At uni, when drunk, John was a truly slutty club dancer. His mates used to cheer him on because he was actually quite good, and it was very funny. When sober John is not a talented dancer - he thinks too much about what he's doing and forgets one of his feet or looks like a poor animatronic model.
Sherlock gets the surprise of his life when he sees John go absolutely bonkers on a dance floor during a case.
He’s never seen him dance anything that wasn’t strictly choreographed. By him. With hours and hours of practice. To only have him look passable.
Originally, they hadn’t intended to stay and “make merry” after their case was done. Originally, Sherlock just wanted to hand of their embezzler that had made the club his preferred spot to unwind and then go back home with John. Maybe John would put the kettle on and Sherlock would play the violin. Perhaps they would sit with a finger or two of whiskey and rehash their case. Or, if Sherlock was very very lucky, John would recommend some telly and they would fall asleep on the couch, laying against each other until the morning.
But then the club owner had said “whatever you want, it’s on the house. All night long!” and John had grinned up at him and said, “just a drink or two, yeah?”
Sherlock had reluctantly agreed -because let’s be real, how can he resist when John looks so carefree and happy and like sunshine is pouring out of his eyeballs when he’s having a good time- but once he saw what happened to a happy drunk John, he couldn’t force himself to complain.
John had removed his usual, comfy, stuffy but shockingly cute jumper, tossing it at Sherlock shouting over the loud music, “I’m going to dance!” He undid the first three buttons of his dark colored button down and rolled up his sleeves, sliding fingers through his slightly sweat-damp hair back and gave Sherlock the biggest smile before dashing off to the throbbing mob on the floor.
Sherlock’s jaw hit the ground, his mouth suddenly dry, his hands suddenly moist, and his prick having many opinions on this new-found development. Sherlock watched in rapt fascination as John gyrated, shimmied, swayed, jumped, and writhed with intoxicated vigor. He soon became the center of several people’s attention and found himself the meat of a very human sandwich. Before this occurred, Sherlock was having a lovely time watching his crush flatmate dance. But, seeing the introduction of two partners, he was suddenly irate that he wasn’t on the dance floor and once again the center of John’s attention.
Sherlock watched as John’s hands gravitated to the waist of the attractive woman to his front and tilted his head to allow the man behind him to whisper into his ear. When said man’s tongue flicked out to taste his skin, John’s mouth dropped open and Sherlock decided they’d both had enough.
He marched across that dance floor and unceremoniously shoved John’s dance partners out of the way before grabbing his wrist and dragging him into the cool, night air.
“Sherlock! Sherlock! Sherlock are you even listening to me?!” John wrenched his arm back, stopping their fast paced retreat from the club. “What is going on?”
Sherlock whirled on him. “I might as YOU the same thing!”
John’s glassy eyes shined in confusion, his eyebrows knit together. “What did I do? I was just having fun.”
“Since when do you have that kind of fun?! Since when do you dance like you’re working for tips?! Since when do you let men lick your neck, John?! Hmm???”
John blinked owlishly at him before a wicked grin tugged at his lips. “That rile you up, huh? Seeing me with another man?”
Sherlock crossed his arms, huffed, and refused to answer verbally whilst in his mind kept screaming he said not gay not gay not gay not bloody gay. Every protestation John had ever uttered whirled in his mind all the while John’s sexy stupid smile tugged at the breath in his lungs. He finally cleared his throat and said with as much righteous anger as he could muster, “your previous statements led me to believe you had no interest in the attentions of men.”
John slowly, confidently closed the distance between them. Sherlock could smell his many drinks on his breath and Sherlock knew, objectively, you couldn’t get secondhand drunk on someone else’s breath but looking at John’s lips he was willing to give it the old college try.
“I think,” John said, looking up at him, “that someone is jealous.” Sherlock sputtered in misplaced indignity and tried to run but John caught the sleeve of his coat before he could make it too far. “Hey, come on! I’m not teasing,” John insisted.
Sherlock averted his gaze, cheeks pinking in embarrassment. “Then what, pray tell, are you doing?”
“Deducing,” John said simply. He pulled Sherlock close, looking almost surprised at how willingly Sherlock came. He closed his arms around him and leaned up to whisper in his ear, “take me home and I can show you all my good moves.”
Sherlock swallowed thickly. “Y-you mean...dance moves?”
“For starters,” John said, voice dripping in flirtation. “We can work in some other “moves” later, if you like.”
Sherlock liked. Sherlock liked very much. He had never dared hope before now that John would one day say those words to him. Then Sherlock’s heart fell when he realized that John only behaved this way because he was drunk. He gently detangled himself and said, “you’ll regret this tomorrow. You’re drunk and uninhibited and you will wake up hungover and embarrassed and I can’t lose you John-”
“Whoa whoa whoa,” John interjected, hands coming up to cup Sherlock’s face. “Slow down, love.” Sherlock’s panicked eyes darted to John’s relaxed ones and John continued. “You’re absolutely daft if you haven’t discovered by now my embarrassingly huge attraction to you, Sherlock.”
Sherlock’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
John smiled, suddenly beaming at knowing he had surprised Sherlock. “Absolutely daft,” he confirmed before rising up onto his toes and inching his face closer. “Sherlock, I would very much like to kiss you then take you home and dance and fall asleep next to you, probably still in my cloths if we’re being honest, and wake up and share a cuppa with you in the morning.” He smiled and added, “does that sound good to you?”
Sherlock licked his lips and whispered, “yes, John.”
True to his word, John gave him the snogging of his life, complete with tongue and hands in his hair. They flagged a cab and swiftly made their way home where John showed him some very non-regulation dance moves before they collapsed onto the couch and fell asleep. Their necks ached, their backs ached, their mouths were parched. But the sight of John waking happily in his arms was worth any hangover Sherlock would ever have.
Later there would be questions and stories from uni. Later there would be laughter and nostalgia and more tea. Later there would be showers and brushing of teeth and redressing in comfy pajamas. Later there would be more dancing. Later there would be lots of horizontal gyrating and dancing between the sheets. But for now, Sherlock wanted John to make good on his promise.
Sherlock tilted his head down to press a chaste kiss to the corner of John’s mouth. “Tea?”
“Yes, please,” John replied, kissing Sherlock’s cheek in reply.
