I do not own, nor do I profit from. Thanks to ScopesMonkey and Verity for your help! :)

John Watson sat at the table watching as a sea of people passed him by. Upon first receiving the invitation for the dinner, John had thanked Mycroft but directly followed with reasons why his presence would be impossible. In true Mycroft fashion, John's concerns were dismissed immediately. Any attempts John later made to reject the offer received the same treatment.

It wasn't the idea of a fancy dinner reception that put him off. He had been to ceremonies for fellow soldiers since returning from Afghanistan, and dress uniforms were of course mandatory. No, it wasn't the formality of the occasion. Nor was it the dignitaries floating around the ballroom. It was the fact that John was now sharing a table with the Holmes family.

It wasn't enough that Sherlock and Mycroft were at the same table for over three hours. Honestly, the brothers acted more like bratty ten year olds than adults. No, John also had to meet the two men's parents. Mr. Holmes was interesting enough to talk to, since he worked in genetics, but Mrs. Holmes was another matter. The woman wouldn't stop commenting about how John was so good for Sherlock, could John please make sure Sherlock ate more and how lovely for John to finally meet Sherlock's parents.

The poor doctor tried to ignore the matriarch's comments but it was impossible with her seated next to him. Any time he pretended deafness, a thin, smooth hand would make its way to John's wrist. And Sherlock wasn't helping either. Not that he ever did. But this time John had truly hoped his flatmate would at least inform his mother that he was an adult and perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Instead, when not scowling at his brother the infuriating man just smiled slyly.

The orchestra began to play Nat King Cole 'a 'Sentimental Reasons'.

"Oh, this is such a lovely song," Mrs. Holmes gushed while leaning towards her second child. "Sherlock, do take Doctor Watson out to the dance floor. You do know how to dance don't you Doctor Watson?"

"Y-y-yes I do," John stammered. "But I really don't feel like it and am certain Sherlock would agree."

Turning to his left John was met with a look of terror on his arrogant friend's face. Despite knowing it matched his; John couldn't help but be a bit put out. What was so terrible about the idea of dancing with him? He might not be the best looking man in the crowd but he'd never had a difficult time finding company, be it male or female. And, thanks to his old Nan, he was actually a very good dancer.

"Yes," said Mycroft, looking like the cat that ate the canary. "Do take Doctor Watson out for a dance. The two of you would complement one another quite nicely I believe."

John's modest affection for the senior Mr. Holmes disappeared when the man joined the conversation. "Yes, you've both been sitting long enough. No need to stay here all night with us old folks."

Terror still filled Sherlock's face but John was now determined. For sanity's sake he wanted to take a break from the meddling inhabitants of table eight. And his pride demanded he show his flatmate the dance moves many had enjoyed before. There was no way John Watson was going to simply follow tonight. He was going to take control of the situation.

Pushing his chair back, John stood and held his left hand out to Sherlock. The detective's face had not relaxed and his eyes now moved from John's face to the outstretched hand. Giving the man ten seconds to respond, John finally took in a deep breath and sternly said, "Sherlock. Let's go. Now."

It seemed the man responded well to command, John thought. At least in this situation. For the tall and lanky genius shot up from his seat suddenly. And if John's hand hadn't been there to steady it, Sherlock's chair might have tipped back onto the floor. Wasting no time, John took Sherlock's wrist and started to guide them to the edge of the space left for those who wished to dance. Halfway there he realized Sherlock's hand was shaking.

Slowing to a halt, John turned to the man beside him. "Sherlock, if you really don't want to do this we can just take a breather outside. I'm not going to force you into anything you would hate, especially in front of your family. I don't care how much your mother would like us to."

Sherlock's face relaxed slightly and he then gripped John's hand in return. "Believe me John, you do not want to dance with me. Mummy had Mycroft and myself take dance lessons when I was fourteen. Unfortunately for me, Mycroft seemed to move gracefully and learn each of the dances quickly, while I… Well, let's just say my teacher tried to teach me for six months and then flatly refused to continue when she could barely walk after one lesson."

In his mind John could see an awkward teenaged Sherlock attempting to follow his instructor's directions but his growing body refusing. John's frustration levels lowered drastically and he moved his hands until they rested on his friend's shoulders.

"Shortly after we met I trusted you. Completely. I didn't know where you were taking me or what sort of trouble we might get ourselves into, but I trusted that you did. And because of that trust I have followed you case after case for nearly a year. Now I'm asking you to trust me. I would never want you to be embarrassed. I know how to dance. Very well. And now it is time for you to let me lead while you follow. But I'll say it again; if you don't want to we'll simply take a break from your ridiculous family by going outside for a short while. What do you think?"

John once again extended his left hand towards his friend and waited. Throughout John's speech Sherlock's expression of fear had softened into one of affection. With a brief nod he accepted. The two men joined those already on the dance floor. Sherlock automatically took up the arrangement he had learned decades before. John moved his flatmate's hands' position smoothly from leading to following. Sherlock grimaced but took a breath as John counted out quietly, "1-2-3, 1-2-3"

John then asked if he was ready and Sherlock whispered, "Yes." Leading them into a waltz John watched Sherlock look down at his feet. A moment later, he felt his right foot being stepped on. Stricken, Sherlock began to move away but John tightened his hold quickly.

"Sherlock, stop looking at your feet. If you look at anything, look at me. Don't worry about where your feet are going. Don't worry about anything actually. Just look up at me."

Unable to disobey, Sherlock looked at John's face and caught the reassuring smile. Forcing his body to calm, Sherlock did not allow his gaze to shift from John's face. As the song continued he found himself smiling and realized that John was indeed a fantastic dancer. And not once did either man stumble or falter.

"So what do you think now? Still can't dance?" John couldn't help asking.

Sherlock's smile turned shy and he answered softly. "I believe it might have been a matter of finding the right partner to lead me."