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Sherlock listened to the familiar sound of the door to 221B opening and closing as he squinted into his microscope, which occupied the one area of the kitchen table that wasn’t covered in books and test tubes full of colorful chemical solutions and glanced at his watch. It was only nine-thirty, which suggested that the amount of alcohol John had consumed on his night at the pub with Lestrade was likely not irritatingly excessive.
“Hi,” John said cheerfully as he walked into the kitchen, “have you eaten yet? I think there’s some leftover Chinese in the fridge if you want to share it.”
“Not hungry. Busy,” he mumbled, too engrossed in his work to pay him much attention.
A defeated sigh reached his ears as the doctor retrieved a takeaway container from the appliance and placed it into the microwave.
“Take a look at this. Your future brother-in-law invited us.”
A garish bright orange envelope was dropped into Sherlock’s lap as John sat down at the table beside him, and he looked up at the older man’s excited face for the first time that evening as he picked it up and pulled out the colorful invitation within.
He scoffed as his eyes skimmed the page.
“A Halloween party? You must be joking , John. Absolutely not.”
He detested parties and the people who attended them enough as it was, and the concept of combining party going with participating in something as dull as dressing up in silly clothes for the sake of a truly pointless holiday set his teeth on edge.
“Oh, come on, Sherlock!” John implored, running a hand through his mussed silver hair.
Sherlock tried very hard not to stare too long at that.
“John, I’m really sorry, but-”
“Look, I’ve already arranged for Mrs. Hudson to watch Rosie. I could really use a night off; you know how fussy she’s been lately. And I think spending some time around people who aren’t criminals or murder victims would do you some good, too.”
Sherlock looked at John properly. Saw the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, the myriad of other signs of the special brand of fatigue that only a teething baby could inflict.
“I see.”
“Sherlock, you told me when Mycroft and Greg first got engaged that you wanted to show your brother that you were supportive of his choice of life partner and use it as an opportunity to mend your relationship with him. And attending the first event they are hosting together as a couple in their own home is a very good place to start.”
John was using his beautiful blue eyes as a weapon as he stared at him, giving him that look, the one that possessed the power to make him lose his resolve and become inexplicably desperate to give him anything he wanted.
And, as much as he hated to admit it, John had a point.
“Alright. Fine. If it means that much to you, I’ll come,” he finally relented, forcing a smile.
John clapped his hands together, and just as he was about to speak, crying filtered out of the baby monitor next to Sherlock’s elbow.
“I’ll get her,” he insisted when both of them stood simultaneously, “you sit and eat.”
“Thank you for agreeing to come; I promise you won’t regret it!” John called after him as he disappeared down the hallway in the direction of Rosie’s persistent wailing.
Sherlock wasn’t so sure.
“Sherlock, you do realize that if you let yourself, you might find that this could actually be fun ,” John grinned at him with a raised brow as their cab pulled up to the curb outside the costume store the next morning, taking in the way the detective screwed up his nose at the building through the window.
Yes. Fun. Like listening to Anderson yap on about one of his theories.
“Let’s just get this over and done with, John. I left a pig brain defrosting on the counter, and I want to get back to it before it becomes too difficult to track the bacterial growth accurately.”
“Because that is infinitely more entertaining than picking out a Halloween costume.”
What kind of stupid question is that?
“Obviously.”
John snorted, rolling his eyes as they stepped out onto the street.
Sherlock sighed as they walked into the busy costume store filled with people making last-minute purchases ahead of the holiday, and nodded to John as they parted ways. An agreement had been reached on the drive over that they would purchase their costumes alone and arrive separately on the night, in order to surprise each other with their choices at the party. The idea had been Sherlock’s own in an effort to make such a boring event slightly less tedious.
As he wandered up and down the aisles, scanning the shelves as he weaved past clusters of excited teenagers and mothers chasing after their untamed young, it quickly became clear to him that none of the offerings would come even remotely close to being viable possibilities. Clown? No. Vampire? Absolutely not. Sexy maid? Tempting, if only to see the looks on John and Mycroft’s faces, but still no.
A thought suddenly occurred to him. What if he used this situation he found himself in to conduct a small experiment, with John as the unwitting subject? An experiment that had the potential to prove highly useful in determining if his suspicions were correct that the older man was secretly harboring the same feelings of romantic and sexual attraction that he himself had been quietly wrestling with since the day they met. It was at that moment that the idea hit him for the perfect costume to suit his purpose.
