Work Text:
Sherlock frowns, freezing in the doorway. John – clad in an extremely well cut black tuxedo – is laying out an assortment of clothes on their bed.
‘What are they for?’
‘You.’
‘I said I wasn’t going.’
‘And I say you are.’ John’s tone is army sharp, commanding. ‘Get ready. You’ve got five minutes.’
Four minutes later Sherlock is outfitted and following John into a cab, a small smile crinkling the kohl round his eyes.
The smile turns to a smirk when, having arrived at the hotel and been ushered into a room heaving with costumed people, he finds himself face to face with his brother, wearing a large, curly wig.
‘Happy Birthday, Sherlock.’
‘Indeed, Mycroft … or should I call you Humpty?’
Mycroft sighs. ‘Sire will do … Pugwash, since I’m dressed as Charles the First. Now where is your better half? I must thank him for ensuring all Mummy’s meticulous planning hasn’t been wasted.’
Sherlock looks around to see John leaning against the wall, watching him with an intensity that sends heat through his entire body. Mycroft forgotten he whirls away in a flurry of coattails, weaving deftly through the other guests until;
‘Jack Sparrow,’ John’s voice thrums with desire.
‘Captain Jack Sparrow, Mr Bond,’ he retorts silkily. ‘See something you fancy?’
‘Definitely,’ John pulls him close, ‘Captain. You make a beautiful buccaneer.’
