Sherlock was beginning to get jumpy, in the last hour he'd dropped his pipette four times, spilled a beaker of cow urine over his Petri dishes (which actually proved to be informative), and tripped over the leg of his stool twice. He really couldn't wait much longer.

He's in. Not long now, brother. –MH.

Sherlock smiled, the combination of seeing John again soon, and the idea of him in a fabulously fitted suit had cheered him right up.


John walked nervously into the tailors, looking around. A skinny man with a shock of red hair poked his head out of a room behind the counter.

"John Watson?"

"Yes," John said, relieved, "yes, hi." He smiled in his usual amiable fashion. The red headed man retreated into the room again.

"Mr Holmes said you were coming, gave us your measurements and told us to make you a suit," he popped back out, and gestured for John to join him, "it's just here sir."

The room had a massively high ceiling, and hundreds of rolls of fabric and suits sat on hardwood shelves. A ladder was leaning against the shelves, and John thought that this was exactly how he'd imagined Ollivander's wand room when he read Harry Potter, except with more suits and fewer wands. The man gestured to a box sitting on a low stool, which John obediently picked up.

"Do I need to try it on?" he asked, he was new to this.

"If you don't mind." The man said earnestly and directed John towards a small room, with a door just slightly raised off the ground. It was lit unflatteringly, it had a cheap stool, if John was honest, it was like any dressing room ever, he may as well have been in GAP.

John took the box into the dressing room he was pointed towards and removed the most stunning suit he had ever seen. It was dark blue, with a deep green silk lining, and once he tried it on, he found that it fit his broad shoulders perfectly. The box also held a creamy coloured shirt, also silk, and a green tie. There was a knock on the door and then a smaller box was pushed underneath. As John bent to pick it up, he heard a slight rustling coming from the pocket of his trousers. Placing the box, that he would soon find out contained a rather beautiful pair of black shoes, on the stool, John reached into his pocket to pull out (can you guess?) a yellow note(!).

Reason I love John Watson #6.

He's warm. It's nice to cuddle him, I never thought I'd enjoy cuddling, it's always seemed pointless. I also love John because he made me see the error of my ways there.

Hello John,

Keep the suit on my love, I'm taking you out on a date, does a fancy lunch suit? No bad joke about menswear intended. Mycroft's sent over a driver.

S.


Sherlock, knowing John was out, had gone back to 221B to change into a smarter suit. He looked around the flat and chuckled, John had fallen asleep on the sofa again. He'd taken a quick trip up to John's room, going by the faint oily smudges on the ceiling, John would have some fantastic bruises, probably yellow by now, but still tender.

"Must remember that." He muttered to no one in particular. Someone coughed, Mycroft was leaning in the doorframe, smiling gently.

"I never thought you'd do this Sherlock. I'm…" he trailed off, "I'm proud of you brother."

"Oh don't get sentimental." Sherlock scoffed, but he was smiling as he pushed past his brother.

"Time to go?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but answered anyway.

"Yes." He nodded.

"Nervous?"

"Yes."


John walked out of the dressing room, gave the man with the red hair the voucher Sherlock had left him, and walked back out into the London drizzle. If he'd been worried about the weather ruining his suit or shoes, he needn't have been. A sleek black car pulled up within seconds, a man in white gloves and an impressive hat opened the door, and John was ushered into the warm and the dry. Once the door was safely shut, John noticed Anthea sitting in the passenger sear, he was briefly reminded of the time he hit on her, before the car pulled away from the pavement and smoothly navigated the traffic that comes with London on a rainy day.


Sherlock was having much the same experience a few miles away, but with less Anthea, more nerves, and more annoying older brother to deal with.


So, you probably know what's going to happen, so do I. Which is...good. SUPER FLUFF REUNION SCENE COMING WHEN I'VE WRITTEN IT. PARTY HARD. xx

P.S. I'm considering writing some Mystrade because I ship that so damn hard. Now you know. Not that you needed to.