He fished his phone out of his back pocket and selected Mycroft’s number from his contact list before slowly raising the device to his ear.
“Brother Mine. To what do I owe the pleasure this time? Did you break into another top-secret government facility while I was eating my eggs?”
Sherlock scowled.
“Your impeccable sense of humor never fails to astound me, Mycroft.”
A tired sigh echoed down the line.
“Just tell me what you want, Sherlock.”
“To ask you a favor. Can that obnoxious tailor of yours have an outfit altered by tomorrow night?”
"I believe that could be arranged, yes. Can I take this request to mean that you actually intend to accept our invitation for Monday night’s event?”
Here we go.
“Yes.”
“That is a surprise. What did John do, hold a knife to your throat? Threaten to destroy your exotic fungi collection?”
" Mycroft."
"My apologies, Sherlock. I couldn't resist. May I inquire as to the nature of said outfit?”
“No, you may not. You can wait until the party just like...everyone else,” he snapped, catching himself just in time.
John. Just like John.
"I'll have Anthea come by in about an hour and collect it from you but I make no promises. Quentin is a tailor, not a magician."
“Fine.”
“Goodbye, Sherlock. Always a pleasure.”
The line went dead, and Sherlock returned his phone to his pocket.
When John met him outside fifteen minutes later carrying a large garment bag and hailed them a cab, he immediately noticed Sherlock’s distinct lack of one.
“I’m having something delivered tomorrow afternoon. Special order,” Sherlock shrugged innocently as they climbed into the heated backseat of the vehicle, grateful for the welcome respite from the Autumn chill in the air. As they merged with traffic and sped off down the road, Sherlock couldn’t stop his lips from curving up into a grin. John was right. He was going to have fun after all.
Though it had seemed like a brilliant idea befitting someone of his superior intellect at the time, as Sherlock laced up the pair of heavy black combat boots and secured John’s worn dog tags around his neck the next evening he wasn’t so sure. While Mycroft’s tailor had done an impeccable job in modifying the ex-soldier’s army fatigues to fit his thinner frame and long legs, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was making a mistake. The message he was trying to send through his very specific choice of costume was clear, and if he was wrong about John’s potential feelings for him he stood to lose his best and only friend.
Sherlock adjusted his cuffs and studied his reflection in his bedroom mirror one last time before gathering his things and stepping out of the empty flat into the cool night air. As he waited for his ride to arrive, he was reminded of something Lestrade had said to him when, in a moment of temporary insanity, he had confided in him about his feelings for the older man several weeks prior.
“I know exactly what you’re going through, Sherlock. Do you have any idea how much courage it took me to ask your brother out for the first time? But now look at us. Fortune favors the brave. Take a risk for once in your life, make that big brain of yours take the back seat.”
He took a deep, steadying breath, and prayed that Greg was right as he gave the driver directions to his brother’s extravagant home.
Lost in thought as Sherlock was, the hour-long drive to the stunning Leatherhead residence passed by in a blur. He looked up as the cab slowed to a stop on the long paved driveway, and his heart instantly set off at a gallop in his chest. As he walked toward the artfully lit three-storey building, he couldn't help but gawk. Though he and John had visited once before for the housewarming party, the sheer opulence of the dwelling still took his breath away. The closer he got, the louder the sound of music and laughter became.
As he approached the queue of guests waiting to have their invites checked in order to be allowed entry into the party, one of the members of staff manning the doors instantly recognized Sherlock and waved him through. He ignored the two dozen pairs of eyes that followed his every step as he passed the line and walked inside.
Sherlock crossed the spacious entry hall where several people milled about, and came to a stop at the foot of the first-floor staircase, where his brother stood greeting each new guest with a drink in his hand. Mycroft Holmes was dressed as a Greek god, complete with knee-high sandals and a gleaming gold headband that glinted in the light of the crystal chandelier that hung from the vaulted ceiling above him. The elaborate costume was no doubt another product of Quentin's skilled hand. Sherlock hated how good the older Holmes looked.
"Well, well. Aren't you a vision, Sherlock?" Mycroft remarked, looking his brother's costume up and down with amused surprise as he took a sip of his martini.
There was a gummy eyeball floating in it.
