[ The dance studio looks like most dance studios he's been to before and, believe it or not, he's actually seen his fair share. When he was still doing internships, one of the places he ended up working was as an assistant to the resident doctor at the Royal Opera House, thus learning very fast how to tell a sprain from a splinter, as well as the fact that ballerinas are lovely creatures in every aspect but personality. Good thing he's never been deterred by a bad attitude, no pun intended.
He looks sideways at Sherlock, watching the way the man coldreads the crowd, eyes narrowed and appearance aloof. The ballet master, Mr Russell, explains the circumstances to the dancers who all look in various stages of disbelief, grief, what have you. Obviously. One of their principal ballerinas keeled over on stage the other night and died from an apparent heart attack, though as her boyfriend so cleverly noted when he came to 221B, Alice Boulton had no family history of heart disease and lived a, by ballet standards, mind you, healthy and wholesome life. Ascribing her fate to the hardships of her profession is mostly just buying into the public image of the dance world. And John knows that, sure, being a ballet dancer is tough, but he's seen how these people toughed up in response. It seems unlikely that a woman who could undoubtedly crush skulls with her thighs and who, as far as he can tell, didn't have any preexisting conditions, would die doing the very same thing she's been doing every night the past ten years.
John can't tell, Sherlock's the telling one between them and only ever at the very end, right, but too many things don't seem to add up.
As Mr Russell finishes his little speech, fittingly dramatic, yes, one of the dancers, a young girl, not a day past twenty, nods at them both before slipping along the mirrored walls towards the door. John shifts from one foot to the other, staying at ease and follows her with his gaze, expression neutrally attentive. She's in a burgundy leotard and white tights, her legs exactly as long as you'd expect when she spends most of her time swinging them about. Her slippers make almost no noise against the floor and her hips shift, more than sway, because she's that awfully thin.
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