~Suit~

As John found himself newly saddled with the burdens and responsibilities of parenthood Sherlock found himself alone in the flat they once shared at 221B Baker Street. He was staring at the wall, or perhaps more accurate a statement, he was staring through it. He had tried everything, falsified documents, made numerous unneeded appointments, scheduled clients himself; he even went as far as giving himself a black eye with the butt of his own hand gun. John had seen right through it all though. Well again more accurate of a statement would have been Mary saw right through him and told John so.
Sherlock was in no way physically or mentally prepared for this evening. A significant amount of time had passed before he realized he had been sitting in the same chair with his hands under his chin. It had been at least a few hours, longer then it took for the afternoon to change to early evening. He moved, slowly at first and with a wince. If he had been in the presence of others he would have sprang from his seat and kept a stone face. However at this moment he was very much alone so he let himself feel. He could feel the hard tissue that had scarred over where Mary had shot him. He felt the rib that had been broken at the hands of the Siberian guard while his brother watched. He felt every physical blow his body had every endured and he let himself wince.
He would have gone through each punch, fall, scrape, scratch, and bruise again if it meant he would be able to avoid this evenings festivities. He glanced out the window, could not have been later than 6:48 he thought, and looking at the clock on his phone confirmed, it was 6:46, he cursed under his breath quietly, "Damned two minutes." John would be there at 7:03 even though the event wasn't to start till 8. John had started showing up just under an hour early whenever they had anything planned that he knew Sherlock would try to figure a way out of. After giving himself a black eye John knew this evening would be no different. He had started to account for the time it would take for him to bicker back and forth with Sherlock about attending whatever it was and then the time it would take to get him ready since of course he would be in no way prepared for whatever the evening plans were.
John arrived at 7:03 like Sherlock knew he would. Based on his easy friendship with this very difficult man John let himself in and was not at all surprised to see the taller man standing in the small kitchenette they had once shared still in his dressing gown. "You've been in that all day haven't you? You have not even showered yet." John could not mask his annoyance.
"It is a fine evening to stay in don't you think John?" Sherlock smirked as he swiveled on the spot to face his best (and use to be only) friend.
"I do not want to do this tonight Sherlock. Please just take a shower and put your clothes on."
"You seem tired John. Perhaps a relaxing evening may do you some good. I was just e-mailed a case about an armless arms dealer supplying militant groups with some very interesting…"
John cut him off, "Chasing down a group of highly armed, with who knows what, militants may seem the same as cozying up by the fire and reading Dickens on a cold night to you Sherlock. However tonight you don't get to read Dickens, you are going to come out with your friends and have a…"
"How do you know I will have a nice evening John? The people, the noise, polite pointless conversation…" his tone changed, became higher pitched and mocking "How is the baby? Oh you mean she just laid there staring up at nothing making babbling noises, how wonderfully amazing. Oh Molly I see you have a new gentleman in your life hopefully this one won't be a psychopath or homosexual or the doppelganger of a certain consulting detective. Lestrade, see you're still bungling ever case you touch. Bless your heart though you try."
John at this moment very much wanted to strike his best friend. He had before, on more than one occasion, he made everyone he knew feel that way at least some of the time. John knew though that whenever he would lash out at the people he cared for like this something else was really bothering him. "What's wrong?"
Sherlock hadn't actually expected this simple question let alone the sincerity in which John had asked it. He felt regret then, regret that he was the way he was. He would have never admitted this out loud but sometimes when he was alone and not worried about the way he could or would be perceived he wished he was like the rest of them. Alone at night when no one could see Sherlock Holmes would sometimes wish that he could just be ordinary. Without speaking Sherlock started walking toward the bath. "Are you even working on any cases at this moment?" John asked. "I know Moriarty has been eerily quiet since he made his television debut…"
Just the mention of the man's name irritated Sherlock. "It isn't just Moriarty who has been quiet. It seems like every low life in London is suddenly keeping their heads down and noses clean. Crime is at an all time low."
"Well isn't that good news" John said knowing perfectly well for a man like Sherlock this was not good news. A man like Sherlock needed something to occupy him, to distract him and he had chosen crime solving as his. If there were no crimes being committed then no crimes were needed to be solved. Well of course crime was still going on. Just not the caliber of crime he would waste his talents and time on. He liked the queer cases. A good old fashioned straight forward who done it murder would even be a gift this close to Christmas. It did not appear though that he would get an early present this year.
