Suits You

by KathyG

In this post-Sherlock sequel to "Up to Scratch," John thought that his new socks would bring an end to his contact dermatitis; instead, it has spread to his upper body. On his current budget, he cannot afford to replace his entire wardrobe, least of all with expensive clothes. How can Sherlock and Mycroft help him to get around that obstacle? Read and find out!

Suits You

By KathyG.

John thought that his new socks would bring an end to his contact dermatitis; instead, it has spread to his upper body. On his current budget, he cannot afford to replace his entire wardrobe, least of all with expensive clothes. How can Sherlock and Mycroft help him to get around that obstacle? Read and find out!

Author's Note: This story is a sequel to "Up to Scratch," and like that story, it's designed to fit into sgam76's "Scheherezade" universe. While I haven't included Sherlock's mother, Mellie, in this one, I have borrowed a plot feature from sgam76's story, "A Long Walk Down a Dusty Road," and a character from her universe. Thank you, BesleyBean, for beta-reading and Brit-picking my story!

John, who had just come home from work and left Rosie in the lounge with Sherlock, entered his second-floor bedroom; after clicking his door shut, he laid his med kit on the dresser. With a grimace, after removing his old second-hand canvas jacket and tossing it on the bed, he reached behind him to scratch his back, and then his sides. More and more, his upper body was itching, and so were his legs.

Surely, the contact dermatitis hasn't spread to my upper body! He winced at the thought. He had just recently had to replace his socks when the dermatitis had first affected his feet, and it was only with the Holmeses' help that he had been able to do so. Seeing as his feet hadn't itched or broken out once since then, he had thought that the new socks had resolved the entire issue. Apparently, that wasn't the case.

If the rest of my body has also become allergic to the synthetic dyes in the rest of my clothes, I'm in real trouble! John shook his head. I can't afford to replace my entire wardrobe, and I cannot impose on Mellie. It was good of her to buy me some socks and a new wallet, and some new outfits for Rosie, but I cannot ask her to buy me some shirts and jeans, too.

John sighed. He would just have to make the best of it, and use the hydrocortisone and antihistamine as needed. At least his feet were comfortable once more. Perhaps a shower will help. After removing his shoes and socks, he left the bedroom and entered the bathroom between his room and Rosie's. Standing barefoot on the smooth oak floor as he removed his woollen jumper, he winced at the redness that had spread across his chest, his stomach, and his sides. It was only a matter of time, he knew, until a rash, some blisters, and swelling also started to form.

Sherlock will find out about this. It won't be possible to keep it from him. Shaking his head, he took off the rest of his clothes and stepped into the shower. He would feed Rosie after he had showered.

XXXXXXX

"John, when are you going to do something about your clothes?" Sherlock asked in the lounge, forty-five minutes later.

John straightened up, with Rosie's baby spoon clanging on the wheeled stainless-steel kitchen table as he dropped it, and frowned. "Sorry?"

"You've been scratching again." Sherlock mimicked his flatmate's scratching movements. "You've been doing that for the past few days now. Your arms, your legs, your chest, and your stomach. It's clear that you're itching. Your contact dermatitis has spread to your upper body."

"No kidding, Sherlock," John muttered. Out loud, he said, "Unfortunately, there's nothing I can do. I couldn't have replaced my socks without Mellie's help, and I can't afford to replace my other clothes now, least of all with expensive outfits that have plant-based dyes." He sighed. "It was good of her to buy me some new socks that don't aggravate my skin allergy and a new wallet, and I can only thank her for doing that. But it wouldn't be fair to impose on Mellie, you know, by asking her to buy me some more clothes. I'll just have to keep using my hydrocortisone and antihistamine, and hope that'll be enough."

Turning back to Rosie, he picked up her spoon and resumed feeding her some chicken-and-rice soup. Sherlock leaned back in his chair and, with a frown, placed his hands underneath his chin in the prayer position, watching John feeding Rosie and talking softly with her as he did so. After a moment, he removed his mobile phone out of his suit jacket and sent a text to Mycroft. A few minutes later, the soft chime that emanated from his phone signalled a reply. 'I'll be by to see John tomorrow. I've just recently finished gathering together some important information for him that he needs to see, that will help.'