"Good evening to you too, brother. I would say that your own choice of costume is a little much , but then it does match your ego."
"I suppose you're looking for John. He's upstairs with Greg. I might join you, the look on his face when he sees this is not something I want to miss," he quipped, ignoring Sherlock's goading.
Sherlock was powerless to stop the deep blush that coloured his pale cheeks.
"He told you about our little conversation."
"Of course he told me, Sherlock. I'm his fiance. That's what people in committed relationships do , for your information. They share things with each other."
Excellent.
"I should have known better than to trust that man and his big mo-"
"If you'll follow me, Brother Mine, I'll take you to the man you are here to woo like a scrawny khaki peacock."
"I think I can figure out how a staircase works, Mycroft!" Sherlock snapped at his brother's retreating back as he led the way up to the first floor.
"As much as I do enjoy ribbing you, I actually think what you're doing is rather romantic, Sherlock. Your happiness is actually important to me, as hard as that may be for you to believe," Mycroft said a few moments later, turning to offer him the first genuine smile he had witnessed on the man in a very long time as they ascended the final few steps.
As they emerged into the extensive conjoined main living room and bar, it was immediately apparent to the detective that Mycroft had allowed his event planners off the leash and given them the opportunity to spare no expense. It was as though they had walked onto a movie set.
Every last square inch of the open-plan space had been utilized. Strings of festive lights cascaded down from the tall ceilings to flow along the walls, and there were tasteful color coordinated centerpieces artfully arranged throughout the large room.
A variety of faux stone gargoyles were stationed in several places against the walls, as though they were guarding the building's occupants against an unseen foe. Sherlock's gaze landed on a row of skulls and antique candle-lit lamps that lined the mantle of the fire that roared in the carved marble fireplace, in front of which several of the many costumed guests that filled the room lounged on antique settees with oddly coloured drinks in their hands.
"I'll give you one thing, Mycroft. You always did know how to throw a party," Sherlock said loudly, struggling to make his voice heard over the pounding music and deafening chatter of at least a hundred people.
Mycroft nudged him and wordlessly nodded toward the opposite end of the room. Sherlock turned and stopped breathing when he saw John from a distance, leaning against the bar with a drink sloshing in his hand as he laughed and gestured wildly to an equally animated Greg.
Before he could protest, Mycroft gave him a large shove in John's general direction, before rounding a corner and disappearing from sight. Just as he was about to turn tail and run, John turned around.
Their eyes locked.
Very slowly, Sherlock approached the bar, and grinned at the younger man as he casually leaned against the marble with far more confidence than he actually felt. John was dressed as a vampire, with fake fangs and all. His grip on the glass in his hand tightened as he silently stared at the younger man with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open. At that moment Lestrade also turned, and let out a whistle when he took in Sherlock's appearance.
"Sherlock. Is that…are you…are you wearing my old uniform ?" a blushing John asked in a strained whisper, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from the dull silver glint of his own dog tags around the other man's long neck.
"I, um…might go see if Myc needs a hand with anything. Have a good evening, boys," Greg stammered awkwardly, side-stepping away in his pirate costume to disappear amongst the crowd.
When Sherlock turned back around to return his attention to John, he caught him staring at his arse.
He cleared his throat.
"You look rather good yourself, John. That cape really suits-"
"Shut up and come with me. Now ."
John forcefully snatched up Sherlock's hand, and at a fast walk tugged him across the room and down the hallway. John frantically tugged at door handles as he went until he finally found a guest bedroom that wasn't locked or already had suspicious noises emanating from within. The older man shoved Sherlock inside and kicked the door closed. Grabbing Sherlock by the shoulders, he roughly slammed him up against the wall. He moved in closer still until their bodies were pressed together, until they were sharing breath, and looked into Sherlock's surprised eyes for one short moment before crushing his mouth to his. Sherlock gasped against the same soft, plush lips that he had been dying to kiss for an eternity, and eagerly returned the caress. John's mouth tasted like an apple martini. The air around them skyrocketed to a thousand degrees as they kissed, and Sherlock slid his hands down to knead John's arse as they got lost in it. The other man growled against his mouth, swiping his tongue along the seam of the detective's lips. Sherlock instantly allowed him entry, and involuntarily whimpered as their tongues slid together. John began to slowly rock his hips against his front, and Sherlock dropped John's lips to bite at his own bottom one as their rapidly stiffening cocks rhythmically rubbed together.
