Not A Thing You Get To Choose

    And so Sherlock started back towards the ballroom, having scanned this crowd and found no sign of John's golden hair. Mycroft could certainly fend for himself; there were much more important things on the line here. The music grew louder as Sherlock approached, and he could pick out the distinct sounds of the violin, beautiful and slow, and he could just remember the first time he fell in love with John Watson. So long ago and yet so recent, seeing his face in the blue lighting, the music flowing from Sherlock's heart! He could only imagine the possibilities if he might play his violin again, and once more examine the inner workings of his own heart. As Sherlock approached the open glass doors to the ballroom he was suddenly caught around the neck by someone behind him, pulling him back with strangling force and making Sherlock gasp in surprise.
"Well there you are, I was wondering when you'd bother to show up." John's teasing voice said from behind him, finally releasing Sherlock so that the boy could get a breath, stumbling away just in case John had any other air restricting introductions he would like to try. The hallway was almost empty, however the two or three people that milled around near the white walls and the paintings of elegant looking people were enough to daunt whatever proper greeting Sherlock would have liked to give John. He was dressed in his finest attire, and of course John's finest attire was many steps up from Sherlock's. He too donned a bow tie and a jacket, a neat white shirt and a pair of black slacks that only just went down to his shined dress shoes. He looked stunning yet startling simple, reeking of money yet looking almost casual enough to walk about the market and not look too out of place. He took Sherlock's breath away by his very existence, and for a moment Sherlock was ever so tempted to push him into the nearest doorway and begin on that elaborate train of buttons that went down his shirt.
"John, you scared me half to death!" Sherlock exclaimed, catching his breath rather dramatically.
"Well I was looking for you all night, I go by the curls and that stupid top hat wasn't helping anything." John snapped, reaching out to snatch the hat off of Sherlock's head before he could duck away, clutching the thing to his head.
"Well it's better than that feathered atrocity that I usually wear." Sherlock defended.
"Ah, and speaking of feathers." John laughed, holding out his finger for Merlin to perch on, chirping happily at his presence.
"Merlin is much less of an atrocity." Sherlock agreed, frowning at the bird who had been the one to spark the fire that burned through both boy's hearts.
"I wish it was more acceptable to bring you to the dance floor, Sherlock. This is my favorite song." John muttered sadly, staring off at the array of dancers who were milling about together.
"Well I'm sure it wouldn't be entirely frowned upon, maybe I could put on a wig and a dress, and we could..." Sherlock mumbled, however John silenced him with a stiff shake of his head.
"No no, there are plenty of other things to do to music." John offered, his eyes finally starting over Sherlock as if noticing his state of dress, his neat ironed slacks and his tight button down shirt. Maybe he was noticing that it was the same outfit as he had worn that night.
"Oh yes? And do you have any other suggestions?" Sherlock wondered with a grin. The music could still be heard, even though the covered glass door that hid Sherlock and John from view, just a simple door away from being discovered. And yet it was locked, so that was reassurance enough. John certainly did have a suggestion, a tempting one at that, and so of course they stood in the sitting room next to the burning fire, John's lips on his neck while Sherlock stumbled into the mantle, gasping and forgetting for a moment that he was here to preform, not to kiss the son of the man of the hour. It was all just too beautiful not to be with him, at least for this moment, the music certainly was beautiful, as was John, as was this opportunity. Sherlock was not on until after dinner, and he was quite sure dinner hadn't started yet... Sherlock kissed at John's cheeks violently, trying to lead his lips to his once more as he steered him away from the flames, worried that he might stumble back and find himself engulfed in more than a metaphorical flame. They fell into the white wall, golden trimmed and elegant, shaking all the portraits that hung there as John threw Sherlock up against the plaster.
"What a thing to do at a party." Sherlock breathed, to which John just mumbled his agreement unclearly against Sherlock's outstretched neck. His bowtie was...somewhere. The clock struck eight as John finally took Sherlock in his arms, picking him straight up from the floor as Sherlock yelped in fear. It wasn't a far carry and yet it was enough to worry him, he wasn't sure where he would be landed until finally he found himself falling ironically onto the love seat, his legs dangling over the edge as John lay on top of him, finally kissing his lips like a normal person and starting on the buttons on his shirt.
"Now surely John, you must be gentle. I need to go before the entire crowd." Sherlock insisted, pulling his lips away for just a moment so as to get a quick word in.