Sherlock replied back. 'Good. He's not on call at the hospital tomorrow, so you can come to see him any time.' He slipped his phone back inside his suit jacket. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John, who was wincing, reach under his armpit to scratch the side of his chest; clearly, it was itching. If this doesn't stop soon, I'm going to loan him one of my shirts until something is done about his wardrobe. His contact dermatitis will only become worse otherwise.

XXXXXXX

The next day, John was making a light lunch for Rosie, Sherlock, and himself when he heard footfalls on the stairs. "Sounds like Mycroft," Sherlock said from his armchair in the lounge.

"Wonder what he wants." John threw the now-empty can of vegetable soup in the trash and entered the lounge. A moment later, Mycroft stepped through the open doorway into the lounge, a sheaf of papers held against his side and his umbrella dangling from his left hand.

"Hello, Sherlock. John." Mycroft nodded at each in turn, and then at Rosie, who was perched on Sherlock's lap. The baby babbled. "Hello, Rosamund," he added in a soft voice.

"Have a seat, Mycroft." John gestured toward the sofa. "I was just fixing lunch. Would you like something?"

"Thank you, John, but no. I had lunch at the Diogenes Club before I came here." Mycroft nodded and sat down. "John, I've brought some papers I want you to go over." Mycroft held out the sheaf of papers he was holding. Puzzled, John approached him and took the sheaf. As he sat down in his own armchair facing Sherlock and Rosie, with the Union Jack cushion flattened against his lower back as he leaned against the chair's soft cushioned back, he glanced down at them and then looked at Mycroft, puzzled.

"What's all this about, Mycroft?"

Mycroft did not answer, so John began to scan the information contained; it was mainly about someone's money, someone's finances—balance sheets, bank statements, the works. His back, his chest, his stomach, and his legs kept itching, and so he kept pausing to scratch while he glossed over the information. Someone, it seemed, had a lot of money. After several moments of reading, it became clear to him what it was about.

"M—Mary?!" He gaped at Mycroft, and then at Sherlock.

"Yes, John." Twirling the handle of his umbrella, Mycroft nodded. "It's Mary's money, which she saved in a Swiss bank account throughout her years with A.G.R.A."

Stunned, John slumped back in his armchair and shook his head. Then he began to read all the information in earnest, scratching repeatedly, as the two Holmes brothers sat in the room and waited.

"Uh, thanks for bringing this info to my attention, Mycroft." John cleared his throat.

Mycroft grimaced. "It took me months of negotiations with the Swiss bank she kept her account in, but now I finally have the authority to turn the money in her account over to you. And now, John, you need to decide what you're going to do with it." Leaning his umbrella against the front of the sofa, Mycroft leaned forward and clasped his hands together on his lap. "I realize that you have mixed emotions about this, to say the least." John smiled wryly and rolled his eyes. That was an understatement! "But, you know, John, among other things, you will be able to ensure that Rosamund receives an excellent education when she's older."

John furrowed his eyebrows as he pondered what Mycroft had just said. "That—that's true."

Mycroft leaned back. "Would you like to go over the info, and meet with me later?"

"Y—yes." John nodded. "Yes, I would. I need to decide what I'm going to do with it. If it wasn't blood money, I wouldn't be so hesitant to keep it." He scratched his upper left arm with his right hand.

"The money that's contained in those bank statements and balance sheets was earned quite legally." Mycroft paused. "I went over it very thoroughly, to make sure of that. All of it was paid to her by governments that hired A.G.R.A. to do various jobs for them, including the British government. And, of course, MI5 and MI6. And the American CIA."

John smiled and shook his head. "The governments, including yourself, must have paid A.G.R.A. quite generously, is all I can say."

"Quite so." Mycroft smirked. "And fortunately, not all of it was earned by committing assassinations. A number of their jobs consisted of rescuing hostages, which were more successful than their last one was."

John nodded. "That's good. I'm glad to hear that."

Mycroft paused, leaning forward and rubbing his fingertips on the umbrella's handle. "She also had money paid to her for other jobs which I suspect you will not care to keep."

John nodded agreement. "You're right about that. I would rather donate that part of her money to worthy causes." His back suddenly itched, causing him to grimace.

"Why don't you come to my office tomorrow, John, and we will decide what causes to donate it to?" Mycroft suggested. "And then, we'll decide what to do with the rest."

John glanced at Sherlock and Rosie, and then turned back to Mycroft. "All right."

