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John sighed as he double-checked the address Sherlock had sent him that afternoon. After a long day of coughs and colds in the surgery, John was exhausted. He gave a brief kiss to Mary as she joined him in his office as he cleared his desk.
“Sorry love, Sherlock texted an address saying don’t be late 6 o’clock.” John sighed, ‘He must have got a case. Surprise he didn’t just come here and drag me off.”
Mary just smiled and gave a shrug of her shoulders. “It’s fine; I was going to have a chill evening with a glass of wine and a bubble bath anyway.”
John didn’t have to search around for the address too much, as he felt a presence slip up beside him. Glancing up, he confirmed what he already knew. Sherlock was standing beside him.
“John,” Sherlock gave a brief nod in greeting.
“Oh hey Sherlock, so got a case then, have you?”
Sherlock wrinkled his brow slightly “Case? No, I was fortunate enough to secure an appointment for the both of us at Gieves and Hawkes”. As Sherlock glanced at John for his response, he gave a deep sigh. “Really, John, The wedding is fast approaching and to ensure our morning attire is correctly fitted will take anything from 9 to 16 weeks. Surely the groom should be just as well dressed for his special day as the bride.’
John made a face that Sherlock could not interpret. “I guess, but …but Sherlock I thought I could just hire a suit from Moss Bros or something. It not like anyone cares about what the grooms wearing its all about the bride…..or so everyone keeps reminding me.”
“Nonsense, John, it is as much your day as Mary’s,” Sherlock said as he came to a stop outside a white pillared shop. “Besides, you may be happy in a cheap of the rack polyester suit but I will not, off the rack simply won’t fit my frame.” As he strolled in through the door. John dived after Sherlock grabbing the Belstaff sleeve.
In a muttered whisper “Yeah, but Sherlock…..um what about …you know the cost of this.” Sherlock shook his head at John’s worries.
“Don’t worry about that; the wedding budget is healthy enough for this.” Sherlock casually remarked ‘John trust me, I know you feel this is in your mind an over indulgence but we will be wearing these for hours and bespoke fitting is a must for comfort.’
John sighed he realised that this was a battle he would not win. He seriously doubted that the budget would cover this extravagance, but it was something that Mary had never fully disclosed. He had transferred a portion of his meagre saving over to Mary who had ensured him that she had been putting away money for a special day for some time.
Sherlock moved away from John towards a gentleman dressed immaculately. “Good afternoon, Mr Holmes.” The gentleman extended a hand towards Sherlock, then turning towards John, “And this must be Dr Watson then. Good afternoon and welcome to Gieves and Hawkes. Your cutter, Mr Williams, is ready for you both. If you would like to follow me.”
They are led into a room which, to John’s surprise, holds no rails of clothes but a leather sofa and a coffee table. There is a small shelving area which holds a few what look like books. Off to the side is another few doors one is slightly ajar giving John a view of a small mirrored room with a small circular platform. Just as soon as John catches a glimpse a gentleman in his late forties by John’s estimation exits the room closing the door behind him. He beamed towards Sherlock extending his hand “Mr Holmes, I mean Sherlock, so good to see you again. “How are you, Sir?”
Sherlock smiled back. “I’ve been well, Mr Williams. May I introduce you to Doctor John Watson.”
Mr Williams turned towards John with the same beaming smile and handshake “A pleasure Sir to finally meet you Dr Watson. I have enjoyed reading the exploits of Sherlock on your blog”
“John, please.” John gave a brief smile back.
“John, of course. Can I get you a tea or coffee gentlemen?’ At the negative movements of the two men, Mr Williams continued, “Sherlock has explained that you are both to be measured for your wedding. Congratulations, John. Now Sherlock has helpfully spoken with myself on the bride’s and bridal parties colour palettes. I must ask Sir, as a former army captain do you wish for military wear or do you wish for a morning suit?”
John had the slightly dazed deer-in-the-headlights look. The thought of wearing a uniform to get married had never entered his mind. ‘um I dunno, it’s never crossed my mind.” John stumbled. “I think I’d need to ask Mary what she wants.” He finished feeling like an idiot for needing to ask Mary permission on what to wear for their wedding. She definitely didn’t consult John when she chose her dress or the bridesmaids he just agreed that purple not lilac was a nice colour.
“Not to worry, Sir. Of course you would need to consult with your intended for her decision. We can take your measurements and I can..”
“Actually, no,” John interrupted “I don’t want to wear a uniform. She never knew me during my military career. “Sorry.” John apologised realising he had cut through Mr Williams speaking.
