Cursing and grumbling, John rummaged through the closet upstairs, doing his best to assemble a full kit of fatigues. Mycroft had invited John and Sherlock to a fancy dress party and Sherlock had conveniently neglected to mention it to John. Mycroft called to confirm that a car would be arriving an hour before the party, leaving John frazzled.
He managed to get his uniform together and get dressed, surprised that it still fit so well – clearly all that running around after Sherlock, not to mention their rather active extra-curricular activities, were clearly keeping him fitter than he'd realised. With a set of electric clippers, he trimmed his hair quickly over the rubbish bin; it wouldn't do to show up in uniform and have shaggy hair hanging over his collar.
John had no idea what Sherlock had planned for his outfit, he just found himself hoping it wasn't going to be another homemade toga using their good linens. Although the look on Mycroft's face might have been worth it. He headed down the stairs into the kitchen, where Sherlock was putting the finishing touches on his own outfit.
John swooned slightly. Sherlock had decided to go in dapper Victorian regalia. He was wearing a morning coat and soft grey trousers, a rather ridiculous cravat, and a top hat in rich felted beaver.