, about the history before and after the concerts as well as during intermission, but would be absolutely silent, reverent, during the actual performances. The Doctor, as it turned out, knew quite a lot, but not as much as she did. (Rose never saw his quiet looks of reverence, almost awe, at her enthusiasm.) And occasionally, yes, there would be some kind of alien involvement. Rose was very proud to say that she had once saved Wagner himself at the premiere of Tristan and Isolde. Him being her all-time favorite composer, it was easy to be starstruck for the first few minutes until he made an offhand comment about Jews and make a pass at her in the same breath, wherein she fully discovered for herself that he was a complete arse. It was, suffice to say, an eye-opening experience.

Rose Tyler-companion to the Doctor, shop girl, Defender of the Earth, Bad Wolf. Music lover.

She had won her spot as the assistant conductor to the Royal Ballet and Opera conducting the overture to Leonard Bernstein's Candide and, also, the overture to the opera that had caused her so much heartache in the first place: Parsifal. She had worked as a Torchwood agent for a while, but if she was honest with herself, a life like that wasn't ideal for her unless she was with the Doctor. So Rose pursued her innermost heart, and threw herself into learning piano, into university work, into everything she could possibly get her hands on, until she finally, at the age of thirty-one, earned this place at the Royal Opera. Of course, she had to balance this job with the occasional alien invasion and general Torchwood work on the weekends if her father asked, as well as appearances as the Vitex heiress, but it was a good life. Sometimes she spent her days in negotiations with non-hostile aliens, sometimes in very hostile fights, but mostly, she spent her days indoors, letting her own ears take her to the stars, to the places where she could not go anymore.

Being the Bad Wolf, of course, Rose sometimes cheated. Having all the knowledge in the universe at one point in time that she could still sporadically access made studying all major conductors and music theory easy, even though she was in a different universe. She still had to physically practice conducting, of course, and go to university for it, and earn her way through several more minor orchestras to make it this far, but it was just like firing a gun: it took both practice and instinct. Just like saving the world. Her mother repeatedly stated that she didn't understand Rose's choices, that it wasn't from her or her father (Rose knew she wasn't trying to be offensive, and that she far approved of this over Torchwood, but that didn't stop it hurting a little). Pete quietly promised her with a smile that he would be at the premiere, in the orchestra seating. In some ways, that felt better than saving the world.

Rose stared at the door to the theater, where the orchestra was waiting for her. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and walked in.

There was a new conductor, and they only had three days to rehearse.

"Sentiment," Sherlock muttered like a curse, securing his footwear for rehearsal. The real conductor had been compromised by a severe medical condition, one Sherlock understood to be a brain injury (though he couldn't count on the ballet girls as a real source of information). Sherlock threw on a t-shirt for rehearsal and exited his dressing room with a huff, heading toward the stage.

Ballet, to Sherlock, was science in motion. The chemistry of movement was ever-fascinating and crucial knowledge if one wished to be successful in this field, at least in Sherlock's opinion. Since he was the principal male dancer at the Royal Ballet, no one could really argue with him. Sherlock was well versed in not only balletic technique, but also anatomy, physiology, chemistry, and other biology which pertained to his craft. He also had one more gift-his keen observation. Sherlock called it "deduction".

He originally had gotten into ballet at an unusually late age (in his early teens), but the story that followed more than made up for a late start. Sent into rehab for the first time at the tender age of thirteen, Sherlock's counselor suggested physical activity to help quiet his mind. Since he had already begun to master several forms of martial arts, young Sherlock had thought the suggestion quite ludicrous until she mentioned ballet. She told him that it was far more physically strenuous than virtually any other physical activity (excepting activities such as drum and bugle corps, pole dancing, and a few others) and noted more importantly that it would mentally challenge him for years. Considering that his other option was going to jail, Sherlock complied, and unexpectedly fell in love with it.

Because of his extraordinary physical and mental capabilities, Sherlock was held in a mixture of awe and fear by the rest of the dancers. Irene Adler, the former Prima Ballerina, alternately snubbed him and flirted with him. He tolerated that because she was nearly his intellectual equal. That is, until she herself quit to become a full-time Dominatrix, as she styled herself. She was hastily replaced by a ballerina named Meg. The new one was blonde, giggly and quite honestly, the only reason Sherlock hadn't told her off using every fact about her he could deduce in a cold, clinical tone was that he genuinely respected her mother, the ballet mistress. Besides that, Meg was fairly talented, though Sherlock had to constantly bite his tongue during rehearsal to keep from correcting minor faults in her technique. The fact that he consulted with the police on the weekends would possibly have helped his reputation even further-if his brother hadn't insisted on keeping it secret.

Sherlock shook his head out of these thoughts and turned them to the upcoming premiere. They were performing the Rite of Spring by Igor Stravinsky. Difficult for both the musicians and the dancers, it was a notorious ballet with very good reason. It was an incredibly unorthodox piece, both when it premiered and from a contemporary perspective, which was partially what led to its popularity. But the real catch of Rite of Spring was its violence. It was a piece originally depicting a pagan ritual, selecting and sacrificing a maiden as a price for the return of spring. In accordance with this, the music was jarring, at often times bitonal, and altogether, well, unpredictable. It was so unpredictable, in fact, that it had caused a riot on the day of its premiere. As ballets went, it was one of Sherlock's all time favorites. The question was whether the new conductor would be able to keep up.

Sherlock smiled grimly. This was a serious matter, and there was no reason for him to tolerate incompetence. As the Chosen Sacrifice of this production (originally the part was for a girl, but many modern productions chose to use a male dancer for the role), Sherlock would be critical of the newcomer to ensure success. He would have a few tests of his own for the conductor to pass.

He arrived onstage and stood somewhat to the side, ignoring the other dancers. Instead, he stared unabashedly toward where the choreographer stood next to the conductor's podium, and the woman standing next to him.

"Everyone, this is Rose Tyler. She'll be substituting for the music director in the premiere. There's no need to be upset or worried; Miss Tyler is extremely accomplished and well versed. We can still pull this off. All right, let's get to work. From the beginning of Act One." The dancers muttered among themselves as they took up their positions. Sherlock, meanwhile, studied the conductor. He was surprised, no, jarred, by what he observed there. Not a natural blonde, exercises regularly, grew up poor, extensive traveler, single mother, remarried, younger brother, former secret almost-government worker, shopgirlintelligentcatloverpracticaldresserBadWolfBadWolfBadWolf…

Sherlock blinked, taking a moment to process the near sensory overload that was Rose Tyler. He knew who she was now, recalling the Vitex heiress from the tabloids, though she had never been of real interest to him before. Sherlock smirked. He was going to have so much fun with this.

Okay, here's where I seriously need all of your help. I seriously want to continue this AU because it would just be a lot of fun for me and will hopefully give me incentive to crack down on my own musical studies this summer, for research purposes if nothing else. So, what do you guys want to see in the coming chapters? A crime scene? Should Sherlock discover that he really wants to be a detective and not a dancer? Should the Doctor become involved, and if so, what regeneration and what companions? I'm all for requests and any suggestions you might have.