What A Night

Fandom: Sherlock

Rating: K+

Genre: Friendship, Romance

Pairing: John/Sherlock, Lestrade/Molly

Word count: 1070

Summary: [John/Sherlock] And, so, here they are, going to prom together. Well, not 'together' together, but not all of John's brain seems to be able to cope with that concept.

AN: A plot bunny that came from watching little baby Sherlock from the unaired pilot and listening to "A Night To Remember" (Yes, the one from High School Musical 3). Enjoy.

DISCLAIMER. I own nothing.

It isn't a date. It's really really not.

No matter how many times John tells himself that, however, it doesn't stop the butterflies knocking about in his stomach as he sits in the back of Lestrade's ancient, beaten-up car, listening to his and Molly's idle chatter from the front seat, as they head through the neighbourhood towards the Holmes household.

It's because of Mary that John's even here. Neither he or Sherlock had been anything close to eager about going to their high school prom, and certainly not with each other - romantically or otherwise, whatever John's personal feelings might be - but Mary had been insistent, saying that she wasn't going to celebrate the end of GCSE exams without them, which had led Sherlock to the conclusion that it was simply more practical for them to go together, since it had already been established that Lestrade was going with Molly and would be available to give them a lift.

And, so, here they are, going to prom together. Well, not together together, but not all of John's brain seems to be able to cope with that concept.

"Alright." Lestrade pulls to a stop in the middle of the road, in front of one of the old town houses that line the road. "We're here. Go get 'im, and then we can make a move."

Molly leans over the seat and gives John a sympathetic smile. "Good luck."

"Thanks," John mutters, getting out of the car and letting the door swing shut behind him. He'd considered, briefly, on the way here, asking Lestrade to stop off somewhere so that he could buy flowers, but he'd dismissed that idea almost immediately, on the grounds that Sherlock would not appreciate them in the spirit that they were intended. Now that he doesn't know what to do with his hands, he wishes that he'd given the idea more merit.

The older Holmes brother answers the door before he even has the chance to knock.

"Evening, John."

"Hi." John opts for putting his hands into his pockets.

"Who is it, Mikey?" Comes a shout from inside the house.

"It's Mycroft." Mycroft yells over his shoulder in reply. "And John's here." He steps back slightly, opening the door to allow the shorter guy to come inside.

Mrs Holmes appears in the doorway of one of the rooms leading off from the hallway, a beaming smile on her face at the sight of the arrival.

"John!" She hurries over to embrace him. "You look lovely, dear."

"Thank you," he replies earnestly.

She pats his shoulder, before calling over her shoulder towards the room that she's just come out of. "Sherlock, honey, John's here!"

Mr Holmes also materialises in the doorway - from where John is standing, with the door open, he can hear Sherlock moving around in the room too, muttering to himself.

"Hello, John," he says, narrowing his eyes slightly, the way a father would typically look at their child's prom date, as if trying to judge whether or not John has turned into some kind of axe-wielding murderer since the last time he laid eyes on him.

Mrs Holmes gives her husband a reprimanding look, before smiling at John again. Mycroft has retreated to the top of the stairs during the short conversation, he notices, hovering on the landing and watching the scene below him like some kind of grumpy gargoyle.

"Alright -" John inclines his head towards the door, just as Sherlock walks through it, out into the hallway, sighing over the great burden that is attending the high school prom. "- let's get this over with, I suppose."

From the amused expression on Mrs Holmes' face, John must resemble a goldfish right now. Sherlock has always looked good in a suit, but now, the night of prom, standing in the Holmes' hallway, everything just seems to look a million times better. John's fairly sure that any chance of rational thought has just gone sailing out of the front door behind him.

"I, er -" He clears his throat. "You, er , you look - you look...great, uh, mate." He gives Sherlock a pat on the shoulder, trying to ignore the knowing smirk coming from Mycroft's direction.

"He's right, you know." Mrs Holmes straightens her son's tie, ignoring his protests. "You do look great. Very handsome."

There's the sound of snickering from the top of the stairs. Sherlock rolls his eyes in fond exasperation. "Mummy." He inclines his head towards John. "Should we be off?"

"Um -" John begins, not sure if trying to form sentences right now is wise.

"Wait - we need to get a picture first!" Mrs Holmes gestures for her husband to fetch the camera, returning a moment later, whilst Sherlock mutters something about his parents having a whole household of photographs of him and his brother, and why on earth do they need anymore, because it's not like anyone is going to forget what he looks like in the near future. John simply keeps his mouth shut - the safest thing to do right now - and tries his very hardest not to keep staring at his friend in his suit, pretty sure that he's not smiling in any of the pictures that Mrs Holmes is taking with the amount of effort he's putting into this not staring.

She smiles at the pair of them when she's got enough pictures to be satisfied. "Now, go on, both of you. Have a good time. Behave yourselves."

"I'm sure it'll be thrilling," Sherlock replies, his tone dripping with sarcasm, but he pecks her on the cheek in goodbye before he opens the door and ushers John out.

"Goodbye, John," Mycroft calls from his perch, evidently trying to hold back laughter.

"Mycroft," John returns, resisting the urge to childishly stick his tongue out at the elder Holmes brother.

"So," Sherlock says, once they're safely outside, and walking down the gravel path towards Lestrade's car. "Are you ready to have a good time?"

"In all honesty?" John replies. He's probably already failed at the not-looking thing at least three times since they stepped outside. It's going to be a long night, that's for sure. "No."