The Swan Queen | Sherlock

Perfect

'The final act. Your final dance! You've tasted your dream. Touched it! Only to have it crushed. Your heart is broken. Wounded! Your life force fading. The blood drips. The black swan stole your love! There is only one way to end the pain. You're not fearful, but filled with acceptance! And you look down at Rothbart and then at the Prince. And then yes, and the audience! And then you jump! Go ahead, jump! You'll be fine. Jump!'

Clara lingered on the edge of the manmade cliff created by the ever so talented set designers at the Victoria Theatre. She looked out over the empty seats, glanced up at the balcony where the director was, and then at me, observing from the wings. I smiled. A sign of support. She smiled back, glanced down at the mattress beneath her, and jumped.

It wasn't her first fall today, and it wouldn't be her last. It was key that every time she fell it looked as though she had never done it before, that there would only be that one fall. The performance had to be bursting with passion so the audience believed it was real. It had to feel real, look real. The Swan Queen was dead. No do-overs. Every performance had to be perfect. Clara had to be perfect.

"She's amazing, isn't she?" A voice joined my side. A fellow swan, dressed entirely in white. On the outside, Amanda appeared like a supportive friend to Clara, but I knew her better. She was bitter that Clara had gotten the lead role. She was even more bitter that our director, Mark, had made me her understudy.

"Yeah, she is. So elegant and graceful." I smiled, resting my hand on Amanda's shoulder. "You were great out there today."

She huffed instead of accepting the compliment. "Obviously not good enough. You know I've been dancing for 2 years and 3 months more than her."

My eyes involuntarily rolled. "Comparing dancing is not about time but practise. Clara was born to play the Swan Queen, so what if we had a head start on her?" As a matter of fact, I had a 7 month advance over Amanda, so if anyone was meant to feel bitter - it should have been me.

Clara approached us first as she exited the stage. Tired and covered in sweat, she breathed heavily, holding her arm out for her water bottle which was in my hand. "How was it?" she asked, guzzling down the cool liquid.

"Amazing," Amanda cooed.

"Mesmerising," I replied. "Looks authentic, even from the sidelines."

"I bet you can't wait till opening night," Amanda added, a grin forming on her thin lips. "All those people watching you dance-"

"Watching usdance, you mean. We have to go out there too," I interrupted.

"Yes, but we'renot the star. All eyes won't be on us."

"Don't!" Clara remarked, wiping her forehead with her hand. "I'm already nervous."

"Don't be," I said. "You're gonna be great."

My phone vibrated in my pocket with a cryptic text which could only be from Mycroft Holmes.

"What's up?" asked Amanda. Always nosing into other people's business.

"Nothing, just family stuff."

"Can't be easy being related to the great Sherlock Holmes. What big case is he working on now?"

I tried not to roll my eyes. "I couldn't possibly say, even if I knew." Sherlock never told me anything. Half the time he didn't even acknowledge my presence at the flat in Baker Street. I sometimes wonder if he wished I wasn't there and had stayed living with Mycroft when I chose to move to London. He only allowed it because I'm family.