MOST WOULD CERTAINLY CALL THE MOVE TO HAVE every single bit of theatre and the arts merged into one central complex for the duration mad, given that every department needed their ample bit of space and soundproof rights, but it didn’t bother Sherlock in the least, who chose to simply put up with it for the next two weeks. It was true that the LPO couldn’t help but be noisy, given that they were working on one of the noisiest concertos known to man with Sherlock as its soloist, but it really didn’t mean that they would have to coincide with having slots taken away in favour of playing for the Russian ballet that clashed with the Royal Academy of Dance - according to those who complained, that is. It’s Sherlock who zipped about like the wind, running along the hallways of the dance department with haphazardly arranged music sheets nearly spilling out of his messenger bag as he breezes through the windows of each and every room that he passed by with, for once, a clear goal in mind.
He’s heard of none other than William James Moriarty, of all people, being a stellar ballet dancer - not in the corps, but a danseur in his own right, and a principal dancer at that! It’s the knowledge of his very presence that makes Sherlock race straight for the department to find him as soon as rehearsals ended, and upon spotting the familiar tuft of blonde hair from his peripheral vision, he swung the door open and unceremoniously laughed with pure delight upon seeing him in the most unlikely of places.
“I thought they were shitting me, but you were actually here, Liam!” Sherlock grinned, going straight up to William where he rests on the smooth wooden floor. “You didn’t tell me you were dancing here!”
@wjmoriarty
