It's nearly midnight. John swishes around the wine in his glass and takes a sip. He never wanted to come to Mycroft's birthday party at all, but he knew that if he and Sherlock didn't show, it would be worse than an insult. He glances around the spacious ballroom and lets his eyes wander over the men and women dancing to the soft, slow song of the band in the corner of the room. The men are in suits much more expensive than John's, and the women swish around in their flowy, floor-length gowns and impossibly high heels. He tries to watch them the way he thinks Sherlock would. Slicked back hair, tight updos, crimson lipstick... he watches, but all he can see is expensive accessories and posh people he is happy to be different from. He recognizes the tune in the background. It's a classical piece he's heard Sherlock play on his violin, but that's as much as he knows. He watches everyone as they glide across the floor effortlessly, and he scans the crowd in search of Sherlock.
He finds him with a young woman in a tight red dress. In his mind, he names her Ariel. She has an arm draped over his shoulder, and his hand rests in the small of her back as they weave through the crowd and sweep across the floor. John can feel his face starting to grow warm, and not just from the wine. The woman might be attractive, yes, but it is Sherlock that he finds he can't take his eyes off. He finds it amazing that with a change in posture, a crisp new shirt, and a softened facial expression, Sherlock becomes a completely different man. John sighs inwardly, and finishes off his glass of wine. He wants Sherlock to himself.
Someone bumps into John from behind, and he turns around quickly, startled. A woman picks herself up off the floor, and slips back into her shoe.
"Are you alright?" John asks uneasily, unsure if he's supposed to use a different from normal tone of voice for a woman at such a prestigious party.
"Yes, fine," she replies with an embarrassed giggle. "I think I've had a bit too much." John feels himself relax. He holds out a hand as he has an idea.
"Would you like to dance?"
As charming as the woman seems, John can't bring himself to pay his full attention to her. He is careful not to step on her when she stumbles, but other than that, his eyes are fixed on Sherlock. He is still with Ariel and her tight dress. Slowly, he steps them closer to Sherlock and Ariel, hoping that Sherlock would just look up from her and notice him.
Come on, Sherlock, John urges with his thoughts. I want you. Sherlock and Ariel turn, and a few moments later, Ariel's long curls brush up against John's shoulder. John looks up to see that Sherlock has caught on. John nearly shivers under the man's intense stare, and with a kiss to Ariel's cheek, Sherlock breaks away from her and cuts in and takes John's hand. The warmth in John's face spreads through his whole body when Sherlock's other hand comes to rest on John's back. It warms through his shirt and sends a tingle over his skin, like some electric buzz.
Sherlock pulls John in closer. The warm breath on his neck causes John to actually shiver this time, and Sherlock's chuckle rumbles in his ear.
"You couldn't resist, could you."
John parts his lips to respond, but the words won't come out.
"You know, people might talk," Sherlock whispers. John can hear the smirk in his words. "But no matter," he says before John can answer. "You're not boring."
John nods slowly, staring up into Sherlock's face. His expression looks different from when he was with Ariel. Sherlock's look of adoration feels... genuine. John stands slightly on tiptoe and captures Sherlock in a kiss.
"Let them talk, then."
John is almost asleep on the cab ride home. They turn a corner and he feels his head loll and rest on Sherlock's shoulder. He feels Sherlock tense up, but instead of shrugging him off like John was expecting, he instead relaxes his shoulders, and sits still. The faint scent of black cherry on Sherlock's coat and the rhythmic beating of his heart drifts John off to sleep.
"John," Sherlock says quietly. "John, we're here."
"Hmm?" John rubs his eyes with a yawn.
Sherlock helps him out of the taxi, and then up the stairs into the flat. John doesn't remember how many glasses of wine he had tonight, and a yawn that seems to last forever forces itself out from his chest.
"Right, let's get you to bed," Sherlock mumbles. In his bedroom, John steps out of his trousers and struggles to unbutton his shirt. When Sherlock pulls the blanket over John's shoulders, he sits down at the foot of the bed. John starts to drift off again, and just before surrendering to sleep once more, he feels Sherlock get up from the bed and press a warm kiss to his forehead.
"Good night, John."