John took a seat in the chair he always occupied across from Sherlock when they were on a case. Sherlock had put up surprisingly little of a fight and was now showering as John waited. He had gone to such lengths to get out of this night and John couldn't pretend he was a little relieved that all it had taken was simply asking the man "What's wrong?" He may not have always understood or agreed with everything Sherlock had done and had put him through and heaven help him he knew that there was sure to be more absurdities as the years went on. But this strange man had taken him from an ordinary life and shown him just how extraordinary he himself was. Sherlock saw something in John Watson. When a man like Sherlock sees something in you, you almost believe for a second that you can be everything he wants you to be. Then it all comes down and the delusions fade away, because you can never be what he wants you to be, him.
John saw it every time he mentioned Mary or the baby, the disappointment in Sherlock's eyes. Things as mundane as marriage and babies were trivial to Sherlock. He would never lower himself to such an ordinary existence. John however was in his own mind still just a man. He did not regret marrying his wife, or having his first child, a girl they named Margaret. He did not regret getting a little house for them in the suburbs and keeping on at his practice even after Sherlock had come back. He did not regret for one second not dropping everything to go on adventures and solve crimes with Sherlock Holmes. He was his best friend still yes, and when he could and was able to assist him with cases he would. John needed the excitement sometimes just as much as Sherlock did. He just could never regret any of his life with Mary, even the bad moments which for people like them were more than just we had a row about the bills. His wife after all had fabricated her whole past and shot his best friend.
No, John Watson had no personal regrets. He did regret though that Sherlock would go through his entire life without his Mary. That it was ludicrous to ever even hope he would have his own Margaret some day. He regretted that things like that were too trivial for men like Sherlock. John knew though that it was bigger and even more general than that. He regretted that Sherlock would not simply let himself feel.
Now John found himself lost in thought and time. Sherlock had emerged from his room clean, shaven, dressed and ready to leave. He even had his coat on before John looked up. He had been staring at the empty seat across from him, Sherlock's chair that had been empty for two years. That empty chair and the void it represented when Sherlock had faked his own suicide were the exact reason he hadn't been able to stay at their flat after he was gone. For a time after John was married Sherlock had moved the chair that John occupied out of the shared living area. He had moved it back when he needed to. When it mattered. John was sure it was more than that though. Sometimes your actions or inactions betray you, moving the chair had betrayed Sherlock. A sad sweet smile greeted Sherlock's face when John did finally look up.
What had John just been thinking about and why did it evoke such a facial expression? Whatever the reason Sherlock found himself put off by it. He stood above John in black slim lower waist line trousers, a white shirt dress, black vest, a black evening tailcoat, and black bowtie. His smoky, dark, grey, long Belstaff Milford coat was on signaling that he was ready to go. John noticed that his now trademark jewel toned blue scarf was stuffed into the pocket.
"It is a masquerade where is your mask?" John asked.
"Where is yours?" he snorted back.
"With Mary, she is meeting us there. We are already late." It was later then John had hoped for, but he did get Sherlock ready and even out of the house before 8 this evening so he decided to count it as a success. "We only have the sitter till 12. So think of that will you, no matter what we will only be there 4 hours at the most." John thought about the idea of getting a sitter for Sherlock, and then he wondered if Sherlock Holmes parents had ever had need for one. How would a little Sherlock have treated a sitter?
"Do you know how many much more productive and helpful things any of us could do in four hours? It is in my coat."
"Sherlock it is helpful, it is a charity event"
"That I am being forced to attend so that my current notoriety can be exploited to draw more money out of the fame obsessed populous."
"You are the bloody guest of honor!"
"Funny then how I do not find any of this honorable" They made their way down the stairs. Mrs. Hudson's door was slightly ajar. "Mrs. Hudson?!" Sherlock called. A moment later his landlady emerged in a lovely deep purple gown. In her hand was a matching Venetian style mask. He gave her a wide smile. The elderly woman's eyes sparkled at the young men.
"Don't you two look just lovely?" John was also dressed for the occasion in a deep burgundy velvet blazer, black shirt and trousers and a matching burgundy velvet bow tie.
"As do you Mrs. Hudson" John genuinely meant it too. She was like a mother to Sherlock and himself. She raised the mask to her face and gave the men a slight courtesy. They respectfully and deeply bowed back to her as they stood side by side in the hallway at 221.
Sherlock held his arm out and she took it. "I will be the envy of every man this evening when they seem me accompanied by such a beauty." Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes and giggled, "Oh stop it now Sherlock, where is your masks? It is a masquerade isn't it? Oh no have I gotten it mixed up, should I leave the mask behind dears?"
They both assured her they would also be wearing masks so she did not have to feel foolish. Sherlock placed his arm across his chest and placed his hand over Mrs. Hudson's as he escorted her outside. John's face had fallen back into the same smile from before, perhaps when Sherlock doesn't think people are looking he does let himself feel. This thought seemed to comfort John. The three of them walked out into the crisp evening air.