"Watson, let's go!" his voice ran up the staircase and reverberated through the door of Joan's bedroom. Ties made Sherlock irritable, especially the black bow ties required by tuxedos.
Joan came downstairs, not because he bellowed, but because she was ready. She was as miserable in her gown as Sherlock was in his tux. Strapless ballroom gowns were just not her style and made her deeply uncomfortable. At the age of six, Watson rebelled against the whole princess and fancy ball fantasy. Her high school prom dresses had been black shredded punk outfits much to her mother's horror. Watson waited for the smartass remark she was sure Sherlock would make once he caught sight of her.
Sherlock squinted up at her as she came down the stairs. "Is that what you're wearing?" he said with disbelief in his voice.
Watson immediately went on the defensive, "Why? What's wrong with it? The woman who fitted it at the shop said it was quite fashionable. It's not really my style but..."
Sherlock raised his eyebrows at her and shook his head, "We are supposed to be undercover at the Met gala tonight. We are supposed to not draw attention to ourselves so we can observe. Every eye in the place will be on you." He let out an exasperated sigh. "Well, its too late to change at this point I suppose." He fidgeted as he spoke, looking away and then back at her for a beat too long, suddenly taking off towards the coat rack.
"Thank you Sherlock. You look very nice as well," the corner of Joan's mouth raised a tiny bit as she followed him. She stood with his back to him while he got her wrap and placed it around her. "Is this going to be enough to keep you warm?" He carefully adjusted the faux fur, soft and silky, around her bare shoulders and back, just to make sure she was well covered. "Its cold out there."
"I'm also taking the long black evening coat as a back up."
"Ah," he said. Sherlock realized he was still holding her shoulders and quickly released her.
Watson turned and looked at him. His tie was askew, his collar pushed up in the back. She reached towards him to fix his tie. Sherlock jumped back a tiny bit, startled. "Calm down, I'm just fixing your tie, don't get all panicky. Why are you so jumpy?" He stared at her while she worked hoping he wouldn't have to put into words what he was feeling. "There," she said and looked up at him, patting him on the lapel. A small warm moment passed between them as they assessed each other. He broke it first, "Come Watson, let's not dilly dally, the taxi's waiting."
He extended an arm and lead her towards the door. "I don't suppose you know how to dance?" Sherlock asked. "I'm a phenomenal dancer" he added which had the effect of producing a disbelieving and unladylike snort from Watson. "No, really..." he continued as he closed the front door behind them.