Author's Note: Before you read this chapter, I would just like to remind you all again that I do not ship or approve of Johnlock, and none of these stories are meant to be slash in any way, only ridiculously fluffy friendship. Enjoy!

Playing Dress Up

John was writing a new entry for his blog when Sherlock slammed his way into John's bedroom. No matter how many times John brought it up, Sherlock always had to slam through each door he encountered. John always complained of holes in his wall, but Sherlock couldn't care less.

So when Sherlock slammed once again into John's room, John released a frustrated sigh.

"Sherlock, seriously-" John started, but cut himself off when he saw Sherlock, who was dressed in a ridiculous outfit.

He was wearing a bright pink v-neck shirt, extremely tight, dark wash skinny jeans, and his curly hair was immaculately styled with an excessive amount of gel. His eyes were heavily ringed with black, making his eyes stand out even more than usual.

John started to giggle, and quickly hid his face in his hands, shoulders shaking.

Sherlock frowned. "Problem?"

John lifted his head from his hands, looked at Sherlock, then collapsed into giggles once again. "Are you-" He repeated this several times, trying to catch his breath, but failed each time as laughter overcame him. "Are you wearing-" Another fit of laughter. "Eyeliner?" He finally gasped out.

Tears were now steadily streaming down John's face, his mouth split in a gigantic grin.

"Obviously. And I wouldn't be laughing if I were you, you're not excluded from this."

"From what?" John asked, wiping the tears from his face.

"We have a case. The suspect, Liam Parker, owns the Harp Lounge downtown, and I will be needing a date." Sherlock said, and he looked pointedly at John.

John stopped laughing. "No, I will not pretend to be your date."

"Yes, you will," Sherlock replied.

"No, I won't."

"Yes!"

"No, Sherlock! Honestly, why do you always choose me? Why can't you take Molly? She can be your fake date."

Sherlock snorted. "Please, Molly would be terrible going undercover. Besides, I need a date that would be believable."

"Believable!"

"People mistake us for a couple all the time, clearly we exude an intimacy that-"

"Okay, okay I get it!" John interrupted, and Sherlock smiled, satisfied.

"So you'll do it?"

"No."

The smile dropped off Sherlock's face. "Come on, I need your help!"

"No. I am not pretending to be your date, not now, not ever. And besides, even if I did, there would be no way you could get me to dress like that," he said, gesturing to Sherlock's outfit.

"I won't make you wear the eyeliner," Sherlock said.

John pretended to consider this for a moment. "Tempting, but still no."

"I'll stop using the fridge for body parts for a week!"

"Not interested!" John said, walking towards the kitchen.

"A month! A month, John!"

This stopped John in his tracks. "An entire month?" Now that was interesting.

"Hmm, you're getting closer," John said, feigning nonchalance.

Sherlock groaned. "What? You want more?"

"Yes, I do. As you and I both know perfectly well, I am not gay, and asking me to even pretend to be gay for a night is asking a lot, Sherlock!"

Sherlock sighed. "Fine. Name your terms."

"No eyeliner, no pink, and absolutely no kissing of any kind. We speak of it to no one, it stays strictly between us, am I understood?"

"Anything else?" Sherlock asked sarcastically.

"You do the grocery shopping the next three times, and I still expect the no body parts for a month bit."

"The grocery three times?" Sherlock asked, sounding horrified.

"Three times," John replied.

Sherlock took a deep breath through his nose. "You drive a hard bargain, Dr. Watson."

John shrugged. "Take it or leave it."

"Fine! Now wait one moment, I'll go get your disguise." Sherlock said excitedly.

John watched Sherlock go, shaking his head. He was going to regret this, wasn't he?

###

"Can't I just wear my regular clothes?" John complained as he walked out of the bathroom.

"Nonsense, this is perfect," Sherlock said, looking him over approvingly.

"Are you checking me out?" John demanded, suddenly paranoid.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid. You need to fix your shirt, by the way."

"What's wrong with it?" John asked, looking down. He was wearing a fitted coral button down shirt, and a ridiculously posh pair of jeans. He had forgotten to name 'no hair gel' in his terms, so his hair was also styled as immaculately as Sherlock's.

