The smell of rose attar and talcum powder mingled with smoke curling up from the gooseneck pipe in an abalone shell rest. In the center of an upholstered Edwardian boudoir replete with overstuffed ottomans, carved and tasseled chairs, and gilt-edged mirrors stood Data in a velvet smoking jacket and flannel trousers, a look of mild consternation on his face that was a pale reflection of the room's other occupant's. Tasha stood scowling before a full-length mirror tilted in its gold leaf frame. She was dressed in an elaborate costume, a green and black evening gown that fairly dripped with flounces, feathers, and ruffles. Her blond fringe wilted under a pouf of iridescent peacock feathers.

"Data, I don't know how else to say this: no. No, no, no. It's impossible!"

She turned to the side and frowned at the bustle of her dress, a gravity-defying construct of green satin and black lace. "Just look at this. It looks like my ass swallowed an elephant."

Though dressed as Sherlock Holmes, Data spoke in his own voice. "Perhaps the color is troubling you. Computer: change costume to black and ivory stripes."

The dress shimmered and changed, no less ornate than its predecessor.

"It's not better, Data. And now I look like a piano."

"I am certain we will discover an appropriate costume if we thoroughly explore all possibilities, Tasha. Computer: purple moiré."

"I'm certain I don't want to! Data, I've tried on a dozen outfits. It's not the color; it's the style. Women must've been crazy to wear this stuff. Besides, look at the shape of this dress – I can't imagine what goes underneath to make a person look like an oversized pigeon."

Data nodded. "A valid point. Computer, display undergarments."

A dress form appeared between them, and layer by layer was covered in corset, garters, bloomers, chemise, petticoats, and a padded bustle whose weight and size caused both Data and Tasha to raise their eyebrows.

"Intriguing."

"Ridiculous! Computer, vanish my costume."

With a swish, Tasha was clothed in her goldenrod uniform, streamlined and incongruous in the lavish room. "Data, I just can't get dressed up like a doll for you. I know you're excited about playing Sherlock Holmes-"

"I am incapable of feeling excitement."

"Whatever. But if I'm going to play along, it's got to be on my own terms."

Data's neutral expression looked glum to Tasha. "I understand."

She crossed to him, kissed and then patted his cheek. "Just let me think about it."

"Of course."

"Computer: exit." Tasha strode to the doors that appeared in place of the boudoir window. "One of these days, we're going to put together a holodeck program that I like. Something with sports. Something fun."

"Tasha…"

She paused before the bulkhead doors that had automatically opened – she almost hadn't heard him call her name. "What?"

Data deliberated a moment, almost as if he were collecting his thoughts. Tasha couldn't tell if it was an affectation, or if he was truly measuring his words.

"Thank you for indulging me in this fantasy," he said finally, quietly. "Even though you do not find it 'fun'."

"Oh, Data!" Tasha stepped away from the doors. They slid noisily shut and were instantly replaced by the velvet-curtained picture window. "I didn't mean that." She tsked. "Of course it's fun – Geordi and I only wanted to do something special for you." Her shoulders slumped. "I'm not trying to spoil your fun. But I can't wear one of those…monstrosities."

"I understand," Data responded softly.

Tasha came closer. "It's just not me. And I can't play a part so far removed from who I am. Couldn't I just be in the background somehow? Geordi said something about a police officer…"

Data straightened and picked up the pipe. He drew on the stem, and then exhaled a cloud of smoke. "My good woman," he said in a stentorian voice, "you may play whatever part suits your fancy."

Tasha coughed and giggled; she couldn't help herself. Her android friend fell into the part with such ready glee. "All right, my dear sir," she said, her accent inexpert. "Computer, old chap, show me what you have in uniforms."

Deanna leaned in close to the mirror, tucking a stray curl behind one ear. She felt tickled to play a main character in Data's holo-program, and especially pleased by the number of costume changes the part required. There was one dress in particular that she couldn't wait to try out on an audience. So much so, she'd arranged for a private showing.

The door chimed. "Come in," she said quietly.

Will entered with his usual confident swagger. "So, what's the big-" The sight of Deanna stopped him cold. "Whoa."

Deanna unfolded an ostrich-feather fan and fluttered it once in front of her sly smile as Will raked his eyes over her. They blazed a trail from the flowers in her loosely coiled hair to the mauve lace train sweeping the floor, then back up to where a bustier made Troi's already generous assets a sight bordering on miraculous.

"It's called a tea dress," Deanna said with a smile.

Will's grin couldn't have looked any more devilish. "Where do you put the tea?"

"Have you gotten your costume together yet, your majesty?"

"Hold on – we're not done talking about yours." Will offered his hand and revolved the counselor in a slow circle when she took it. "You look amazing."

Deanna didn't overlook the husky tone that had entered his voice, or the emanations of desire from him that swept over her in waves. "Thank you. Most of the outfits are high-necked, but I thought this dress was more flattering."

Will tucked her hand to his body and pulled her in by her waist, made tiny by the corset. "Is that why you called me here? For flattery?"

Deanna touched his chest with a restraining hand. "Will, we can't."

He stopped in the motion of lowering his head to hers. "But after our trip to the cove, I thought-"

"I didn't mean for it to go so far. We weren't thinking clearly. We'd just had a taste of danger."

His blue eyes smoldered. "Wouldn't you like another?"

