Ever since this show first aired we all knew this day would come. How could it not? With such beautiful actors, a fashion au was unavoidable.
But though you may gasp in shock when you read this, this story is NOT all about the fashion. It is also about the confusing love of three men trying desperately to navigate a love triangle.
Yes, you heard me a love triangle. Not those wishy-washy love arrows. No, this is a full-on TRIANGLE! (ILLUMINATI CONFIRMED! THE WORLD IS OVER! MOFFAT IS BROBAMA)
This story will feature all ships so please do not be alarmed.
Wssh
Chapter 1
John took a deep breath to calm himself as his friend Mike put the final touches on his makeup and re-adjusted his jumper.
With bright eyes, Mike jumped back and examined him closely.
"Oh, they're going to love you. You're going to make Holmes and Moriarty drool all over their million dollar suits. I'm telling you! Your modelling career is set!"
Though Mike was flamboyant and excessively dramatic if there was such a thing. He was right. People did seem to love him.
They called him a sensation in the magazines. The first short cat walk model. A stealer of hearts. A rebel. A rogue (when he'd attempted the moustache look). Yet he didn't feel like any of that now as he stared at his drawn reflection. Though the makeup had covered up the bags under his eyes since they were going for a more natural look he was still hauntingly pale. Some might say he was attempting a Sherlock look but no. This was leagues from angelic Sherlock Holmes pale. Not to mention John's lack of cheekbones, flooshy hair or angsty pensive gaze. How could he call himself a model without these important characteristics that defined the business? How could he hope to-
"I can't believe WSSH and SO ARTY are actually here" another model exclaimed giddily exciting a from across the room, drawing sequels from her companions.
Trying to ignore the other model's excited gibberish, John's eyes moved to his feet as a doubt gripped him in one manicured hand.
"I don't know…maybe this was a bad idea. What if I'm just not cut out for this? I don't want to be a glittery disaster in front of them. And I mean I can't even pull off winged eyeliner- "
He was cut off by a finger slamming against his lips and an abrupt ssh. Mike was glaring at him, his mouth a hardened burgundy lipstick covered line.
"You are not doing this now John. We both have worked far too hard get you here. And you want to back out? This is your dream! Be a man and try and live it. Or be a coward and run just because one kind of eyeliner doesn't suit you." Mike was practically spitting now and John knew there was no going back.
"Okay"
"Besides "Mike continued calmer now, "you're about to meet the man you've had a crush on your entire life! William Sherlock Scott Holmes. The pinnacle of fashion! People would kill for that opportunity."
John froze, the words like a kick to the gut. Memories hit him like rain on paper, making him feel as if he were about to fall apart at any moment.
Kill for that opportunity.
The flash of a knife. The surge of the mob. The manic gleam in the fangirl's eyes. The blood. All the blood, everywhere. The screams-
John bit his lip as a singular salty tear rolled down his cheek. He had learned to control those memories, but it was impossible to ignore the eternally aching wound in his shoulder from the attack.
It was Mike's turn to look uncertain. "I-I'm sorry John, that was a terrible choice of words. I didn't mean to-"
"Forget it." Somehow John managed to keep his voice steady but he was aware of the coldness that emanated there. "I've moved on."
With that John turned on his heel and left the dressing room, drawing his mind back to more important things as he found his seat. No sooner had his defined butt touched his seat that the lights dimmed and the show began.
As usual SO ARTY started things off with a bang. That meant flashing lights, scantly dressed bow tied men and a hell ton of glitter. Moriarty liked to leave his mark on the cat walk. The glitter was infamous for being almost impossible to get rid of.
As everyone knew, James Moriarty's brand specialised in business wear mostly suits. Glorious, godly suits. Suits that the man himself and his poise were about to showcase.
With another flash of red light there came a bang so loud John felt it vibrate through his skull shaking sparkling teeth. John had never been sure why that happened considering the death like silence that always followed his entrance. Dark eyes and a half smile that danced across soft lips.
John had never thought Moriarty was as beautiful as Sherlock but he would never say that there wasn't an aura of almost godly otherness about him. His brown eyes were so dark they seemed all pupil. And they shone like two distant, lonely stars. Stars that people might wish on but then suddenly remember that they believed the earth was flat and that they were going to be murdered by a man in a purple shirt if they ever said the word 'pie'. He had very specific types of eyes.
Moriarty let out a soft laugh as the noises of cameras snapping started up, and his smile grew to the one that was even more well known then the glitter. The smile that could snatch the heart of every man and woman in the room.
It was a 'the devil may care' smile. A smile that said he knew something you didn't. A smile that drew you in as much as his abyss like eyes. A smile that was now aimed straight at John.
John's heart stopped like a deer in headlights in his chest as he realised that this was actually happening. James 'Jim'Moriarty was staring right at him. And smiling His boyfriend Sebastian Moran was still flexing behind him among the rest of the poise but it was like they weren't even there. It was like the world was there. John felt something hot burst to life in his chest but it was like Moriarty could see right through him. With a win and a amused grin he turned away. And John's heart thundered to life once more.
It felt like an eternity till SO ARTY left the catwalk by then the confusion that world around John's head had left him dizzy.
Had Moriarty really just-? Had John felt something?
No, it couldn't be true. He had feelings for only one man. A man that was no right in front of him in the flesh.
John's mouth went dry. He'd never before seen him live. Every fashion shoot sold out within seconds, with fan's and press alike. All wanting to know the real him.
John had read all the online theories.
About Shelock's past relationships, with Moriarty, with Molly Hooper. About his relentless stalker Anderson. About whether or not he hated his fans.
John had read it all.
Regardless if the stories were true or not about Sherlock being cold, ruthless and inhuman, John had always seen him as kind and passionate even if evidence disagreed.
Maybe he was biased but John could feel it in his heart that Sherlock was, had to be a good man.
If not at least he was a gorgeous one.
WSSH's catwalk was simple. The lighting was low, there was no glitter and the only sound was a soft distance dripping noises of water. It was as if it were set in some dark, dangerous alleyway.
Sherlock began his walk. Alone as always.
He was as tall as he was in the photos, simple well-crafted shoes adorning his feet. He wore slim fitting jeans that accentuated his legs and a casual if not hipster shirt and waistcoat. The outfit was normal and everyday but somehow on this man or god it looked regal.
Maybe it was his snow coloured skin. Gossip suggested he'd played Snow White on Broadway. Or the way his black curls bounced, barely held down by a black fedora. Or his piercing blue eyes that only skimmed the audience but a meer flash cleansed John's soul.
With an impertinent look he reached the end of the catwalk and pulled the hat from his head tossing it into the audience. His curly black locks cascaded over his cheekbones. The contrast between his soft hair and marble carved cheekbones made him look more than a man.
"You could cut yourself slapping him." John heard a breathless woman whisper behind him. John agreed but only a sigh escaped his lips in reply
As Sherlock passed John breathed in, just catching the slight sent of coffee, black pepper and the smell of rusted metal imported from Mexico that had been left in the rain outside a Starbucks too long. Those were John's three favourite scents, he even had them all as candles. Yes, even the coffee one.
But even as John soaked him in he was gone.
Which was when John remembered why he was really here
Now it was his turn.
The more reviews there is, the more beautiful the next chapter will be.