Work Text:
590 Cassidy Court 7 PM
SH
John Watson looks at his watch. 6:57. He had received this text from Sherlock this morning during his shift at the clinic. He had debated asking for further details, but realized it was futile; he was going to come anyway.
He had arrived at the address two minutes and fourteen seconds ago and was currently loitering underneath the building proclaiming itself to be
Madame T's
in eloquent cursive.
He finally sees the familiar slim Belstaff-clad figure striding towards him.
"Sherlock, are you going to tell me what this is about? I'm assuming it's for a case," John demands.
"Ish," Sherlock demands vaguely, knocking on the door in a quick succession of knocks.
"It's no use, it's locked-" John starts, but then gives up as the oak door swings open to reveal a fabulously dressed man in elegant Victorian-esque style, a dark red waistcoat cinching his lithe figure.
"Sherlock!" the man cries, enveloping him in a hug. "Come in, come in!" He ushers the two of them inside; John follows, still unsure of what's going on. Then again, he rarely understands things when Sherlock is involved.
"I really can't thank you enough for this, Toby," Sherlock says, walking down a velvet - carpeted hall. "It's such short notice-"
"Nonsense!" Toby waves him off. "Anything for you, Sherlock."
"Sorry," John butts in, catching up. "How do you two… know each other?"
"Ah! You must be Dr. John Watson. Excellent to make your acquiantance." He shakes John's hand enthusiastically.
"And you are…?"
"Forgive me. I am Toby Thenardier."
"…you're Madame T?" John asks, confused.
Toby laughs. "Well, that was left over from the previous owner, but the initial fit, so I kept it! I find the Madame title incidentally helps to awaken my inner diva. Always important for ballroom dancing." He winks
Getting one question answered, John now has several additional ones. "Okay, so I should call you…" He trails off, unsure of what to say.
"Madame T, Toby, monsieur, dude, bro, girl, really anything."
"Ok, then… Toby," John says hesitantly. "Why am I here?"
Toby grins, dramatically pushing open two heavy dark oak doors to reveal a ballroom. "To teach you how to dance, darling."
John bites back a curse as he stumbles over his own feet for the dozenth time. "Sherlock, why am I doing this again?" he hisses.
"I told you," Sherlock hisses back, hands impertinently reorienting on John's hips. "It's for a case."
"What case requires me to twist my ankles over each other in a haze of smothering perfume?" John demands, muttering harshly but quietly into his partner's ear as his knees turn in a way he's pretty sure they're not supposed to.
Sherlock sighs dramatically and steps back, calling over his shoulder, "Five minute break okay, Toby?"
"Of course! Remember: hydrate or die straight," Toby reminds the two, laughing as he walks off towards his office.
"Okay," John says, clamping a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and guiding him towards a wall. "Explain."
Sherlock slides down the wall, legs spread out in front of him, inviting John to do the same, and rolls his eyes. "I met with Mycroft this morning," Sherlock begins.
John begins to look out the window.
Sherlock creases his eyebrow in consternation. "What are you doing?"
John glances back at Sherlock. "Looking for flying pigs."
"…why?"
"Since you're apparently now voluntarily meeting with your brother, I assumed that pigs had started flying."
Sherlock stares at John, uncomprehending. John sighs. "Never mind."
"As I was saying," Sherlock says pointedly, "Mycroft rather strongly persuaded me that some legwork needed doing."
"Still unsure where me and dancing lessons play into this," John notes icily.
"Patience, John," Sherlock responds dryly. "A person of interest they've been tracking for a length of time, a Mr. Lukas Gallagher, is making an uncommon public appearance tomorrow night."
John waits.
"Mr. Gallagher is part of an exclusive ballroom dancing club, which is having a reception tomorrow night at L'Elegance Hall. Mycroft… requested some undercover work to infiltrate the club and determine Mr. Gallagher's intentions."
"…and remind me again why I'm needed?"
"En Couronne d'Ensemble is a couples-only ballroom dancing group," Sherlock says finally. "We will be going undercover as Mr. and Dr. Laertes."
John takes a deep breath. "Okay then," he manages finally. "I shouldn't be surprised."
"Therefore dancing lessons were a necessity - for you," Sherlock adds.
"Obviously," John snorts. "So tomorrow I'm your husband?"
Sherlock looks taken aback at the bluntness of how John puts it, but nods. "Yes.
The next few hours are spent with Toby throwing out various French terms in an increasingly desperate tone. As the night grows long, John is half convinced that Madame T is making up half of the words he's saying.
