First of all, I want to apologise for not having updated or written in what feels like a year but I'm almost out of education! Hooray, then I'll have all the time in the world to keep you guys happy. I should be finishing my deadlines now, but this stupid story is keeping me up at night so I've had to surrender to it. Enjoy!

...

They voiced their polite farewells to the female constable, who was left at the station to finish the paperwork of the latest trio solve. A satisfactory smile on all three faces as the men left the station; doing once more what the traditional police were unable.

"Drinks? To celebrate, on you of course."

Doyle paused at the bottom of the station steps, tilting his head to witness the surreal star-life captured in a slither between the streets rooftops. "Not tonight, Houdini," Still lost in the moonlit blue, "It's late, I should be with the children."

"Ahh, why worry, they'll be asleep by now anyway." He watched Doyle's portrait as it stared upwards, awe he noted and humility. Houdini raised his head to the abyss too and tried to see what his friend could. He gave up, pouting, he shoved Doyle out of his trance and they fell into matched steps. "Don't sulk just because you were wrong about the case, who knows maybe next time I'll fall prey to a demon dog eh?"

Doyle side glanced the shorter man with a half smile but didn't engage, he carried on one foot in front of the other in a stoic silence. Houdini let out an internal sigh as his remark went unchallenged and continued walking taking comfort in their less than easy yet irreplaceable friendship, aware that soon their streets would separate them.

London was silent that night, completely, in fact, no rumble of life at all; Houdini was about to bring it to the writer's attention, though undoubtedly the man already knew. But, his mouth paused before he could. A sweet melody; so faint and almost inaudible was carried to them. They both stopped, listening.

"It's Beethoven. Symphony No.8." Mused Doyle.

"Why would you play Beethoven this late in the night?"

"Well, which composer would you rather?" Smirked the Doctor.

They found themselves following the music, when the tempo increased so did they, they were irrationally running to the rhythm of the music, the song was reaching its crescendo, it was about the finish, they ran faster to the source still unsure why. The last hard note ricocheted from the piano and bounced out a top floor window down to them as they halted. The duo gaped up at a warm light coming from a single open window. The playing had stopped. They were holding their knees panting and gathering back their breath. Houdini composed first and twisted round to assess their surroundings, they were in a small square clearing, three streets meeting in the middle with the single house pressed into the back wall. Doyle had finally regulated his breathing and recognised the area too, they had passed it numerous times, it's the junction where he would continue the straight path through to his home and Houdini would split off to the right to his own. They had never paid much attention to the house on the left; he gazed up once again at the window, the soft lighting illuminating this square of pavement like a gentle stage spotlight.

Why had this been such an urgency? Why had they run? It was like an unearthly possession was pulling them, calling to them, leaving no option but to follow the piano notes. He turned to Houdini who pulled a face and shrugged at the late night performance. Doyle rolled his eyes, they didn't need words to know each other stances, Doyle was sure there was something more that lead them here.

And the music returned. But this time, it was strings.

"Have they got a whole orchestra up there?" Scoffed Houdini at the bizarre change, he turned for agreed acknowledgement from his friend but Doyle had his eyes closed, brows totally relaxed and a hint of a smile, he let the violins flow through him as did the gentle night breeze. He had never heard Bach's double violin concerto in d minor the second movement played so adeptly and so beautifully, a true sense of soul was captured in whoever was playing.

Houdini watched this peace for a moment before deciding to interrupt it. He slid in front of the man with and 'ahem' and a raised eyebrow. Doyle's heavy lids fluttered before his eyes focused on the man in front, an outstretched hand, a cheeky smirk and glinting eyes.

"Care to daaawnce?" Houdini announced in his best mocking English accent accompanied by a slight bow.

"Must you joke about everything, can you not just listen and enjoy the talent." Brushing off the nonsense.

"Who said I was joking," He seized Doyle's hand and swept him into posture, taking the lead and stepping forward forcing Doyle to step back into an accidental Waltz. "'You can't just listen to music, you have to let it move you.'" Houdini beamed up.

"I think that saying is more metaphorical than literal." Doyle tutted, half at the smaller man's words and half at his own struggling to follow step. Unsure why he was even trying, why was he still adhering to the whims of the impulsive American. Besides wasn't used following rather than leading, in fact, since Touie… He paused. Since Touie, he hadn't danced at all. He stopped. His hands slipped out of Houdini's and fell to his sides. The slow violins softened as Doyle's head sagged slightly.

Houdini watched the Doctor's expression change while trying to cover it in shadow. He bit the corner of his lip before putting one hand on the taller man's shoulder and slipping the other into Doyle's clenched fist.

He stepped backwards trying to encourage Doyle to lead, but instead the Doctor tripped and fell against Houdini holding him up, he steadied the man.

"Sorry, I-"

"You should be sorry." Houdini cut him off, grabbing his hand and putting it firmly on his own waist, then resting his own hand back on Doyle's shoulder. "How has Mrs Doyle put up with you for this long when you're clearly sporting two left feet."

Doyle's eyes were fixed on his hand that was holding on to Houdini's waist, his mind was simultaneously running reels of when his hand would be positioned on his wife's waist, curved, softer and a more delicate grip while also noting the difference of this contact, the firmer muscles twitching under his touch, the stronger grip in his own. Not to mention that this has probably been the most contact he's ever had with Houdini or in fact, another man. American's are so open and friendly and comfortable with themselves and unpredictable spontaneous he pondered. But a pair of staring pale eyes had bent down and disconnected his thoughts. Houdini raised his head keeping locked eye contact so Doyle would follow.

"At this rate what has she got to look forward to by waking up? Give her a reason Doyle, with your atrocious dancing skills I could sweep her off her feet in no time."

Doyle opened his mouth to retort but instead he smiled, indeed, he laughed. He would have pummelled anyone who would have the audacity to talk about his wife in such a manner, but when Houdini did, he felt no anger or malice, he knew in his own way, Houdini was trying to give him reason and hope.

They both grinned at each other. The music streamed out louder as they began to move. The more they swayed the lighter they became, they moved effortlessly, an instinct to each other's directions. They stepped in and out of the spotlight spinning in fluid circles. Silvery blue eyes and warm hazel still locked and flashing sparks of reflection.

Though eventually the music leaned, they slowed as it began to fade. Finally, stopping but still facing each other Doyle's hand slipped from the opposition's waist, as did Houdini's from the other's shoulder. The warm glow from the window was blown from existence, and as it burnt out they adjusted to the new darkness but it took that second longer for their intertwined hands to release.

The glanced at each other before back to their original pathways.

"Well, see you on the next ride, and say hi to wife and the kids for me."

Doyle nodded as the man was eaten by the dark density of the street and somewhat reluctantly, though unsure why, turned to his own and let his muscle memory take him home, allowing his mind to work.