Note: I had started writing this long before Season 3 came along and had to do a ridiculous amount of research to get this right. It was dull and dry reading, especially trying to figure out the medals. In the end, my beta thought the medal explanation (at a later chapter) was not as interesting and broke the rhythm of the story too much. Oh well, I'll let you know what they are at the end (as I envision it).

I even asked an English friend of mine who was in the Army about the uniform, and he pretty much said each - Unit? Battalion? Regiment? (can't remember anymore) - has its own traditions and differences. So there's pretty much not much of a rigid standard in it.

Just being OCD. :)

13. Man in uniform

They took turns in the bathroom again. Sherlock stepped out of the bathroom already in his tuxedo, then put his worn clothes away before turning back to the room. When John saw him through the mirror he froze for a second, his breath catching in his throat.

Sherlock looked devastatingly handsome in his tuxedo. Not that it was that much different from his usual shirt and suit attire. But still, it made John's heart skip a beat. He averted his eyes just in time.

Sherlock had never seen him in uniform before, he too froze at the sight. John was buttoning his cuffs in front of the closet mirror, his jacket still in the hanger, waiting. The white shirt was crisply pressed and had a high flat collar. It was tucked into navy blue trousers with red stripes on the sides, which perfectly hugged his bum. His hair was parted on the side and combed back with some gel, giving him an entirely different appearance.

'Your hair.'

'Hm? Oh. Well, it's a bit too long to go with the uniform, so I had to comb it back. It just looked wrong, I've only worn this dress uniform when I had a buzz cut.' He put on the jacket, concentrating on the golden buttons. 'The tux looks good on you,' he said without looking up. 'Good thing you brought it.'

Sherlock watched, fascinated. The uniform and the hair style made John look completely different. The hair style made him look older and conservative, but also, like a distinguished gentleman and... oddly, sexy. The part was on the left and then the hair flowed in a slight wave, up and down before sweeping back. The blue of the uniform was so dark it looked black in this light. John's rank showed on the shoulder tabs. The collar of the jacket was high, and only a sliver of the white shirt showed above it.

John noticed Sherlock's attention. 'This is the "No. 1 Dress", also known as "Blues".' He pulled a stripped belt and slid it into place, securing it at the front with a golden buckle, which cinched his waist and emphasised his trim shape. Pointing at the belt's horizontal stripes he said, 'These are the colours for the RAMC unit (maroon, navy blue and yellow, Sherlock noted) and this (pointing at the oval buckle) is my regiment's symbol: St. George slaying the dragon, and "Northumberland Fusiliers" printed around it.' He turned to a box that had been sitting on the bed and took out his medals and decorations. Three pre-set in a row, with one single pin, which he attached above the left chest pocket. Two of them had horizontal metal bars on the ribbon. 'This one with these colours on the ribbon stripes (beige, light blue, navy blue and red) indicate tours of duty in Afghanistan.'

Strangely, John didn't elaborate on the others. He'd check online later. Knowing John, he probably didn't think he deserved the medals. He put on a pair of short white gloves, then pulled a navy blue beret out of the same flat box, settling it on his head. There was a Rod of Asclepius on the beret, above the left eye, marking him as a doctor. He carefully surveyed himself on the mirror, making sure everything was in its proper place. He frowned, turned and surveyed his back, straightening his belt and jacket. His shoes gleamed. Finally satisfied, he turned to Sherlock, smiling proudly, chin up, shoulders back, in a 'standing at ease' position. 'What do you think?'

It took a few seconds for Sherlock's voice to respond to his brain. He managed a small and proud smile. 'Perfect.' He was glad that the sunburn would hide any flushing on his cheeks. Sherlock knew he would never ever forget this image of John, smiling, looking so... He turned away abruptly, smile gone, 'We should go.'

There was truth in what people said about men in uniform...

John felt a bit miffed that Sherlock had pretty much dismissed something that was so important to him, that he wore so proudly. He rolled his eyes and followed.

...

If John looked handsome in his uniform, Sherlock wasn't prepared for how amazing Max would look in it. Now that he paid attention, Max was very handsome. His features were just perfect. No, not perfect. But there was something about the whole arrangement of his eyes, nose, cheekbones and mouth that simply worked well together. His eyes stood out as large, sexy and beautiful, with their hooded downward slant. He realised now that, instead of making him look sleepy, one could say they looked like bedroom eyes. He felt jealous, no other word for it. He watched as both men greeted each other outside the church, both serious, no smiles this time. John's ears were red. Only after the fact he realised that, unconsciously, he had sat next to John on the pew, virtually placing himself between the two men. He felt ridiculously possessive, but couldn't deny it helped him feel better. Melanie sat next to Max, in a light purple dress.

The female soldiers, on the other hand, opted for civilian dress. Gwen drew all male heads (except for two, sitting next to John) with a dark green dress that complemented her red hair and alabaster skin. Several heads also turned to look at Terry, who wore a dark red dress that hugged her curves, usually hidden by the floppy camouflage uniform. Her sister Jeanie wore a blue dress, equally flattering (John noticed it appreciatively). Half of the guests were civilians, their presence marked by dresses and tuxedos. Terry had to dab her eyes here and there, which drew raised eyebrows from her friends. She never cried, as far as they knew it.

For an excruciatingly long and dull hour and a half, Sherlock waited for the ceremony to be over. It was all he could do not to bury his face in his hands and groan loudly. He could feel John's thigh pressed against his and the heat coming from Max, who made sure not to touch Sherlock. He knew he was crowding John a bit, but couldn't bring himself to pull away. Besides, that meant he'd be pressed against Max. The contact felt as comforting as Max's presence made him anxious. He could feel the tension between the two of them.

Note on medals: Here's a bit of Sherlock's investigation on the medals (if you care) that I deleted, but summarizes it:

'I looked online, you know. The records for each and every soldier who has received a medal is open to the public. I checked yours. The first one, on the right, is a Conspicuous Gallantry Cross, awarded for "acts of bravery". The second one is a Military Cross, awarded for acts of bravery that basically help others. Both have bars over the ribbons, which indicate you actually have received four medals. Two for killing people, two for saving them.'

'Huh. That's a blunt explanation. So... why are you asking me?'

'I want to hear your story.'

The explanation was based on what I understood as the main difference by reading the soldiers' stories. Some women in the medics team kicked ass, saving their wounded amidst flying bullets (hitting next to them). They received the Military Cross. I was disappointed that it would look like John had 'only' two medals.