A/N: For the purposes of this fic, John is quite well off.

"John!" Mike Stamford waved to him as John's shoes clacked across the lobby floor.

Sighing he turned and smiled. "Mike. What can I do for you?"

"Oh don't be like that! Word's got round you're planning on going solo to the charity ball?"

"What? Oh. Yes. Sarah and I just broke it off..."

Mike grinned. "I've got a secret!" He palmed a card into John's hand. "Call this number. They've come to my aid for more than a few dateless occasions. And everyone knows going dateless to a charity ball is social suicide. They'll make you do the announcements and raffle you off to the highest bidder, et cetera et cetera..." He winked and then was off.

John looked at the card, shook his head, and then stuffed it into his pocket where it sat, forgotten.

Until he did laundry that weekend and found it as he dug through his pockets. "Oh."

He set it aside for the moment. But once the wash was started, he called the number and quickly scrambled for a biro to write down the url being rattled off. He hung up and started up his laptop. John tapped his fingers patiently on the computer and then entered in the address to his browser. Then sighed. If it had been some sort of flashy site, he would have closed it all down immediately. Instead it was understated and classy with a dark green border and a list of occasions nicely bulleted in the centre. John selected 'social function' and read through the new list of chocies. 'Black-tie affair' seemed the most appropriate. Next page asked preferences. John shrugged to himself and said 'none.' The page melted away and neatly-bordered images flipped up onto the screen. 'Elaine' was too pouty. 'Georgia' looked like a wreck. 'Nielan' looked like a dominatrix. 'Sherlock' was a weird name. 'Sandra' reminded him of his grandmother. 'Beatrice' was too old for him. 'Taran' too young. 'Reese' looked like she couldn't hold a conversation about anything interesting. And 'Alex.' Well. 'Alex' looked like a man.

He sighed and flipped through the photos once more before picking 'Sherlock.' She looked intelligent and the perfect sort to hold her own in a cut-throat charity ball function. The page dissolved and a message appeared where he entered the time and address where the escort was supposed to meet him (his flat building), and then a delineation of rules and other information to protect both parties. Once he'd checked off that he'd read and accepted the terms, the screen changed and told him he was to pay the individual in cash, upon meeting. And then the amount appeared in a box in the middle of the screen.

Sighing at the amount, John figured it would be worth it for 8000 pounds, rather than taking a date out to dinner beforehand and then paying her cab back, or dealing with the hassle of going stag.

He waited until the day of to go to the bank to withdraw the cash to pay the girl. Then did some shopping, organised his flat, showered, and got dressed. Sitting on his sofa, he tapped his toes and looked at his watch. 7:17. She would arrive at 7:30, and then the cab would take them to the hotel where the function started at 8. He picked up a magazine, flipping through it idly while he waited, sighing at 7:26, and collecting his keys, money clip, and jacket to go wait downstairs in the lobby. He paced back and forth until there was a knock at the door. He opened it and found himself staring at a neck. A neck that disappeared into the collar of a smooth button-down. That then disappeared into a fine jacket and tucked into a pair of fine slacks. All smoothed over a long torso, long arms, and very long legs.

John blinked up at the face.

The man stared back, traces of amusement in the minute tilt of his lips. "John?"

"Yes?" he answered automatically, thinking if he knew this person. That was easy. "Do I..."

"Yes, you do pay me now." The resonate baritone curled around the corners of the hall.

"I."

Some of the light dimmed in the man's eyes. "You are John, yes?"

"I am. Are you...Sherlock?"

"Yes. Now he gets it." Sherlock, a man, leaned against the door frame. "Am I invited in, or are we to leave immediately?"

"We're leaving," John said then blinked again. "Shit."

"Problem?" The man said with an arch of his brow.

John knocked the heel of his palm against his forehead. "I thought you were a woman."

"Ah..." the man smirked and straightened. "Problem?"

"Fuck, too late to change now, I assume," John growled, digging in his trousers and handing over the money. "I can't go alone."

