Fa subito (part 1a)
anonymous
March 19 2011, 09:52:19 UTC
"Remind me why we have to go to this again?" John's voice floated down the stairs.
Sherlock sighed. He hated repeating himself.
"Because I told Mycroft I would." He winced at the words. He couldn't believe the day had come when he was actually bowing to Mycroft's wishes. But after the whole incident with Moriarty and the pool, when Mycroft had waltzed in and cleaned up the mess with barely a wave of his fingers, Sherlock felt that he owed his brother something. John was still alive, and it was thanks to Mycroft; surely he could summon the courage to swallow his pride and just do what Mycroft wanted for once?
And it will really only be once, Sherlock thought, scowling.
"Yeah, like that's ever been reason enough for you before," John shouted down, sounding distinctly disgruntled. "And anyway, you said you would. This has absolutely nothing to do with me."
Ignoring the comment, Sherlock wandered over to the table, looking for something to grab his attention. He'd been ready for twenty minutes, but John, for some unfathomable reason, was still getting dressed. Honestly, you'd think the man had never put on a suit before, the way he had complained about it.
Not that Sherlock didn't feel like complaining himself. A formal dinner, at Mycroft's fashionable Park Lane townhouse, with Mycroft's unbearably dull guests? He was already ready to beat his head against the wall, and they hadn't even left Baker Street yet. It was going to be a long night.
"Hurry up, John," he called up to him.
"All right, all right, I'm coming."
John finally clattered down the stairs and entered the living room, fiddling with his cuffs.
Sherlock stared.
Well, he thought. Well.
In theory, he shouldn't be surprised by how John looked. He'd picked out the suit himself, not two weeks ago. He'd given very specific instructions to the tailor: Something formal in midnight blue. Silk blended with wool. Single breasted, three buttons, single vent, peaked lapels. Strongly tapered sides, top button sitting just at the natural waistline. Waistcoat to match, off white shirt with French cuffs. The tie something in blue silk. Got that? He'd handed over John's measurements and swept out the door.
So, in theory, he should have known exactly what John would look like. In practice, he was absolutely not prepared for this.
He was not prepared for the way the jacket hung perfectly off John's shoulders, making them that tiny bit squarer. Or how the cut of the lapels and the position of the buttons made John look at least two inches taller. Not to mention the cut of the trousers, single pleat, falling to a pair of perfectly shined Oxford balmorals, which made John's legs longer and slimmer.
Sherlock was absolutely not thinking about how those legs would look wrapped around his waist.
Eventually, he became aware that John was speaking.
"... a hand?"
"Hmm?" Sherlock replied, his mind still spinning with the endless possibilities those legs seemed to offer.
"Could you give me a hand with my cufflink? I can't fasten it properly," John said, finally looking up from his cuff.
And, dear God, that was not what Sherlock needed right now. Because it turned out that the tailor must have had some kind of psychic ability; how else could he have known that choosing the tie in that precise shade would make John's eyes almost startlingly blue?
"Sherlock?" John was staring at him, a small frown creasing his forehead.
"Yes, yes, of course," Sherlock replied, shaking his head slightly to clear the fog.
John stepped towards him, his left arm outstretched.
Fa subito (part 1b)
anonymous
March 19 2011, 10:07:47 UTC
Sherlock gripped his arm tentatively, rotating it until the cuff was facing him. He traced his fingers lightly over the soft fabric of the jacket sleeve, before pushing it back slightly until he could see the whole cuff. John's cufflinks were sterling silver, engraved with two crossed swords behind a lion and a crown. He fastened the link quickly, and ran his finger over the engraving, the cool metal warming quickly to his touch.
"They were my father's," John said quietly. Sherlock looked up in surprise.
"Your father was in the army, too?" he asked. Fascinating.
John nodded, his eyes fixed on Sherlock.
"He was killed when I was nine, and my mother gave these to me. Said I could wear them and be proud of who he was." John looked away, and Sherlock returned his eyes to the cufflinks. "I've never worn them before."
