smallhobbit

Sherlock sighed.  Why on earth had he agreed to come to the ballet with Mycroft of all people?  He was a genius, surely he could have come up with an excuse, rather than sitting in the auditorium at the Royal Opera House surrounded by what felt like a train load of excited small girls, and a few equally excited small boys.

At that moment, he felt a tug on his sleeve and the voice of one of the small girls said, “It’s starting, Uncle Sherlock.”  And he remembered, Mycroft had bought tickets for both Rosie Watson and her father to go to the performance, but John had developed a cold and, to prevent Rosie being completely disappointed that her daddy couldn’t come, Sherlock had agreed to go in his place.

Sherlock settled back in his seat and prepared to let Tchaikovsky’s music for the Nutcracker waft over him.  He was tempted to close his eyes, but instead settled for watching the footwork.  The concentration that required was sufficient to occupy part of his brain, while the other part continued to niggle away at his current case.

Suddenly, his eyes opened fully.  He had been watching as the dancers moved sideways and then back again and he realised one of the dancers wasn’t quite in time with the others.  He suspected most of the audience hadn’t noticed, but a twitch of Mycroft’s shoulders showed his brother had seen it too.

He had soon worked out which of the dancers was out of time and continued to watch him closely.   It came to the finale of the first act and one of the principal dancers appeared to trip and half fall, fortunately to be caught by one of the other dancers.  This time the audience noticed and there was an audible intake of breath.  The act finished and the curtain came down to great applause without anything else untoward happening.

Immediately, Mycroft stood up and said, “Come along, Rosie, let’s go and get ice creams.”  He nodded to Sherlock who hurried off in the opposite direction.

They were all back in their seats before the second act started.  Sherlock had just mouthed “all sorted” to Mycroft, when there was an announcement to say that due to an unfortunate accident a different dancer would be taking the part of the Sugar Plum Fairy.

“Oh dear,” Rosie said.  “That was the dancer who tripped, wasn’t it?  I hope she’ll be all right.”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied.  “She’s not badly hurt, but the doctor thought it wise if she didn’t do any more dancing tonight.”

Rosie nodded and turned her attention back to the stage.

Sherlock looked as if he was going to say something further to Mycroft, but his brother shook his head, mouthing “later.”

As they left the theatre, Mycroft asked Sherlock, “How did it go?”

“He thought no-one had noticed him push the dancer, but the manager had had suspicions beforehand, which I confirmed.  And then the girlfriend very conveniently said, ‘I told him not to do it, but he insisted.’  To which he replied, ‘You lying bitch, you were egging me on!’  All very tedious really.”

Mycroft sighed.  “I’m most surprised.  One would expect better of the Royal Ballet!”

“I said you should have got tickets for Saddler’s Wells!”