"Am I to still be your date?" Sherlock slipped the notes into a breast pocket inside his suit jacket.

"Yes," John said, pushing him lightly out the door before closing and locking it. "I can't go alone. You'll have to do."

"I'll have to do?"

John blinked and then shook his head. "I'm sorry. Terribly rude of me. I'm John Watson. A pleasure to meet you." He held out a hand as the taxi pulled up.

Sherlock blinked at him, face blank, before his lips curled up slightly. "Sherlock Holmes. A pleasure to meet you as well." And bent to kiss his cheek.

John sighed and opened the door, gesturing for Sherlock to enter before he slid into the seat and the car pulled away. He told the cabbie the address and then watched Sherlock out of the corner of his eye. The man was attractive. And with just a face, it wasn't too terribly difficult to mistake him for a woman.

"Former military?"

John started. "I beg your pardon?"

"You. You're former military." Sherlock leant an elbow on the window and looked John up and down.

"How d'you know?"

"The way you hold yourself. What's the occasion of the party?"

"Charity benefit for my boss."

"You hate them."

"Who doesn't?"

Sherlock snorted quietly.

"You...go to them often? With clients?"

"Once in a while," Sherlock replied vaguely.

John nodded and then returned to looking out the window, tugging at his tie.

"Here. Let me."

Sherlock reached over and pushed John's hands away, and with his own long fingers, he adjusted it for him. "This alright?" he murmured. "What sort of proximity are you comfortable with?"

John rolled his eyes. "I don't care that you're a man. I just... had been expecting a woman."

"I look like a woman?"

John met his eyes—right. The eyes. They'd been a bit arrested in the headshot. "Your photo online does. You can't honestly be surprised."

"You didn't read my bio info," Sherlock said, pulling his hands back into his lap and looking a little surprised.

"I didn't realise I was looking at women and men. No wonder that last one looked so much like a man..."

"So you don't know anything about me."

John frowned. "No. Is that a problem."

"No," Sherlock said with a smile he tried to hide behind his hand. "This will be fascinating."

John shook his head and chatted with him until the taxi pulled up to the kerb. He paid the fare and then held the door for Sherlock.

"Not necessary," he said, bending his mouth near John's ear.

"You're my date; I'll treat you as such," he replied stubbornly, settling his hand at the small of Sherlock's back.

Sherlock sighed as if put-upon, but his small grin told John he didn't mind.

John handed over his invitation and their coats at the door, pocketing the coat room stub and pausing with a sigh at the threshold of the large ballroom they'd rented out.

"You go every year. You're not nervous," Sherlock said, looking over his face. "But you normally don't work in an office, do you."

"You sound like you already know. They do a background check on me?" He met Sherlock's eyes.

"No. Sorry." He suddenly smiled a smile as fake as John's driving license photo.

"Oh don't do that."

"Sorry?"

"That..." He waved a hand in the direction of Sherlock's face. "Weird smile thing."

"Weird smile thing?" It disappeared.

"Yes. And no, I don't often work behind a desk. How'd you know?"

"Same way I knew you are former military. I observe."

"Could tell all that from just looking at me, hm?" John smiled and waved to Lucy from Assignments. Her eyes widened when she saw Sherlock and she mouthed something at him. Something obvious about how Sherlock was a man. He shrugged and then turned to Sherlock. "I'll get us drinks? What do you want?"

"I don't drink."

"Water."

"If you insist, John," Sherlock said, a slight purr to his voice. "I'll be fine if you leave me here."

He nodded and then went off in search of champaign and water. He held back the sigh. Because this was definitely not how he'd pictured his evening starting. He downed his bubbly and grabbed another and found water for Sherlock before he headed back towards him—bloody hell, was that his arse? John tilted his head and stared at it a bit before resuming his step and murmuring the man's name. "Water."

"Thank you, John."

"John! This charming fellow is your date?" Nancy fairly cooed.

John forced the smile. "Nancy. So lovely to see you."

"Of course. It's been...how long since I last saw you? You never stop by my office."

