A/N: I wrote this based on a pic posted by someone I watch on DA; the pic came first, then the story. I used the pic as the cover, so art credit goes to yaoifan18 on DA. Credit for the idea to write this also goes to yaoifan18.
Summary: Sherlock & John have an case. After John lost a bet, Sherlock forced him to put on a dress and go with him undercover as his girlfriend. Sherlock enjoys it every second, while John is not amused at all.
"John, we have another case!" I glanced up as Sherlock bounded up the stairs and into the sitting room, gleeful. It had been almost a month since our last case, and he'd been driving me mad for most of it, until I was fed up with his pacing, rambling, and loud violin music. Only half an hour ago, I'd practically kicked him out of our flat, telling him he would only be allowed back in when he'd calmed down, or found a case. Apparently it was to be the latter.
"Is that so?" I hummed, slowly folding my newspaper and setting it aside. "And what, pray tell, did you find this time? A drunkard claiming to be the queen's son?"
"What? No, I solved that one weeks ago," he said, pausing in what appeared to be a search through the papers on our table but could just as easily have been an attempt to rouse me by making a mess of what I'd just finished cleaning.
I wasn't sure what bothered me more, the fact that someone had actually claimed to be the queen's son, or said mess.
"Then what?" I sighed in exasperation.
"Dating!" he grinned. I blinked multiple times.
"...Alright, I'll bite," I said. "What?"
"Dating, John, dating," he said, still excited. How on earth could such an antisocial man be so excited about dating? Especially when he refused to call whatever it was we had 'dating.'
"Are you trying to taunt me or something?" I asked, annoyed.
"What? No! Of course not!" he insisted. "I'm serious; someone is snatching women from their dates without the men noticing a thing!" Now that was a different story.
"Not a thing?" I clarified, intrigued.
"Now you're interested," he smirked. "Good. John Watson, will you be my date?"
I slapped my hands down on Lestrade's desk, startling him and making him nearly fall out of his seat.
"The Date-Snatcher," I said. "Is that a case you're working on?"
"Th-the what now?" he asked, confused.
"Women disappearing from the sides of their men and no one sees a thing?" I prompted, desperately hoping…
"I have no earthly idea what you're talking about," Lestrade said, frowning. "H-how did you get in here?" I wanted to throttle the man. Reigning myself in, I turned to Sherlock with a snarl on my lips. The smirk he wore turned my desire for violence on him.
"You see this?" I said to Lestrade, gesturing at my puffed-up flatmate. "There'll be no living with him, thanks to you." With that, I stomped away, leaving Lestrade stammering for a reply.
"I look forward to seeing you dressed up, John," Sherlock said, leaning down to my ear so that only I heard. "Excuse me; Joanna."
Why did I have to agree to this bet?
Mary came by that afternoon with an older dress of hers that she'd let out a little when she gained weight last year, as well as a wig she picked up on the way over.
Though things hadn't worked out between us once I discovered my feelings for Sherlock, mary and I had remained friends, and still talked often.
While I didn't much like the embarrassment of having to wear a dress, even I had to admit I looked alright, for a man in drag; Mary helped me into the dress, arranged the wig properly, and added a bit of makeup, the last of which I protested vehemently for at least half an hour before grudgingly allowing her to do so. When she finished, I took a breath and turned to look in the mirror, doing a double-take when I saw the comely lady looking back at me.
The wig was long and a bit darker than my natural hair colour. With brown accents around my eyes, they looked more green than gray, and a touch of pink at my lips helped transform me into a complete stranger.
I stared for a long time, trying to reconcile the image I saw with the man I knew I was. It wasn't working.
"John, are you ready ye-" Sherlock cut off as he stepped into my room and caught sight of me. I met his gaze in the mirror, afraid to turn around and see the surprise turn to disdain.
"What do you think, Sherlock?" Mary asked, oblivious to the gathering tension. "Turn around, John; show him." I did turn, slowly, though it was the last thing I wanted to do.
Sherlock had dressed in a neat black suit, much like he usually wore, but a tad nicer. He had an overcoat draped over one arm, and his scarf in hand, obviously intending to put it on later. I made a mental note to borrow one of Mrs. Hudson's coats, if Mary hadn't brought one for me; it could get cold at night.
"Astounding," he breathed finally, clearing impressed, and a touch interested. I tried not to blush; I don't know if I succeeded or not.
"Good!" Mary chirped happily. "I spend too long on him to have to start all over." She waved for us to move together, pulling out her phone. "Stand over here next to each other; I need a picture!"
"Please no," I groaned, embarrassment loosening my tongue. "It's bad enough I have to wear this in the first place; I'd rather not have it immortalized."
"Your voice is too low, Joh- ah, Joanna," Sherlock noted, a smirk on his lips. Despite the situation, I found myself wanting to kiss him. Of course, the last time I tried, he almost broke his leg tripping over a chair to get away.
"Is this better?" I asked sarcastically in falsetto. He snickered and Mary laughed aloud.
"I never thought I'd hear you say something like that," she giggled, taking a couple of pictures. I scowled at her, but from the glimpse I caught in the mirror, it just made me prettier.
"I am going to regret agreeing to this bet," I grumbled.
Lestrade was late.
We had gone to the kidnapper's hunting ground, and of course I'd gotten taken. Sherlock figured everything out and found me just as I managed to escape, dress ruined and wig gone. I bawled him out after we secured the kidnapper and freed the other women, and after we gave Lestrade a call to come pick us all up.
When I was satisfied that he'd been scolded enough, we waited in silence, the night getting colder around us. I shivered, the light jacket I borrowed from Mrs. Hudson not nearly enough to keep out the cold. A moment later, something warm settled around my shoulders and I glanced up just as Sherlock draped an arm around me, on top of his overcoat.
"If you freeze, I won't feel sorry for you," I warned. A soft half-chuckle escaped his throat, the corner of his mouth tilting up in amusement.
"...I'm sorry," he said after a long moment. I gave him a curious frown.
"For what?" I asked. "Making me dress up and let myself get captured?" He didn't answer, but by his expression, I could tell that wasn't it. Something else then.
"I'll make it up to you," he promised, before I could ask.
He didn't respond to any further questioning, and eventually I gave up. Lestrade finally came to get us, bringing a large van for the women.
"Not a word," I threatened when he saw me and opened his mouth. It immediately closed and he took us back to our flat in silence.
The next morning, after a thorough shower and a good night's sleep, I woke to a rose on my pillow. The note with it promised a better date, one for which I would not have to dress in drag.