OMG. Thankyou all for the support! Reached a hundred reviews!
Speacial thanks to Cookie369 and doctorcoffeegirl who have given me advice as to how the chapter is. and to Mini Reyes - bcuase you're awesome!
Chapter 16
"I liked my hair the way it was," Sherlock whined as he left the MI6 salon with an amused John at his side. The ebony curls had been cut back to leave Sherlock with a schoolboy style, with one lock left as it had been, but straightened – permanently – and falling into his eyes, much to his annoyance.
"This isn't fair," he mumbled and John shook his head,
"At least you got to keep your hair and eye colour," John said as they walked onto the street and avoided the few cars to get to the other side of the street and Sherlock glanced sidelong. Even though John got his hair dyed first, Sherlock was still not used to the pitch black, straight hair that John was now wearing accompanied by the emerald green eyes, that looked so perfect with that hair,
"It looks better than mine does," Sherlock said, as he fell in step with John and a woman at the florist actually dropped the flowers she was holding as they passed by. Not that either actually noticed.
"Your hair was to obvious as it was," John said, leading the way across another road,
"But…I liked it," Sherlock whined again and John shook his head,
"Sometimes, I feel like I'm married to a five year old," John said, the words 'I'm married' feeling very nice on his tongue, and Sherlock frowned,
"That's illegal," he said and John sighed.
'Shut up," He managed as Sherlock chuckled.
They had one more day in England before they were carted of to Australia, and Lestrade had gone to live with Sally for the two days, for reasons unknown. Sherlock didn't really question him because it finally meant that he could be alone with John. The sun was actually shining that day, and even though completely ineffective against the cold wind, it brightened everything up. As they walked, Sherlock spotted a coffee stall, 'C'mon, John," he said, grabbing the doctor's hand and dragging him forward,
'SHERLOCK!" John yelled, as he was jerked from a slow walk to a bloody run. He shook his head as Sherlock pulled up at the stall and asked,
"You couldn't wait the extra three minutes?" Sherlock turned the steel gaze on John and cocked his head to the side,
"Just because your eyes are a different colour now, doesn't mean you get to have your way," he said, and John wondered when he had taken a step closer. They were brought out of their own little world by the vendor clearing his throat,
"What will it be today, gentlemen?" he asked, gesturing to the cups and smiling broadly,
"Erhm," Sherlock thought for a minute, "Espresso," he said and John sighed,
"Because you need more energy," he muttered and Sherlock wrapped one arm around John's waist, causing the doctor to jump slightly,
"You want to know what I need that energy for?" He asked, bringing his mouth close to John's ear and the doctor flushed bright red,
" 'ere we are then," he said handing the cup over and Sherlock payed, producing coins from somewhere in his coat. John didn't even know the man carried money around with him,
"Thankyou,' Sherlock said and pulled John away from the vendor and back onto the relatively empty footpath – after all, it was one twenty on a Monday.
'Where to now?" asked John, producing the list of tasks to completely before they left, hand delivered by Stone himself,
"You choose,' Sherlock said, taking a sip of the boiling coffee and yelped as he realised it was, in fact, still at around ninety three degrees,
"Idiot, you'll burn your tongue," John said, stopping them as Sherlock panted slightly,
"I ever would 'ave taught bout dat," Sherlock attempted a sarcastic tone, but it was completely spoiled by the fact that he had now developed a slight lisp. John smiled as Sherlock coloured,
"What was that Sherlock?" he asked, and Sherlock glared at him, the burning irritating,
'ut up," he said and John had to laughed, his breath creating a slight cloud in the cold air that surrounded them and he pulled Sherlock forward, to get them both walking,
'Shopping first?" he asked, looking at the list as Sherlock licked his teeth in an attempt to get the scalded feeling to go away,
"Yed," John shook his head as Sherlock growled in frustration,
'Relax, it will go away, give it a couple of minutes,' John's eyebrows shot up as he registered what was listed on the paper,
"We need a tux each," he said, staring at it and Sherlock sighed,
'Got one,' he said, annunciating clearly, pleased that actual words got out this time.