As 10:30 approaches, they decide to call it a night. John excuses himself to the bathroom, and Sherlock and Toby linger outside, smoking.
"Nice catch," Toby grins, blowing a puff of smoke.
Sherlock quirks an eyebrow. "Sorry?"
Toby looks at him strangely, taking a drag from his cigarette. "John. Your partner. You two look good together. I can see why you're dating."
Sherlock coughs on a lungful of smoke. "We're not - He's not- I'm not-" He takes a gasping breath. "He's not my boyfriend."
Toby merely raises an eyebrow. "That so?"
"Yes," Sherlock says stiffly, inhaling through his cigarette in an attempt of self-regulation.
Toby just shrugs. "Could've fooled me."
Sherlock is unable to tear his mind away from Toby's remarks, not sleeping at all. His words whirl around his head, sticking in his thought process.
They have another dance lesson in the morning, then lunch, then picking up suits for the reception that night.
"Sherlock, I never gave you my measurements," John says, confused, as they walk into a tailor's shop.
"You didn't have to," Sherlock responds cryptically as he strides up to the counter. "Picking up for Sherlock?" He thanks the receptionist who hands over two clothing bags.
As soon as they get to Baker Street, John can't hold in his questions any longer. "How could you have known my meausurements?"
"I have eyes, John," Sherlock replies simply, putting John's clothing bag in his bedroom.
John splutters in indignation. "Yeah, but - so do I!"
"But you do not observe with them," Sherlock responds with a sassiness that makes John repress the urge to punch him in the face.
Sherlock merely hmms, noting the flicker of emotion across John's features. "It's 2:45. The car is picking us up at 6:00. I'll come help you with hair and makeup at 4:30."
"I can brush my own hair, Sherlock."
Sherlock gives him a look.
While styling John's hair, Sherlock gives him the run-down on their target.
"Mrs. Loelia Ponsonby is attending the event with her long-tern boyfriend Thomas Greene. Lukas Gallagher's plan to extract secret from Mrs. Ponsonby is as follows. Thomas Greene, upon arriving, will receive an alert from his home security system and will leave to check on things. At Lukas's table without her partner, Greene plans to slip Rohypnol into her drink. When she appears unwell, Lukas will volunteer to take her into a private room elsewhere in the banquet hall to care for her, where he will instead coerce certain secrets out of her."
"Jesus," John mutters.
"Stop moving your head," Sherlock scolds.
John sits in his armchair, idly tapping his fingers, and barely manages to stifle a gasp as he sees Sherlock walk out of his room. He wears a top with a v-neck down to his navel. His shoulders are swathed in sapphire blue, which quickly darkens into billowing sleeves at the elbow in deep midnight blue, the swishy dramatic aspect of them unmistakely Sherlock. The top, tucked into flowy linen trousers of the same pastal blue, reveals Sherlock's pale skin, leaving him looking like a sculpture of a Greek god with the alabaster of his torso framed against black and blue fabric.
John wants to tear the shirt off of the consulting detective.
Sherlock is looking at John curiously, making John realize that he has been staring at Sherlock silently for longer than is considered common courtesy - and Christ, is that drool starting from the corner of his mouth? He licks his lips as discreetly as he can and coughs. "You look good," he manages.
Sherlock's eyes flicker in faint surprise, but he nods. "You as well," he returns.
John is wearing a black v-neck shirt that is tighter than anything he has worn before. The trousers are thankfully normal dress slacks and not squeezing him like Sherlock's are. Dark smoky shadow covers his eyelids, making him look much more dramatic that he usually does. Sherlock assures him that's the point; they don't want to be recognized for their true identities. Sherlock himself is wearing face prosthetics that slightly alter his jawline shape.
They enter the reception hall with little trouble, and quickly find their table. Each sits eight people. Sherlock and John are sitting with Loelia Ponsonby and Thomas Greene, Mr. and Mrs. Garrison, and Mr. Lukas Gallagher himself with his wife Susan.
Not five minutes after everyone is seated, Thomas, upon receiving a text, whispers something urgent in his girlfriend's ear and hastily excuses himself from the table.
"So, Mr. Garrison," John begins, "Might I just say that hue of emerald green is an excellent choice for your skin tone?"
Looking pleased, Mr. Garrison immediately launches into a long monologue about the small Italian tailor he exclusively buys from. John is half-paying attention, more focused on Mr. Gallagher.
Sherlock nudges his arm discreetly, and John fights the urge to tell Sherlock that he's already watching, thank you very much.
