AN: Roughly based on Adam Lambert's song of the same name, also inspired by Right Said Fred's song I'm Too Sexy (which includes the awesome lyrics 'I'm too sexy for my cat').
Disclaimer: I know nothing about modelling, this is all my imagination. And if anything's different to real life, blame Sherlock, he deserves special treatment.
The stylist picked up the last part of the ensemble. A long black coat. Sherlock shrugged it on, and turned back to face him. The stylist tugged the belt into place and pushed him towards the entrance to the door. He called after him "Remember Ben, head, shoulders, eyes, legs. I wanna see you strut!"
Keeping the advice in mind Sherlock stalked towards the entrance. As the first strains of Adam Lambert pulsed across the crowds he slipped onto the start of the catwalk. He lifted his head and swept his gaze over the crowd. What imbeciles. He looked on in disgust, before transferring his weight and setting off.
One foot then the other, shoulders shifting and hips swinging, head high and eyes over their heads. Sherlock stalked down the walkway, pausing twice in front of his biggest suspects, posing in the process. When he reached the end he surveyed the room once before turning his back on the majority of the crowd.
He reached up to tug at his deep blue scarf. It came off in his hands and he wrapped it around his wrist. He tossed a glance over his shoulder then stalked back down the aisle, fingers deftly unbuckling his coat belt. He stopped abruptly half way down the cat walk and turned his head to look over his left shoulder. As he looked into their moronic minds the coat slipped down over his shoulders, past his elbows and was palmed into one hand.
He spun once and flicked the coat over one shoulder, revealing a deep purple shirt. The shirt was obscenely tight, the buttons almost, almost, popping open. Sherlock knew the shirt buttons temped his marionettes, each individual plastic circle a key to the temptation of touching the pale skin they could see only slivers of. Once more he turned away from them to parade back down the aisle.
The room held it's breath at his even more visible tipping hips. He reached the end of the catwalk, tossed the coat to the side and did a final turn. He slinked out of the crowds gazes behind the screens. A success - it was just too easy. His suspects had been gagging for him. It would be easy to get them to talk, he thought as he changed back into his clothes.
As a new model, Sherlock only had one walk, which was fortunate as he wasn't planning on any more. Just as he was about to slip out the door a hand fell on his shoulder. His stylist pulled him into a flamboyant hug. "You have sass kid, and ya finally used it. Well done. I think ya guaranteed sell outs a' my entire line, thanks. Told ya ya needed to strut. See ya 'round." Sherlock looked at him, annoyed, if slightly bemused, at the unnecessary physical contact. Oh well, maybe that was another favour he could call in at some point. He looked down at the package the man had pressed into his hands. "Darlin' no one else has the figure to wear those clothes. Keep 'em in case you need to seduce someone." With a grin and a wink the man swept off in a whirl of lipstick and safety pins.
~*-*~ 9 years later ~*-*~
John wasn't noticing his advances. Maybe he shouldn't have turned him down that day in Angelo's. He was certainly having trouble getting him to notice his change of heart. His mind raced. Maybe he needed to be more proactive. Sherlock threw down his violin and strode into his empty bedroom. Maybe he needed to make his viability as a mate more visible. He flung open his wardrobe, looking at each of his shirts in turn. There, at the back. He pulled out the dusty package and opened it to find the purple shirt in perfect condition inside. He unfolded the silky material, absentmindedly rubbing the softness on his check. This ought to get his attention.