"Ya, ya, you know you really have to stop talking through this?" John insisted, finally pulling Sherlock's jacket away, contorting the poor boy as he tried to force the sleeves down off of his thin shoulders. Their moment was interrupted not by talking, however, but by silence. The music had ended, and the sitting room was silent except for the crackling of the fire and the heavy breathing of the two boys, waiting to hear something that might explain the sudden stillness.
"The music..." Sherlock murmured, however John pressed a finger to his lips, as he could hear the voice that was now overpowering everyone else's, calling them for something.
"D*mn it, it's dinner." John grumbled.
"It's not necessary, is it? I for one had some appetizers, or at least I think I did." Sherlock mumbled.
"I've got to go, my father is making some sort of speech, he wants me there." John growled, beginning to get to his feet before Sherlock pulled him down once more, kissing him passionately before at last letting him go.
"We'll continue this later, right?" Sherlock wondered as John finally got to his feet, fixing his hair in the mirror and tucking in his shirt once more. Sherlock sat up groggily, doing up the buttons on his shirt and pulling his jacket back overtop, patting down his hair and searching for the bowtie that had gotten lost long before he had.
"Well yes of course, I don't intend on you leaving here until morning." John said with a sly little grin. Sherlock pressed his hand to his neck, almost as if trying to wipe any remaining signs of John's kisses, giggling a little bit to himself as he finally spotted his discarded bowtie by the door.
"That almost sounds like a threat." Sherlock mumbled, getting to his feet to snatch the bowtie from the marble floor and joining John at the mirror next to the fireplace.
"It is." John assured, turning only to wrap his arms around Sherlock's neck and kiss him once more. It was short-lived and yet it was beautiful, it was innocent love that was still enough to get Sherlock's heart racing.
"I love you." John mumbled, quietly enough so that they could both hear. Sherlock blinked for a split second, trying to remember if those words had ever come out of John's mouth before, trying to remember if either of them had admitted their love so indiscreetly. Not even in his letters had John been so straightforward.
"You love me?" Sherlock clarified, trying not to look all too amazed.
"Yes, yes you moron, of course I love you. I wouldn't be kissing you every day if I didn't." John teased, acting as if this sort of confession was just something he said to everyone.
"Oh, oh well...I love you too of course." Sherlock agreed, to which John just giggled, kissing him softly once more before detangling himself from Sherlock and starting towards the door.
"I look forward to your show." John said as he opened the door, making Sherlock smile timidly, standing next to the flaming fire and nodding.
"I look forward to what comes after it." Sherlock agreed, and with that John just giggled, slipping out into the hallway alone so that no one would realize they were in that locked room together. Sherlock rejoined Mycroft not five minutes later, finding him sitting very nervously with two other people, one a man and one a woman, and no one dared talk to each other. Mycroft was looking very shabby against the other clientele, and yet Sherlock was sure he was going to look even worse now that he had to redress himself. Just before he sat down Sherlock noticed John seated next to a blonde woman, older yet still beautiful, a woman who had to be his mother. Mr. Watson was on the stage, talking loudly while waiters dashed about with trays of food. He was looking drunk of course, and every step he took was forced and clumsy, however he seemed to have the crowd laughing and nodding, so something he was saying had to be substantial. Mycroft was pretending to be listening, however his black eyes were glassed over and he barely even cracked a smile when the entirety of the audience burst into laughter, so that was proof enough that he wasn't really listening.
"Oh Sherlock, thank God! I thought you had gotten lost!" Mycroft exclaimed, pulling out a chair next to him for his brother to sit. Sherlock nodded, sitting down quickly before watching as Mr. Watson meandered around the stage haphazardly.
"No, not lost. Preoccupied." Sherlock assured, feeling his lips turn up into a smile as he remembered those three words being uttered on John's perfect lips...
"Oh not with...with him? This early?" Mycroft sighed heavily.
"Is it okay if I stay over?" Sherlock asked quickly. Mycroft pulled something of a disgusted face, as if he wasn't expecting such a crude question.
"Sherlock I can hardly imagine they want you hanging about, not..."
"I was invited." Sherlock said flatly, to which Mycroft just sighed heavily. He knew of course that he couldn't do anything to prevent him from staying; he just tried to upkeep the fallacy that he was in control here.
"We'll talk about it later." Mycroft snapped, observing the rather harsh looks they were getting from their neighbors, for they were the only ones attempting to talk over Mr. Watson.
"Are you prepared for your show?" Mycroft whispered. Sherlock craned his neck, seeing that there was a nice table on which he could lay his volunteer, empty and waiting to be exploited.
