BBC Sherlock Imagines

Sherlock: Moves

Request for @camcrusher123

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Y/N POV

"Okay, let's take it from the top," your brother said, not a drip of sweat on his forehead. On the other hand, your breathing was heavy and your hair was matted in the back. 

"Can we take a breather for like 5 minutes please?" you begged, patting down your face with a towel and taking a drink of water. 

"No. You said you wanted to get better, so I'm going to get you better." You groaned. As much as you loved dancing, you and your brother had been at it for about 3 hours now and you were dead. But, in order to obtain your role in the English Dance Club, the dancing group of your dreams since a young age, you had called upon your professional dancer of a brother - Caleb - to help you out. He had gone to a prestigious school of dance, was at the top of his class, and had worked as an instructor there not long after graduating. Since a young age he had been your personal coach. While dance was not your main focus, it was your top hobby. You had been offered many scholarships to schools of dance, but had turned them down to pursue your dreams of police work. Now, it was how you spent your free time, constantly practicing all types: ballet, tap, salsa, and - your favorite - hip hop. 

"(Y/N), if you're serious about this we have to keep working." You nodded your head in determination, shaking all tiredness from your limbs as he started the song "Moves Like Jagger", and counted you off. 

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3rd person POV

"I don't understand how she'll be able to help us; it's her day off and she knows nothing about the case," protested Donovan for the umpteenth time. Sherlock bowed his head in frustration, leading the way up the path to (y/n)'s house, Donovan, Anderson, John, and Lestrade all in tow.

"Is there anything you do understand?" Sherlock hissed back. He heard a scoff behind him, and found Lestrade trying to hold back a laugh.

"I understand social normality unlike you freak," she spat back angrily. 

"Children please," interrupted Lestrade, moving to stand in between them. Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed open the front door to (y/n)'s house. The sweet smell of vanilla wafted from inside, and the front door was shut, sealing them inside the toasty welcomeness. 

"(Y/n)?" called out John, walking down the hallway to the kitchen. A light thumping was heard from upstairs, and Sherlock strained to listen. His focus was being averted - Donovan was whispering to Anderson, who was laughing loudly, Greg played nonsense notes on the piano, and John was crinkling a bag in the kitchen. 

"Will everybody BE QUIET!" he ordered. The room went silent, and he was finally able to focus. The thumping continued, sometimes rapid and all at once, other times steady and at a slow pace. Slowly, the paranoia crept into his senses and Sherlock searched the room for signs of a break in. He tried not to think of the worst possible scenario, but with (y/n) it was hard. She was fragile to him. One time he came home to find her wrapping a towel around her hand because she had accidentally stabbed herself when unloading the dishwasher. Another time they had been walking in the park and she tripped over a rock, diving headfirst into a tree and earning a rather large gash on her head. What if someone had broken in and was now bashing her head into the ground? He shook his head, clearing his mind of obviously overly exaggerated, and extremely violent, thoughts. "We're going upstairs," he stated seriously.

"Is something wrong Sherlock?" asked John, walking out of the kitchen with crumbs on his face and a glass of water in his hand. Sherlock didn't answer; he only held up a single finger to his lips, silencing them all. He crept up the stairs, following the thumping noise. As they came closer to the source - (y/n)'s bonus room that she used for the dance - Sherlock recognized the thumping as the beat of a song.