Right, okay, there actually is a plot unfolding now. Yay!

Soooooo my friend Han said i should mention her, SO HEY, YOU'RE MENTIONED HAN.


John entered the flat-carrying the desperately needed milk, jam, bread and newspaper in a plastic bag-and was greeted by the sound of a solo violin playing a familiar tune. He smiled at Sherlock's figure, which was stood gazing out of the window whilst animatedly playing the instrument in his hands.

John walked into the kitchen, quietly humming along to the tune, putting the shopping into the fridge, sighing with the relief that it was one of those rare occasions in which there was no bizarre human parts in jars or other strange things from his flat mate's unusual experiments.

The music stopped abruptly and John frowned at the unfinished tune.

"You know this song?" Sherlock said accusingly, pointing the bow in his hand at John.

"Um, yes?" John replied, resisting the urge to hold up his hands in defence. He frowned. "Is that bad?"

"No, John. It's very, very good, look." he grabbed the sheets from the music stand and rushed over to John, rustling the paper in front of his face.

"Er, lovely." John said. He knew nothing about music, so all the lines, dots and squiggles just looked like, well, lines dots and squiggles to him.

"But look John, what's it missing?" Sherlock urged him, waving the papers frantically at him.

"I'm not a musician, I don't know!" He told him, pushing the paper away.

"You don't have to be a musician John, look!" He tapped the top of the sheet with his bow. "There's no title!" He sighed angrily.

"Oh!" John said in comprehension. "That's simple. Play it again."

Sherlock did as he instructed, and John began to hum along, nodding his head.

"It was posted through our letter box this morning. But there's no name." Sherlock frowned, whipping the bow through the air dramatically, making a whoosh noise past John's ear.

"It's Masquerade." John informed him, feeling smug that he knew something Sherlock didn't. Sherlock obviously wasn't to pleased about this, as he scowled at John.

"Masquerade?" Sherlock repeated, his eyes scanning over the music.

"Yes, it's um..." he blushed a little and cleared his throat. "from Phantom of the Opera." He muttered.

"You like musicals?" Sherlock teased, smirking at John's embarrassed face, feeling an opportunity to wind him up.

"Yes." He admitted, going more red under Sherlock's amused gaze.

"Ha. And you say you're not gay!" Sherlock laughed, striding back into the living room and continuing to play the song that they had now worked out to be masquerade.

John just shook his head and tried to regain control of his flushed cheeks-he seemed to be going red quite a lot at the moment-before shuffling into his armchair and unfolding his paper. Beginning his daily perusal of the day's news, John thought about an interesting point.

"Wait, you said it was posted through the letterbox?" John asked, suddenly remembering what he'd been told.

"Yes." Sherlock replied, his violin abandoned on the cluttered floor, his hands sat under his chin as his brain whirred with deep thought.

The warm afternoon sun glared through the window-it was getting closer to summer and the weather had improved dramatically over the past week. The sounds of pigeons cooing on the street below floated into the room, disturbing the almost perfect quietness.

John furrowed his eyebrows. "Is it another clue then? A message from Moriarty?" He asked.

"Most likely." Sherlock nodded slowly.

"Masquerade...What's the clue there?" John pondered to himself.

They both sat concentrating, the silence consuming the room as they both racked their brains for ideas.

"Maybe it's some thing to do with-" John began hopefully, but was interrupted by a violent shush from Sherlock. He soon began muttering to himself furiously, in that alarming way that John had learnt not to interrupt. It usually meant he was close to finding the answer in his mind palace.

"Masquerade!" Sherlock shouted suddenly, jumping up onto his feet.

"Um, yes," John slowly pulled himself to his feet and looked at Sherlock in confusion. "We already established that."

"There's some masquerade ball on tonight, I saw a poster for it, it's in that little community centre a few miles away from here." Sherlock told him.

"Oh yeah." John nodded, vaguely remembering seeing the bright posters plastered around the area. He frowned. "What does that mean then?"

Sherlock grinned at John. "Go and get ready John, I'm taking you to a ball!" He exclaimed delightedly.

After John had got ready (He had actually just exchanged his jumper for a different one, but he didn't suppose it mattered) Sherlock dragged him out of the flat by the hand and got into a taxi. John knew he was excited by the case and not the thought of going to a ball, but his childish excitement made John smile nonetheless.

Sherlock had sent Lestrade a text-they had no idea what might happen, so it was best if the police were involved. Lestrade was going to come along, and there was a whole squad poised if anything went wrong.

The community centre was decorated with golds and reds and greens, and people who had put varying amounts of effort into their outfits were queuing to get inside.

"Sherlock I think we need tickets." John sighed, nodding his head towards the table by the door.

