Looking in the mirror, John drew his shoulders back and took a deep breath. He was thankful that his fitness regime lately had helped him drop a few pounds. Tugging on the bottom of the jacket and straightening his tie slightly, John nodded to himself. He looked as good as he could.
Doubts still flitted through his mind as he exited his bedroom, and walked down the stairs. Sherlock had offered to take him to his tailor, but it seemed an unnecessary expense for one night.
Stepping into the living room, Sherlock turned to face him, and John could hardly speak. His suit was a deep navy, impeccably cut, and paired with an ivory shirt and a sophisticated silk tie. His green eyes seemed even larger than normal, as his dark curls were styled back off his face. He usually dressed well, but tonight he was polished to perfection.
Chuckling, Sherlock strolled around John, looking him over thoroughly. John stood at attention under his scrutiny. "My, my, Captain Watson. You do credit to your dress uniform."
John could feel his face warm with the compliments and appreciative look. The olive green uniform suited his lightly tanned skin, and his fair hair. The fit was good, making his shoulders look broad and his waist slim under the black leather belt. "Shall we get going?"
Swirling on his long, black coat, Sherlock gave a mischievous grin before he ran down the stairs to the front door, leaving John to lock up. John pulled on his black peaked hat, with its red band and trim.
A quick taxi ride later, they were pulling up in front of the elegant hotel. John looked at the wealthy people walking the red carpet, posing for the paparazzi, and felt totally out of place.
"Come along, John." Sherlock said impatiently, his eyes scanning the people as he tugged on John's arm.
Naturally, Sherlock walked confidently through the crowd, and John concentrated on keeping by his side. At the entrance, Sherlock passed an embossed invitation to the doorman, who scanned the card and then the pair of them, before passing the paper back with an imperious nod.
John let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "How did you get an invitation to this event? I thought it was quite expensive and exclusive." He leaned close to whisper to Sherlock.
The tall man gave a nonchalant shrug. "Mycroft." He was preoccupied with scanning the crowd, and John tried to act normal as he stuck close to his side. Posh events like this were probably nothing new to Sherlock, with his upbringing, but John felt totally out of his comfort zone.
Sherlock accepted two glasses of champagne from a passing server, and gave one to John. His eyes seemed to gleam as they shared a look. "The dinner doesn't start for about an hour. I will try to talk with Alicia Blackburn, and Penelope Redgrave. Perhaps you could talk with Marisa Hayes?"
John was able to follow Sherlock's gaze to the various women in the crowd. He knew the plan. "I'll see what I can do."
In moments, Sherlock was working his way through the crowd, a friendly smile on his face. John shook his head at the change in his manner, looking affable and approachable, as he sipped the last of his champagne.
Putting down his empty glass, John tugged on the bottom of his uniform jacket to ensure it was lying smooth, and walked closer to the brunette in the red cocktail dress. She was slim, and likely in her early thirties, her long hair pinned up in a casual updo that flattered her long neck and large dark eyes. She was chatting with an older woman quite animatedly, both of them chuckling.
John tried to not be too obvious, as he looked her way, trying to think of a way to approach her and get her talking. Across the room, he could already see that Sherlock was chatting with one of his target women.
"Excuse me," a soft voice interrupted his perusal of Sherlock, and he turned to find Marisa standing beside him. She gave a small smile, and glanced down at his uniform. "Are you with the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers?"
John's eyebrows shot up, but he covered his surprise quickly, looking down at the badge stitched onto his upper sleeve. The centre had the distinctive image of St. George killing the Dragon.
He smiled as he met Marisa's interested gaze. "Yes. You have a good eye for picking that out."
She shrugged a bare shoulder slightly. "One of my favourite uncles was in that regiment, but probably long before your time with them."
"John Watson." He gave his most charming smile as he held out his hand, and was happy when she shook it, introducing herself.
They chatted easily about her uncle and his service, and John's time in Afghanistan. John glanced up to see Sherlock was now talking with the second woman, and knew he had to steer the conversation more.
"One thing I don't miss about being overseas is the gambling. There wasn't a lot to do over there in our downtime, and we used to get into epic card games." John tried to make the comment seem natural, like part of their conversation.
Marisa shuddered slightly. "Ugh, cards. So many people here are into them too."