"Let me do it," Sherlock said, annoyed. He stepped forward, grabbing the collar of John's shirt, and promptly began unbuttoning the top buttons.

"No, no," John said quickly, swatting away Sherlock's hands. "I can do it."

Sherlock stepped away, allowing John to undo the other top two buttons himself.

"Good, you're ready. Let's go." Sherlock said, grabbing two suit coats from the rack, and tossing one to John.

"And what's wrong with my coat?" John asked, but shrugging on the coat anyways.

Sherlock threw him a skeptical look.

"Right, yes, not posh enough," John muttered. "Let's go."

They went down the stairs, John praying that Mrs. Hudson would not see them. Fortunately, they exited the flat without being spotted.

Sherlock hailed a taxi, and John had to laugh again despite himself. The detective still looked funny in his pink shirt and eyeliner.

The taxi driver seemed just as amused by them, laughing to himself. "Have a hot date tonight, boys?"

John groaned inwardly. Yes, he was definitely going to regret this. "Answer him," he said under his breath to Sherlock, closing his eyes.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Yes, could you take us to the Harp Lounge, please?"

"Sure. Keep it PG back there!" The cabbie chortled.

Sherlock laughed. "We'll try," he said, his voice bright, but his expression was annoyed. "No promises."

The driver and Sherlock laughed, and John pressed his hand to his forehead. It was going to be a long night.

###

They arrived at the Harp Lounge fifteen minutes later, and after a hearty goodbye from the driver and a "have fun!" they were standing on the street, watching couples going in, trying to figure out their entrance.

"How are we doing this?" John said in a low voice.

"Just treat me like you would one of your silly girlfriends," Sherlock responded.

"Uh, okay. I guess we could try an arm around the waist-" John began, demonstrating. He pulled away his arm in moments, it was too much.

"Or perhaps I should do it," Sherlock said, awkwardly wrapping one arm around John.

"No, it's not good that way either. Just-just give me your hand," John said. Sherlock obeyed, slipping his hand into John's, and John tried to imagine Sherlock was instead a beautiful female date as he held on.

"This will do," Sherlock said quietly. "Let's go."

They walked inside, the music beating loud in their ears. Sherlock seemed a little unsure, John was pretty certain the detective had never been in a pub before.

"What's the plan?" John asked.

"Work our way through, get into the suspect's office, get the information I need and get out," Sherlock muttered.

"Sounds good to me," John said. "Let's go then." They moved farther into the pub, pushing through the crowd of dancing, drunk people.

John had to pull Sherlock through, he was lagging behind, looking around at all the people and probably deducing a million things at once.

"Come on," John said harshly. "They're drunk people, not paintings in a museum."

"I'm observing," Sherlock said. "Now go get us drinks."

John stopped. "What?"

"We need to blend in. Problem?"

"None at all," John sighed, heading for the bar.

When he returned, he found Sherlock trapped by a group of three giggling girls, recoiling at their attempts to play with his hair.

Can't leave him alone for two seconds, can I? John thought.

"Excuse me, girls, that's my boyfriend you've got your hands on." he said smoothly, stepping in. He tried not to wince at the word 'boyfriend', hoping and praying that he would never have to utter those words ever again.

"Aww," the girls sighed, reluctantly stepping away, but not going nearly far enough. John stepped forward, handing Sherlock one of the drinks. "Here you go, babe," he said, throwing the detective a dirty look, but turning his face so the girls wouldn't see.

"Thank you...?" Sherlock said.

John turned to the girls. "Go on, then!"

The girls sighed again, and finally made their exit, saying something like "should have known..."

John turned back to Sherlock, who was looking at him rather strangely.

"What?" John asked. "I swear, if you're checking me out again..."

The two of them looked at each other, then began to laugh.

"Seriously, though," John said after they stopped giggling long enough to breathe, "what's with the look? Impressed I can act?"

"Perhaps. Let's go, I found a way into Parker's office." He said, setting his drink on a nearby table.

"How?" John asked, finishing off his drink and setting the glass next to Sherlock's full one.

"Did you think I was speaking with those girls for no reason?"

"Were you speaking with them?" John asked innocently. "It looked more to me like you were trying to escape from them."

"Don't be ridiculous, I had perfect control of the situation."

