Voice of a Stranger (Johnlock)

The Gala

Looking in the mirror, John drew his shoulders back and took a deep breath. He was thankful that his fitness regime lately had helped him drop a few pounds. Tugging on the bottom of the jacket and straightening his tie slightly, John nodded to himself. He looked as good as he could.

Doubts still flitted through his mind as he exited his bedroom, and walked down the stairs. Sherlock had offered to take him to his tailor, but it seemed an unnecessary expense for one night.

Stepping into the living room, Sherlock turned to face him, and John could hardly speak. His suit was a deep navy, impeccably cut, and paired with an ivory shirt and a sophisticated silk tie. His green eyes seemed even larger than normal, as his dark curls were styled back off his face. He usually dressed well, but tonight he was polished to perfection.

Chuckling, Sherlock strolled around John, looking him over thoroughly. John stood at attention under his scrutiny. "My, my, Captain Watson. You do credit to your dress uniform."

John could feel his face warm with the compliments and appreciative look. The olive green uniform suited his lightly tanned skin, and his fair hair. The fit was good, making his shoulders look broad and his waist slim under the black leather belt. "Shall we get going?"

Swirling on his long, black coat, Sherlock gave a mischievous grin before he ran down the stairs to the front door, leaving John to lock up. John pulled on his black peaked hat, with its red band and trim.

A quick taxi ride later, they were pulling up in front of the elegant hotel. John looked at the wealthy people walking the red carpet, posing for the paparazzi, and felt totally out of place.

"Come along, John." Sherlock said impatiently, his eyes scanning the people as he tugged on John's arm.

Naturally, Sherlock walked confidently through the crowd, and John concentrated on keeping by his side. At the entrance, Sherlock passed an embossed invitation to the doorman, who scanned the card and then the pair of them, before passing the paper back with an imperious nod.

John let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "How did you get an invitation to this event? I thought it was quite expensive and exclusive." He leaned close to whisper to Sherlock.

The tall man gave a nonchalant shrug. "Mycroft." He was preoccupied with scanning the crowd, and John tried to act normal as he stuck close to his side. Posh events like this were probably nothing new to Sherlock, with his upbringing, but John felt totally out of his comfort zone.

Sherlock accepted two glasses of champagne from a passing server, and gave one to John. His eyes seemed to gleam as they shared a look. "The dinner doesn't start for about an hour. I will try to talk with Alicia Blackburn, and Penelope Redgrave. Perhaps you could talk with Marisa Hayes?"

John was able to follow Sherlock's gaze to the various women in the crowd. He knew the plan. "I'll see what I can do."

In moments, Sherlock was working his way through the crowd, a friendly smile on his face. John shook his head at the change in his manner, looking affable and approachable, as he sipped the last of his champagne.

Putting down his empty glass, John tugged on the bottom of his uniform jacket to ensure it was lying smooth, and walked closer to the brunette in the red cocktail dress. She was slim, and likely in her early thirties, her long hair pinned up in a casual updo that flattered her long neck and large dark eyes. She was chatting with an older woman quite animatedly, both of them chuckling.

John tried to not be too obvious, as he looked her way, trying to think of a way to approach her and get her talking. Across the room, he could already see that Sherlock was chatting with one of his target women.