Mycroft rose to his feet and picked up his umbrella. "I'll leave the information with you, John. Bring it with you to the Diogenes Club tomorrow, when you get off work." John nodded as he scratched the itch that suddenly started on his chest, and Mycroft gave him a knowing look. "Then perhaps we can decide what to do about the spread of your contact dermatitis." John rolled his eyes at him, and the British government left. John returned to the kitchen, where he resumed making lunch.

Early in the following afternoon, as John left King's Hospital following his morning shift, his med kit in hand, he found one of Mycroft's sleek black cars waiting for him by the kerb in the April sunshine. "Hello, Andrew,"* he said, as he slid into the front passenger seat and set the med kit on the floor in front of him.

"Hello, John." Andrew smiled. "Mycroft asked me to bring you to the Diogenes Club as soon as you got off work. He'll be waiting for you in the visitors' room." He nodded at the sheaf of papers on the seat between them. "On his orders, I stopped by your flat to pick them up. Mrs. Hudson has already picked up Rosie at the nursery and taken her to Baker Street."

John glanced down at them and shrugged. "Just as well. Saves me the trouble of going back there to collect them." He scratched his upper chest, silently swearing at the itching that kept recurring.

Andrew drove him to the Diogenes Club, and John immediately went straight to the visitors' room where he knew that Mycroft was waiting. Mycroft turned around as the doctor entered the room. "Hello, John. Good of you to be so prompt."

"Yes, well, Andrew was waiting right there for me on the kerb when I left the hospital." John laid the sheaf of papers on the small table and set the med kit next to them, and the two men sat down facing each other from across the table. "I guess the first thing we need to decide is where I'm going to donate the part of Mary's money that I don't want to keep." Wincing, he leaned forward so that he could reach behind him to scratch his back.

"Quite right." Mycroft reached for the sheet of paper on top of the sheaf. "Then we will make decisions as to what we will do with the rest."

He leaned back against the back of his armchair and folded his legs. "I have already gone through her accounts quite thoroughly, John. I have also gone over the records of the various jobs that she was hired to do. You need to decide to what worthy causes you wish to donate the money that you're not keeping."

"Yes." Leaning against the back of the other armchair, John pressed his index fingertip against his lips, thinking, and then he leaned forward, clearing his throat. For the next several minutes, as he kept scratching parts of his upper body, he shared with Mycroft what worthy charities he wished to donate the money to.

"All right, John." As he leaned towards John, Mycroft slid a sheet of paper toward himself. "With the rest of the money donated anonymously to these charities you have selected, this will leave you with quite a sizeable chunk to spend on Rosamund and yourself—over two million pounds—and now you need to decide how to use it. To that end, I recommend that we set up a long-term financial plan."

John nodded agreement. "Since I've never had so much money before, I could use some help there."

"And you shall have it." Mycroft inclined his head. "Do I have your permission, John, to manage your money so that you will be able to use it to support your family? Consider this: not only will you be able to provide an excellent education for Rosamund, but you will also be able to ensure her care in the event that something ever happens to you. Given the work that you and Sherlock do, that is something you need to arrange."

John frowned. He had not thought about that prospect, but Mycroft was right. After a moment, he nodded.

"You do have a point." He cleared his throat. "Yes, Mycroft, you have my permission. I know you will not embezzle any of it, and I would not entrust it to anyone who wasn't one-hundred-percent trustworthy in that respect. But I know you are. Any ideas as to how you will manage it for me?"

"I'll have to think it over." Mycroft tapped the right arm rest with his fingers. "One of the things I will do is invest it. I'll begin to do so this week, and I'll make sure that whatever setups I invest it in on your behalf, they will be secure, so you won't lose it all."

John nodded agreement and then winced as his stomach itched. "All right." He scratched his stomach.

With a frown, Mycroft glanced down at John's stomach and then shook his head. "Another thing you will be able to do, after this, is to buy yourself some clothes that won't trigger your skin allergy. Your finances will no longer be a barrier to your affording them. As soon as we leave, John, we are going to pick up Sherlock and Rosamund and go straight to Harrods to buy you some."

John grimaced. "I've got to replace my entire wardrobe?"

"Yes." Mycroft gave him a stern look as he rose to his feet. "Since your entire wardrobe is triggering your allergy and causing your contact dermatitis to spread all over the rest of your body. It's become clear that your skin can no longer tolerate synthetic dyes, John, and except for your new socks, all of your clothes contain those dyes. If a patient of yours had come into your surgery with the same symptoms while you were still working there, you would be giving him these same orders as his doctor." He crossed the room to pick up his umbrella as he spoke.