Lukas moves to refill Loelia's water and glass, and John almost misses the pill he drops into her glass. Remembering what Sherlock and he had discussed before, John reaches across the table as if to grab a piece of bread, knocking Loelia's glass over.
"Oh my god, I'm sorry," John gasps, with what Sherlock thinks is a decent bit of acting. "I'm so sorry, ma'am, here, let me help you to the bathroom to clean you off-" He ushers a confused Mrs. Ponsonby off under the pretense of helping her.
Once inside the single stall bathroom, John turns to Loelia. "I really am sorry, but you need to listen to me. Lukas Gallagher spiked your drink with Rohypnol- Not to date-rape you," he hurriedly adds at seeing the horrified look on her face. "But to interrogate you for certain secrets while you were… under a more persuasive influence. At Door 6 in the east wing, a car is waiting to bring you home. The security alert that Thomas received was false; he's fine and already being briefed on the situation. Once you're home and safe, forensic experts will test your dress for conclusive evidence of the drug - we already know, but we have to prove it for court."
Loelia looks wide-eyed at John.
He sighs. "I know this is rather a lot to thrust upon you, but please trust me."
She nods.
"Okay." John breathes out a sigh of relief. They walk out of the bathroom, carefully avoiding gaurds, and John escorts her to the door. "It'll be okay," he promises her.
Then John walks back to the main hall, not wanting to leave his husband alone any longer.
"Mrs. Ponsonby is feeling ill and has decided to retire for the evening," John announces, sliding into his chair.
"Such a shame," Mr. Gallagher manages, an odd sort of frown twisting his features.
"Yes, it is," Sherlock says. "Such a respectable and kind young lady. I'd hate for anything bad to happen to her." He stares daggers at Mr. Gallagher.
"Now, darling, I'm sure she won't come to any sort of harm," John says, laying a hand on Sherlock's forearm in what he intends as a sweet gesture.
They eat dinner, John making polite conversation with the Garrisons while he blocks Sherlock from strangling Gallagher right then and there. Mrs. Gallagher mostly keeps to herself. What a loathsome husband he must be, John thinks. Certainly nothing like Sherlock. He blinks in surprise at the thought, but before he can examine it any further, Sherlock leans in and whispers to him, "Well," Sherlock clears his throat, looking strangely uncomfortable. "Our goal was completed, so er - we can leave. I'm assuming you wish to-"
"Sherlock." John shuts the consulting detective up by merely placing his hand over Sherlock's. "I went through seven hours of dance lessons while I was shouted at by a French guy. That's not going to waste."
Sherlock seems speechless. "You want to dance?" he manages hesitantly.
"With you, Sherlock? Always."
They dance to a few classical pieces, then John grins when he hears the next song come on.
They call it creeping, I say loving, it's the only way for me
Sherlock furrows his brow. "What is this?"
Filling out papers, signing waivers, but I stay outside his reach
John grins wider. "An Unhealthy Obsession."
I name your mother and your father and the first pet that you keep
"What?"
"By the Blake Robinson Synthetic Orchestra."
I know your favourite place to dine at when your cheque comes in each week
"I have no concept of the musicality of this song."
"Then let me lead."
Sherlock's eyebrows shoot up. "Are you sure?"
I know you do your wash on Sundays and you separate your whites
"Nope." With that and a self-satisfied grin, John guides his left hand around Sherlock's waist, pulling him close.
And that your car needs a new tire 'cause last week I laid those spikes
John walks Sherlock around the dance floor, letting him feel the vibe.
I've got a million polaroids with all the dates penned in red ink / I sneak a walkie-talkie in your room to listen to you sleep
John readies himself for the chorus drop in the next lyric.
You just don't know it yet Keeping his right hand firmly clasped with Sherlock's right, John spins Sherlock out away from him
but you love me
After spinning Sherlock away, John immediately begins to strut backward, forcing Sherlock to trail after him like he's on a leash all throughout your everything.
and I love you the same / One day we'll have a pretty wedding, and I'll be your everything
We'll be together, yes forever, we will never ever part
On together, John whips Sherlock back towards him and cleanly nestles his right arm around him, forcing Sherlock to press his back against his chest.
Oh, you don't know it yet but baby-
John dips Sherlock just slightly, cradling his head in one hand and forcing it upwards into his gaze.
I've already got your heart
John grins at the look of astonishment in Sherlock's eyes and props him back up. He subtlely taps Sherlock's leg, and Sherlock understands, hooking his right leg around John's left and letting John drag him across the dance floor during the next lyrics.