It was enough of an opening. John jumped at it. "Did you hear about that card shark who was murdered in his own flat last week? I bet it was someone who lost a lot of money to him."
Was it just his imagination, or did Marisa pale slightly at John's comment? She shifted her feet a little, her gaze flicking away. "Oh, I'm sure I don't know about that…"
"What was his name again? Justin? Joel?" John tried to keep his face friendly, his tone conversational, while his eyes were trained on her face, watching for any reaction.
Her eyes met his, her eyebrows drawn down slightly. "It was Joseph, actually. I knew him."
John tried to look naturally surprised. "Oh really? Oh, I'm sorry I brought it up like that then. Please forgive me. So, he was a friend of yours…" He put on his best understanding doctor face.
Marisa's eyes searched his for a minute, and she seemed to let down her defences. "More of an acquaintance, only. We went to the same parties, and out for a dinner date one time."
"Only once? It seems strange that he didn't take you out more than that. I certainly would have." John let his gaze turn appreciative, pouring it on, and was happy to get a flirty look back.
"John, they are seating now for dinner." Sherlock's voice jarred John out of the conversation with Marisa. It took a second to get his bearings.
Nodding at Sherlock, he turned back to Marisa. "It's been good talking with you. Perhaps you could save me a dance for later?"
The pretty brunette agreed with a small smile, and John could tell she was attracted to him. She was just the type of woman he normally went for; pretty, smart, a little shorter than he was. Confident and flirty.
He felt a hard tug on his shoulder, his bad shoulder, and winced slightly as he sent a glare at Sherlock. "I better go now, Marisa. See you later."
As he walked into the grand ballroom with Sherlock, and they found their assigned seats, John snuck a few appraising looks at Sherlock. He seemed a bit aloof and withdrawn now, which was strange. When John had glanced across the lobby at him earlier, he had been chatting up his suspects in a very friendly manner.
What was an act, what was real? The man before was flirty with women, almost overly cheerful, and John was sure that was just Sherlock putting his subject at ease to get information from them. Lestrade had said he did it often with Molly at the morgue, flirting with her enough to get body parts for his grisly experiments.
Sherlock now was watching the crowd, his eyes looking like he was following the dinner conversation at their table, but John could tell he was keeping tabs on several people in this well-heeled group.
"Did you serve overseas?" The elderly woman to John's left asked, and he gladly engaged in a conversation about his service with her, leaving Sherlock to his work.
It felt a bit disappointing, frankly. He had been looking forward to going out to this fancy event with Sherlock, enjoying each other's company once a few questions were done with the suspects. But Sherlock had ignored John after those appreciative looks at his uniform at the flat.
Ever the realist, John shrugged and resolved to have a great time, regardless of what Sherlock was up to. He topped up all the guests' wine glasses nearby and introduced himself. Soon, they were exchanging funny stories and waving down a server for another bottle of red.
The speeches during dessert were mercifully short, mostly thanking everyone for attending and supporting the charitable cause it was for. John was sure the tickets had been hundreds of pounds each.
The gathering kicked into another gear after that, the lights dimming and a live band skilfully commanding the stage. Sherlock was still in stealth mode, so John excused himself to find Marisa.
"John, it's time to go." Sherlock appeared at John's elbow, almost like he poofed there in a cloud of magic. The thought made John giggle as he took another sip of champagne.
Wrapping an arm across Sherlock's back, John shook his head. "No, no... It's early still. Stay, meet the girls...I mean women." He waved his arm towards Marisa and her group of friends. They were all in their early thirties, pretty and dressed well. More than one stood up straighter as she eyed Sherlock.
Giving an impatient huff, Sherlock shrugged off John's arm. He leaned close to whisper into John's ear, "We need to work." He didn't sound impressed.
Glancing at Sherlock's displeased expression and then at the attractive women offering flirting, drinking and dancing, John sighed. "Marisa, ladies, it was lovely spending time with you. I hope we get a chance to do this again soon."
Marisa pouted and hugged John tight, protesting his announcement. Chuckling, John extracted himself from her grasp and followed Sherlock to the coat check.
In the taxi, Sherlock was strangely quiet, looking out his window to the rainy London streets.