"Terribly sorry. Busy, you understand."

She forced the pout on her thin lips with too much lip liner and eye shadow too dark for someone her age. "Now, John. I really must insist that you stop by sometime, so we don't have to wait to meet at these things."

The smile felt stretched, but he was good at it. Flicking a glance at Sherlock, the corners of the man's eyes crinkled. Then Nancy's hand was on his bicep and she was leaning close to kiss his cheek. "Thank you, Nancy. Now Sherlock and I have to go say hello to Mike."

"Stamford?" Her brows flew up and lips turned down.

John's smile felt less forced. She didn't like Stamford. "Oh yes. He introduced us, after all." He tugged Sherlock closer, his hip awkwardly higher than John's.

Nancy blinked, smiled and then backed away. "Well come see me. When you're in the office..."

John guided Sherlock away and sighed.

"She seems...fond of you."

"Ha ha." He scowled at Sherlock. And then shuddered.

"Who is this Mike fellow?"

"Surprised you don't know him. He passed me the number to your service."

"We don't share names," Sherlock said flatly.

"Oh. Sorry. I don't know how...this...all works."

"Clearly."

"No need to be snide about it," John said, arm still wrapped around Sherlock's waist.

"Have we a cover story?"

"What?"

Sherlock tsked. "So we don't have to tell people that you're renting my time."

"Oh. Suppose I should, shouldn't I." He paused to say hello to one of the other people in Assignments.

By the time they'd moved away, Sherlock was squinting at him.

"What?"

"John, what is it exactly that you do."

"You can't tell?"

"Not enough evidence."

John grinned. "Good."

Sherlock's mouth fell open. "You're not going to tell me?"

"Classified. And I think easiest is best, isn't it?"

"What?"

"Cover story. Mike introduced us. No, I haven't ever brought a man as a date before, but..." He shrugged. "People will talk."

Sherlock hummed. "They do little else, most of the time."

John smiled and then they were talking to Mike. And after Mike, investors. After investors, bosses, and then an endless circuit of people.

"I don't believe you."

"What?" John looked up at him, rolling his neck.

"Your position being classified."

"Oh. That's fine," John said as he loosened his tie. "I'm ready to get out of here. You?"

Sherlock glanced at his watch. "You have me for another hour."

John nodded and headed to the coat room. "I'm never really expected to stay long as it is." He nodded to Frank and dug around in his pocket for his ticket. "Shit. Where is it."

Sherlock strode ahead of him and placed it on the counter, smirking over his shoulder at John.

"Pick-pocketing!" John's brows flew up. "Not a skill I'd have thought an escort to possess."

"Shh... You don't want to ruin your cover, do you?" Sherlock teased, leaning against the wall while the girl fetched their jackets.

John snorted.

"You would be surprised by how useful a skill it is to have."

"Mr. Watson?"

"Ah, yes. That would be me, thank. Sherlock," John held the big coat out for him.

"This would work better if you were taller."

"Or if you were shorter. Sorry nature didn't bless me with height like yourself."

Sherlock arched a brow at him but turned and slipped his hands into the arms before pulling it up over his shoulders. He waited expectantly while John buttoned his jacket and then accepted the offered arm with only a small sigh and a slight quirk of the lips.

"Just so you know," Sherlock said, studying his nails while John hailed a taxi. "I charge extra for sex."

"Yeah, the website said you had the liberty to do that. Oh come on! Do you not see me?" John scowled as the taxi passed him by.

"Perhaps someone with more...visibility should try."

"Go on!" John stepped back on the pavement and folded his arms to watch Sherlock. "Besides, I'm not interested."

Sherlock glanced at him, arm raised into the street. "Oh?"

John shrugged. "I needed a date."

"You are interested. I saw you watching me all night."

"Hello, Mr. Ego."

"You don't deny it."

"No. I just needed a date."

"If I were a wo—"

"It wouldn't matter if you were a woman. I'm just not interested."

The taxi pulled up and Sherlock got in first, still appraising John.

