"Tell me again, John, why are we here?"
"Well, Sherlock, I'm here because I love my wife, because I want to spend time with her, and because she ordered me to be!" Dr. John Watson replied in a steady voice. "You're here because you're bored."
"I know I'm bored, but I'm not sure this is going to help alleviate the condition."
"Look, mate, I promised Mary I would meet her for lunch," John continued. "This is the first time she's been away from the baby for more than an hour." John had the infant cradled to his chest in a baby carrier, with the nappy bag slung over his shoulder. "She probably just needs to sniff the kid's head, or something. You know, a fix?"
"Yes, John, I know about needing a fix. Was that your attempt at dark humor?"
John now looked embarrassed, and started to sputter an apology, "Sherlock, I didn't think…"
"Not to worry, John. But I don't see how sniffing an infant's head can be equated to an addiction…" He leaned in to sniff for himself. "Ah! Baby powder, a slight aroma of spoiling breast milk, with a strong hint of…"
"Don't say it, you git. I know she needs to have her nappy changed!"
They arrived at the appointed restaurant, Sherlock trailing slightly behind to avoid the smell of his goddaughter. Mary rose as they approached the table, reaching for little Claire and immediately sniffing her head. John looked to his best friend, and gave him a knowing wink. Mary then sniffed a little lower and, grabbing the nappy bag, excused herself to go to the ladies. Molly Hooper was left sitting at the table to make the two men welcome.
"Hello, John," she said cheerfully. Molly, it seemed, did virtually everything cheerfully. "Sherlock, I didn't realize you'd be joining us!"
"I didn't know he'd be joining us," John said dismissively.
"I was bored."
"No case yet? You must be going crazy!" Molly snickered a bit. "So you'll actually be eating?" Molly knew that he could eat ravenously between cases, as much as he seemed to starve himself while working.
"So, Molly, I see you've been shopping. As has Mary. Why is it that, much like a trip to the ladies, women cannot seem to shop on their own?"
"You forget, Mr. Detective, that Mary just ran off to the ladies all on her own!"
"Ah, but she scurried off with the sure intention of performing an industrial strength clean-up on her spawn. And I assume she and you have been gossiping together for the entire morning. So, nothing new to cover in the privacy of the lavatory."
Molly looked at the man sitting across from her, and decided to take this opportunity to give him a piece of advice. "Look, Sherlock, Mary is a new mother, trying to get her figure back. Please try to be kind. Claire is only three months old, and Mary spent the whole morning trying on clothes and complaining about the size of her breasts, the size of her stomach, the size of her hips…"
"She is well within healthy norms for postpartum recovery…"
John then punched his upper arm, "Just tell her she looks good, you prat!" He then looked over at Molly and spoke with a smile and a wink, "And I have no problem whatsoever with the size of her breasts!"
When Mary returned to the table a short time later, Sherlock Holmes greeted her by saying, "Hello, Mary, your figure is rapidly returning to adequate!"
Mary looked at her husband laughingly, saying, "You really should have rehearsed him better, you know!"
Sherlock wasn't sure what was going on, but he was sure that it was at his expense. "Why should you, or anyone, be concerned about aesthetics, Mary. The body is merely transport. If it works, it's good. If it doesn't work, fix it. Anything else is useless vanity!"
Three people at the table considered his remarks, looked at each other, and burst out laughing.
"Explain, please!" Sherlock bellowed.
"Coming from you, Sherlock, a lesson in not being vain is borderline ridiculous," said John.
"Mr. 'turn up my collar 'cause it looks good' Holmes," added Mary.
"Tailor made suits, and tight purple shirt!" from Molly.
The teasing continued good-naturedly throughout lunch, with Sherlock surviving with his feathers barely ruffled. When they had finished, he suggested turning the "spawn", as he continued to call his goddaughter in a fond manner, over to her mother, so that he and John could be on their way.
"Oh, John, couldn't you please come with us? We've only got one more shop to go to. Please. You could be of such a help with the baby, and I could use your advice, too." Mary almost whined. Since she was definitely more of the commanding variety than the whining type, John concluded that this must be really important to her.