"So, I saw you talking with the two women you wanted to contact. Did you get the information you wanted?" John grasped at something to get Sherlock talking, wanting to break the tension.
Sherlock ignored him.
This hot and cold treatment from Sherlock was getting old. John sighed, looking out his own window. They were friends and flatmates, and then Sherlock would disappear for days. Or he would ignore John, totally immersed in his work. And just when John was feeling frustrated, suddenly Sherlock was right there…larger than life and irresistible.
John had been hoping to be able to combine business and pleasure tonight. Instead, Sherlock ignored him all night. John shouldn't be surprised by now.
The taxi stopped, and John hopped out first, leaving Sherlock behind to pay the driver. He threw open the door of 221B, and ran up the stairs.
Sherlock was right on his heels, slamming the door behind him.
John whirled around, his hands loosening his tie and unbuttoning his top button of his shirt. "Look, I talked to Marisa about Joseph, and she said she didn't know him that well. That they only dated once." There, his work was done. Sherlock could stay up all night piecing things together if he wanted.
"I heard that part of your conversation. And heard you say you would have dated her more." Sherlock bit out, looking aloof. "After dinner, you went and danced with her."
John shrugged. "I was just enjoying the company of an attractive woman. Having a bit of fun. It's obvious she didn't have anything to do with Joseph's death."
"You don't seem to care one way or another, do you? Marisa tonight, Lestrade the other night." Sherlock yanked off his coat, throwing it down on the armchair.
Shaking his head, John stared at his flatmate. "What the hell are you talking about?" He'd had too many drinks to keep up with Sherlock's mood changes, too many to follow the smarter man's comments.
Pacing back and forth, Sherlock wasn't answering.
John huffed in annoyance. Great, just great. Was it worth living here if this is what it was going to be like? A moody asshole that couldn't even hold a conversation?
Spinning on his heel, John headed towards the stairs, working on the buttons of his uniform as he went.
He was only on the first step when he was turned around, and Sherlock was right there, his eyes large and searching John's. Standing on the first step, John was eye to eye with him, and it felt odd to look at him from this vantage point. "Sherlock, what –"
His words were cut off by Sherlock's mouth on his, large hands cupping his head as the kiss deepened, leaving John a bit dizzy and breathless.
Sherlock pulled back, looking at John with heated intensity, but John resisted it. "No, Sherlock. We can't keep doing this." He pushed against Sherlock's chest to get more space, and stepped up another step, trying to catch his breath.
"What, you are suddenly particular?" Sherlock followed up the step, and John scrambled to back up a few more, holding his hands out.
"Look, you can't just ignore me for days and hardly talk to me, and expect me to…to…" John couldn't find the words.
Sherlock slowly came up the final steps, and John backed into his own bedroom. The taller man arched an eyebrow at John. "Expect you to what?"
"Fall into bed with you..." John said, his words trailing off at the end as Sherlock kept approaching. His eyes were intent on John, and it just triggered the response his body had almost automatically to Sherlock now. Before Sherlock had gone back to work, they had spent so much time together in bed. He knew how good it could be, craved it.
Sitting on the edge of John's bed, Sherlock reached up to undo his tie, and then unbutton his shirt. His eyes were on John's, intense, predatory. And John couldn't look away, as much as he told himself to tell Sherlock to stop, to leave his bedroom.
Standing, Sherlock slipped out of his suit, stripped down to silk boxers and looking incredible. He moved to the centre of the bed, lying back against the pillows, displaying himself in a way he wouldn't have a few weeks ago. Knowing John was watching and loved seeing Sherlock like this.
"Strip for me, Captain." Sherlock's voice was a low raspy rumble, and John had to close his eyes, feeling the surge of arousal from that request.
John was still fully dressed, except his undone tie and a couple buttons of his shirt. His trembling hands unbuttoned and unzipped, cautious of the fine fabrics, when he just wanted to rip it all away.
Naked, he mentally scolded his own weakness for this beguiling man as he joined him on the bed. Sherlock gathered him close, his kisses greedy and all consuming. John surrendered, swept away by it all, needing anything he could get from Sherlock.
-Disclaimer: I own nothing.
-A/N: I think there will be 12 chapters in this fic. Thanks for reading so far! I really appreciate it. :D