Chapter Text
John came trundling down the stairs from his room just as Sherlock settled in his chair with a stack of forensics journals. It still felt odd that he could do whatever he wanted again. That he wasn’t hiding in yet another dingy inn with terrible wifi and too pungent carpeting. That he could listen to John’s stair clomping, slow typing, and infectious laughing. It was odd, but it was good. Perfect. He’d have laughed if someone had told him five years ago that this would be his life and that he would love every minute of it, even the boring bits. Things had changed a lot in five years, though. He had changed, thanks to John. So here he was, older, wiser, and reveling in the simple fact that he could hear John’s footsteps again.
Sherlock caught his breath as John entered the room, though whether it was because of the picture John presented or the implications of said picture, Sherlock didn’t know. He wore a gray suit, new since they last lived together—but of course, that was two years gone—blue shirt open at the collar, and black shoes. Sherlock had never seen him so put together or handsome. But why did he need to look so put together? He had stated only a few days before that he was done with dating. Had he changed his mind already? Not surprising, given that he couldn’t seem to be without a girlfriend before.
Sherlock’s chest felt tight. Even though John was quick to point out that his feelings for Sherlock were still firmly in the realm of platonic, Sherlock had felt lighter when John had admitted he wanted them to basically spend the rest of their lives together, and that there would be no more girlfriends. It wasn’t quite what he wished for, but it was close enough. He could do without kisses if it meant John stayed by his side.
But apparently that fantasy was short-lived, for here John was not two days after his platonic declaration, dressed to impress, and it sure as hell wasn’t Sherlock he wanted to impress. Sherlock took a moment to suppress the disappointment before he addressed his friend.
“Someone new at the office, or did you meet her on a street corner?” Ouch. Not good. He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh.
John looked up from where he’d been adjusting his cuffs, brow furrowed. “What?”
Sherlock rolled his eyes and waved vaguely in John’s direction. “New suit. Shined shoes. A cologne that isn’t quite as cheap as your usual. Actual product in your hair. I must say, you’ve stepped up your game since I last had a front-row seat to your adventures in dating.”
John heaved that sigh that said he was a martyr, and he was putting up with Sherlock for the greater good. Sherlock hated that sigh. He wasn’t forcing John to be there.
“Sherlock, I’m not– Did I not say two days ago that I was done dating? What is it you say about guessing ahead of the facts?”
“I don’t gu–”
“Yes you do, you git. And you’re not even using the full data at your disposal. What did I tell you this afternoon?”
“No experimenting until I get new gloves?”
“No– Well yes, and thanks for listening to that. But I meant about the party.”
Sherlock thought on it a moment, but he couldn’t remember anything about a party. It wasn’t John’s work party, which was next weekend, or the Met’s party, which was the Friday after that. It wasn’t their own do, which would be the 22nd.
John apparently read enough on Sherlock’s face to know he didn’t have an answer, because he sighed again, though this was the fond sigh with a hint of a smile that Sherlock much preferred. It said that he liked Sherlock’s little quirks and didn’t want him to change just to be like everyone else.
“The clinic’s holiday party got moved to tonight. There were too many conflicts next weekend.”
“Oh. Then why are you dressed so– um, nicely? Usually you make do with jeans and that awful brown jacket. You are trying to impress someone at work, aren’t you? I knew it.” The band around Sherlock’s chest tightened even more.
“Not umm, not precisely, no. Just… I had to buy this suit for a thing with Mary a few months ago. Figured I might as well get some more wear out of it, since you’ve complained enough times about my jacket. I thought you might, umm, like it?” John looked away from Sherlock and rubbed the back of his neck.
“I do! I mean, it’s a cut above your usual. Very… nice. Yes.” Very suave, Holmes.
John smiled at him, pleased, and Sherlock felt the tension in his chest relax. “Good. Good. So… what are you up to tonight?”
Thank goodness, they needed a subject change before Sherlock said something to embarrass himself. Like how gorgeous John looked in that suit. Like that he wanted to mess up that slightly coifed hair by running his fingers through it. Like–
“Oh, not much. Just catching up on some reading.” Now that he’d seen John, though, the journals held much less appeal than they’d done when he’d sat down. He almost wanted to go with John to the party. Not only to stave off anyone who (rightly) tried pull John after seeing him in his new duds, but just so Sherlock would have more of a chance to soak in John himself. He would even deal with tedious conversation with ditzy nurses just to stand by John’s side.
“Don’t sound so excited.”
Sherlock shrugged. “I can’t start my next experiment until I pick up those eyeballs tomorrow. Finished that case for Lestrade earlier today. Nothing interesting in the inbox. It was either journals or telly with Mrs. Hudson, and I cannot stand that singing show that’s on tonight. Worse, I can hear it through the floor. I’d almost rather put up with a crowd just to get out of the flat for a few hours.”
“Too bad that ‘almost’ isn’t a ‘definitely,’ or I could help you out,” John said, sounding slightly…nervous?
“Hmm?” Surely John didn’t mean…
“The party. I’ve got a crowd that would help you avoid the squawking from the downstairs telly. I know you don’t like holidays or parties or anyone I work with… but I’m—it’s—there if you really want to get out.”
“Oh.” He did hate all of those things. It would probably be tedious and dull. But it was John… “Thank you. I suppose having you there would make it slightly less hateful.” Sherlock’s stomach flipped at the idea of standing next to John in his gorgeous suit all night. So tempting.
“Ta very much,” John replied with a smirk. “So… is that a yes?”
Sherlock pretended to consider the offer. “Do I get to deduce everyone?”
John narrowed his eyes. “Only to me.”
“Fine. And you have to come with me to Mycroft’s holiday do.”
“What?!? I’m the one helping you out tonight. Why do I have to owe you favor?”
“’Tis the season?” Sherlock tried.
John shook his head, but he was smiling. “Fine. If only so I don’t get a call from him the night of complaining that you insulted the Turkish ambassador’s wife.”
“She probably deserved it,” Sherlock replied as he went to put on his coat and scarf.
He heard the laughter in John’s voice as he said, “Why do I put up with you?”
“Because I said ‘danger.’”
John laughed. “Isn’t that the truth.” It wasn’t until he too had shrugged on his coat that he turned an accusing eye to Sherlock. “Mycroft’s party is a black-tie event!”
Sherlock smirked, thinking of how dapper John would look in a tux. “Don’t worry. We’ll stop by my favorite shop next week.”