"Sure," said John sarcastically. "You had it all under control, especially when they were trying to play with your hair."

Sherlock grunted. "Yes. Now shut up and take my hand."

John complied, chuckling. "You've been a terrible boyfriend," he commented as Sherlock pulled him forward. "I leave for two minutes and you start flirting. That's not very nice, is it?"

Sherlock snorted. "Sorry, babe. Now are you done?"

"Yep," John said. "For now."

They walked to the back of the club, entering through a door that read "Employees Only", which led into a long hallway.

"Parker's office is supposed to be two doors down and on the right," Sherlock said.

"How are we going to get in?" John asked once they found the door.

Sherlock pulled a key out from his pocket. "Those girls were very helpful," he said, and he unlocked the door.

The door swung open, and the two stepped inside. "Look for anything that seems suspicious," Sherlock told him, handing him a torch. "Any sign of being in possession of illegal drugs."

They searched in silence for a few minutes, rummaging through the drawers.

"Aha!" Sherlock said. "I've found it!" He held up a bulging file. "This will be enough evidence for Lestrade."

"Can we get out of here, then?" John said.

Sherlock was about to answer when they heard footsteps. He shut the drawer quietly and moved towards John. "Trust me," he breathed.

Suddenly, he grabbed John by the shoulders and pushed him into the wall, bracing them there with his hands. "Follow my lead," Sherlock said softly, as the footsteps grew louder.

"Okay," John said hesitantly, already dreading whatever Sherlock was planning.

Sherlock came closer, pressing his chest to John's, moving his face far too close to his, their foreheads touching. He knew what it was going to look like, and the thought made him want to squirm. But he had been brought here to play gay, so he was going to have to go through with it. He cursed himself for letting Sherlock convince him to do this. He would do the grocery shopping for the rest of his life, this was not worth only three times of making Sherlock do the shopping.

This was by far the most uncomfortable, horrifying day of his life.

"Don't freak out," Sherlock told him.

"Why would I freak out?" John breathed, sarcastic. "This is a perfectly normal thing to do."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Just making certain," he said, and he slipped an arm around John's waist.

John shuddered as he felt Sherlock's breath on his neck, and he forced himself to stay calm. Sherlock reached down with his other hand, moving it through John's hair, tousling it as he went.

John tensed at the touch, forcing himself not to shiver.

"Now do it to me," Sherlock said. "Hurry, he's almost here!"

John was not as gentle as Sherlock, half tousling his hair, and half smacking his head to properly show his distaste for the task.

The footsteps stopped.

"Ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." John answered.

Sherlock nodded slightly.

The door opened, and Sherlock abruptly shoved them both into the corner, moving his face to the side of John's. He slipped him the file, which John tucked into his coat.

"Oi! What are you doing here?" An angry voice sounded from the door.

Sherlock and John broke apart, looking at the man at the door.

"Sorry," Sherlock drawled, fixing a slightly embarrassed expression onto his face. "Is this your office? Sorry mate, we didn't know."

"Yeah," John said, adding a slur to his voice. "I guess we got carried away and didn't even notice."

The man, who was Liam Parker himself, looked disgusted. "Go find some other dark corner to snog in," he said. "I should ban you for sneaking into my office, but I'm feeling generous. Get out."

Sherlock led John out by the hand, both muttering abashed apologies as they exited the office. John didn't even have to pretend to be embarrassed, he could feel the heat in his cheeks as they left.

Once they were safely back in the pub with the other people, they both sighed in relief.

"Good work." Sherlock said.

"I know I should take that as a compliment, but I would rather not." John replied. "Good work to you too, I guess."

"Why would you not take that as a compliment?" Sherlock asked, puzzled.

"Because I don't want to be complimented for being able to look like I was just making out with my flatmate!" John said, rolling his eyes. "Besides, it was mostly you."

"You're right, I did do most of the work."

John sighed. "Let's just get out of here, okay? I want to go home, get changed, and never, ever think about this night again."

Sherlock agreed, and the two of them made their way to the exit, the detective holding John's hand with his left and texting Lestrade with his right.

"John Watson, is that you?" An obnoxious but familiar voice called from behind them.

"No," John moaned under his breath.

"Who is it?" Sherlock asked, sounding bored.

"Charlie Turner," John replied. "Come on, let's go!"

