Requested on Wattpad: So we all know that there are a couple of pictures out in the internet with ben dressed as a woman, and i would really want to see how margaux would have to deal with sherlock dressed as a lady.

Mascara

There was a bustling downstairs. The sounds of things being knocked over, drawers being opened and closed. Margaux sat bolt upright in bed, her eyes half-closed, hair tangled and falling over her face. She turned to the other side of the bed, expecting Sherlock to be asleep beside her, but he wasn't there. She checked the time. 2am.

"What the hell is he doing?" she mumbled to herself as she climbed out of bed and pulled on a T-shirt that was hanging over a chair.

She made her way downstairs in the dark, listening as the noises continued in the kitchen. But when she got down the hall and stepped into the room, she felt her stomach turn in fear.

Through the darkness, she saw a woman rummaging through the cupboards. She was hunched over, grumbling and grunting as she poked around the kitchen, completely unaware that she was being watched.

For Margaux, survival mode kicked in. Her children were sleeping upstairs and she was prepared to do whatever it took to protect them. She grabbed a large golfing umbrella that was hanging on the doorknob, arming herself with it like a baseball bat. She took a step forward, her bare feet silent on the cold tiles, before plucking up the courage to speak.

"Get out of my house," she said.

She had wanted to sound tough and scary, but her voice was shaky, breaking in places it shouldn't.

The woman stopped what she was doing and stood upright. "What?"

Margaux loosened her grip on the umbrella, her brows stitching together over her tired eyes.

"Sherlock?"

The figure turned around, revealing a familiar face. She wondered if this was real, if the noises from downstairs had woken her, but she had only dreamed getting out of bed. Standing in front of her was her husband, in a black cocktail dress and a long blonde wig.

"Yes?" he replied plainly, as if it was all completely normal.

"Are you..." she put the umbrella down and walked to the light switch. "What the hell are you wearing?"

The room flooded with light, making both of them squint as their eyes adjusted. She wasn't imagining it. Sherlock really was there, in the middle of their kitchen at 2am, hands on hips, dressed from head-to-toe as a woman.

"It's a long story," he replied.

"Mm, no. That's not going to work on me. You need to explain." she glanced down at his legs. "Are those tights!?"

"Well I wasn't going to go to the trouble of shaving my legs."

She walked towards him. The closer she got, the more she noticed. He was wearing makeup; blush, lipstick, mascara.

"Bloody hell, your lashes are longer than mine," she said as she reached out and touched his face. "Is that my lipstick?"

He rolled his eyes and pulled off the wig to reveal his curls, damp with sweat and flattened to his head. He ruffled his hands through them as he walked away from her, hobbling in a pair of high heels.

She turned around, watching as he kicked off the shoes. "Seriously, you need to explain," she chuckled.

"We were trying to get information about an underground crime syndicate."

"Was the syndicate in the Moulin Rouge?"

He gave a sarcastic laugh. "No. Apparently it's operating from a drag bar in Soho."

"And you couldn't have just gone as regular punters?"

"No. We needed to blend in."

"Sounds like you just really wanted to get dolled up if you ask me."

"Very funny. It was hell. John did nothing but complain the whole time."

Her mouth fell open. "John dressed up too!?"

"Yes?"

"Fantastic. Did you get pictures?"

"Of course we didn't." He rubbed his hand on his cheek, looking down at his fingers with a grimace. "How do I get this stuff off?"

She ran into the downstairs toilet and returned with a bottle of cleanser and a packet of cotton pads. They sat together at the kitchen island as she carefully swept the pads over his face.

"Who did this?" she asked.

"We did each other's."

She felt an internal squeal at the thought of the two of them sitting together doing each other's makeup. Although it had probably been more of an argument as they half-heartedly slapped the products on.

"Y'know, I've always thought you were a very handsome man. But as a woman... not so much."

"John said I looked like a 'Veronica', whatever that means."

She snorted.

"Anyway, we didn't get the information we needed so it was a wasted night."

"Not true, you've thoroughly entertained me."

"We're trying again tomorrow."

"You're dressing up again?"

He nodded, running his fingers over his freshly cleansed skin.

She looked down at the shiny black material hugging his body.

He curled his lip in disdain. "Oh god, Margaux, surely this isn't turning you on..."

"No." She laughed. "I'll admit, usually you only have to breathe and I find you sexy. But this number just isn't doing it for me."

She hooked her finger into the top of the dress, pulling it back and peaking down at his bare chest. He slapped her hand away, like a woman batting off an unwanted touch.

"I just wanted to see if you were wearing a bra too," she said.

"Well I'm not. I tried one of yours earlier but it didn't fit around my back."

She giggled, stopping suddenly and looking up at him. "Wait, what?"

III

The next evening came around quickly. The children were eating dinner with Mrs Hudson downstairs, the sound of their chattering echoing in the hall. Sherlock sat at the dining table in 221B with his arms folded across his chest. Margaux sat on the table in front of him, dusting powder over his cheeks and grinning, chuckling to herself as she worked.

"What?" asked Sherlock.

"You do sort of look like a Veronica."

He rolled his eyes.

"I never thought there'd come a day when I'd be putting a full face of makeup on you," she said.

"Surprisingly, I never expected it either."

"Quite enjoying it though."

"I'm sure you are."

Vaughan appeared in the doorway. He stopped and looked at his father for a moment before continuing his walk into the kitchen without so much as a question. As if it were a completely normal sight. He rummaged through a bag and pulled out his games console as John made his way into the flat. He was grumbly, unamused, carrying a wig in his clenched fist.

"I'm not doing this again," he said. "I've done a lot of stuff in the name of cases, Sherlock; crawled through rubbish, worn ridiculous costumes, pretended to be your bloody boyfriend, but this..."

