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[He's surprised over the ease of the possessive term before his name--not to mention a bit giddy, which is embarrassing for a man his age--so his own response is awkward and eventual.]

Right. That's... that's good. That's great.

Uhm. So, is this party of yours formal or what?

[Sherlock accepts the change in conversation without missing a beat.]

Yes; black tie--not that I'm all that concerned with tie color or if ties are even worn but formal at any rate.

So... Would my dress uniform or a tux be more appropriate?

[...]

I don't think I've ever seen your dress uniform.

Edited 2012-08-14 01:53 (UTC)

You haven't? Really?

I wouldn't mind wearing it if you don't think it'll stand out too much.

No, not at all. You've earned the right to wear it, might as well wear it proudly.

Alright then, deal. I'll wear it to this ball of yours.

I'm honestly shocked you've never gone through my box of military things before, Sherlock. Well. Maybe less shocked and more... touched, I guess.

You make it sound as though you expect I went through your things when I got bored. I hardly needed to go through your possessions to learn more about you.

Do you think the closet can get you your uniform or shall we look through the vendor stalls?

As if that'd be a gigantic leap on your part. But I appreciate it, even if it was more out of pride then respecting my space on the matter.

I'll give it a shot when I get back to my room. Might as well see if it still looks good, right?

You've stayed in good enough shape for a man your age. I'm sure it will look fine but I won't disagree with the good sense to try it on before hand.

[Do want.]

Uh, well... Thank you. Sprinting about London might have something to do with it.

It seems like the closet worked. Won't know for sure until I try it on, of course, but it looks just like the one I left back in 221B.

Edited 2012-08-16 03:00 (UTC)

May I see?

[Not sure why John wouldn't want him to see him.]

Come on over if you'd like. No promises on how it's going to look, though.

[Sherlock goes over quite quickly. He's not occupied. He lets himself in rather than knock.]

John?

[John is fixing the cuff on a sharp, black dress uniform and gold buttons and looks up as the door opens, throwing his friend an awkward smile. He automatically stands a little straighter with the uniform on, and his fingers rub together in the absence of the white gloves, which are on the bed next to a pale blue hat, dog tags, and a few decorative medals and sash distinguishing his rank and medical career.]

Bit different.

[He says with an indication to the outfit, very aware of how different it can present him when one is used to seeing him in oversized jumpers and plaid collared shirts. Even if they've seen him pull rank before.]

[Sherlock stands back and looks him over. He's seen the uniform before in publication, probably in a parade or two, maybe on television, but never on John. He's known John was a soldier since the moment he laid eyes on him--literally--and he's had the pleasure of seeing a glimpse of the solider in a military setting. He's seen the wound on his shoulder, even. But this seems almost more indicative of that life before Sherlock. There's pride in how he holds himself, a humble eagerness to display his rank and demonstrate that he is so much more than appearances might suggest.

Sherlock nods his approval, glancing over at the items still waiting to be adorned.]

It suits you.

[Sherlock's scrutiny makes him stand even straighter, feet shoulder distance, his arms at his sides though it was obvious they felt awkward and were itching to fold behind his back. Having that brilliant gaze on him, considering, analyzing at a mile a minute... it was thrilling and made his heart pound in his ears for the moment of silence it brought. At the compliment, John wavers out of his military crisp personal and licks his lips, looking away then to the ground then eventually back to Sherlock, a quirked smile on his face.]

Thanks.

[He barely glances at himself in the mirror before considering the items still on the bed when he sees Sherlock's gaze go to them as well.]

Never had an occasion to wear it after I came back, so I'd kind of forgotten what it was like.

[Sherlock picks up a few things that would be fiddly for John to put on now that he's in his dress uniform and holds them against the sleeves or chest.]

Will you wear just this or these other bits as well?

[He pockets the dogtags as stealth-fully as possible.]

[John doesn't see--the dogtags were something he stopped wearing as soon as he stepped off the plane, and hadn't even thought much of them when the closet had offered the metal circles along with his pressed pants and shinned shoes. Instead he watches where Sherlock is holding up his pins and metals, considering them.]

I wasn't sure. A place like this... There's no need for people to really know my decorations, is there?

Since when are parties about need? Do you want to show off or not?

[He knows where the captain markings go and puts them in place--just to see.]

People might not even think you really deserve these things. Could think it's fancy dress. It's more about what you want than what they think.

[John lets him pin on the marks, taking the other two medals from his friend's long pale fingers and fastening them properly on as well. He couldn't have some on and not all of them.]

You're the show off, not me.

[He points out, tone covered with such fondness the jab was nullified. John's gaze darts over Sherlock's face.]

But I suppose I might as well go all or nothing. Who knows when I will ever wear this again?

Edited 2012-08-16 04:32 (UTC)

Fair point.

[All the better for him to show his John off. Because this is his John and he is clever and brave and he has been given tangible things which prove it. People should get the opportunity to be jealous and to admire.

Everything in place he stands back again to look. The hair is longer, the body still firm but not quite as hard, but he is still every bit the soldier he once was.]

I should think it an honor to have you as my companion dressed like this.

[It was quite obvious to anyone who saw him that Sherlock was, well, beautiful. He wasn't classically handsome, and one might even say he was odd when they first looked at him-long and lean in every aspect of his proportions and features, pale skin paired with dark hair and the contrasts making his eyes and lips and cheekbones stand out prominently from his face--but the oddities were part of what took one's breath away, and John wasn't impervious at all, even when seeing the detective nearly every hour of the day. Always stylish, always well groomed (somehow too even when just dressed in a sheet), and always the center of attention.

Which made it all the more surreal and unbelievable when that man's attention was fixed solely on him, especially when it had to do with physical looks. John resisted tugging at his high collar in the flare of warmth in his neck and ears.]

...Glad you approve.

[He attempted to say casually, opening his arms and then dropping them back to his sides in a gesture indicating all of himself for said approval--just his uniform or perhaps his being in general, it's unspecified.]

Wouldn't want you to have an unstylish.... [Oh Christ, what word should he use...?] partner at this party of yours. Though I understand if you ditch me for Evelyn for the dancing portion of it.

[He says with a wry chuckle.]

I won't bother you with the formality of learning the Lindy-Hop. Besides, it will annoy Philip and some vices are just easier to give in to.

[He smiled at him a little, leaning against the wall so as not to too obviously loom over the rather fashionable John.]

I took it from our last discussion that you were uncertain about the appeal of dancing with me.

You'd better be nice to Philip. You're lucky the poor sod hasn't decked you yet.

[John lectured, attempting to school his features into an imposing, scolding expression and failing. Eventually he just gave up.]

And it's not that. Not the lack of appeal, I mean. Just the... technicalities. I suppose.

[He turned to check over himself in the mirror as means of distraction, though he kept on glancing at Sherlock's reflection as he spoke.]

I'm not the best formal dancer, and we've never, well. We've never had a reason to dance with one another before, have we?

[He paused to lick his lips.]

...And it'd be in front of everyone.

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