Sherlock stopped. "Why don't we say hello?" He said, smirking.

"No, we are going," John said, trying to pull Sherlock forward.

"John Watson! It is you!"

John froze. He was caught.

"Charlie," he said in way of greeting, his voice strained as he turned around.

Charlie Turner looked exactly like he did when John knew him at uni, short and a bit tubby, a broad smile stretching across his face, except for now he was holding on to the hand of one of John's ex-girlfriends from uni, Tamara Graham.

"John Watson, look at you! You haven't changed a bit!" Charlie crowed. "Hey, you remember Tamara, don't you, John?"

"Of course, how could I forget?" John said, hoping he sounded pleasant. He tried to pull his hand from Sherlock's, but the detective was having none of it.

Tamara smiled at him winningly, ignoring her date. "You're looking good, John," she said, looking him over. "I heard you were in the army, is that true?"

"Yes," said John stiffly.

"I do love a man in uniform," she said, and she winked.

"Don't be silly, Tamara, the man's clearly taken." Charlie said, sounding a bit annoyed. "Anyways, John, aren't you going to introduce us to your boyfriend here?"

"He's not my boyfriend-" John began, but Sherlock cut him off. "Sherlock Holmes," he said, shaking Charlie's hand with his free one. "So nice to meet you. Sorry about John, he's having trouble coming to terms about us," Sherlock said, looking pointedly at his flatmate.

John was seriously fighting the urge to punch him across the face.

"No worries, I understand completely," Charlie said brightly. "Relationships are crazy these days."

"You're telling me," John muttered under his breath.

"I know," Sherlock said. "It took so long for John to admit that he had feelings for me."

John was going to kill him. He was going to shoot him and leave him in the gutter to die.

"Oh, I understand completely," Tamara said. "He did the same thing to me in uni. You should have seen him, he was shaking, the poor thing."

Scratch that, he was going to shoot himself.

"I wasn't nervous," he said defensively, but no one was listening.

Sherlock, Tamara and Charlie laughed. His flatmate shot him a snide look.

"Go on, tell us the whole story," Tamara said eagerly.

"We don't want to bore you with the details," John said quickly. "And besides, Sherlock and I were just leaving."

"Oh come on," Tamara pleaded. "Please tell us!"

Sherlock pulled John closer, bringing their clasped hands up to his mouth, making John wince. "Oh, John, you know how much I love it when you get all bossy," he said dreamily. "But come on babe, it will only take a second!"

"No." John said firmly. "I said, we're going home."

"You live together?" Tamara asked. "Wow, congratulations. He wouldn't move in with me, the idea always made him anxious. You must be pretty special, Sherlock," she cooed.

"Great seeing you again," John said, and he yanked hard on Sherlock's hand. "Say goodbye, Sherlock."

"Goodbye!" Sherlock called cheerfully over his shoulder as John dragged him away.

"I hate you," John said when they were safely in the taxi. "You're lucky I don't have my gun."

"Don't be so dramatic," Sherlock responded. "I was just playing the part."

"No, you were just trying to embarrass me."

A smile tugged at Sherlock's lips. "If you say so."

When they finally arrived at Baker Street, John practically jumped out of the taxi and ran up the stairs. He was tempted to lock Sherlock out, but decided against it.

He went to the fridge to get a drink, and found they had nothing.

"Sherlock?" He called. "We're out of milk."

"So?" Sherlock said, flopping on the couch.

"So, we had a deal," John replied. "Remember? Three times grocery shopping."

"And you want me to go now?" Sherlock asked incredulously. "Is the grocery even open?"

"Of course," said John, turning to face him, smiling. "It's open 24/7."

"I need to change first," Sherlock insisted. "I'm wearing makeup!"'

"Don't be a thirteen year old girl. You can go the way you are."

Sherlock groaned. "Fine." He stood up and got his coat. "I suppose I can have Lestrade pick up the file from there."

"Oh, and Sherlock?"

"Yes?" He said exasperatedly, turning to face John.

John snapped a picture with his phone. "Ha! That's a good one for the blog."

"You post that on your blog, and I will murder you," Sherlock threatened. With that, he left.

John chuckled to himself, and went to get his laptop. He already had a caption in mind.