"John, do hurry up. We're going to be late."

"I'm not going anywhere, Sherlock."

"Oh, but of course you are. You're the one that promised Lestrade we'd go, remember? You're not backing out on me now."

"Sherlock, I said we should go to Greg and Mycroft's party and that we would pick each others' costumes. This is completely out of line. Nope, I'm not going."

"John, please. You probably look much better than I do."

"Listen to me, you ignorant git. You would look better dressed in a garbage bag than any person I know does when dressed to the nines. It's just downright unfair. So you have no room to talk. Plus I picked a good costume for you!"

"Good is a matter of opinion, John. And I thought we were supposed to look ridiculous. Come on."

"No."

"Fine, but I'm going back to my own bed tonight."

"...Alright. Have it your way, but after this I might not want you in my room anyway. So there."

"Oh. You look...nice. I mean, great. Not totally ridiculous, I mean."

"Don't lie to me, Sherlock. I look like a complete idiot."

"No, really. You look like a proper ballerina."

"Great. Just what I need. And you're over there looking like you could hop on a Harley and ride right back to the fifties. Like I said, unfair."

"Leather really isn't my style, John. Though, I must say...pink is very flattering on you."

"No, forget it. I'm not going. Tell your brother I said hello, would you?"

"John, I'm not going without you."

"Well then I guess neither of us are going."

"Okay, fine. Give me five minutes, I'll find something you'll actually wear. Alright?"

"Yeah, okay. I'm taking this ridiculous thing off. It's itchy."


"Better?"

"Much. Where'd you get all this stuff anyway?"

"Oh, I've had it...laying around. For experiments and the like. Can we go now?"

"Yeah, hold on just a minute. I'm not exactly an expert with makeup, if you couldn't guess."

"Oh please, John. It's quite simple really. Took me no more than three minutes."

"Only because you're the brilliant Sherlock Holmes."

"Actually...I've had my share of practice..."

"Yeah?"

"I was a bit of a rebel in my teenage years."

"Why does that not surprise me?"


"Sorry we're late, Greg. Had a bit of a problem with the wardrobe."

"It's no problem, you should have seen how long it took Mycroft to get ready."

"I can imagine. My brother always was a drama queen."

"Calling the kettle black again, Sherlock? I remember your punk phase."

"Alright ladies, let's just calm down. Mycroft, why don't you get our guests some drinks?"

"Yes, dear..."

"Well you both look nice. How many cows did it take to get all that leather?"

"Very funny, Greg. At least I don't look like something out of an episode of Doctor Who."

"Your brother is quite fond of that show, you know. It's sort of a guilty pleasure."

"Oh, I'm aware."


"Admit it Sherlock, you had fun."

"I would never admit to such trivial things. I simply put my bad mood aside so as to let you enjoy yourself."

"Whatever you say. I just can't wait to get home. These pants are a bit tight for my liking."

"..."

"You don't have to say anything, I know you did this for your own sick selfish purposes. Though I must admit I did the same, so really we're even."

"Well I had to have something to entertain me, didn't I? The tutu would have been much funnier, but this was good too."

"For someone as smart as you are, Sherlock, you are an absolute moron."


"That cabbie seemed rather confused by our appearances, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah, poor bloke. He doesn't get paid enough for what he has to go through, what with the likes of us hanging around."

"I'd say so. Do you need some help with getting that makeup off? It can be a bit temperamental at times."

"I think I've got it, thanks. Though I may require assistance with unbuttoning my shirt, if you don't mind."

"Not at all."