Words: 408

Author's Note: Prompt was Children. Unbeta'd. Enjoy.


Dance Lessons

Sherlock had always marvelled at people who could dance. They had a unique physique that made their body's bend in interesting ways - not that he particularly thought that way when he was five.

There was a party going on, and he was clumsy. In the middle of a growth spurt, he was average for his age, if not a little short. He would weave in between the dancers on the floor as they dances a slow waltz. Whenever the music got faster, he would skitter to the edges of the room.

On this night, however, he stayed on the sidelines, even during the slow songs, looking on with something akin to envy. Not many noticed his change.

Except Mycroft, that is. The twelve year old was talking with one of the older members of the party when he noticed, excusing himself with a kind smile. "Sherlock," he called lightly over the music, standing over his shorter brother, holding his hands out.

There was suspicion in the bright eyed youth however. "I'll teach you," Mycroft assured, giving a fond smile when the younger boy grabbed his hands. It was adorable seeing Sherlock so uncertain - normally confident and uncaring in everything he did.

It was rather a nice change.

Of course, Sherlock was rather clumsy with his movements. He was only five after all, and didn't really get around much like the other children. He preferred much to be alone, which worried Mycroft a great deal. His mother didn't worry too much - Mycroft hadn't made many friends at Sherlock's age, but he had one or two, Sherlock had none.

The least he could do was teach the younger Holmes some basic dance steps.

The song was barely over and he could see the absolute frustration on Sherlock's face on not being able to grasp the dance. "Here, step on my feet." Mycroft gestured. Sherlock looked at the shoes, shiny and neat. Mycroft had been trying to keep those shoes clean for weeks, and now he was asking Sherlock to step on them?

Sherlock gave a questioning look, but otherwise didn't say anything. He stepped tentatively onto Mycroft's toes and clung to his older brother's hands for balance.

And they danced, Mycroft with Sherlock using his feet as a guide. The shoes were ruined, of course, with dents made into the top, but they were a small loss compared to the utter joy Sherlock had on his face.