This is the first fanfiction I wrote. That's my excuse for the strange, strange fic that I present to you. I was thinking 'If they had to have the dress, who would wear it?'. And then I wrote this. As you can see I have improved, but this is still pretty good. Okay, it's okay.
WARNING: Strangeness. Sherlock getting paranoid. An itsy-witsy bit of angst that is resolved.
RATED: K+ because of slightly tention-y bit.

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John stepped out of the dressing room. His accomplice wasn't here. He walked out into the shoe area. She wasn't there either. Where was she? He walked through the jewelry to the checkout. No sign of her anywhere. He really needed to find her now, he was sure he had heard someone upstairs, and anyway, the clothes were getting rather heavy.

He decided to go and wait in the delivery room. It was light and warm in there, and she would have to go through it to reach the changing rooms. Probably. He sighed. There must be a reason she was taking so long. He sighed and pushed open the double doors to the delivery room. The lights were on, unlike some parts of the abandoned clothes shop. He walked towards one of the cloth rails, where he had left his phone and bag. And then the lights went off.

John froze. The lights didn't go off by themselves; it was the delivery room, so it was light switch only. There was someone in there with him. He ducked under the clothes rack, trying to be as quiet as possible. He could hear someone, but only a shuffle there, a muffled breath there. They obviously thought stealth was a good idea. He could hear it coming closer, so he crept what he hoped was further away from the intruder. He could hear the person pausing, trying to hear where he was. He breathed in.

He heard the other person turn, and move away. Why where they moving away? Maybe they didn't want to get caught either. Maybe it was his accomplice, thinking that he was someone else. What should he do? He moved further away from the noise. Suddenly, the lights flickered on.

John was momentarily blinded by the brightness, his eyes had gotten used to the darkness, and the bright lights hurt. Then he realised he was standing in the middle of the room, and he looked around quickly to check if someone had seen him.

"John, is that you?"

John spun around to the source of the question, and looked straight into the saucer-like eyes of Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock? I... I didn't know you were here!"

John panicked, how the hell was Sherlock here? Had he followed them there, or maybe someone had told him. How much did he know? Did he know anything? One thing was sure, Sherlock defiantly wasn't supposed to be here.

"But-But, Sherlock, you can't be here. I mean…"

Sherlock looked at John's dress and then at his face with dead eyes.

"It's true, isn't it?" he said.

John turned red. What did he know? How did he know? He swallowed.

"What's true?"

"You're with someone. You've been cheating on me. Who is it?"

John was confused. What was Sherlock saying? Where on earth had he got this idea from? He would never cheat on his dearest Sherlock, never.

"Sherlock! What are you-"

"Oh, don't play games with me, John; you can't hide it from me anymore."

John was lost. What did Sherlock mean? He had so many questions he needed to ask, including that question, that utterly important question, but he ended up doing an impression of a goldfish. Sherlock sneered at him.

"Oh, you didn't think I'd be that naive, did you? You've been acting suspicious for weeks. Looking nervous when I ask questions. Not letting me tidy your room. Making up excuses for clubs you never go to. Coming back late from work and then trying to act normal. Going to see Mycroft. Having strange phone calls."

"Wait, you've been stalking me? Sherlock, I thought I told you that-"

"Stop changing the subject. Who is it?"

"But I-"

"Oh please, spare me the talk" he smiled like Mycroft used to smile, cruelly, before he and John had become a bit… closer.

"I guess I'll just have to deduce it myself. Is it Anthea? You go to Mycroft's a lot, but not to see Mycroft, he creeps you out. You have a secrete door knock that you only use when you're alone, and she makes you laugh, don't look at me like that I can hear the muffled laughs from outside. Suspect no. 1."

Sherlock takes a moment to breath and examines John.

"Or maybe it's Suspect no.2, Molly Hooper. Always so happy to help, so willing to give up her free time to work with you, even when she has a date. Always so shy when I'm around, especially when she talks, like she's hiding something. Always trying to impress you with-"

"Sherlock, Molly fancies you." John says, glad that he's found his voice again.

"That's why she's so nice, that's why she's so shy around you because you know everything. She tries to impress you because she's jealous!" John continued.

Sherlock freezes. His face takes a look of shock. "She-she does?"

"Yes"

"Then… who are you with?"

"No one. I'm not with anyone else. Sherlock, you gave me hope when there was no hope. You gave me a hand when I needed it most. I was so, so alone, until I met you." He looked into Sherlock's eyes "I love you, remember?"