“Strip!”
Sherlock blinked at him.
“That wasn’t a suggestion , private. Strip!” John barked with a grin, sending a bolt of arousal straight to Sherlock’s groin.
“Yes, John.”
“Sir. You may address me as Captain Watson, or sir .” John whispered in his ear.
Sherlock almost came on the spot.
Fucking hell.
He wasted no time obeying the order, his hands shaking a little as he undid the buttons on the jacket under the burn of John’s watchful gaze. It fell to the floor with a soft thud as Sherlock slid it from his shoulders as seductively as he knew how. John began to palm himself over his clothes as he eagerly watched Sherlock pull his tank top over his head with hungry, lust-blown eyes. He reached for the dog tags around his neck and John shook his head.
“Those stay on.”
Sherlock chuckled and slowly ran his hand down the front of his own body, slid his trousers down to kick them off to join the pile of clothes on the floor. He looked John directly in the eye as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of his pants and tugged them down in tiny, teasing little increments. John snarled, and lept forward to yank them down to Sherlock’s ankles in a single movement. Freed from its restraints, Sherlock’s throbbing cock sprang up to hit his stomach. John scrambled out of all of his own clothes with impressive efficiency, and Sherlock gasped as he took in the heavenly vision that was a very naked John Watson.
Before he even knew what he was doing, Sherlock was sinking to his knees before John.
He needed him.
“May I taste you, Captain Watson?” he asked with mock shyness, staring up at him through thick lashes from his position on the floor.
“You may, private.”
Sherlock grinned, and took John’s steadily leaking cock in hand, pumping it lazily a few times in his fist before lowering his mouth. His tongue swept across the slit in an experimental lick, tasting the salty bitterness of the precome that beaded there. He moved onto tonguing teasingly at his frenulum, and John groaned. Looking into the older man’s eyes, he finally relented and gave him what he wanted, closing his lips around the head of his aching member.
“Fuck!” John hissed, reaching out to wind a handful of Sherlock’s silky raven curls around his fingers.
Sherlock began to bob his head, slowly working more and more of John’s impressive length into his mouth. His lips burned as they were stretched to their limit around him. Caught up in his own eagerness, he continued to swallow him down at a rapid pace until the tip suddenly hit the back of his throat and he gagged, tears streaming from his eyes as he tried to suppress his reflex.
“Easy, soldier, I don’t want you to choke.”
Sherlock grinned around his mouthful and allowed John to use his tight grip on his hair to guide his movements. Before long the doctor’s moans became more and more desperate as Sherlock pleasured him, his head tipping back against the wall. Sensing the fun was about to be over before it had really begun, Sherlock slid his mouth from John’s flushed penis with a filthy pop . John yanked him to his feet and claimed his lips once more as he backed them across the lavish room, until the backs of Sherlock’s legs hit the queen-sized bed. Sherlock let out a huff of surprise as he was forcefully shoved down onto it. John climbed up to straddle him. His lips traveled down the side of Sherlock’s jaw and down his neck, before pausing to kiss and suck at the patch of skin over his pulse point, worrying at it until a mark bloomed. Sherlock reached out for the bedside drawer out of habit and was surprised to find that it had been stocked with essentials.
“Mycroft really does know how to cater for his house guests, damn him.”
John giggled at that.
He passed the bottle of expensive lube to John, who quickly got it open and squirted a small amount out to warm a little. He slid down Sherlock’s body to sit on his hees between his legs, and the younger man let them fall a little further apart to give him better access. John pressed a finger to the puckered skin of his entrance and massaged it in slow circles for a few moments before pushing his digit inside past the ring of tight muscle up to the first knuckle. Sherlock moaned loudly at the burn of the stretch as John began to thrust it in and out. Before long a second finger joined the first, and he desperately arched up towards John’s hand as he started to scissor them inside him. With the clinical accuracy of a doctor, John’s crooked fingers found Sherlock’s prostate, and he relentlessly stroked over it as Sherlock writhed beneath him.
“Oh please sir, I’m ready!” a breathless Sherlock begged a few moments later, driven half mad with want.
“What exactly is it that you want, soldier? Use your words !” John purred, continuing his merciless assault on the sensitive bundle of nerves inside Sherlock.
