Chapter Text
Sherlock was pacing the flat, wearing his best suit; the black jacket left open and his purple shirt open at the collar, the top button having been ripped off months ago. He and John had been invited to one of his mother's summer balls, and due to John's enthusiasm, Sherlock had begrudgingly agreed to go.
John hadn't met Sherlock's mother yet, and thus had welcomed the opportunity to finally do so; and who didn't love a good party with hopefully some dancing?
"Come on, John," he called impatiently, turning when he heard John's footsteps. Sherlock's eyes widened slightly, and his breath caught in his throat.
"John," he breathed, the word slipping from his lips before he'd been able to stop it.
John didn't have many suits, in fact, he only had one. A deep navy colour, with grey pinstripes, John's white shirt had been hurriedly ironed that morning, and coupled with a tartan tie; the red, blue, black, green and yellow colours forming the official Watson tartan. The tie had been a sort of joke present from Harry one Christmas but John had kept it all the same.
The shorter man paused, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock's reaction, glancing down at himself as he straightened his shirt cuffs.
"Not good?" he questioned, because while Sherlock lounged around in his pyjamas most days, his sense of fashion still trumped John's.
Sherlock smiled, moving over to John and filing away the image of John in a suit into his Mind Palace; the room dedicated for John was becoming rather crowded but it was a favourite haunt for the sleuth. Reaching out, Sherlock smoothed down John's tie.
"Good, you look good," he said decisively, causing the doctor to smile. Pulling back, Sherlock patted John's arm briefly before gliding past him.
"Come on, Mycroft sent a car for us, it's waiting outside."
John merely nodded and followed after Sherlock, unsurprised to see a sleek black car pulled up outside. For once, John was pleased to see it, especially as Sherlock had informed him of the almost two and a half hour drive; Mycroft may be an arse but his car's have comfortable leather seats.
"So, is there anything I need to know? Anything I shouldn't say? Anything I shouldn't do? You realise I grew up on a council estate, not a family estate like you," John quipped, nudging Sherlock with his elbow once they were both seated and the car pulled away.
Sherlock rolled his eyes but a smirk touched his lips and he looked over at the other man.
"Well, there will be around eighty people there, if Mummy still has the same sort of guest list as she used to. They're mostly friends or acquaintances, although there will be some Holmes family there," he explained, "no doubt the main party will be held in the rose gardens, Mummy has just had two new fountains put in."
John gasped and raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.
"Only two? She's practically slumming it!"
Sherlock chuckled quietly, sending John an amused half-glare.
"In the evening, the party will continue inside, in the large dining hall. No doubt Mummy will have had the main table taken out and smaller ones brought in for people to sit and eat from the buffet," he added.
John hummed and nodded slightly.
"Buffet, no silver service?"
Sherlock nudged a sharp elbow into John's side.
"Silver service is only during parties she holds in winter," he quipped, causing John to snort out a laugh, "this isn't a formal event however, no matter how much pomp and ceremony is involved, just be yourself, John."
John hadn't thought he'd feel nervous, but he definitely felt nervous. This was sounding more and more like a much bigger deal than he'd expected, a lot more worrying than just a little party where he could meet Sherlock's mum. Letting his mind wander as they fell into comfortable silence, John tried to imagine what Sherlock's mum was like.
While brothers, Sherlock and Mycroft were quite different people once you got past the sometimes arrogant intelligence so Mrs Holmes could also be completely different. John tried to think which brother he could see an older female version of, but quickly cut off that chain of thought.
John hadn't realised he'd been drumming his fingers on his thigh until he felt Sherlock's hand pressing down on top of them. Looking up at the detective, John gave him a questioning little look.
"You're nervous. Stop it. You'll be fine," Sherlock said matter-of-factly. John smiled slightly and nodded.
"Right, course I will, if I can handle heads in the fridge, I can handle this," he quipped.