Work Text:
As guests crowded the dance floor, John slipped away unnoticed. Sherlock followed him into the corridor, caught his wrist and drew him into the cloakroom among ranks of coats scented with cologne and perfume.
John kissed him first, hard enough to knock Sherlock against the wall. Sherlock answered greedily, one hand beneath John’s waistcoat while John fumbled with his shirt buttons.
“So Major Sholto came after all,” Sherlock murmured against his mouth.
John bit his lip. “You noticed?”
“He crossed the country for you.”
“He took a train from Brighton, you jealous git.”
“His pulse accelerated when you approached.”
“So does yours.” John dragged Sherlock’s shirt from his trousers. “And there’s no comparison.”
“To whom?”
John kissed him until the question became irrelevant. John ground against him, his erection pressing into Sherlock’s hip. They groaned, Sherlock’s fingers finding warm skin. Somewhere beyond the door the guests applauded as the music changed tempo.
The handle turned.
They sprang apart, John flushed and dishevelled, Sherlock’s shirt open to the sternum.
Mary stood in the doorway, bridal silk gleaming in the dimness. Her gaze passed between them. Then she smirked.
“I suspected I’d find you two in here.”
Sherlock recovered first and grinned, delighted. He caught Mary around the waist, pulled her inside and kicked the door shut.
Her laughter vanished beneath John’s kiss.