"What shop are we talking about, dear?" he asked hesitantly.
"The one down the street. A small boutique specializing in bathing suits. And lingerie. I'm looking for somethings to take on our anniversary trip. Our second honeymoon. And I could use your advice."
"Why would you need a second honeymoon? The first one obviously worked out well!" Sherlock interrupted the conversation. Mary glared at him with cold ex-assassin eyes, as if she were considering coming out of retirement.
"Do I get to see you model these items?"
"If I'm not too embarrassed to come out of the fitting room."
Sherlock sighed. "Very well. Why don't Molly and I take Claire, and we'll meet you back at Baker Street?"
"Oh no, Sherlock. I'm shopping, too."
"For a swimsuit, Molly? Whatever for? I've never seen you swim!"
"You've never seen me skydive, either, Sherlock. Doesn't mean I don't do it!"
"Do you? Skydive?"
"Don't be ridiculous! But I do swim. so I'm going shopping!"
John, Mary, and Molly had expected to see Sherlock head off in another direction as they left the restaurant, but were surprised to see him tagging along behind them.
"Coming along, then, Sherlock?" John asked his friend.
"Bored!" was the only answer he got.
The shop was an upscale boutique, with bathing clothes, accessories, and sundry other items displayed elegantly. The lingerie department was in a separate space towards the rear of the establishment, with changing rooms nearby. Each changing area was like a small suite, with a closet like space for changing, and a comfortable sitting area for customers to model their more intimate selections for special companions. All these suites exited onto a more public area, surrounded by mirrors and more seating. It was this area in which John and Sherlock found themselves, while the women retired to adjacent changing rooms to try on swimsuits. Mary had taken a handful of items into the room with her, all of a rather conservative cut, as she was still unsure of her post baby figure. Molly had a few items of her own, all brightly colored as, was her preference.
John could hear his wife making critical remarks from the enclosure.
"Damn, this doesn't even cover my boobs!"
"This makes me look like I'm still pregnant!"
"Good lord, if this gets any more see through when it gets wet, we'll have to go to a nude beach!"
John perked up at the last remark, while Sherlock just rolled his eyes.
"Ladies, ladies, when does the show begin. We're getting really bored out here!' John spoke loudly to get their attention.
"Bored, John? Welcome to my world!" Sherlock muttered, slowly sinking further into the comfortable chair.
One of the doors opened slowly, and Mary walked out with a hesitant smile. "Well, what do you think?" The suit was of a conservative cut, covering all the problem parts, just as Mary wanted. It molded and shaped her, giving her a surprisingly firm shape for someone who had so recently given birth. More importantly, it seemed to give her confidence. It made her feel good. And it certainly didn't hurt that her husband was looking at her so appreciatively! Mary smiled at herself in the floor to ceiling mirror, and called out to Molly, "Get your butt out her, Molls!"
"Just a minute! I need to get dressed."
"Don't tell me you didn't like any of them!"
"No, I think I'll take this one…"
"Well, let's see it then!"
"Ah! I don't know…"
"Molly, if I can do it, you can. Get out here!"
Molly came through the door even more hesitantly than Mary. John let out a long whistle as he took in the image of Molly in a bikini, which boosted her confidence, making her smile.
"I really don't like wearing swimsuits except at the pool or beach. Somehow it always makes me feel naked. And embarrassed."
"Believe me, Molls, you have nothing to be embarrassed about!" John smiled, and turned to look at Sherlock, who was now sitting upright in his seat instead of slouching.
