Just as John leaned down to plant a second kiss on Sherlock's plump, inviting lips, he heard two sets of footsteps coming down the hallway towards the bathroom.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath.

"Did you not lock the door?" Sherlock asked, out of breath from their heavy snogging session.

"No, I was a bit busy with planning what to say to you!" John hissed.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and John turned his head to find himself face to face with Greg Lestrade, closely followed by Mycroft Holmes. Both stopped at the sight of the two men tangled up on the floor below them and gaped, completely shocked.

Mycroft broke the silence. "Well, Gregory, it appears that this room is occupied. Might I suggest we take our…business…elsewhere?"

Greg nodded, still in a state of shock. "Right. Sure. Yeah."

Mycroft propelled the inspector out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him. John turned back to Sherlock, and Sherlock's gaze turned to John's…

And they both began to laugh uproariously at what had just occurred.

"Oh, God, did you see their faces?" John choked out between giggles.

"That was priceless." Sherlock said, agreeing with his blogger.

They fell silent for a few moments, until Sherlock spoke up.

"So, Dr. Watson, what should we do now?"

John thought for a moment. "Well, seeing as it would be slightly inappropriate to shag in our host's bathroom, maybe we should go back out to the party."

Sherlock sighed. "I suppose so. As long as we can shag when it is appropriate."

John laughed. "Sure, Sherlock, sure. Anytime…just not here."

He pulled himself upright and opened the door, helping Sherlock to his feet. "Ready to go back out to the world?"

Sherlock straightened his purple shirt, dusting off imaginary specks of lint. "Not particularly, but I will for you."

John grinned. "That might be the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."

They arrived back in the living room to find that someone had turned on Greg's stereo, and everyone had begun to dance. John looked around; he could see Anderson and Sally, practically glued to each other, dancing in a far-off corner. Other partygoers were scattered around the room, rocking back and forth to the loud music.

Up to that current point in the evening, John had swallowed quite a fair amount of alcohol, and he was feeling somewhat adventuresome. "Sherlock, come on, let's dance!"

Sherlock backed up, looking very wary. "John, I'm not sure that's quite a good idea, given your current level of intoxication…"

John frowned. "Come on, 'Lock. You can't just stand around in the corner all night."

Sherlock's face heated up. "John…I-I really don't want to dance. Not tonight."

However, despite the man's protests, John dragged him out onto the makeshift dance floor (which happened to be Greg's woven rug). Sherlock sighed. He hated dancing with a passion. But, if it was what John wanted, he would do it.

As John moved his body to the music, he began to notice something interesting. Sherlock, who he had assumed had never been much of a party animal, was dancing like an old pro. The consulting detective's body moved with grace and dexterity John had only seen at crime scenes and in the lab. "Sherlock…" he began, but the man gave him such a don't-go-there look that John immediately shut his mouth with a snap.

As the detective got closer to him and began to grind into his hip, John began to see small things about Sherlock's appearance that he hadn't seen until he was up close just now. They were little details, admittedly, but John couldn't believe he hadn't noticed them before. Sherlock's beautiful, stormy, multi-colored eyes were lined with just a hint of gold-flecked kohl that made them stand out even more than ever. The skin of his face had been dusted with some kind of shimmery white powder, making his cheekbones prominent below those gorgeous eyes. He had rubbed some kind of gel product in his hair, the beautiful black curls falling onto his eyebrows every so often. And the necklace that he had noticed underneath Sherlock's collar earlier was now out, displayed on his chest for everyone to see.

And when John got a look at what was on that necklace, it took his breath away.

"Sherlock?" he said quietly.

Sherlock stopped dancing as he heard the wonder in John's tone. "Am I not doing this right?" he asked worriedly. He was a little rusty, he admitted to himself. After all, he hadn't danced since uni. But he didn't think it was so bad as to merit a look of that much confusion.

John brought up a shaky hand and gestured to his chest. "Your…your necklace…it's my…you're wearing my…"

Sherlock looked down at the front of his shirt near his collar. He reached up a hand and fingered the slim silver chain, from which dangled John's old army dog tags. His other hand came up and clasped the hand John was using to point to the tags. "I hope that's okay." He said softly. "I didn't have any necklaces, and I…I just needed something of yours with me tonight."

His eyes, his indescribably gorgeous eyes, met John's. "I love you, John." his face twisted slightly. "And I can't figure it out, this feeling. Whenever you're not there, I just…I feel so lost. It's so strange…needing someone else is not something I am used to. But you…my world stops turning when you leave the room, John."

John's eyes widened. "Sherlock…" he spoke quietly, not knowing what to say. The music changed, turning to a slow dance song. Couples all over the floor were breaking away, rocking each other softly with the music. He took a deep breath. "Will you dance with me?"

Sherlock nodded. "Of course, John." he whispered, and he pulled the army doctor close to him. They swayed back and forth to the soft tones of a song Sherlock couldn't quite place.

"John...what song is this?" he asked quietly.

"Um…I think it's called Ungodly Hour by The Fray." He responded, trying to make easy conversation.

"It's nice."

The two continued their dance, though John noticed Sherlock's hands gripping tighter on his hips. Hoping that he was doing the right thing, John leaned his head onto Sherlock's shoulder, fitting them together almost seamlessly.

"John?"

"What is it, Sherlock?"

He felt Sherlock's hand drift up to his middle back, gently caressing it. "Am I doing this right?"

"Doing what right?"

"Love."

John smiled and kissed the detective's shoulder gently. "Yes, Sherlock. Yes, you are."