Rolling his eyes, John stood up and picked up his med kit and the sheaf of papers. "If a patient had come to my surgery with the same symptoms, I'd have referred him to a dermatologist."

"Who, in turn, would order that he switch to clothes that wouldn't trigger his skin allergy, once it was established that his clothes were the cause," Mycroft pointed out. Sighing, John nodded; he knew that Mycroft was right. "So, let's go." Nodding again, this time in a resigned manner, John silently accompanied Mycroft into the adjoining common room and out the front door. He had seen the same expression on Mycroft's face that the latter had worn on the occasions he had ordered John to watch out for Sherlock for some reason or another, and he knew better than to attempt to oppose Mycroft at such times.

John halted as memories of his previous recent Harrods excursions flooded his mind. "Does Mellie also know about this?" Mycroft nodded. "Is she going to join us at Harrods?"

Mycroft shook his head. "Not this time, John, but I've told her about this, and she has asked that Sherlock and I send her some pictures." John nodded, and the two of them entered the back seat of the car, where John found that an infant seat had been set up. Grimacing and squirming, he reached up to scratch the side of his chest and rubbed his back against the car seat in an effort to relieve the itching.

Andrew drove them to Baker Street, where they found Sherlock standing on the pavement with Rosie in his arms. "Give me a minute," John told Sherlock, who nodded.

John darted up the stairs to the flat and set the med kit and papers on the coffee table, went to the kitchen to get Rosie's sippy cup, and then returned downstairs and out the door to the waiting car. Mycroft had already stepped out of the back seat of the car to sit in the front seat with Andrew, and so, after strapping Rosie into the infant seat, Sherlock slid onto the passenger seat next to her. John slid onto the seat on the other side, so that the two men sandwiched the toddler. All four men fastened their seat belts, and Andrew turned into the left lane and drove off. Rosie babbled at John and Sherlock en-route.

When they arrived at Harrods, Andrew dropped them off in front of the entrance. "Wait for my call, and be prepared to meet us here in front," Mycroft told him. Andrew nodded and slid back into the driver's seat, and then drove down the street. "He will not go far," Mycroft told John, who nodded.

Sherlock handed Rosie to John and took her sippy cup, and the three of them followed Mycroft inside. "We will start off by looking at shirts and jumpers," Sherlock told John, and Mycroft nodded agreement. With a smile of resignation, John shrugged. Sherlock took a shopping trolley, and after John set Rosie in its seat, Sherlock started to push it.

"You know, there's a reason I never shopped at Harrods till Mellie brought us here," John said, as he reached behind him to scratch his back. "This is a luxury department shop. It's for the rich."

Mycroft nodded. "Which is why I am setting up a financial plan for the money Mary has left you. With that money, you will be able to start buying your clothes and Rosamund's here instead of at Oxfam. You will be able to purchase your toiletries here, too. It will no longer be necessary for you to opt for the cheapest brands."

"And a good thing, too," Sherlock added. "It is high time that you stopped using cheap products, John, since they have a detrimental effect on your hair and the rest of your body. I have already helped you to replace your shampoo, but very soon, we are going to make another trip here to replace the rest of your toiletries."

With a smile of disbelief, John shook his head. "It's not even my birthday yet, and already I'm getting some presents." His birthday was later that month, on April 23rd.

Sherlock smirked. "We'll give you some more presents when your birthday arrives." Mycroft nodded agreement.

John smiled at the prospect, and then furrowed his brow. "Has your family always come to Harrods to shop for clothes?"

"To Harrods, and to other shops," Mycroft said. "We have our suits made on Savile Row, as does Father." He stopped to look at John. "Where did your family purchase clothes and your other necessities?"

John paused to remember. "Well, our mum always bought our school uniforms at Poundstretcher, but she took Harry and me to get our other clothes at a thrift shop in walking distance from our home. She got our toiletries and household necessities at Poundstretcher, too."

Sherlock nodded. "And where did she buy your gifts?"