"Yes, yes I'm ready." Sherlock agreed. The waiters came around with their food just as Mr. Watson was finishing his speech, and they were served what looked to be lamb chops, a nice salad with vinaigrette, and roasted potatoes. Mycroft gaped at the food excitedly, while Sherlock was still preoccupied with watching the back of John's head. He didn't care about speeches, or dinner, or keeping his brother occupied. Oh all he wanted to do was be back in that sitting room with his head against the love seat, the heat of the fire warming their bare skin and their lips knowing no boundaries. Was that really too much to ask? Evidently, yes.  Their table was silent as dinner was served, it seemed as though no one at the table wanted anything to do with conversation, and so they focused attentively on the meals in front of them, ignoring those who sat around them. When dinner had gone Sherlock was called to the stage by a butler, who announced him as the 'magnificent' Sherlock Holmes (and his assistant). Sherlock got up from the table with a timid little smile while everyone clapped, followed by a very reluctant Mycroft who evidently wished he could stay back with his lamb chops and have nothing to do with all the eyes that were now focused on him. Sherlock took on his stage presence, smiling widely and skipping to the stage while clutching his hat to his head, looking down on John with a beaming smile before looking up towards the crowd once more. Their clapping had long since died down, and their smiles were replaced with looks of still anticipation, as if already wondering how long this was going to have to take. 

"Well, hello everyone! Some of you might know me from the market place, I am the um...well I guess some call me magnificent." Sherlock said with a bit of a forceful giggle. No one laughed, and Sherlock cleared his throat very awkwardly from the stage. This was already starting to be a disaster.
"Oh alright, since you're such a chatty bunch I'll get right to the tricks, I've gotten a recommendation from our Birthday boy here, one that I like to call the um...well I don't have a name. It's a thing with a hat, however." Sherlock said with a smile, and this time some of the crowd chuckled daringly. He took his hat off excitedly, revealing his disrupted curls (Mycroft sighed in exasperation) and showed it to the crowd.
"Now I will have my lovely assistant here demonstrate that this hat is nothing more than ordinary, isn't he beautiful? Mycroft we should've put you in a dress, you'd get more show time that way." Sherlock teased, getting quite a laugh from the crowd as he handed the hat over to Mycroft with a smile. Mycroft just smiled bitterly, taking the hat and showing the inside of it to the crowd, sticking his hand inside and demonstrating that he couldn't get more than elbow deep into its depths.
"Just an ordinary hat." Mycroft announced, handing the hat back to Sherlock who then hovered his hand over top, muttering some Latin gibberish he had just made up before clearing his throat impressively.
"And there we go. You know in all of this excitement I hadn't even gotten to finish my dinner, ah, you my dear, are you quite finished?" Sherlock wondered, walking towards the edge of the stage and looking down at a woman who giggled rather excitedly at being addressed. He noticed there was still quite a lot of meat left on her lamb chops; however she seemed to be finished.
"Sir I'm a vegetarian." She announced proudly, as if expecting to get some sort of applause, and Sherlock just nodded his head sadly.
"I admire your sacrifice ma'am, you choices have done a great job at saving that lamb on your plate. Now, if you'll just excuse me." he said with a giggle, and with that he stuck his hand into the hat, sticking his arm shoulder deep into the thing and materializing it right above her plate. With a mad grab he stole the lamb from her plate, making the poor woman gasp in amazement, turning quite pale, and he pulled his arm out excitedly. In his hands were clenched the lamb chops; all greasy and disgusting in his fingers, however the crowd clapped enthusiastically, and just like that the show was on the road. As he went along he got more and more laughs, more enthusiasm, and more amazement when he did his tricks. He pulled things out of things that surely shouldn't be there, he did the old monocle trick and even animated a fork and knife to do a twostep little dance routine on the table before Mr. Watson, who giggled and clapped excitedly. Evidently he was a success, and very much worth the fifty pounds he had been paid to be here.
"And finally, the trick that was most highly recommended by your host himself, I would like to ask for a volunteer from the audience!" Sherlock called, bringing the table around to the front of the stage. He was beginning to get a little bit nervous, for his show had already been going quite well and one mix up on this trick would certainly stop them all from laughing. A couple of people raised their hands, however Mr. Watson got to his feet excitedly, pulling John up to join him, pulling him by the arm and pointing at him enthusiastically. Sherlock's heart stopped for just a moment, and he realized now that he maybe ought to just pull another rabbit out of a hat...surely he couldn't preform such a trick on John Watson? And yet the show must go on, it must! This was what he practiced for, so long as he kept himself fully concentrated on the trick in front of him nothing would go wrong, he was prepared. Nevertheless Sherlock's knees shook as John took to the stage, smiling and waving to the audience, not a doubt in the world.