Some call it stalking, I say walking just extremely close behind
"Switch," John mouths, and in time for the next lyrics, Sherlock unhooks his right leg and just as quickly hooks his left leg around John's right as John drags him back through the next line.
I'm sure if I sat down and asked you, well, you really wouldn't mind
John plants his right hand firmly on Sherlock's chest, stopping him in his tracks. He meets Sherlock's questioning gaze with a sly smile.
You've got those eyes that drive me crazy
He keeps his right hand resting lightly on Sherlock's shoulders for a pivot point as he circles lazily around Sherlock, a predatory shark taking delight in how it has trapped its prey.
And I've got eyes to watch you sleep / I brought a pack lunch and some coffee
John stands behind Sherlock, letting his right hand trail lightly down from the nape of Sherlock's neck while his left moves up.
For my stakeout in your tree, outside your house (shh)
On house, John braces his right hand against the small of Sherlock's back to stop him from falling as his left hand fists in Sherlock's hair and yanks his head down to force the man to make eye contact upside down.
Gotta be as quiet as a mouse, he tells Sherlock, looking directly into his soul.
Oh, god, Sherlock looks so submissive like that, those grey-blue eyes like a raging ocean's.
or else you'll call the police.
John turns Sherlock around to face him, hands back at his hips in the proper position.
And I'll get done for somethin' stupid like disturbance of the peace
John takes Sherlock's right hand in his left and brings above their heads - well, above John's head.
And piece by piece, I am collecting all the things you leave behind
At piece by piece, John starts to gently spin Sherlock in very slow pirouettes in time with the tempo - he makes a full rotation at the first piece, collecting, things, and behind.
And when you don't,
Then John pushes Sherlock away from him, fully separating them, on the beat of don't, extending his arm towards him in a pose like a leader confident that their lover will return.
I rummage through your bins
John grins and runs back to Sherlock in time for the chorus and falls into him during the last lead up of to see what I can find. He puts his left hand on Sherlock's shoulder, Sherlock immediately understanding and putting his right on John's hip, and clasps his right with Sherlock's left and mimicks a wedding waltz right in time for the beginning of the chorus.
You just don't know it yet, but you love me and I love you the same.
One day we'll have a pretty wedding, and I'll be your everything
We'll be together,
John draws the two of them close together on together.
yes forever,
He pushes them back to normal spacing on forever.
we will never ever part; John sways their hands up and down together on each of the last three words in rhythm.
He mouths the next words to Sherlock. Oh, you don't know it yet but baby I've already got your heart
Sherlock blushes - actually blushes.
John thinks of what to do to end it out, and mouths "trust me" to Sherlock.
Sherlock mouths back, "always."
You just don't know it yet, but you love me and I love you the same
John clamps his right hand on Sherlock's left wrist, who reciprocates the movement. Sherlock, not quite understanding what will happen next but seeing the gist of John's preparation for whatever it is, takes his right arm and rests it on John's left shoulder, ready to loop around the doctor's neck if needed. John's left arm holds Sherlock's right forearm.He nudges Sherlock's ankles, pushing them apart, and Sherlock spreads his legs like if he were going into a split.
One day we'll have a pretty wedding, and I'll be your everything
Then, ensuring that their grasp on each other's wrists is tight, John begins to slowly spin. Sherlock's feet kiss the floor, John supporting all of his weight. Sherlock, understanding a bit more, loops his right arm around John's neck and gazes into his eyes.
We'll be together, yes forever, we will never ever part
John swallows and spins faster. Sherlock is gliding around him, shoes brushing the floor
Oh, you don't know it yet but baby I've already got your heart
As the outro instrumentals haunt the dance floor, John effortlessly glides Sherlock around him, faster and faster. Then, sensing the very ending notes of the song, he dips Sherlock impossibly low without warning, his hands the only thing stopping Sherlock from crashing to the ground. He looks into those grey-blue eyes, full of trust and devotion and love, and, refusing to stop himself, encloses Sherlock's lips with his own.
John feels a gasp flutter against his mouth, but then Sherlock is pressing back into the kiss, deepening it. After what feels like years, but is probably only about five seconds at the max, they break apart and John pulls Sherlock up to his feet.
"Bow," Sherlock whispers.
"Wha-" Only then does John realize that they have an audience - of course they do, considering they're at an event gathering, but almost everyone's eyes are fixed on them.
And so John takes Sherlock's hand in his, raises them high, and bows.