“Oh, not at all, Sir. If that is the case then the two of you can wear matching outfits of the traditional black morning coat with grey trousers. “For the waistcoats, I’ve selected a few different cream and ivory fabrics.” Mr Williams continued going over and lifting down a large book from a shelf. He opened it up to a swatch sample of buff-coloured fabric. ‘Of course, we can discuss the different fabric choices available later. Why don’t we start with taking your measurements, gentlemen?”
John felt slightly bamboozled by the previous five minutes, “Why don’t start with the groom?”
Sherlock cleared his throat. “Surely you only need John’s measurements; you have mine on file.”
“We do, of course, Sherlock. I have them already pulled out, but it’s always good to double-check they are still correct. Now John, please, after you.” Mr Williams ushered John towards the door that he had initially came out of.
Sherlock realises with Mr Williams' announcement that he will have to remove his clothing to allow for accurate measurements. He will have to reveal the monstrous scars on his back. How could he have been so stupid? He had thought of the need to get his measurement retaken. Stupid. Of course, Mr Williams was the consummate professional and would want to ensure that correct measurements were taken. But wait, he was a professional; surely, he had seen many different scars and injuries in his career. At this minute he was seeing John’s starburst scar on his left shoulder. Granted John’s scar was, at least by Sherlock, to be considered quite amazing, after all it was the reason that John had been discharged and came home to London. Sherlock’s back was a map of grotesque failures written permanently as a reminder of how foolish he had been in Serbia. He has become the freak that people had always accused him of being. Sherlock is jolted out of his head when he hears the changing room door open.
When John emerges, Sherlock has regained his composure. He looks like he has decided to just allow the experience to happen. Sherlock passes him the book of fabric swatches as he rises from the sofa. “Why don’t you have a look through some of the fabric choices, John.”
Sherlock walks towards the changing room like a man going towards the gallows. He realises that Mr Williams has been talking without Sherlock hearing a word.
“S..sorry what…what where you saying?” Sherlock stutters out, his tongue seemingly too thick for his own mouth.
“I was talking about you removing your clothing.” He gives a small sigh “Sherlock, are you feeling alright? Ever since you entered this room, you have become quite pale. Would you like a glass of water?”
Sherlock hums his agreement and watches as Mr Williams turns towards a small refrigerator and removes an Evian bottle and pours it into a glass. Sherlock notices his hand trembles slightly as he takes a sip. He is disgusted with himself.
“Sherlock, may I say something? Make an observation, if I may. Whatever you feel discomforted by me discovering, I assure you I have likely seen it all before.” He said gently.
“I’m that obvious.” Sherlock murmured. Mr Williams gives a gentle smile.
“No Sherlock, let’s say I have seen these symptoms many times over my years as a cutter. Plus we do have a military department with gentlemen who are no longer comfortable with a process they were once comfortable with. Whatever is concerning you, I will endeavour to make you feel more at ease.”
‘Of course,” after his many years with Mr Williams, and how the man would be observant of people and their movements and posture he would be able to see instantly. Sherlock decides to trust him.
“My body”, he clears his throat, “my body has changed significantly from when you last took my measurements. My back…it has…it has.” Mr Williams waits patiently, his face blank. If Sherlock felt there was a hint of pity, he would have turned on his heels. “significant scarring”.
“Thank you, Sherlock. May I make a suggestion? Usually, as you know, I have taken your measurement while your clothing is removed. Would you be more comfortable with your shirt on until I come to measuring your upper half? Or I can take measurements with your shirt on; however, they would not be as accurate as the standards that you have come to expect of Gieves and Hawkes. You don’t have to make a decision now, why don’t you mull it over while I take some of your other measurements.”
Sherlock gives a weak smile and a nod. He is sickeningly grateful for Mr Williams' suggestions. Mr Williams nods in understanding and allows Sherlock to move past him to remove his clothing.
When Sherlock steps up on the platform still in underwear and shirt, he feels slightly more like himself. Mr Williams begins to take his measurements, making notes as he silently works. Once the measurements for the trousers are made, Mr Williams straightens. “Now, to measure your torso, have you decided if you wish it to be shirt on or off?”
Sherlock has been wearing the shirt with the buttons undone. He took a steadying breath and slipped the shirt off, passing it to Mr Williams' outstretched hands. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, as he did not want to see his reflection. He tensed visibly when he felt the presence of Mr Williams behind him. “If you need me to stop, Sherlock, just say the word.” Sherlock made a hum of acknowledgement. Mr Williams got swiftly to work not making any outward signs that anything was different about Sherlock since he last was measured.
It all was going quite swimmingly until Mr Williams asked Sherlock to raise his arms. As the cutter wrapped the measuring tape around his wrist, Sherlock gasped as a shadow passed over the floor and there was a tightening around his wrist.
Sherlock pulls his arm out of the cutter's grasp with a growl.