Sherlock made no secret of the fact that he considered the body merely transport. In fact, the topic had just come up a lunch barely an hour earlier. And if the body was, indeed transport, he would have previously judged Dr. Molly Hooper to be a compact, dependable mode of economical transport offering low maintenance dependability with good gas mileage. He was now quite surprised to find she was, instead, a much more sporty model. She stood in front of the mirror soaking up her friends compliments, growing more confident with every comment. The swimsuit was certainly not any more revealing than your average bikini. It was more the unexpectedly curvy body, usually hidden under baggy trousers, oversized shirts, and flowing lab coats which was the big surprise. She was a tiny woman, but her proportions were damn near close to perfect, if you considered an hourglass perfect. Her tiny waist flared out to the gentle curve of her hips. and the remarkable rounded softness of her arse. And her breasts, while not large, were perfectly suited to her small frame, round and firm and…perfect. Sherlock had definitely not noticed that before. I always miss something, he thought, but how in bloody hell did I miss that!
Molly and Mary were busy comparing notes, when John tried to engage the detective in conversation. "So, Sherlock, like the bikini?" He got no answer.
"Do you think the colors suit her?" Still a blank stare.
"Nice arse, huh?" John would have been concerned about the lack of reaction and the blank stare on the face of his friend if it hadn't been so comical. He thought the man might possibly be experiencing sensory overload. Sherlock had never been one to be distracted by a pretty face, which the pathologist certainly possessed. But it seemed that the whole package may, indeed, prove to be his downfall. John rose from his seat, going to stand in front of Sherlock, blocking his view entirely.
"Get the bloody hell out of the way, John!" Sherlock practically yelled, before recovering himself. Realizing his outburst, he tried to recover as his face turned pink. "I'm trying to give your wife an unbiased opinion on the suitability of her attire."
"Yeah, right, prat," John muttered as he turned once again to look at the two women. Mary was laughing outright as Molly made her way back to the changing room. "I think that one is definitely a go, Molls!" Mary said with a wink as she went to join her.
John and Sherlock left the changing rooms, waiting for the women to change and meet them in the shopping area. Unfortunately for Sherlock, John headed over to the lingerie display area.
"John, what are we doing here?"
"I thought I might as well shop for an anniversary present for the missus," he replied as they walked among the racks of delicate, lacey, and revealing undergarments. Sherlock winced as John insisted on fingering several items, holding them up for Sherlock to inspect. They spent several minutes slowly perusing knickers, bras, garter belts, corsets, and the occasional thing that neither of them could identify. Sherlock was the first to admit that the world of women's lingerie was not his area of expertise, but if John Watson could not identify an item he was truly baffled.
"Are you shopping for your wife, or yourself, John?"
"The joys of being in a relationship, mate. I buy her stuff I like. She buys me stuff I like. It's a win/win situation! You should try it sometime!"
"You know I'm married to my work, John."
"Believe me, Sherlock, your work wouldn't look nearly as good in this as a woman would!" John grinned as he held up a black corset with a matching thong.
By the time they got to the sleepwear section of the shop, the women had joined them.
"Shopping for someone special, Sherlock?" Mary teased him.
"I really don't see the point of these items, Mary. They don't seem all that comfortable to sleep in. I would imagine all that lace could get scratchy after a while. Especially if one were to toss and turn a lot in the night."
"And I would imagine, Mr. Holmes, that most of the tossing and turning in the night would probably would be done after the lace is removed!" Mary added with a twinkle.
The women went to pay for their purchases, while the men stepped out onto the sidewalk, at least one of them glad to have removed himself from the land of lace teddies and satin g-strings.
"So, Sherlock, that was quite an education, heh?"
"Really, John, I have seen a few men's magazines, you know. I've even gone undercover in the occasional strip joint. I just never understand the arousal value of flimsy undergarments on unfamiliar bodies."
"That's your problem, mate. You need to get involved with flimsy undergarments on a more familiar body! Try it sometimes!"
"Are you suggesting I try cross-dressing, John?"
"You really are a git, you know!"
"So I've been told!"
When Mary and Molly emerged from the shop, they were weighed down with packages, mostly from the morning's activities. John traded off little Claire to his wife in exchange for her bundles, but Sherlock made no move to help Molly. For some reason he was looking at her in a peculiar fashion, for in his mind's eye he was seeing his pathologist in a whole new light, a light that seemed to remove her outer layer of clothing completely. He was imagining her in a matching set of knickers and bra. Red. Satin and lace! This would not do! Sherlock excused himself hurriedly and went in search of a cab to take him home.