Margaux eyed the wig. It was a deep auburn colour, shiny with a slight curl.

"I never took you for a red head, John," she said.

He pointed at her and turned to Sherlock. "See what I mean? Even your wife's taking the piss out of me."

"Sounds like someone's masculinity's a bit fragile," she replied.

"Oh no, I've got no problem with that. It's these I have a problem with." He held up his other hand, revealing a pair of high heeled shoes. "It's like putting your feet in a bloody knife block."

"We can't turn up there looking like ourselves," said Sherlock. "We'll be recognised."

"So give me a fake moustache."

"And how do you suppose we get backstage and into the dressing rooms with a fake moustache?"

"Oh, because this is better!?" he tugged the wig onto his head.

Vaughan stepped in from the kitchen and looked up at him. "You look like my teacher Miss Farrell," he said plainly before disappearing back downstairs.

"Brilliant," said John.

Margaux laughed. "If you really don't want to do it, I could go instead."

Both men shook their heads at the same time.

"No," said Sherlock. "If we're right about the syndicate then things could get dangerous."

"And? I spend most days cooped up in an interrogation room with rapists and murderers."

III

She parked the car down an alley at the back of the club, the sound of loud music thumping in the distance.

"Is that how they're getting in and out?" she asked as she pointed to a large metal door on the side of the building.

He didn't answer.

"Sherlock, is that where we need to get to?"

Still no answer. She turned to him as he sat in the passenger seat, fumbling with stuffing of his fake breasts.

"If only Greg were here," she said. "This would make his day. Probably his year."

"Shush," he said as he lay his hand on the door handle. "Let's just do this. We go in, you keep watch and I'll make my way backstage."

"What if they get suspicious of you?"

"Then I take what information I can and we run."

She laughed. "You think you'll be running in those?" She gestured to the heels on his feet.

"I've been wearing these for one day and I can run better in them than you can walk."

She hit him on the arm. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and smirked.

"Come on then, Veronica," she said as she climbed out of the car.

They pushed through the crowds in the busy nightclub. Margaux watched as Sherlock disappeared towards the back before making her way to the bar. She sat down and ordered a drink, keeping her eyes on the people around her.

As her drink arrived, she saw him slip through the door near the stage. She took a deep breath and began to wait.

"Aren't you a gorgeous little thing," a voice shouted over the music.

She turned to see a drag queen holding a tray of shots. She had large, sparkling earrings and a wig perfectly styled into a old-fashioned beehive.

"Me?" Margaux asked.

The queen nodded. "Are you all by yourself?"

"I'm waiting for someone."

"Oh well here." she handed her a shot from the tray. "On the house because I like your outfit."

She laughed. "Thank you."

She wasn't sure how it happened, but she found herself deep in conversation with the queen - laughing, joking, sharing stories about their husbands. Sherlock had told her to keep watch, but she hadn't looked around in at least fifteen minutes. The queen waved down her friend from across the room; she was tall and heavily tattooed with a perfectly painted face. She sauntered over and stopped beside them.

"Look at the size of that," the queen said to her friend as she held up Margaux's hand, her wedding and engagement rings glittering in the lights.

"Bloody hell!" the other queen replied. "You must be good in bed."

Margaux spluttered out a laugh.

"What's he like?" she asked. "I bet he's good looking."

"Well he's-"

A loud bang startled the entire club.

"Oh god," Margaux mumbled to herself as she climbed down from the barstool to try and get a better look.

There was another bang, followed by the sound of smashing glass and panicked shouting. Suddenly, the door at the back swung open as a brawl broke out near the stage. Margaux looked at the two queens beside her as they stared in horror.

"What's going on!?" one of them shouted.

"That'll be my hubby," she replied sarcastically.

Sherlock rushed through the crowd towards them. He wasn't joking when he said he'd be able to run. He grabbed Margaux by the waist and bolted for the door with her in his arms, a group of men charging after them with guns in hand.

She clung to his shoulders as he ran. "What happened!?"

"You said you'd keep watch!" He threw her into the car and ran around to the passenger side. "Drive!"

She turned the key in the ignition with a shaking hand before screeching away from the club and turning into the traffic.

There was silence besides their heavy breathing as she clung to the steering wheel, her eyes flitting between the road and the rear view mirror. Sherlock pulled off the wig and wiped the lipstick from his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I'm guessing you got caught," she said.

"What gave you that idea?"

They glanced at each other and began to laugh.

III

"I'll deliver the evidence to Lestrade tomorrow," said Sherlock as he walked up the driveway.

"Will you be mentioning the part where you wore a dress?" Margaux replied.

He opened the front door and stepped aside for her to enter first. "If you dare mention this to him, I'll file for divorce."

She smirked as she walked into the hall and kicked off her shoes. "Fine."

"It doesn't matter how I got it. The point is, I now have proof that the crime syndicate exists. I was right, he was wrong, all is right with the world again."

She turned around to him and let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "Oh the lengths Sherlock Holmes will go to just to prove he's right. It's quite astounding."

He watched as she began to climb the stairs. "Where are you going?"

"To bed... Are you coming?"

He followed her upstairs and into their room. Margaux flicked on her bedside lamp and began to undress as Sherlock stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. She folded her dress and lay it over the chair before disappearing into the bathroom and returning with a packet of wipes.

"Here," she said, handing him one.

He took it and began scrubbing his face, relieved to be free of the heaviness coating his skin. Margaux giggled as they stood wiping away their makeup together - a moment she never could have imagined until tonight.

"Can you help me out of this?" he asked as he turned away from her.

She stepped forward and undid the clasp at the top of the dress before sliding down the zip.

"Usually it's you doing this to me," she said, watching as he tugged the straps off his broad shoulders.

He turned back around and looked down at her. "I think I much prefer it that way."