“Не дирај ме, не знам ништа” Sherlock growls as he backs away from the surprised man. Mr Williams holds up his hands in the gesture that he means Sherlock no harm.
“Sherlock, take a breath. Do you want me to get Doctor Watson, John?” Mr Williams asks in a hushed voice. Sherlock has now backed into a corner and has crouched down. He is clearly panting now and lets out a wail at the mention of John. They mustn’t know about John. This has all been to keep John safe. He cannot be here. Sherlock grabs hold of his curls and pulls, trying to ground himself enough to think.
John is sitting outside the dressing room area on a comfortable leather sofa. He is ideally looking through the different fabric catalogue books placed on the coffee table in front of him. He gives a start as he realises that there was a raised voice coming from the dressing room that Sherlock is in. He is not sure what was said, but it sounded foreign. He listens carefully and then hears some bumping sounds and what sounds like a whine. He decides to investigate. He gently wraps his knuckles on the door and raises his voice. “Everything alright in there?” The door opens slightly, and Mr Williams hastily slips out the small opening.
“Dr Watson, I’m sorry; it appears that Mr Holmes is having a meltdown or flashback of some sort.”
“Don’t be ridiculous; why would he be having a meltdown over getting measured?” John scoffed as he reached for the doorknob.
John is shocked at what greets him. He views Sherlock crouched and huddled in on himself. The mirrors around the room reflected back to him the almost naked frame of his best friend's scarred body. John stands still for a while, assessing the situation presented to him.
John silently closes the door and turns towards Mr Williams. Captain Watson is now fully in command. “Ok, Go downstairs, ensure no one comes up to this floor. Make it as silent as possible? I’m going to talk to him, but I do not need any loud sudden noises, understood?” Mr Williams nods his understanding. “Reduce the lighting to a minimum.” Mr Williams walks slowly to a large bank of light switches and turns a number off, leaving a few on, which creates a sort of mute effect. He then leaves to the ground floor to instruct the other staff about the situation.
John takes a steadying breath and opens the door once again. It appears that Sherlock has not moved. He realises that Sherlock is slightly rocking and making what sounds like a muttered whispering drone in a language that John cannot identify. John crouches beside the door so as not to make Sherlock feel crowded.
“Sherlock, it’s me, John. Sherlock, you are in London. You are safe.” John gently tells Sherlock. “Sherlock, I need you to take a deep breath, copy me.’ John takes an exaggerated breath in and lets it out. Sherlock does not copy, but he has stopped rocking.
“You can’t be here. Your mind palace John.” Sherlock rasps; it sounds like a voice that has not been used in a long time.
“No Sherlock I am here with you. We are in London. Remember we are in a shop to get measured for wedding suits.” John tries to keep his voice steady as his eyes keep cataloguing new scars and blemishes that he never saw on Sherlock’s body before.
“Sherlock can you match my breathing come on breath in one , two three.” John smiles tentatively as Sherlock complies and takes a deep breath “Good, now out slowly. That’s good, Sherlock, and again. John talks Sherlock through a deep breathing exercise for a few minutes when he notices a slight shifting of tension in Sherlock’s frame.
“Good, Sherlock, keep doing that deep breathing. You are safe in London.”
“London, yes, John.” Sherlock mutters.
“Yes Sherlock. Can you look at me, please?” Sherlock slowly complies and his stormy blood shot eyes meet John’s. They look to John to be clear, and it is as if Sherlock is slowly returning to himself.
“Tell me where we are, Sherlock.” John gently asks.
There is a shaky sigh from Sherlock. “Gieves and Hawkes. Measuring room.”
John lets out a gusty exhale and nods. “Good Sherlock. How are you feeling?” Then he grimaces; he never liked being asked that question.
Sherlock let out a short, dry bark of a laugh that doesn’t sound like him. “Like I just need a shower and about a week of sleep.” He notices that his hands are still shaking and tries to hide them by folding his arms. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
His voice catches on the word fine. The room feels too bright, too clean. He keeps his eyes fixed on a scuff mark on the floor so he doesn’t have to see John’s face — the worry, the pity.
He forces a breath, then straightens, looking at a point just past John’s shoulder. “If you don’t mind, John, I would like to get dressed.” The haughty tone back in his voice.
John nods “Sure Sherlock, I’ll just step out but Sherlock, we are going straight back to 221 and we are going to talk about what just happened.”
“It’s nothing, John ….” It’s just … “It’s weird,” he adds quietly after a beat. “It’s like my head hasn’t made it back yet… Sometimes. But it’s nothing I can’t handle. Really. I just… need a case… to get back to work, keep busy.”
“No Sherlock, we are talking about this. I just think 221 would be better suited than the changing room of some posh suit shop.” John put a touch of no-nonsense Captain Watson into the tone once again before slipping out the door.