"You mean, for Christmas and birthdays? Well…" John paused again. "Some of them, she made by hand. The rest, she bought for us at Poundstretcher and the charity shop; when Harry and I were children, she purchased our Easter baskets at Poundstretcher. When I was seven years old, she bought me an Action Man at Poundstretcher for Christmas. Of course, at the time, I thought Father Christmas had brought it to me." He smiled at the memory. That had been one of his family's better Christmases.

"You must have wanted an Action Man at the time," Mycroft said.

John nodded. "Yes, I did. Some of my friends had some at the time; my next-door neighbour, David Pitman, owned three. I wanted one, too."

Ceasing to talk for the time being, they took the lift to the second floor. Most of that floor was devoted to men's clothes, and it was divided into Men's Designer Collections I, II, and III, Men's Super-Brands, and Men's Denim and Contemporary. As Sherlock pushed the shopping trolley that was carrying Rosie, the three men walked down the central aisle. Just as John had done on the two previous shopping expeditions at that shop, he looked around, impressed and awestruck at the luxury department shop's ambience. More than once, wincing and squirming, he halted to scratch himself.

"Since, except for your new socks, you have never worn luxury clothes before, John, Sherlock and I are going to help you choose your new wardrobe," Mycroft said. "And since a new banking account hasn't been set up for you yet, I will pay for your new clothes myself. But soon, you will be able to choose and pay for your own purchases here." John nodded.

They searched the second floor until they found the section where men's jumpers were sold. "Some of these clothes are not machine-washable," Sherlock told John. "You will have to take some of these clothes to the cleaners, and others will have to be washed by hand."

John nodded. "I see."

The two Holmes brothers helped John to select a variety of 100% cashmere jumpers, in several colours and several designs. All of them had been made by Brunello Cucinelli, Ralph Lauren, and several other luxury designers. Then they went to the nearest dressing room so that John could try them all on; Sherlock held Rosie while John entered the room.

"Don't tell John this, Sherlock, but I am going to set up a trust fund for him," Mycroft said in a low voice, as the two of them sat on a sofa near the dressing room entrance. "Investing his money is only the beginning, although if all goes as I expect, he'll be able to support his daughter and himself nicely on the dividends he will receive. Starting next month, just as I already do for you, I am also going to place a sizeable amount of money every month in his new fund."

Sherlock nodded, as he leaned back against the sofa's softness and cradled Rosie against his chest. "You will need to help him set up a bank account for his new trust fund, then."

"I will. Tomorrow. At the same bank that our family has always used."

Sherlock gazed down at Rosie. After a moment, he asked, "I wonder what Mummy and Dad will think about it."

"They think it's a good idea." Sherlock looked at his older brother. Mycroft said, "I rang them and discussed it with them after I had finished going over Mary's accounts, and they agree that it should be done. And although John does not know it yet, Father has already revised his will to include John and Rosamund."

Sherlock nodded his approval and then furrowed his brow. "Hopefully, it will be some years yet before any of us ever come into that inheritance. Including John and his daughter." Mycroft inclined his head in agreement. "Since all that John's own parents had to leave him and Harry were the house in Chelmsford and their personal possessions, and since Harry sold that house while John was in Afghanistan, I'm sure it will mean a great deal to John when he learns that he's been included in Dad's will."

He smirked. "In a way, I'm glad that this contact dermatitis has forced John's hand. I have always wanted to see his wardrobe replaced, Mycroft. His jumpers have always been hideous, and even his regular shirts haven't been so pleasing to look at. And I wasn't kidding about his toiletries." Mycroft nodded. He, too, had long wanted to see John acquire a better wardrobe and better toiletries, although he had always recognized that the doctor's finances had limited his options, since the amount of John's monthly army pension had never been very much, and since the NHS was not known for its financial generosity toward its employees who were not within the top tier. Including its clinic doctors.

"And since John's birthday is later this month, I have already decided what gifts to purchase for him," he added. "The gifts I have in mind are in recognition of his new status."

Mycroft nodded. "As have I, but one of my birthday gifts for him is going to require a visit to our tailor on Savile Row, so it won't be possible to keep that gift a secret from John. For that reason, we are not going to buy him a suit today."

A moment later, John left the dressing room. "A few of the jumpers don't fit; I had to set them aside from the ones that did." He scratched his lower left arm and cleared his throat. "I also set aside the ones that don't look good on me."

