White Stockings, That's what she'll wear today.
She sits on her bed and rolls the edge of the stocking over her knee, attaching it to the garter belt. She considers whether to put her underwear inside or outside the garter strap. Outside means that she expects to take them off first, that is, she expects sex on the first date. No, inside is best. She's a good girl, or at least she will try her best to appear to be one.
It had taken her two weeks to figure out how to get hired at the surgery where John worked, and two entire months of flirting before he'd raised his head out of his grief long enough to ask her out. They were going on a date tonight - Drinks, followed by a walk to the theatre to watch a romantic comedy with quirky, pretty-faced stars. Something that neither of them would really enjoy, but both of them would pretend to.
She pulls down her white lace slip covering red and black knickers. That took a lot of thought. Should she go pure good girl, or a little bad? The way that John had raised his eyebrow when she had bent over to pick up the fallen envelope at work had told her that 'a little bad' would be appreciated. The life of a lonely doctor could be a bit boring. He looked as if he wanted a little excitement. Be careful what you wish for, John Watson.
She puts on her dress - Blue, satin with dots, conservative pattern, sensual fabric. She wants it to slide when he holds her waist. A shimmy of the hips during the kiss will be all that she needs to suggest to him that sex is something that she's good at.
A look in the mirror. Hair, short and practical. A bit of sparkle on the ears. A touch of Claire de la Lune. Then into her pumps and she's off. She reaches for her coat in the closet hesitating as she glances at the shoe box on the shelf above, the one that holds her gun. It isn't time for that. Not yet.
She puts on her coat and closes the closet door. His flat then. She wouldn't want him to find the gun by accident. Ugly questions might be asked. They could come to her flat on the second date, after she'd had a chance to hide it better.
She picks up her purse and locks her door. It might be best if they miss the film entirely. She could arrange it. They had planned to meet at the bar before the film started. Just a few extra drinks, John is used to drinking these days, and they will be late. "Let's wait for the next one," she'd say before leading him on a walk that just happens to pass by his flat. She'd run a bit ahead, and then trip on a crack in the pavement. He'd catch her. His hands sliding up around her waist, and then she'd turn toward him and open her mouth just so.
It had to be his idea to kiss her. She couldn't make the first move. He had to feel that he had won her, saved her. He wanted so much to have someone to save, since he had been unable to save the one that he had wanted.
It was a risky thing trying to fit inside the cracks of a broken heart. And this wasn't strictly what they had asked her to do, but there was something about the twinkle in John Watson's eyes that made Mary feel a little bit reckless. So there is a hop in her step as she walks down the hallway, her purse swinging gaily at her side.
She walks out of the building surprised to find the edges of her lips turning up in a smile. She can't help imagining the dark simmer in his eyes as he runs his strong hands up the length of her white stockings.