Getting Dressed

A/n: so hi again! Thank you to everyone for reviewing last chapter, and to my new followers! I love you guys!
This one was inspired by guest, who asked for Sherlock dressing John up for a case. Enjoy! X

I stared in horror at the... The thing, that Sherlock was holding. Dread had settled in my stomach and I had to resist the urge to run away as far as possible, screaming.

That's what I felt like doing.
"You're..." I had to stop to clear my throat. It seemed to be dis -functioning, "you're not serious, please tell me you are not serious,"
Sherlock frowned at me, glancing at it, "what's wrong with it?"
"What's wron-" I let out a scandalised noise that was a cross between a sob and a groan, "Sherlock I don't want- I don't like. I don't like suits much,"
"It's for a case, John! This is important!"
"If its so bloody important why don't you wear it?"
"It's not my size!"
I wanted to cry. I really wanted to cry. And I was a soldier. I didn't cry easily.
But confronted with a striped suit, with the horrifying prospect of having to wear it all day and trying to look dignified around London, I wanted to sob my eyes out like a teenage kid and hide under the covers in my room. The thought made me shudder. It was really to do with bad experiences if I was honest. If the last time you had worn a suit ended in tears you wouldn't forget in a hurry either. And this was worse, it was incredibly... colourful. It honestly looked like Sherlock had picked it up from a circus or something.
I shook my head vigorously, "no,"
"Come on John! I need you to do this for me!" He moaned impatiently.
"No way in hell,"
I couldn't believe I was being bullied into wearing what looked like the rainbow from that Nian Cat video Greg had shown me once when we had gone for a drink down the pub. I wasn't wearing it. I refused. To wear it.
"John, do you want to find the killer or not?" Sherlock demanded, shaking the suit vigorously. I glared at him.
"Come on!"
Sherlock pounced on me, pulling my jumper up over my head before I even had time to complain.
"Sher- Sher-" I stammered, finding it difficult to speak. Apparently I had underestimated the lengths Sherlock would go to to make me wear the ghastly thing, "Sherlock!"
I wrestled with him, but before I knew it the shirt was on, and he was buttoning it up.
"I don't...I don't want..." I objected weakly, trying to push him away, "I don't like..."
He pushed my arms through the jacket sleeves and I, having given up fighting, stood there limply, eyes rolled skywards, resigned to my fate as a human barbie doll.
This resulting thought made me wince inwardly. The thought of my future being limited to Sherlock's living doll made me want to cry even more than the suit did. Jesus Christ, I hope I wasn't putting ideas into his head.
I was shocked back to the present by the unmistakable sound of my trouser zipper coming down. I yelped and jumped away from Sherlock's hands, flapping at them violently. Holy Lord, talk about bloody personal space issues. There was no way he was even going near that area. I drew the very pointed line at him taking my jumper off. And Christ that sounded so very wrong!
"Sherlock, I am quite capable of getting dressed without your assistance," I hissed at him through my teeth, very aware that I was quite red in the cheeks. He mutely held up the matching trousers and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Oh Bloody Mary, this was the exact reason why I hated wearing suits. I resisted the urge to scream helplessly at the situation. Why me? Why? I looked like an absolutely idiot. I felt like an idiot too. I felt like I'd been squeezed into a monkey suit and wouldn't be able to get out of it.
"Sherlock, I am never forgiving you for this," I mumbled, snatching the trousers out of his hands and stomping to the bathroom.
"I'll buy you some jam!" He shouted after me.
I dressed quickly, furiously, muttering a never ending stream of swear words under my breath. Then, head down, I hurried stiffly (literally) into the lounge again. God I hated suits. God I couldn't stand this. I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all.
"Stop pouting, we need to go!" Sherlock shouted, as he headed down the stairs.
"Don't talk to me,"
I tried walking a little, and winced at the tightness of the trousers. Jesus bloody Christ. Sherlock could get away with this, but I couldn't. I really couldn't. I felt like I was a penguin, waddling everywhere. A rainbow penguin non the less. Jesus. Christ.
I sighed, refusing to look in the mirror again, because I didn't want to see myself as a rainbow penguin, and followed Sherlock out the door.
And so the humiliation began.

A/n: I know it was short, Sorry! A review or two would be lovely! X