Chapter 4

The Crimson Rose Bar and Restaurant

A/N: Be warned. Here be cross-dressing. If that disturbs you, don't read this chapter. Enjoy, my readers.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock; I only own my OC's, and this location (which if it does exist, would surprise me).

John tugged down the front of the black dress he was wearing. "I can't believe you made me do this."

"Well, it couldn't be me, could it?" Sherlock sighed.

"Why can't it be you?"

"Because, John, in a typical heterosexual relationship, the female is always shorter than the male."

"That's just stereotyping. Mary and I are about the same height."

"Which is precisely why you have to wear the dress."

The two of them were walking to The Crimson Rose Bar and Restaurant, the place where Ruby was meeting her blind date. John was wearing a floor length black dress, a long, blonde wig, makeup, a white coat, and high heels. All of them belonged to Mary (except the wig). The dress had been padded out at the top, to give the illusion of breasts. In all honesty, it was a comical sight. Sherlock wished he had a camera – he would have taken a photograph for prosperity.

"Now remember, you can't talk, or it'll give you away. Just try to look elegant, and somewhat feminine." Sherlock ordered.

John laughed incredulously. "Feminine? Me? Not a bloody chance, Sherlock."

"Well, try at least. Now, shush. We're almost there."

"Remind me again, why am I dressed like a woman?" John asked, even though he already knew – he just wanted to be reminded that this wasn't just for Sherlock's pleasure (even though, he guessed, this was probably part of the reason why).

"John, I've already told you," Sherlock said, impatiently "that you are dressed like this because it will provide us with a cover, and it will also make us less likely to be recognized. People will be looking for two men, not a man and a woman. Now, shut up. We're there."

The front of The Crimson Rose Bar and Restaurant loomed up before them. It was a large, Victorian-esque building, and it carried an imposing air of grandeur. It looked like the sort of restaurant you would expect to see rich heiresses and their beau's dining in, eating tiny portions of caviar or some similarly expensive and disgusting food.

"Sir, Madam. Do you have a reservation?" A waiter with an obnoxiously French accent came up to them.

"Yes, under Holmes, for 6:00pm." Sherlock's voice had sharpened to the hardness of an uncut diamond. He looked more posh, more authoritative, and an awful lot like Mycroft, though not, John thought, in an unpleasant way. John realized that he should try to look more ladylike. He tried to stand in a less regimented stance. It sort of worked, but he still looked a bit odd. The waiter scurried back with two menus, and gestured them over to a table by the right of the room. It was directly next to a table on which Ruby sat. She looked slightly nervous, but beautiful too, in a dress the colour of periwinkles. It matched her eyes, and made her honey coloured hair shine. She smiled at the two of them and John smiled back. Ruby did a double take. "John?" she asked, incredulous.

"For covert purposes, I'm going by Joan." John whispered, with a rogueish wink. Ruby giggled. The three of them settled down at their separate tables. Almost as soon as they had sat down, a young man walked in, dressed up in a suit. Sherlock began to deduce him. He couldn't help himself.

Early 20's, rich, playboy, only on a date because his mother wanted him to meet a woman so that she could give him grandchildren, but he can't because he has a history of erectile dysfunction, not interested in dating, only wants to live off parent's money.

"Oh joy." He muttered under his breath. John looked at him. "What…oh no, you've deduced something awful."

"Yes, and that man should not be dating Ruby Garcia." He mumbled.

"Since when did you care about Ruby? She's a client, you don't care about clients, not really." John whispered. Sherlock just glared at him.

"Hush, or your growling will blow our cover." He whispered, annoyed.

"I do not growl, Sherlock."

"Yes, you do."

Ruby's date was already going disastrously, and it had only been 20 minutes. Her date (a man called Eugene, believe it or not) had just sat and talked at her, and it had all gone over her head. He was really just a lazy, pretentious arsehole, and she would have ended the date by now, if not for the fact that she knew Sherlock needed to catch the letter-writer. They were currently eating (a plate of some unidentifiable, madly expensive mush for Eugene, and a lovely seafood platter for herself). Eugene was taking again (something about golf? She wasn't sure.). Oh, when will this end?! she thought to herself. I'm dying here. After another god-awful 10 minutes later, Eugene got up, saying he needed the toilet. After a few seconds, when she was sure he was out of earshot, she leaned over towards John and Sherlock's table. "This is the worst date I've ever been on. Ever. And trust me, I've been on a lot of bad dates. I hope," she added, looking towards Sherlock, "that you work out who my letter-writer is soon, or I might just die of boredom."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but was cut of by a scream from the back of the room. A panicked cleaner had come rushing out of the corridor housing the toilets. "There's a dead man! In the men's toilets!" he yelled. Then, he fainted.

"Ruby, it's your date. Eugene, wasn't it?" Sherlock stated calmly.

"What?" cried a startled Ruby. "It can't be!" Yet, in her heart of hearts, she knew it must be. He was an insufferable twat, but he didn't deserve to die. Nobody did. Sherlock grabbled John's hand. "Come along, Joh-Joan." He corrected himself. "This case just got interesting."

A/N:I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was a lot of fun to write! The next chapter will be the last, hopefully, and then I am embarking on a very long project (details yet to be disclosed, because spoilers, sweeties). See you for the final chapter (up by Sunday at the latest).