"I don't," John said, remembering that the last time he had worn a tux was when he was three at his Aunt's wedding,
"Well, let'd go then," Sherlock sighed as the 's' refused to form. He went to the edge of the footpath and spotted a Taxi. With the skill that only he possessed, managed to get it's attention.
Within five minutes they were standing on Savile Row and John was wondering who was going to pay for this,
'Sherlock, I can't afford anything here,"
'Pfft," was the consulting detective's only reaction as he took John's hand and pulled him towards Norton and Sons, the gentleman's bespoke tailor.
"Bespoke?' John asked, as they approached the shop, and Sherlock nodded, not trusting his tongue. He realised he still had the coffee in his hand and threw it in the nearest bin before entering the shop.
There was a quiet tinkle of the bell as Sherlock walked into the brightly lit shop, the floorboards so shiny John felt guilty for walking on them in his favourite pair of army boots. The man sitting behind the counter looked up. Eyes set in a weathered old face flashed with recognition, "Mr. Holmes! Sherlock!" he cried, getting to his feet, and striding, – yes, striding, John doubted half the teenagers in London had that much energy – he walked towards Sherlock, "Sherlock! I'm so glad to see you! It's been three years! My god, you just keep getting thinner, isn't Mrs. Hudson looking after you?" the old man ranted, and, for the first time John had ever seen, Sherlock hugged the old man whose laugh was like a thousand church bells – it echoed around the room with purpose – as if there wasn't a single thing that could stop him,
"My lad, you haven't changed a bit," Sherlock was grinning by this point at the look of utter shock on John's face,
"My friend," he said, and yanked John three steps forward, 'Doctor John Watson,"
"Doctor, very pleased to meet you,' the old man bowed slightly as he shook John's hand,
'John, please," the doctor managed and the old man smiled,
"This is our family tailor," Sherlock said and John had to refrain from rolling his eyes, "Anthony Brown," John nodded,
'Now, Sherlock, why are you here? Don't tell me that suit I made for you is already wearing down? What do you do in them? Run across London?" Anthony made his way back to the counter and Sherlock exchanged a glance with John. He didn't have the heart to tell the poor man that yes, he did run around London in it occasionally.
"Not for me, Mr. Brown," Sherlock said and the man raised his eyebrows, putting on a pair of glasses, 'you can charge whatever it is to the account, a new tuxedo is for the good doctor," Sherlock said and again, propelled John forward,
"Very well, Sherlock. Come with me, young man," Before John could so much as protest; a very persistent old man dragged him forward.
Three needle pokes, five glares, eleven muttered curses and an hour later, John and Sherlock walked out of Norton and Sons, "Bloody hell," John muttered as he rubbed his arm, where he had moved and the pin managed to dig into his arm,
'The idea is to stand still, John," Sherlock reprimanded, glad that his tongue – thanks to Mr. Brown's ice cubes – had finally stopped smarting.
'Oh because you manage that so well," John said as a cab pulled up in front of them. They climbed in and John huffed. He hated suits. He really did. And had no idea as to why Sherlock wore them so damn often. He glanced sidelong at the detective and realised that perhaps there was a reason. To temporarily mentally disable every woman that walked past? John huffed again and crossed his arms,
'Where to next?" Sherlock and John didn't reply. Deciding that there was no point trying to get the doctor to actually listen to him, Sherlock leant across the doctor and yanked the piece of paper out from his back jeans pocket,
"Oi!" John said and Sherlock laughed,
"Shush," he said and John uncrossed his arms, leaning in to see what they still needed,
"Well…we've got everything for now," Sherlock said, "All the other stuff is just reminders for weapons and what not,"
"I still don't know how we're going to get weapons past security,"
"Easy," the consulting detective really did look like it was easy,
"What do you mean easy?" John asked,
"I've done it for a while now," Sherlock said,
"Well, how do you do it then?"
'Later, John," Sherlock said, as they pulled up outside Baker Street. John stared after Sherlock as he reached for his wallet. Muttering about idiot detectives, John payed and left the cab, walking through the still open front door. He shut it behind him and walked up the stairs to find Sherlock examining a tux. John walked into the flat and closed the door behind him,
'What are you doing with that?" The doctor asked and Sherlock rolled his eyes,
'What does one do with a tuxedo?" Sherlock replied and dropped the tux into John's hands,
"I'll be back," with that he left John in the living room holding the tux. John sighed and walked to the couch, dropping onto it.