“I want…you…to fuck me!”
“Be more specific, private. I won’t ask again.”
Sherlock whined.
“I want you to impale me with your beautiful cock, to fuck me so well that they hear my screams from down the hall and I can’t walk straight for a week. Then I want you to fill me to the brim with your seed, Captain .”
John cursed, his cock jumping against his belly.
“I think that can be arranged. After all, you have been so very obedient.”
He snatched up the lube again and wasted no time stretching back out and slicking himself up. Neither of them bothered to bring up protection, they had each been recently tested and both of them knew it. The only word that echoed through Sherlock’s head as he watched his lover line his dripping cock up with his puffy hole was finally. John’s swollen lips found Sherlock’s, and slowly he pressed forward until the head of his penis breached his body. Sherlock groaned, his fingernails digging into John’s bare back as he pushed in further, pausing frequently to let him adjust to his significant girth as he slid into his tight heat inch by inch. When he finally bottomed out inside him both men moaned in unison. A strangled cry of pleasure tumbled from Sherlock’s lips as John started to slowly thrust into his channel, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back home again.
It was at that point that the pair threw all attempts at romanticism out the window.
All Sherlock could think about was his need for more .
He wrapped his legs around John’s waist and began to push back against him as the doctor pistoned into him with increasingly brutal thrusts that had the dog tags clinking together loudly against his chest, desperately trying to draw him as far into himself as possible.
“Jesus, Sherlock, you’re so fucking tight. I’m not going to last much longer!” John hissed through clenched teeth, sweat dripping from his chest to land on Sherlock beneath him.
“Don’t stop on my account. You have a promise to fulfill, Captain.”
John growled, and paused a moment to slightly adjust his angle so that the next merciless thrust drove right into Sherlock’s prostate. Sherlock gasped soundlessly, his head lolling back against the silk pillow beneath him as John ground down into that special place inside of him over and over until he could feel his orgasm surging toward him. John snatched up his neglected, leaking cock, and used the abundant fluid to furiously stroke him in time with his thrusts.
John remained true to his word. As Sherlock’s climax crashed over him in a tidal wave of ecstasy, his vision went black around the edges and a yell tore free from his raw throat that was undoubtedly heard on the other side of the mansion. His release flowed up and over John’s fist to land on his stomach. The sensation of Sherlock’s inner walls rhythmically contracting around him had John following close behind. He sunk his teeth into the younger man’s pale shoulder as he came, filling him deeply as he emptied pulse after pulse of semen into him. When he was finally done he collapsed limply against Sherlock, breathing in the dark and musky scent of him as they slowly recovered in each other’s arms.
“Fuck, I should have put that bloody uniform on a long time ago.”
John giggled against the side of his neck, and Sherlock grinned.
“In my defense, you looked sinfully hot in it. If I hadn’t dragged you away to have my way with you there were at least a dozen other men in that room who were ready to enthusiastically volunteer.”
Sherlock raised a brow.
“I see. So you felt threatened.”
“Maybe a little.”
“Oh John,” Sherlock scolded softly as he stroked his sweaty salt and pepper hair out of his eyes, “as usual you see but do not observe. You could put a thousand of the most attractive men in the world in that room, but I would still choose you. Every single time. Because it’s you that keeps my world spinning on its axis. It’s you that I… love .”
The smile that John rewarded Sherlock with lit up the entire room, and the older man kissed him deeply.
“I love you too, Sherlock. So damn much.”
He carefully pulled out, and Sherlock shivered as the product of their lovemaking trickled out of him. John disappeared from the bed to pad to the bathroom, returning a moment later with a washcloth that he made quick work of cleaning them both up with. The moment he was done John pulled him back down into his arms. Sherlock lifted the dog tags off and kissed both of them before putting them around John’s neck where they belonged.
“Just so you know,” Sherlock whispered against John’s chest in the darkness as John pulled the covers over them both and their eyes grew heavy, “I intend on making this our new Halloween tradition. Only next year, I want you in your full doctor's garb. I have several ideas for innovative ways to use a stethoscope.”
“Just go to sleep, you daft sod,” John snorted, turning on his side to curl in against Sherlock’s warm body.
His hand found John’s in the darkness, and he squeezed it as his eyes fluttered closed and allowed himself to give in to the welcoming embrace of sleep.
Sherlock loved Halloween parties.