Sherlock was suddenly aware of how close they were standing, practically breathing each other's air. He still had John's left wrist in his hands, and was rubbing thoughtless patterns on his wrist as he stared at the silver circles embedded in John's shirt.
They stood there for a moment, still but for the tiny motions of Sherlock’s fingers. Eventually, Sherlock looked up. John was staring at him, a curious expression in his eyes that Sherlock couldn’t quite decipher. Sherlock smiled.
“They look good,” he said.
John laughed.
“Thanks. You, er, you look good, too,” he added a little awkwardly.
Sherlock felt his pulse quicken at this, but he shrugged outwardly.
"Amazing what a good tailor can do," he said carelessly, stepping back from John and trying to even out his breathing.
Sherlock's own suit was black, a slightly finer cut and blend than his usual, everyday ones. A crisp white shirt, black waistcoat, dark red tie and silver cufflinks completed the outfit. He was quite fond of this suit, actually. He liked the feel of the expensive fabric against his skin and the fit was superb. He made a mental note to send his tailor a little thank you.
"No, really," John said, a slight smile curling on his lips, "you should wear ties more often."
Sherlock hated wearing ties. He felt like he could be strangled at any moment. He suspected John knew this and was poking fun at him. He narrowed his eyes at him, but John only stared back innocently.
"Come on, let's go," Sherlock said, grabbing his coat off the back of the door. "The car's been here for twenty minutes."
"Mycroft sent a car?" John asked, surprised. Sherlock scowled.
"Of course he sent a car. Couldn't have a taxi pulling up outside his house, now could he? It would be dreadfully embarrassing."
"Oh, right, of course." John smirked a little. "You're going to do your best to embarrass him tonight, though, right?"
"I don't know what would give you that idea, John," Sherlock returned airily. He held the door open. "Shall we?"
John smiled, and as he headed out the door, Sherlock felt John's fingers brush lightly against his arm. He shivered. This night was going to be even longer than he'd anticipated.
*** A/N: Oh my god, suits. I have such a thing for a man in a suit. This prompt was irresistable. Warning to the OP, though: I will probably not be able to work in the John tying Sherlock up with his tie. I can barely write porn, I feel like if I tried this, it would come out utterly ridiculous. But we'll see :)
Re: Fa subito (part 1b)zephyrrdragonJuly 7 2011, 20:52:11 UTC
I would just like to say that the not-researching-suits you did really shows - they are described beautifully and sound accurate, even though I don't know the first thing about suits! XD <3
Sherlock sighed. He hated repeating himself.
"Because I told Mycroft I would." He winced at the words. He couldn't believe the day had come when he was actually bowing to Mycroft's wishes. But after the whole incident with Moriarty and the pool, when Mycroft had waltzed in and cleaned up the mess with barely a wave of his fingers, Sherlock felt that he owed his brother something. John was still alive, and it was thanks to Mycroft; surely he could summon the courage to swallow his pride and just do what Mycroft wanted for once?
And it will really only be once, Sherlock thought, scowling.
"Yeah, like that's ever been reason enough for you before," John shouted down, sounding distinctly disgruntled. "And anyway, you said you would. This has absolutely nothing to do with me."
Ignoring the comment, Sherlock wandered over to the table, looking for something to grab his attention. He'd been ready for twenty minutes, but John, for some unfathomable reason, was still getting dressed. Honestly, you'd think the man had never put on a suit before, the way he had complained about it.
Not that Sherlock didn't feel like complaining himself. A formal dinner, at Mycroft's fashionable Park Lane townhouse, with Mycroft's unbearably dull guests? He was already ready to beat his head against the wall, and they hadn't even left Baker Street yet. It was going to be a long night.
"Hurry up, John," he called up to him.
"All right, all right, I'm coming."
John finally clattered down the stairs and entered the living room, fiddling with his cuffs.
Sherlock stared.
Well, he thought. Well.