Sherlock stared into John's eyes, daring him to be wrong. John stood there, unflinching. Finally, Sherlock stopped.

"I believe you. I'm sorry. But why do you have phone calls I can't trace? And why do you lie about where you go, and why on earth are you wearing a wedding dress?"

John looked down, only just realising that he was still wearing a wedding dress. He blushes.

"I-I can't tell you that"

"What? Why not?"

"I-I just… can't."

"But, but we're supposed to tell each other everything!"

John looks at the ground in shame "I just… can't. I'm sorry."

John looks back up, and sees that Sherlock is actually hurt. He can't mask the distress on his face, and it makes John's insides twist up in pain. Why won't he just let it go? I can't tell him now, not like this. Especially not wearing this blasted wedding dress. Just let it go, Sherlock.

"Are you coming home for tea John?" Sherlock asked, making John jump slightly. He had changed the conversation with a click of his fingers, which John was grateful of, but it still surprised him. He noticed Sherlock was looking down at him with eagle-like eyes, watching every move and analysing its significance. Very not good.

"Uh, no."

Sherlock's eyes seemed to lose their eagle-ness, and softened in sadness. "You're not? But it's cooking night."

John had forgotten about that. Because of the question, and the preparation, and Mycroft and his insistence and secrecy. He had forgotten about cooking night. Every Friday night, Sherlock would cook them food himself, and he had not failed to do so once. He had cooked curry, macaroni cheese, stew, chicken, steak, fish pie, even ratatoueu once. He made most of the food from scratch, which had surprised John, as Sherlock had never cooked before they got together. He was surprisingly good, too, for someone who had to be reminded to eat and go to sleep. He always put in his all, and John couldn't bear to disappoint him like this. But he had to. There were important thing, like the question, that needed to be sorted out.

"I can't. I've got other things to do."

"But I made you lasagne. I even made the pasta." Sherlock said, in a sad voice. John couldn't bear to look him in the eyes.

"I can't. I'm sorry."

Sherlock turned away from John, deciding instead to study the clothes rack behind him.

"Why have you been seeing my brother?"

"Your-what?"

"Oh please, you know I hate to repeat myself."

John panicked. How on earth had Sherlock known? Had he seen it in his face? Had John left some vital clue as to where he had been? Did Sherlock even know anything? Or was he just asking questions to pressure him into revealing something?

"No. I haven't been seeing Mycroft."

"Lies." Sherlock said. He turned and rounded on John suddenly. He started deducing at a rapid rate, forming and dropping questions that appeared out of thin air faster than you could say 'Abracadabra'.

"What are you hiding? Why are you hiding it? What does Mycroft have to do with this? Why can't I know? What is the question?" John's eyes widened with panic at this, although he willed them to stop. "What is it? Are you in danger? Is someone pressuring you? Are you being blackmailed? No. It's not that. It's about me. What is it about me? What have I done? Who have I offended? No, it's nothing like that. Is it a present for me? No, too large scale for that. Is it about you and me? Do you not love me?"

John just stood there, mouth wide open. Sherlock had never talked that fast before, and he had never looked so desperate, and-

Hold on, did he just ask if I didn't love him?

John's mouth hanged even more open, if such a thing were possible.

"Do you not think I love you?" John asked.

"I don't know what to think at the moment. Caring is not an advantage."

"What? Sherlock don't say that!"

"Why not? I cared for you and now you're scheming behind my back with my brother, of all people."

"No I'm not."

"Then WHAT IS THE QUESTION?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why John? Why?" Sherlock asked, a look of sadness in his eyes.

"Because now is not the right time."

"Well then I'll just have to leave until it is the right time."

"What? No!"

"Yes! I can't trust you anymore John. I thought we were special!" Sherlock started to walk off.

"We are! Just think about this!" John said, trying to keep up with Sherlock.

John finally caught up with Sherlock and grabbed his wrist, forcing him to turn around and face him. Sherlock looked at him with shock.

"John, I-"

"No Sherlock, no. I need to talk."

"Fine. What do you want?"

"Will you marry me?"

Sherlock's eyes widened and his jaw dropped, and for the first time ever Sherlock was properly shocked. He made several different attempts at being a goldfish, and then gave up and continued to stare at John. John looked back at Sherlock with worried eyes. Had that not been what Sherlock wanted? Had John taken their relationship the wrong way?

Sherlock finally managed to regain control over his facial features and his jaw. He looked at John for a second longer, before talking.

"Yes. Yes I will."

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That's it folks! Thanks for reading. All reviewers get John jumpers. Anderson's already got one.