John found himself in a costume shop one afternoon. He had been invited to a fancy dress party with Mary, and she had badly wanted to do a swinging 60s Carnaby Street thing. But John was lost in the back section of the shop with animal costumes, and could not seem to find his way out.
He jumped when he came face-to-face with a growling lion mask, and had to slowly talk himself down from the panic that arose in his chest. "Just a lion. Just a stupid, ugly fake lion."
His self-talk got the best of him when he backed his way into a whole rack of costumes, and several came crashing down on his head.
That was it. He'd had enough. He grabbed two of the bagged costumes that were closest to him and made a dash for the register.
It was only when he was pulling way too many quid out of his wallet that he realized he'd grabbed two very disturbing penguin costumes. Mary would just need to deal with being a penguin or, better yet, not go to the stupid fancy dress party at all.
When he got home, John took one of the costumes out of the bag. On the way home, he'd thought twice about simply tossing them in the bin. He'd paid good money, after all, and was certainly never going back to that stupid costume shop to return it.
It was, in a word, hideous.
John wasn't sure why he put the costume on, but he did. The penguin beak was a neon orange plastic and fitted over his face with an elastic, and the body of the costume looked like a fuzzy polyester monk's robe. It was not at all in any way anything that approached the look of any sort of penguin that ever existed. It didn't even pass for a cartoon version of a penguin.
John sighed and flapped his arms in the black and white robe. Mary would find it hilarious, of course. But he really just wanted to give up on everything.
He jumped when the door to the flat slammed open.
"John! Where are you?" Sherlock called.
"Oh shit. Shit!" John exclaimed, trying to pull off the robe and the mask at the same time, and failing at both, instead ending up in a tangle of garments.
"John! There you are. What is going on here?"
"Nothing, nothing at all, Sherlock. Nothing. Just … getting ready for a fancy dress party."
"What is that, a penguin costume?"
"No, I'm supposed to be an elephant."
"Don't get snippy. It's a good look for you."
John finally wrenched the mask off of his face and threw it on the floor. "Shut up. You're awful."
"Do you know how penguins mate, John? They touch cloacas. The male produces sperm in his cloaca, climbs on the female's back for coitus, such as it is, and touches the female's cloaca. The sperm then—"
"That's enough!" John held up a hand. "I do not need a lecture about birds."
"Suit yourself."
John still was having a tough time with the robe.
"Sherlock, I hate to ask, but, but could help me a moment?"
"Only if you'll be the female penguin."
"Huh? What?"
"Lay down on the floor, right now, and we'll touch cloacas."
John started to laugh. "What the bloody hell?"
But John obeyed. He wasn't really sure where this was going, but he had always wanted something with Sherlock. This was certainly not how he expected that to come about, but beggars can't be choosers. Unless he was totally misreading the situation.
"Keep the robe on, and take your trousers and pants off," Sherlock commanded.
John did as he was told; the bottom half of his body naked, he laid on the floor face down, the fuzzy polyester penguin robe riding up around his waist. He was going to be the female penguin. Sherlock silently handed the mask back to him, indicating John should put it back on.
It was all rather strange and kinky.
Without preamble, Sherlock began caressing John's bare arse. Since both of them actually did not have cloacas, they would have to settle for other kinds of touching. And being mammals, Sherlock explained as he worked around John's arsehole, they would had to make do with insertable genitalia.
And so they did.