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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.

If you feel more comfortable leading, that's fine by me. I don't have a preference.

[He goes to the closet and gets out a gramophone like the one Evelyn had in her room and a few old records.

John has made a good point even if he perhaps didn't intend to make it: they should see how things go in private before they give it a go in public.

He starts to set it up on a table.]

What, you want to try it now?

[John said, his surprise obvious as he turned from the mirror to step closer to the gramophone. He picks up a few of the records and looks them over.]

You should give that uniform a bit more than just one night. And neither of us are busy.

[He selects something that sounds like a reasonably slow song and sets it to play, listening for a short time to the scratch of the needle on vinyl before the song starts and is just as he expected.]

[John let out a breath, his eyes trained on the spinning record before wandering up to lock with Sherlock's, a sheepish grin making it's way across his face. He takes a moment or two to appreciate the music and then raises one hand in a silent offering manner, making sure his gaze is unwavering even as his ears and cheeks flush.]

[Sherlock smirks and takes his hand.]

So, which technicalities are most troubling?

Nothing important right now...

[John muttered, dropping his gaze to Sherlock's chest as he tried to find the easy rhythm of the slow song, before looking up once again.]

I'm sure we'll figure them out.

Edited 2012-08-17 22:29 (UTC)

[Sherlock's smile broadened as he ran his hand along John's back, resting firmly against his shoulder blades as he made sure they stood quite close, none of that arms length apart awkwardness.

There were very few times he'd been this close to John. Even sleeping in the same bed, they kept to their own sides, hands the only thing allowed to touch. He could count the number of times they'd embraced on one hand. They generally orbited each other, colliding on accident more times than they simply found one another. It was nice.

He decided he liked the sturdier feel of John to the gentler presence of Evelyn. He liked that his hand had space to cover, muscles to follow. John felt... formidable. Not the sort of word one would normally use to describe their dance partner but it was the only one that came to mind.

With his neck bent it hardly felt like six inches of separation between the tops of their heads. This wasn't one of those instances where the aggressive value of being taller than someone was fitting to the game.]

[John was very aware of the large hand on his back, feeling the warmth through the layers of his uniform even as he lifted his own hand and cupped the jut of Sherlock's lean hip, clearing his suddenly tight throat as he did so.

It was one thing to tangle their fingers together in the dark secret of his room in search of comfort, it was another to be so close, so focused on another person--and yet, not touching--that he could feel the buzz of that nervous, genius energy radiating off the other man down the whole length of John's body. It was like the first night they'd been on the chase together, when they'd collapsed against 221B's wall and he'd felt that same aura jittering off his new flatmate down the whole flat of his upper arm that was pressed against Sherlock's as they'd giggled.

John licked his lips, giving an experimental sway to the continuing music as his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. It truly had been a while since he'd done this, and while the positioning of his hands was generally the same that it would be on a female partner, this was very much Sherlock Holmes he was dancing with, who was tall and very much male and very much the last person he'd ever ~~hoped~~ expected to be dancing with like this.]

[Sherlock chuckled lightly, careful of John's feet as he urged them to travel more and sway less.]

You're rusty but you're not bad. Couple of drinks in your system and dimmed lights and I think we'll do just fine.

[He kept his voice soft and low with John standing so close. Sometimes words were better felt in the rumble of air between two people than perceived as language to the ear.]

[John's eyes fell down to their feet as they started traveling, their steps becoming wider and bolder within the gentle parameters of the music. He didn't stumble, not yet at least, but he did misstep and throw off their rhythm once or twice; hesitating a bit too long and second guessing where his foot should land so as to keep up their spinning and avoid crushing his friend's toes.

When Sherlock mentioned the drinks, he let out an absent chuckle, trying to ignore the shiver that shot down his spine at the whisper of the detective's low tone and the warmth of his breath hitting John's ear.]

I hope so. Or the drinks could have the opposite effect and this could all go belly up.

[John joked with his voice just as soft, shifting his grip in Sherlock's and absently rubbing his thumb against the back of his friend's hand as he avoided stepping on the other man's foot once again with a sympathetic and frustrated hiss.]

[Sherlock laughed a bit louder with that, turning his nose to John's hair, continuing to speak softly.]

I don't think anyone will be watching all that closely. And it hardly matters what they think anyway.

[He gave John's hand a squeeze, his other hand sliding along the shape of his scapula.]

Edited 2012-08-18 01:10 (UTC)

[John blinked slowly, breath hitching as he feels Sherlock curl closer and chuckle against his ear. Bold, or perhaps in a daze, he slid his hand back along Sherlock's side to settle in the small of his back, cupping there against Sherlock's shirt. Keeping him close.]

No... don't suppose it does.

[His eyes are still trained on the floor, but he isn't really watching their feet anymore. John just doesn't want to dislodge the taller man as he's settled against him, doesn't want Sherlock to straighten or move away.]

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