Having arrived at Baker Street, Sherlock lost no time in entering his mind palace, only to find that Molly Hooper's room, certainly large enough already, had been enlarged even further to allow for the addition of a large closet full of rather interesting items of apparel. The Molly who resided in this room had suddenly eschewed her abnormally voluminous labcoat in favor of teddies. And corsets. And thigh high stockings. He was beginning to see the wisdom of John's statement of flimsy undergarments on familiar bodies! Despite Mrs. Hudson's belief that he was gay, and his best friend's suspicion that he was asexual, Sherlock knew that he was neither. He had, on previous occasions, indulged in sexual relations, but never on a long term basis. One night stands with girls while at Uni, the more common drug induced liaison with a fellow addict, or the periodic hookup with a lady of the evening, purely to release his pent up tensions. But the idea of a friend, a woman he respected and on some level, at least, cared for, parading around in scanty, fantasy-inducing lingerie in the confines of his mind palace, was something new entirely. He needed a cold shower. Now!
Three days later, the consulting detective found himself at St. Bart's path lab, about to make a request of Dr. Hooper.
"Molly, I desperately need to examine your chest!"
"Pardon me?!"
"A chest. May I look over your shoulder while you do the next autopsy?"
"Why do you want to look over my shoulder, Sherlock? Surely you would get a better view from the other side of the autopsy table."
Ah, but I would have less of an opportunity to sneak a peek down your blouse! thought the recently awakened schoolboy in Sherlock.
"I'll be trying to shadow your movements, Molly. Much better from that perspective." Sherlock hoped his reasoning sounded good.
Sherlock Holmes left the lab that day more frustrated than before. Not only had he not succeeded in stealing a peek at Molly's real underwear, but had been distracted from any real experimentation by the sight of her parading around her path lab in the most salacious pair of imaginary knickers and garters! He headed back to his flat for another cold shower, followed by a stiff shot of Scotch.
A few days later, Molly made her way to Baker Street to deliver a bag of fingers, and a thermos bottle full of eyeballs, assorted colors, as requested. The detective barely spoke as she entered, and she headed straight for his fridge to stow the body parts. She thought she heard a small groan as she bent over to remove the items from her cooler and deposit them on a cold shelf. The view of her derriere as she bent over in her imaginary lace knickers was enough to cause his ears to turn red.
"Are you alright, Sherlock? Are you coming down with something?" Molly always seemed to be concerned about Sherlock's health, much more so than he was. She approached his chair, putting her hand on his forehead to check his temperature. "You seem a bit flushed. Do you feel warm?"
Sherlock was wondering how her hand could possibly feel so warm on his skin, as she should have been freezing considering the barely there black negligee she was currently wearing in his imagination. He could definitely tell she was cold because of the telltale signs on her breast…
"Yes, well, Dr. Hooper, you are a bit hot, I mean I am a bit hot, er, a bit warm, that is. I think I'll take a cold shower. Now! Please see yourself out, Molly." Sherlock lurched from his chair, for some reason clutching his dressing gown closely around him, and made a quick exit towards the bathroom. Molly looked at him as he departed. Yes, Sherlock, you definitely are hot! Too bad you never want to spread that heat around, she thought to herself with a frustrated sigh.
Sherlock's facade of strength in the face of biological and emotional imperatives was weakening rapidly. He was not a foolish man. No strike that. He was a foolish man, but not a stupid one. He had known for ages that if anyone was going to break through his self-constructed barricades, it would be Dr. Molly Hooper, his eminently qualified, overly kind, and completely lovely pathologist. He just thought he would have a little more time. Somewhere in his imagination, they would retire to the countryside, raise bees, and read medical journals and research papers in their golden years. He was now thinking more of retiring to the bedroom, raising hell, and reading the kama sutra! All because of the sight of a tiny woman in a skimpy bikini. He was cursed, he was damned, and he now decided to enjoy every minute of it!
