volume twenty five — dance!lock.

table of contents :musical_score:

• introduction •

• edit•

• art •

• story one •

• edit •

• story two •

bonjour, sherlockians!

welcome to volume twenty five of the empty hearse. if you couldn’t tell already, this weeks theme is “dance!lock”. our were able to choose any form of dance and connect it to a character. coincidentally, we ended up all choosing ballet. but can you imagine john doing the tango?

i’ve said it before, and i’ll say it again. thank you guys for your continued ! it’s such a pleasure to be able to provide you guys with content, and more so to hear how you guys feel

about it. best of luck to you guys, and i hope you’re staying safe.

lets get to it!

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edits.

first up we have jasmine, bringing us two edits. the first is a mood-board.

a prime example of ballet x sherlock. now for the second, i’m not exactly sure what it is, but i’m glad it exists.

—————

art.

next up, ginny has brought us an (adorable) ballet!lock.

this is really generic, but sherlock as a danseur! i died drawing the pose from a million references so any ballet dancers out there, feel free to critique ^^ - ginny

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story one.

Sherlock was four years old when he learned what ballet was.

He was playing in his house, his pirate hat almost falling off his head, and his little wooden sword held tightly in his hand.

As he ran through the living room, he caught a glimpse of what his parents were watching on the old tv they had back then.

It was beautiful. He didn’t quite understand, but he knew that far.

It seemed almost magical, the way the dancers held themselves, as if they were weightless, moving around with such grace.

He stayed till the end of the broadcast.

—

He was six when he gathered the courage to ask his mom if he could go to ballet classes.

He’d been nursing the desire for a long time now, he learned all the theory by himself. But this was a sport, something to do with the body, not the mind. Maybe that’s why he liked it so much.

His mother agreed easily.

—

He was six when he started attending classes.

He skipped in with excitement, vibrating with anticipation. It was hard, complicated, and it stained his body in ways he didn’t know it could.

But that only fueled his motivation. He needed to learn.

He blocked the murmurs and gossip about how a little boy like him should be running around, not dancing ballet, of all activities. He held his head high and danced.

—

He was eight when he attended his first competition.

It wasn’t anything big of course, just a little contest between the ballet schools. He was in the youngest batch of kids there, and he didn’t win. But the feeling of standing there, in a beautiful wooden stage, made just for him and his art, just for him to dance, to give his all, was more than enough.

—

He was eleven when he tripped.

He tripped, messed up, got stuck.

He was eleven when he got back up.

He was also eleven when he won his first competition.

—

He was fourteen when the words started to get to him.

—

He was fifteen when he dropped out of ballet school.

He stopped everything related to ballet.

And he dove into analysis.

His worn pointes gathered dust.

—

He was in his thirties when he met John Watson.

Not knowing, the former soldier set his life in order.

Sherlock could breathe.

—

He was thirty eight when one day, alone in his flat, he put some music.

Took off his shoes.

Practiced those positions that were muscle memory by now.

First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth.

First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth.

Breathe and Repeat.

He danced.

————

edit.

next up on stage, we’ve got an edit of our favorite consulting dancer, part time detective done by food.

—————

story two.

Everyone who saw Sherlock knew that he had potential to be an amazing ballet dancer. His body was lithe and graceful, his limbs long and controlled. It was as if he had been sculpted by skilled hands with the thought of a ballet dancer in mind. He had the strength to do it, and do it so well that it looked quite effortless. And he did.

He really was a beautiful, graceful dancer, and yet, he never really let anyone watch him. His dancing was for him, and for him alone, he decided. Well, apart from his private tutor, Mrs. Hudson. Of course she needed to see him dance, but no one else. It was decided, had been for years.

That was until he met John Watson.

Sherlock had just finished a dance session with Mrs. Hudson and was stretching his muscles when he heard soft music floating through the open door. Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. His dance lessons were quite late at night, and he’s never known a single person to show up to the studio during his lessons, much less after them. But the music was there, constant and drifting, spurring on Sherlock’s curiosity. He stood up and followed the sound.

It took a few minutes, but Sherlock finally located the room that the music was spilling from, and when he reached it, he was filled with shock. There was a man ,roughly the same age as him, who had his eyes firmly shut and was walking through the steps of the foxtrot by himself, arms holding an invisible partner. He didn’t recognize the song that was playing, but the man was obviously enjoying himself, smiling softly as he spun around the room.

The man was talented, Sherlock could definitely it that. As far as he could tell, the only thing he was struggling with was ing the steps in the correct order. His muscles were used to dancing, and it showed in his movements. Everything was smooth but powerful, and Sherlock could tell that he had experience with this particular dance. There were many good things he could say about this man, and yet, something wasn’t quite right…

“Your back could be straighter. Pull your shoulders back, put more trust in your stomach muscles, and everything should be perfect,” Sherlock spouted off before he could even think about stopping himself. The man, obviously startled, jumped and stopped dancing, whipping around to face the door frame where a blushing Sherlock stood. Sherlock was expecting to be yelled at, but when the man smiled at him, he smiled back.

“Thank you,” the man said, walking over to Sherlock, extending a hand. “I knew something was up, but I couldn’t quite work it out. I’m John Watson.” Sherlock, pleasantly surprised, took his hand and shook it a few times before releasing it. “So, what are you doing at the dance studio this late?” Sherlock laughed.

“I’m Sherlock Holmes. I could be asking you the same thing, Mr. Watson. I’m here because I have private ballet lessons with one of the instructors here. We meet late,” Sherlock said, shrugging a shoulder.

“Oh, it’s Doctor actually. Dr. Watson. And I’m here, well… I just needed to do something, I suppose, and this is all I know,” he itted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. Sherlock nodded, for he knew that sometimes all you could was dance and dance and dance and hope that it was enough to help. “It’s a little harder without a partner, though, I will it that.” The words were out of Sherlock’s mouth before he could even think.

“I can dance with you,” he offered. John, looking thoroughly shocked, blinked a few times before responding.

“Are you sure?” John asked, a shocked expression still on his face. Sherlock nodded easily and began stretching, just to get a little more elasticity in his muscles before dancing. “Didn’t you just finish a dance lesson? Do you even know the female part in the foxtrot?” Sherlock scoffed playfully.

“My dance lesson was easy today, it’s really no problem. And yes I know the female part in the foxtrot, goodness John, any dancer worth their salt should know it. I’m not too shabby at following either, so feel free to throw anything in. Keep me on my toes.” Sherlock winked, and John shrugged his shoulders before whisking Sherlock into a dance.

‘Perhaps,’ Sherlock thought, ‘dancing with others isn’t so bad after all.’

—————

stay tuned! catch you next week.

#theemptyhearse