She didn't stop him this time as he bent low and gathered her up in a kiss. She felt her own desire rise to meet his, dancing and intermingling until she couldn't tell his from hers.

They broke apart. Will ran his hands over her lace bodice and made a sound of frustration. "How the hell do you get this thing off?"

Deanna snapped out of her lust-laced fog. "You don't."

"Imzadi…"

"You know we shouldn't. Not here. Not while we're posted to the same ship." Not ever, she added internally.

She watched the fire in his eyes die down and felt the force of his will dampening it. He plunged a hand into her hair and pulled; she closed her eyes involuntarily.

"You should wear it like this more often."

Her eyelids fluttered. "The bun is more professional," she murmured.

"The bun," Will rejoined, "is dumb."

Deanna's eyes opened wide and she took a step back. Every response that came to mind sounded childish – she decided to turn and walk away, the lace train swishing behind her.

"You do look amazing," Will said gruffly.

"Thank you." There was sadness in her tone now.

Neither knew what to say.

Finally, Deanna reached out with her mind. "Imzadi…"

"Enough." Will put up a hand. "Don't, Deanna. You want me to stay or you don't. You're the one who called me here."

She waved the fluffy white fan, fragments of feathers drifting slowly down to the carpet. She watched them fall.

"I just wanted to show you my pretty dress."

He went to her then and held her gently, without urgency, beyond words.

"So, what do you think, big guy?"

Worf and Geordi were in the replication center, watching a miniature virtual Klingon in a morning coat and cravat.

Worf scowled at the natty image. "I think humans are obsessed with pretending to be what they are not."

"Data's not human."

"No." Worf turned his scowl on Geordi. "He pretends to be one, which is worse. A double pretense."

"Oh, c'mon. That's kinda harsh. Would you rather he were programmed to act like a Klingon?"

Worf snorted. "That is unlikely. There are no Klingon cyberneticists. We do not try to create playthings in our own guise. For what? To send into battle? It is the act of a coward."

Geordi thought they were getting off topic. "Anyway, what do you think of the costume?"

Worf's only reply was a rumbling growl.

"Gotcha. Keep looking. All right. Computer, how about white tie and tails?"

The altered image garnered a louder growl.

"You know, this is a good part, Worf. You get to marry Deanna and run away in a big ship."

"Ludicrous." Worf ground his teeth. "But humans put a great deal of importance on social interaction. I will not refuse the invitation of a superior officer."

"That's the spirit." Geordi smacked him on the back and immediately regretted it – Worf seemed to have spikes in his spine. "Computer, let's see the morning coat again, but this time, striped pants."

Worf narrowed his eyes.

When Data got back to his quarters after beta shift, he found Wesley waiting for him in the hall.

"Hi, Commander. I heard you were programming a new holodeck scenario."

"That is correct, Ensign Crusher."

"Can I be in it? I've been reading some Sherlock Holmes stories, and I know he worked with a group of boys to help him solve crimes."

"Yes, the Baker Street Irregulars."

"That's it. Can I be an irregular?"

Data cocked his head. "Though it is true that I am writing the program, the event has been organized by Lts. La Forge and Yar. It would perhaps be more appropriate to ask them."

"Okay, Commander." Wesley turned to go, but paused. "Thanks for considering it. It's really nice of you."

Data nodded and entered his quarters as Wesley jogged off to the turbolift.

"Beverly, I order you to release me."

Jean-Luc stood defiantly eye-to-eye with the CMO. Not a line or wrinkle belied that the doctor was placidly unmoved by the captain's demand. She continued to scan him, blue eyes twinkling as she watched the tricorder readout.

"That's not how it works, Jean-Luc."

"I will not spend another day cooped up in sickbay. I feel fine," he said testily.

"How nice for you. According to this, you're not."

He raised his voice. "I've given you an order."

"Mm-hmm." Beverly put the probe away. "Did I mention that Data's been working up a new program in the holodeck?"

Jean-Luc's brow furrowed. "No."

"Yes. A Sherlock Holmes mystery. Well, not really a mystery, more of a story. You were invited."

"I was?" His look darkened further.

"You were. I believe the remaining part is 'shabby street person'."

Jean-Luc's grumpy expression took on shades of effrontery. "Shabby what?"

"I told him you weren't well enough to join the fun. But if you'd like me to release you prematurely, I can tell Data that you're available for the part."

Jean-Luc held her eyes. "You wouldn't."

Beverly crossed her arms. "Try me."

The captain compressed his lips. Then, with a graceful motion, he hopped up backwards on the biobed and slowly reclined.

"I'll release you when your cellular degradation reads normal. Not before," Beverly said firmly.

Jean-Luc folded his arms on his chest and sighed. "And you won't stop at blackmail to keep me here."

Beverly patted his upraised knee. "Coercion, Captain. Blackmail is such an ugly word."

AN: One of the reasons I haven't had time to write is that I haven't had time to watch TNG. I work better when the language is in my ear, so forgive me if I'm rusty on the tone. I've been watching the season one Blu-ray and dude. Dude! In Code of Honor, Karole Selmon (who plays Yareena) is naked under that see-through robe in the big challenge scene. You can clearly see everything – holy HD, Batman! I'm sure no one else has mentioned it on the interwebs because why would anyone watch that episode besides me? You reeeaally have to be obsessed with Tasha to get through that one.