"What? Oh God. Now you think there's something wrong with me because I don't want sex. Oh. Sorry," John said to the driver before looking back at Sherlock. "There's nothing wrong with me," he said firmly, under his breath.

Lounging back, the image of confidence, Sherlock watched him some more. "So what do you plan to do with your hour?"

"Less than, now."

"Yes."

"You can go home if you want," John said, watching London pass by out the window.

"You're not one who throws away money. You spend carefully. Why throw away something you've paid for now? Is it because you're uncomfortable in my company once alone?"

John rolled his eyes at his reflection and sighed. "Fine. Come in for tea. Don't expect to be impressed by the amenities."

"I won't. You keep very few things. You move frequently, and I doubt I'll see much signs of 'home' about your flat."

"Thanks for that, Sherlock."

The man smiled. "It is what I do best."

"If that's true, then why do you do this?" He looked back at Sherlock, linking his fingers in his lap. "You're obviously very intelligent. You could probably do whatever you want."

"Pft. Boring." The long fingers waved the comment out of the air.

"So you're a high-class hooker instead."

"Careful, John, I might be insulted."

John grinned. "Somehow I didn't think you would be. Because you don't care."

"Ooh, interesting theory. Care to explain?"

"This is just something for fun." John looked him over. "You rarely do the sex, do you. Unless someone pays enough. And it's at your discretion. So this is just a chance to see different people. Keep life interesting."

Sherlock clapped softly. "Well done."

John blinked at the man, and, not finding any signs of a duplicitous meaning behind the words, felt pleased. "Right. So was that a yes to tea?"

"It would be inherently un-English for me to turn you down."

John snorted. He pulled out his clip as the taxi slowed, but Sherlock pushed his hand away and handed the money over instead. "Oh is that how it works?" He opened the door and scooted out. Sherlock unfolded himself after John and then moved to wait next to the door.

"Not usually."

"Taking pity on me?" John teased, getting his key out and opening the door, gesturing Sherlock in first. "Second floor, second door on the left."

Sherlock had his coat off by and over his arm by the time they reached John's door. "You can afford bigger than this," he said when John opened the door and gestured him inside again.

"Just because I can doesn't mean I want to," John hung his and Sherlock's jackets and then got the kettle out for tea. "Preference."

"Surprise me."

John smiled and reached into the back to pull out a rosemary tea he'd picked up in a shop in the Netherlands. "Do you take sugar?" he called at the sound of Sherlock settling himself on the sofa.

"Yes, thank you. Two cubes if you have them or two teaspoons."

John had the mugs ready and handed Sherlock's to him as he settled on the sofa next to him. "Surprise."

"What? Oh. Yes. What is it?"

"You mean you don't know?"

Sherlock snorted. "I may be smarter than average, but I do not know everything."

John grinned. "Rosemary. So you do this frequently? Play date to people for big events?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Surely my occupation is hardly so fascinating. Though I do admit: you're the first to take such an interest, not being squeamish about the less pleasant aspects of the job. No, I'd much rather know what you do."

"And I told you: classified."

"I don't believe you."

John shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "I don't care."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "You're enjoying not telling me."

"Well done, you." By the time they'd bickered their way to the end of the hour, John was surprised to find he actually enjoyed the company of the other man.

But Sherlock broke the spell by glancing at his watch nearly on the hour.

"You have to be off then?"

Sherlock rose. "Yes. It appears our time is up."

John smiled and stood as well, eyes roving everywhere save for Sherlock now that the ease was broken. "Right. Well. Let me get your coat."

"Oh please. You don't have to be so awkward about it, John."

He hid his grin in his shoulder as he handed the man his coat. "Well. It was a pleasure to have your company for the evening. So. Thanks. For that."

"Of course," Sherlock purred. "Don't hesitated to call, should you need a date for a future function."

Opening the door, John waved and watched him down the stairs until he wasn't in view and then returned to his flat to collapse with a sigh on the sofa.

Back to life as usual. How dull.