Quick note: you won't believe how much I fretted over the correct word for swimsuit in British English. Please let me know if I'm too OCD or off target.

8. The pool party

John came out of the bathroom wearing new clothes: khaki trousers, a short-sleeved shirt. He slipped on a pair of loafers without socks.

'John.'

Dear God, this might become a very long weekend. 'Yes Sherlock?'

'It's a pool party.'

'I know.'

'Why are you wearing clothes?'

'Hey, I still need to walk through two hotel lobbies. I'm not doing it semi-naked.'

'But you're not taking a swimming costume with you.'

'Of course I am. I'm already wearing it'

'Oh. Right.'

'Will you go to the dinner tonight? I don't think there'll be serious drinking at the restaurant. We might go to a pub afterwards, but the dinner itself should be just that, and nice.'

'Mmm. All right.'

'You will go?'

'I just said that.'

'Oh. All right then.'

John dug a bottle of sun cream from his case. Sherlock looked sideways as he bent down from the waist. He could see the outline of the bathers now. Odd. Not Speedos, but not the large longish shorts he had expected John to favour. Judging by the shorts he usually wore to exercise, Sherlock had imagined he'd choose something similar. Strange. Usually body conscious with the rest of the world, he seems very much at ease with his Army buddies.

'Well, see you around 5:30. The dinner is at seven, more casual, no ties required, but we still need to wear jackets.'

Sherlock grunted, sitting at the small desk, eyes not leaving the pages in Mycroft's folder. It was actually an interesting case, he grudgingly conceded, murder within a locked room. But as soon as John left, he went to the window. This was highly unusual: a case always absorbed him, and he couldn't help but to give it his full attention. But right now, John seemed to be his case, and Mycroft's crisis, the intruder.

Maybe I should have gone. But being trapped with so many people that he didn't know, being forced to be social and make small talk was his least favourite thing to do. It always left him on edge, impatient, wanting to flee. Even worse, all this would be compounded with sun, water and heat, which did not agree with his constitution (he'd only get sunburned, overheated and his hair, out of control). No. The dinner tonight and wedding tomorrow were already too much for him. He would've liked to see John in the pool though. Maybe he'll get tanned again this weekend. His skin was a slightly golden colour when they had met. Even tough it was already quite faded, he could tell John's skin would almost match his hair colour when really tanned. No, darker even. Sherlock had never thought much about tanned skin. In fact, he dismissed it as useless vanity most of the time. But this just added to the mystique surrounding John, in his mind.

There were manly hugs going on around the pool: the sudden crashing of chests, heads pulled back, with fast and vigorous open hand slaps on each other's backs. Many smiles and trading of stories. Sherlock paid close attention to the people that greeted John, gauging his reactions, filing them away. He was curious about this Gwen. Ah, that must be her, he thought, as a red headed woman walked in, greeting and hugging as she went along. Several of the guys immediately turned their heads as she walked in. She eventually walked towards John and they exchanged a friendly hug, while some of the guys around them exchanged smirks. They talked for a while, no different than how they had acted with everybody else, and both moved on to continue greeting the new arrivals.

Then another woman tapped John's arm. She was blond, petite and stronger than the red headed one. When he turned around, he flashed his brightest smile of the day and not only gave her a hug, but lifted her from the ground briefly, affectionately. The people around them smirked again. The woman he had thought was Gwen looked sideways, and she seemed envious. John and this other woman talked animatedly too.

Eventually one of the guys called for everybody's attention and that made people start to head for the locker rooms to change. Or, like John, to undress by the pool, setting his clothes on a lounging chair and beginning to apply some sun cream. Sherlock was astonished. John was wearing very small light blue shorts. They weren't skin tight like Speedos, or anything vulgar or indecent, but still, close fitting, small and short. They showed his thighs, something Sherlock had only glimpsed that one time when John wore a gown around the flat, after showering. His breath caught and he felt very warm all the sudden.

There were many very attractive men in the party, yet, some of the women (not all obviously soldiers) seemed to notice John. The shorts! Clever of him. Predictable.

Waiters were serving drinks set over a long table, covered with a white tablecloth, under a tent. As far as he could tell, John seemed to favour water or lemonade. Of course, hydration is his main concern in this heat. He talked animatedly with everybody. There was some shoving around and people were thrown in the pool, him included. His skin glistened in the water. They stood in the pool, still talking, laughing, horsing around. Really, some of his mates act like immature teenagers. It was surprising to see him so unconcerned with his scars.

John now sat by the edge of the pool, legs in the water, talking to three friends. Then he got up and joined another group. Now and then the group would change, but he seemed to get along with all of them. Or rather, they all seemed to like him and want to be around him. Sherlock could tell when someone talked to John about his scar. But just like he said, John seemed comfortable with them. And many showed him their own scars. Some of them wore prosthetics and remained dry, despite wearing bathers. Three were in wheelchairs. Yet, all received his attention. Eventually he excused himself and presumably went to the loo.

When he came back, he sat on one of the lounging chairs to talk to the blond woman he had lifted from the ground earlier. He let the sun dry his skin, talking and smiling warmly at her. Clearly she was still a soldier, judging by her impressive abs. She laid on her stomach and he copied her, heads turned to each other. His bum looked perfect in those shorts, his back quite muscular. Then one man approached them and it was clear that they welcomed him. He sat on the edge of John's chair and the three talked happily, relaxed, sipping their drinks. John seemed to be having a good time. This fellow was muscular, had the usual military partial tan and dark brown hair.

Now dry, John was re-applying his sun cream, and the blonde offered help and spread it on his back. That won catcalls from some of the guys, but they merely smiled and talked back to the teasing crowd. He applied some on her back too, causing some people to yell 'TC!' She also helped their friend, winning more teasing from the others.

Around four the women started to take their leave, the blond one included. Females always needed so much time to get ready... Now John was in the water, chatting with the fellow that had joined them in the chairs. The crowd was much smaller now and John decided to swim a bit, doing a couple of laps. The red headed woman was still there; she approached and sat by the edge of the pool, waiting for him. He saw her and stopped swimming. He was breathing a bit heavily, but smiled and spent some time with her. She was by far the most attractive woman in the entire party, yet, he had greeted her pretty much like the others (except for the blond woman). Soon, she too had to leave. By five he was dry from the sun and didn't go in the water anymore, talking to the other guys.

John looked at his watch and started to get dressed again. It was twenty past five.

Sherlock waited until he couldn't see John anymore and sat back at the desk, looking into Mycroft's folder.