John is fussing tetchily with his tie, cursing whatever gods might or mightn't be out there that Mycroft has invited them to yet another insufferable state dinner, and that Sherlock has deigned to go for yet another opportunity to snoop around in Britain's upper crust. The indomitable Holmes brothers even insisted on his getting yet another new suit for the event. He's nearly finished getting dressed, waiting for Sherlock to come out of the bathroom, where he's been fussing for eons. It seems like everything today has been getting on John's nerves.
When John sees Sherlock though, his former irritation with his own clothing and his absurd living situation is all but forgotten. Sometimes, even though they've been together (in every sense of the word) for years now, he manages to somehow lose track of how ethereal Sherlock can look, even in the most mundane of clothing. Tonight though, he's gone all-out. Standing next to him, John feels absolutely drab and dull.
Sherlock's forgone his tie, of course, but he's wearing a new suit in a flat black with subtle satin lapels, a pearl-grey shirt that sets off his eyes, and he's made one extra concession to the formality of the event. Setting off his slim figure and perpetually open collar is a neatly fitted waistcoat in a deep plum brocade.