"John, my brother is practically the government, I have the ability to get us into the most secret bases in all of Britain, and you think I can't get us into a little community dance?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Fair enough." John nodded, taking Sherlock's hand and leading them to join the back of the queue.

"What's this about secret bases?" A familiar voice asked. John turned to see DI Lestrade approaching them.

"Hi, Greg." John said, smiling warmly at him. Sherlock didn't say hello, but nodded courteously at him-his actions the other day had not been forgotten by Sherlock. He didn't mean to seem rude, but he was currently looking carefully at all the individual details of their scenery.

There were red balloons hanging from the low roof, and gold ribbons were plastered everywhere. The people in the queue varied from those who had worn jeans and a t-shirt and used pen to scribble on some masks, to those who had gone all the way, with elaborate golden dresses, huge skirts, neck ruffles, big hair and shimmering golden masks.

As they were inside-Sherlock hadn't even needed to do anything, Lestrade had just waved his badge at the people at the door, and they had nervously granted them free access-they were greeted by a crowd full of chattering people, mostly couples. Most of the men looked like the didn't want to be there-like their partner had dragged them along. Particularly the ones who had come dressed in full costume. John pitied them-he hadn't even worn a mask.

Some of the couples stood in the middle and danced awkwardly to the string quartet music playing from the iPod docking station in the corner-this was definitely a low budget evening-while most of the others stood talking in groups around the edges, drinking cheap alcohol in plastic cups.

"Come on, John." Sherlock said, dragging John into the centre of the room. He wrapped an arm around John's waist and clasped his other hand in John's. John stood there, glaring at him in disgust. Sherlock merely grinned back mischievously.

"No way." John shook his head. "Sherlock, I am not dancing!" He stood perfectly still, his face once again going a little red as some people gave them dirty looks for obscuring their dancing paths.

Sherlock's grip tightened and he breathed in his ear. "What if I make you?" He whispered in a low voice, chuckling evilly. John's resistance melted at the same time as his insides, and he decided to just go along with it, despite how idiotic he felt. He tried his hardest to imagine it was just him and Sherlock, in their flat.

It turned out that Sherlock was actually quite good at dancing. John didn't find it anywhere near as bad as he imagined-Sherlock was the one who did all the work. He span them round and guided them through the increasingly large crowd of people gathered in the middle.

Greg stood awkwardly at the side, occasionally sipping his drink and glancing over at the couple. John would occasionally look at him apologetically, and mouthed sorry! at him as they flew past.

John actually caught himself enjoying it, and he giggled uncharacteristically. The quick waltz changed in tempo, and their frantic spinning changed to a soft, side to side movement.

"You make me feel so small." John complained, grinning up at Sherlock.

"You're not small, John. You're the perfect height for me." Sherlock told him, smiling back at him adoringly. John leant his head on his chest and closed his eyes. He could almost hear his heartbeat. The soft sound of violins filled his ears and he was sure he could fall asleep standing up if he really wanted to. In fact, that sounded like a lovely idea...-


John jumped awake and clasped his hands to his ears, the sound of feedback from the speakers squealing loudly across the room. The sound cut out, only to be met with the angry sound of furious guitars, loud, crashing drums and chest-rumbling bass. Most of the people there looked around in confusion, some looked angry at the disturbance, and some looked rather relieved. Grunge music was certainly not what they expected to encounter this evening.

"What the hell is that?" John asked, shielding the side of his mouth in an attempt to be louder, looking around to find the source of the change.

"It's another clue!" Sherlock shouted over the racket. He dragged John over to Lestrade.

"I don't know the song this time!" John yelled.

Lestrade motioned for them to follow him, and they all rushed out of the door.

Stood outside, the men all looked at each other in confusion.

"What the hell does it mean?" Lestrade asked, looking confused.

"It's a message. It's giving us the next clue. We were given a clue to send us here-a song-and now there's another one. But I have no idea what song it is." Sherlock sighed angrily. He tucked his hands in his pocket and tried to listen to the lyrics, hoping it might give him some clue. But they were pretty much unintelligible screams.

"I have no idea either." John admitted. "Not really my scene."

Lestrade smiled. "Well, luckily for you two, I spent most of the early nineties with baggy clothing and long hair." He told them. They both looked at him incredulously. "Oh yes, I loved a bit of punk and grunge."

"What song is it?" Sherlock asked hurriedly, grabbing Lestrade by the arm and shaking him.

"Calm down!" Lestrade said, pulling Sherlock's hand away. "It's Nirvana. Floyd the barber." He announced. John thought he saw a flicker of smugness, like the one he had felt himself when he had known something Sherlock didn't.

"Floyd the barber..." Sherlock muttered. He whipped out his phone and his fingers typed at a ridiculous speed. "Ah! About ten minutes from here." He announced, before running off down the road.

John sighed and chased after him.

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