Molly was only mildly surprised when there was a knock at her door just after eleven o'clock on Friday evening. She knew it must be Sherlock Holmes, as he was the only person of her acquaintance who wouldn't consider it inappropriate. Molly had always hoped that he would at some point decide to engage in some further inappropriate behavior, but so far such behavior had been limited to late night visitations and odd body part requests. Never her own body parts, unfortunately. As she had already retired, she grabbed a robe, wrapped it tightly around her, and went to answer her door before he picked the lock.
Too late! He must be extraordinarily impatient this evening, Molly though, taking in the sight before her. Sherlock stood in her sitting room, wearing a beautifully tailored black suit, as usual. He removed his jacket to reveal the tight purple shirt that she loved, then ran his hand through his messy curls. He smiled, a genuine smile so that his dimples showed, and his beautiful eyes danced with, what? Humor? Anticipation? Lust? No, don't go there, Molly, my girl, the voice in her head told her, you'll only be disappointed again! She told the voice to shut up and mind it's own business!
"Molly, I brought you a gift!", he smiled as he awkwardly shoved a beautifully wrapped package in her general direction.
"For what occasion, Sherlock. You certainly know its not my birthday."
"Of course I know it's not your birthday. Or our anniversary…"
"Wait. We have an anniversary?"
"Of course we do. It's…"
"October 16th!" they both said, in unison. Molly was genuinely surprised that he remembered the first day they met in the lab at St. Bart's, introduced by DI Greg Lestrade. She knew she'd never forget it.
"Okay, Sherlock. It's not my birthday. It's not our anniversary. Is it an occasion? It's May fourth, for god's sake!"
"Exactly. It's Petite and Proud Day! For people under 163 cm. I believe you qualify. I'd be more than happy to measure you if you're unconvinced." Sherlock spoke in a rather pedantic manner.
"What the bloody hell is Petite and Proud Day? Are you making this up? And I suppose you now expect something for Tall and Troublesome Day?"
"Look it up, Molly. I'm completely serious. But, perhaps you could organize a petition or something to establish that Tall and Troublesome Day. I believe my type is definitely under represented on the international holiday calendar."
Molly took the proffered gift package, sat on her couch,and started to unwrap it, not without some trepidation when she noticed how nervous Sherlock had become. Sherlock came to sit next to her, perhaps a bit closer than usual. Nestled in the expensive wrappings was possibly the most beautifully sensual concoction of sheer lace ever put together to form any item of intimate apparel. She lifted it from the box and held it in front of her.
"I was rather hoping you'd try it on," Sherlock said in the deepest voice she had ever heard.
"Sherlock, it's almost to pretty to wear!"
"Well, if it's any consolation, if it looks as good on you in reality as it does in my imagination, you won't be wearing it for too long."
"Sherlock Holmes, that's is possibly the nicest, and the fifthiest, thing you have ever said to me!" Molly looked surprised.
"Not good?" he answered, hearing John Watson in his head.
"No, very good, indeed." Molly rose from the couch, and started to remove her robe. "But I bought a couple of items from that shop, too. And I've just been waiting for one of your late night visits to try one out." Sherlock let out a suggestive snicker as Molly stood in front of him in a shortie nightgown, which covered all the essential areas, but just barely. Her smooth pale skin showed through the sheer areas between the lace, just inviting further exploration.
Molly took Sherlock's hand, and started to lead him to her bedroom, but had barely made it across the sitting room when he wrapped her in his arms and brought his lips down to meet hers. The kiss started slowly and chastely, but by the time they came up for air, it was anything but chaste.
"Molly, I suggest we just start this experiment with your current attire. We can save the other for Lost Sock Memorial Day, which is coming up very shortly."
"Oh, Sherlock, not to worry. I bought enough of these things to get us through every holiday between now and Christmas!"
"Only Christmas, love? You should see the stockpile at Baker Street!" And with that said, he lifted up a giggling pathologist in his arms, and Molly got carried away, both literally and figuratively.