They had exactly fifteen hours until they were on the plane out of here and his suit was to be delivered in three hours. He looked at Sherlock and noticed the red inside of the lapels and how beautiful it looked. It'll positively amazing on Sherlock. The doctor thought, and smiled as he realised that he was going to get to see Sherlock in a tuxedo, and knew his body was reacting to the images his mind had procured,
"What's so funny?" Sherlock asked as he walked back down the stairs, holding up a light green silk tie,
"Funny? Nothing? Hot? Something," John said, clipping the sentence to a few short words and Sherlock let out a shout of laughter,
"John, really. Do you think of anything else? Oh by the way," but Sherlock wasn't allowed to finish, as John answered his question,
"No, I don't think so," the major moved quicker than Sherlock thought possible. The tux was on the floor along with the tie and Sherlock was on the couch – a smiling John pining his down. Sherlock blinked a couple of times,
"You know I can fight back," Sherlock said, the vibrations of his deep voice running up John's legs,
"Yeah, like our first night at boot camp? Remember?" John asked, undoing the first button of Sherlock's shirt as the detective coloured, a light flush that made him so innocent John felt slightly guilty,
"Don't remind me," Sherlock muttered and John pressed a kiss to the corner of Sherlock's mouth and the detective turned his head to meet his lips as John fully straddled the detective's hips.
"Hmmm…John!' Sherlock managed to get his mind online again to tell John something really important…as John pushed the shirt of his shoulders – when did he undo all the buttons? –
"Yes Sherlock?" the doctor trailed kisses down the side of Sherlock's neck and the detective gasped, attempting to remember what he was about to say as John successfully distracted him.
That was when Mycroft walked into the apartment accompanied by a laughing Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock remembered what he meant to tell John.
The elder Holmes froze, as did John and Mrs Hudson found herself grinning widely as she took in the scene,
'Don't you ever lock the door?" Mycroft asked as John turned the colour of Sherlock's shirt (now on the floor)
'Occasionally," Sherlock said, who, apart from the pink face looked completely unfazed by the fact that he was caught doing…well…that.
John clambered off Sherlock and ran a hand through his hair. He bent down and picked the shirt up, throwing it at Sherlock, "Why…err…why are you here?" John asked, ignoring Mrs. Hudson's laughter and thinking he had found the equivalent of a cold shower for later situations. He walked into the kitchen as Mycroft took a seat and Mrs. Hudson went back downstairs,
'I am here because I have last minute instruction to give to you from MI6. Sherlock should've told you I was coming," Mycroft said, turning his stare onto Sherlock as he did his buttons up,
"I tried," Sherlock said and in the kitchen John chocked on his coffee (all the tea bags were currently floating in hydrochloric acid)
"Ah. I see," Mycroft said and John walked into the lounge room, still as red as ever. Sherlock tugged him down onto the couch and Mycroft shook his head,
"So, what's the message?" Sherlock wrapped an arm around John's waist and John felt the embarrassment fade. Who gave a damn about what anyone else thought, anyway?
"You have to be convincing," Mycroft said, but, John figured, by the look on his face he had no doubts about them being convincing,
"Obviously," Sherlock said,
'No, Howell will be watching you,"
'What?"
"We had Moriarty's contact send out a message to Howell to keep track of you, John," Mycroft said and John had to stop himself from showing any reaction as Sherlock actually pulled him closer – completely subconsciously – which was a move that made John's heart swell with love to the point to bursting. Cheesy as it sounds.
"Fine," Sherlock said, "Now go," He added and Mycroft got to his feet,
"Welcoming as ever, Sherlock," John made to get up, but Sherlock physically held him down as Mycroft walked out,
"Where were we?" Sherlock asked and John had a feeling that this time, there weren't going to be any interruptions.
Nehehe.
Yes. I'm loving this. Urgh. Holiday's officially start tomorrow, for me, because I've been at school for the past two days, as I have to rehearse for my school musical.
YAY! REAL HOLIDAYS!
Aza
xoxo