In theory, he shouldn't be surprised by how John looked. He'd picked out the suit himself, not two weeks ago. He'd given very specific instructions to the tailor: Something formal in midnight blue. Silk blended with wool. Single breasted, three buttons, single vent, peaked lapels. Strongly tapered sides, top button sitting just at the natural waistline. Waistcoat to match, off white shirt with French cuffs. The tie something in blue silk. Got that? He'd handed over John's measurements and swept out the door.
So, in theory, he should have known exactly what John would look like. In practice, he was absolutely not prepared for this.
He was not prepared for the way the jacket hung perfectly off John's shoulders, making them that tiny bit squarer. Or how the cut of the lapels and the position of the buttons made John look at least two inches taller. Not to mention the cut of the trousers, single pleat, falling to a pair of perfectly shined Oxford balmorals, which made John's legs longer and slimmer.
Sherlock was absolutely not thinking about how those legs would look wrapped around his waist.
Eventually, he became aware that John was speaking.
"... a hand?"
"Hmm?" Sherlock replied, his mind still spinning with the endless possibilities those legs seemed to offer.
"Could you give me a hand with my cufflink? I can't fasten it properly," John said, finally looking up from his cuff.
And, dear God, that was not what Sherlock needed right now. Because it turned out that the tailor must have had some kind of psychic ability; how else could he have known that choosing the tie in that precise shade would make John's eyes almost startlingly blue?
"Sherlock?" John was staring at him, a small frown creasing his forehead.
"Yes, yes, of course," Sherlock replied, shaking his head slightly to clear the fog.
John stepped towards him, his left arm outstretched.
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"They were my father's," John said quietly. Sherlock looked up in surprise.
"Your father was in the army, too?" he asked. Fascinating.
John nodded, his eyes fixed on Sherlock.
"He was killed when I was nine, and my mother gave these to me. Said I could wear them and be proud of who he was." John looked away, and Sherlock returned his eyes to the cufflinks. "I've never worn them before."
Sherlock was suddenly aware of how close they were standing, practically breathing each other's air. He still had John's left wrist in his hands, and was rubbing thoughtless patterns on his wrist as he stared at the silver circles embedded in John's shirt.
They stood there for a moment, still but for the tiny motions of Sherlock’s fingers. Eventually, Sherlock looked up. John was staring at him, a curious expression in his eyes that Sherlock couldn’t quite decipher. Sherlock smiled.
“They look good,” he said.
John laughed.
“Thanks. You, er, you look good, too,” he added a little awkwardly.
Sherlock felt his pulse quicken at this, but he shrugged outwardly.
"Amazing what a good tailor can do," he said carelessly, stepping back from John and trying to even out his breathing.
Sherlock's own suit was black, a slightly finer cut and blend than his usual, everyday ones. A crisp white shirt, black waistcoat, dark red tie and silver cufflinks completed the outfit. He was quite fond of this suit, actually. He liked the feel of the expensive fabric against his skin and the fit was superb. He made a mental note to send his tailor a little thank you.
"No, really," John said, a slight smile curling on his lips, "you should wear ties more often."
Sherlock hated wearing ties. He felt like he could be strangled at any moment. He suspected John knew this and was poking fun at him. He narrowed his eyes at him, but John only stared back innocently.
"Come on, let's go," Sherlock said, grabbing his coat off the back of the door. "The car's been here for twenty minutes."
"Mycroft sent a car?" John asked, surprised. Sherlock scowled.
"Of course he sent a car. Couldn't have a taxi pulling up outside his house, now could he? It would be dreadfully embarrassing."
"Oh, right, of course." John smirked a little. "You're going to do your best to embarrass him tonight, though, right?"
"I don't know what would give you that idea, John," Sherlock returned airily. He held the door open. "Shall we?"
John smiled, and as he headed out the door, Sherlock felt John's fingers brush lightly against his arm. He shivered. This night was going to be even longer than he'd anticipated.
***
A/N: Oh my god, suits. I have such a thing for a man in a suit. This prompt was irresistable. Warning to the OP, though: I will probably not be able to work in the John tying Sherlock up with his tie. I can barely write porn, I feel like if I tried this, it would come out utterly ridiculous. But we'll see :)
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