"I feel ridiculous." House examined himself in the full length mirror hanging on the bedroom door.
"Deal with it," Wilson replied, amused. "You lost the bet. Here." He handed House a tweed hunting hat and House jammed it on to his head angrily. Wilson reached up to adjust it while placing a top hat on his own head.
"How was I to know," House asked, "that every doctor in the hospital has the bad taste to think that Keira Knightley is hotter than Sienna Miller?"
"You're not supposed to know ahead of time. That's the point of betting on it. Anyway, Chase agreed with you."
"Every male doctor," House amended. He pulled out a tourniquet and a syringe.
"What the hell are you doing?" Wilson asked.
"Historical accuracy."
"Sherlock Holmes was a fictional character."
"Literary accuracy, then."
"House," Wilson said, exasperated, "We're going to a Halloween party in the children's ward. You are not shooting up before you go."
Stubbornly, House put the needle into his vein. "Sherlock Holmes used cocaine. If I have to do this, I'm going to do it right." He pushed the syringe, releasing the drug into his body.
"Greg," Wilson groaned.
"Relax, it's just the vicodin."
"Oh-ho, just the vicodin. That's so much better.
House shrugged. "Alright then, my dear Watson, let's go." He grabbed a large bowl of candy from the table, pulled a Snickers out, and deposited the bowl onto the doorstep. Wilson followed him out the door, grinning.
Inside the hospital, everyone was in costume. House snorted, pointing Chase's Scarecrow costume out to Wilson. Wilson wasn't surprised to see Cameron in a blue and white checked dress a few minutes later. He wondered vaguely if Foreman would be the tin-man, or if it was just a couple thing, but he didn't care enough to go looking for the man.
House grabbed Wilson's arm. "This way," he said, pulling him.
"House, let go of me."
"Hello, Professor Moriarty," House said, as Cuddy walked towards them.
"Why are you trying to pull Wilson's arm out of its socket?" Cuddy asked. Her slinky black witch's dress glittered as she walked. She held her pointed hat in her hands along with a broomstick.
"I was afraid of your cleavage," House replied. "You know what they say; scary things come out on Halloween night."
Wilson sighed. He walked into one of the hospital rooms, where some of the young patients were eating candy. House followed him a minute later. "I have a case."
"You don't have a case."
"What do you mean I don't have a case?" House asked, an absurd look on his face. There seemed to be something wrong with his voice, but Wilson couldn't quite tell what it was.
"It's Halloween and you hate working."
"It's not a medical case."
"Use your powers of observation to solve it or something. Have you forgotten who you're supposed to be?"
"I can't."
Wilson gave in. "What's the case?"
"What are these," House said, holding up some sort of cookie, "and can you make me some?"
"Who made them?" Wilson asked.
"I don't know."
"What's in them?"
"I don't know."
"You're like a three-year-old. Give me a bite." House held the cookie out to him. "It's marshmallow and something. Caramel, maybe. What do you think?"
"I don't know."
"Ok, House, and now you're just being annoying." The kids in the room were laughing.
"Shoo," House said. The kids laughed harder. He turned back to Wilson. "So can you?"
"Sure," Wilson said, laughing. "I'll try to figure it out tomorrow."
"Good." House smiled at Wilson, and the grin was a little too wide. Or maybe it was just that grins from House were so infrequent and unexpected.
"You're in a good mood today."
"Did you put stuff in my coffee again?"
"No, but you've been gorging on chocolate all day. Maybe that's it."
"Maybe," House said. Then he kissed Wilson.
"Jesus, House. Not in front of the kids."
"They're not our kids. Anyway, they should get used to gay people."
"I'm not gay and neither are you."
"Dumbledore is."
"What?" Then Wilson noticed that one of House's arms was twitching a little. "Oh, you liar."
"Huh?" House said blearily.
"You said it was just vicodin in that syringe."
"I lied."
"Obviously," Wilson said dryly. "Alright, we're going home."
"Fantastic!" House exclaimed, with a lecherous glance at Wilson.
"No, Greg," Wilson replied, as if speaking to a child. "That's not what I... forget it." He took Greg by the hand and led him out of the room. Cuddy made a face at them as they walked out the door. Wilson looked at her, raised his eyebrows, and shrugged. She raised her arms in exasperation.
Back at the apartment, Wilson helped House into bed. For what seemed like the millionth time since they had become friends, Wilson said, "You're an idiot."
"Uh-huh," House murmured. His movements were slow and his words slurred. Wilson hoped that he wouldn't crash too hard. Taking him back to the hospital wouldn't be an enjoyable experience. He sat down on the edge of the bed and watched House's breathing slow and even out into the rhythm of sleep.
When Wilson was satisfied that House wasn't about to go into cardiac arrest, he stood up and whispered good night, touching House lightly on the cheek. House muttered something nearly unintelligible and Wilson smiled. "You too, my dear Holmes," he said, as he walked out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.
Author's Note: I was going to write this in first person from Wilson's POV to make it more Watson-y, but I discovered that I suck at writing in the first person. Also, I took a few liberties with the effects of cocaine, mostly just time-frame.