This was it! The big night was finally here, and Sherlock was more than ready to put his carefully made plans into motion. It was time he started getting ready.

He took out the tuxedo that Mycroft had procured for him and laid it carefully on the bed, along with all the trappings that went along with it. Once that was finished, he gathered his blue housecoat and made off for the bathroom. A shower, a shave, a few hair products. Truth be told, he's never used anything in his hair before except shampoo and he had stood in the shop for almost an hour before he finally made a decision on what to buy. No matter. Tonight was going to be HIS night, and he wasn't leaving anything to chance.

After seeing to all his needs, he left the bathroom in a great cloud of steam. With nothing but his housecoat wrapped around him, he made his way into the kitchen to make a quick cup of tea. Opening the cabinet, he saw his favorite cup sitting alongside the one that John always uses. Sherlock couldn't help the smile that came to his face. 'A fitting prophesy' he thought to himself.

While the kettle was well on its way to a full boil, he returned to the bathroom to blunder his way through all the mysterious products he had bought for himself. He had accidently sprayed himself in the face more than once, and the oaths that he swore wasn't exactly pleasant ones. The gelatinous substance had promised him "to give superior hold and moisture to all hair types." And yet after using it, Sherlock decided that he looked more like an unfortunate animal caught in oil spill. Perhaps he had used to much? He assumed that since his hair was longer that most men's styles, and had curls to boot, that he would need more that most men would need. A handful seemed enough. Alas, he had been wrong.

And Sherlock Holmes hates being wrong.

With a loud grumble he quickly jumped into the shower again and washed away the offending substance. While he was in there, however, he had come up with a rather long list of experiments that the gel could be useful for. He may as well get his money's worth, right?

Toweling off once again, he heard footsteps in the flat and he immediately froze. Who the hell could that be? Quickly he threw on his housecoat and stepped out holding a blow dryer like a pistol, ready to bean someone over the head with it if necessary.

Instead, he turned around the corner to the kitchen and saw Mrs. Hudson wrapping a small towel around her hand so that she could take the now screaming kettle off the stove. Hearing footsteps behind her, she didn't even bother to turn around but immediately started chastising.

"Honestly, Sherlock, if you're going to put the kettle on make sure that you mind the bloody thing! It's had been screaming for ages and it was interrupting my program on the telly. I had to come make sure that you weren't trying to burn the place down. And to see if you were all right, dear."

Having put the kettle on a cool back burner, the high-pitched whistling slowly began to calm down until it was silently belching steam into the air. That being settled, Mrs. Hudson turned around…and promptly dissolved herself into a massive giggling fit.

"Look at you! I don't think I've ever seen you looking so unkempt in my life!" she exclaimed. She walked over to him and lightly patted him on the cheek. Sherlock only blinked at her, not knowing what to say in his defense. He decided to just keep his mouth shut.

Once up close, she could see tiny remnants of bubbles still clinging to his damp curls and smell the gallons of aftershave that he apparently bathed in. She simply tsk'd her tongue as only a mother could.

"Well, at least it's a work in progress dearie. I'll get out of your way so that you can finish up." Shaking her head and unsuccessfully stifling another giggle, she made her way back downstairs.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes and headed back to the bathroom.

About an hour later he was satisfied with his appearance enough to head to his bedroom and start getting dressed.

As he did so, he once again allowed all sorts of scenarios run through his mind. John's possible reactions, which spread across the entire spectrum from shock and disbelief, to warm and accepting, and even cold and dismissive. He wanted to make sure he was prepared for ANYTHING. He had also starting thinking about how Mary would react as well, seeing as how she would be there to witness the entire thing. Sherlock hadn't particularly wanted her there but concluded that it would be easier to allow her to tag along. Besides, having Mary there would most likely distract John so that he couldn't tell that Sherlock was up to something. The stupid bitch still assumed that he had planned this evening for her and John, and Sherlock was more than willing to let her keep thinking that. She would find out the truth, soon enough. Sherlock couldn't wait.

He was just finishing up tying his silk bowtie when a message chimed on his mobile, still sitting in the living room. He left the bedroom, his eyes searched the room looking for it and in the process he once again noted the empty spot under the window where his violin case always sat. In normal circumstances, it's absence would cause Sherlock immediate alarm. However, he knew exactly where it was, waiting to be used as an extremely important prop in his plan. Glancing over, he spied his mobile next to his laptop. He walked calmly over to it and picked it up, seeing the notification 'One Message: John Watson'. He clicked the home screen open, then read the message.

The cab just picked us up and we are on our way. Should be on Baker Street within 20 minutes. – JW

Sherlock just grinned. It was almost Showtime.