"Then we will leave them behind, and put the others in the shopping trolley," Mycroft said. The three of them returned to the room where John had left the jumpers behind, and then carried the ones that he could wear out of the dressing room and placed them in the trolley. "All right, then, now that we have chosen some jumpers, let's go look at some shirts."

Sherlock set Rosie back in the trolley, and they went over to the section that sold men's button-down shirts and started going through them. Travelling back and forth from I, II, and III as needed, while Rosie babbled, Sherlock and Mycroft helped John to select a variety of crisp 100%-cotton casual shirts with button-down fronts and collars that also buttoned down, as well as several fine linen-and-flax shirts and a few silk shirts that had the same features. Then Sherlock chose for John several crisp white, blue, and purple dress shirts that, like the others, were made exclusively of cotton, silk, and linen and flax, and that had the same features as the casual shirts. Some of the casual and dress shirts had short sleeves, and the rest had long sleeves. Unlike John's current button-down shirts, which had hard plastic buttons, all of the shirts in that section had shiny mother-of-pearl buttons. Like the jumpers, they had all been made by well-known luxury designers—Stefano Ricci, Tom Ford, Ralph Lauren, Brunello Cucinelli, and others.

The three men were careful to keep those shirts separate from the jumpers. Afterwards, they returned to the dressing room, where John tried them all on and set aside the shirts that didn't fit and the ones that he didn't look nice in. When he was finished, Sherlock and Mycroft helped him to carry the rest of the shirts out to the shopping trolley.

"We will look for suits another day," Mycroft said. "The dress shirts will do, for now. Meanwhile, we need to go look at jeans and trousers, underwear, and nightwear. And undershirts."

They went first to the trousers department in Men's Denim and Contemporary, where they first looked at the pairs of denim jeans. Under their guidance, John picked out several pairs of blue jeans made by Stefano Ricci that looked as if they should fit. Then, back in the dressing room, he tried them all on. They all fit, and to his pleasure, he looked decent in them all, and so he placed every one of them in the trolley. Afterward, they returned to Men's Designer Collections I. There, they looked at the pairs of smart trousers, and as Mycroft held Rosie, Sherlock selected for John several pairs of cotton-blend chinos trousers made by Zilli, enriched with silk and coloured beige, grey, and black.

"If they all fit, John, and if they all look good on you, keep them," Sherlock told him. "Only leave any behind if they don't."

As John tried on all of the chino trousers, he found that they did indeed all fit perfectly, and that they all looked and felt good on him. Every pair's design was simple, and yet refined. They all had a slight lustre, and they felt so good against his skin.

Their next stop was the underwear, socks, and nightwear department, where Mellie had previously bought for John some new socks. They started out by looking at sets of men's pyjamas. Mycroft selected several pairs—three cottons and three silks—and placed them in the trolley. Then he picked out for John several silk dressing gowns and several cashmere dressing gowns.

"Choose one of each," Sherlock told him, as he pointed at the pyjama pairs. "One cotton and one silk. That way, if one of them needs washing, you will have another pair to wear in the meantime. Select a second dressing gown, as well. One of each." With a shrug, John nodded agreement and scratched his neck. "And don't worry if any of them have to be dry-cleaned. It will be easy enough for me to take them to the cleaners when the need arises."

John shrugged again. "All right."

Minutes later, after trying them all on, John re-joined Mycroft and Sherlock, carrying a dark-blue pair of pure silk pyjamas that were dotted with tiny white stars and a pair of cotton stripe pyjamas, with a satin finish and decorated with stripes that were in shades of darker and lighter blue. Both pairs had been made by the luxury designer, Derek Rose. Over his left shoulder, John had draped two dressing gowns that had been made by Daniel Hanson. One was a blue paisley-silk dressing gown. The other was a burgundy 100% cashmere dressing gown, lined with silk, that had been embroidered by hand.

"Can't believe I'm actually choosing two of these," he said wryly, as he laid the pyjamas and dressing gowns in the trolley. "These dressing gowns do have to be dry-cleaned."

"Then I will take them to the cleaners," Sherlock told him. "So, don't worry."

John rolled his eyes. "My late dad would definitely be calling me posh if he could see me now. And it wouldn't be a compliment, coming from him."

Sherlock smirked. "He would have also called you posh for choosing a career as a doctor and an army officer, if he had been alive when you applied at King's College." John nodded agreement. "That didn't stop you from becoming both, did it?" John raised his hands. That was true.

"You have made good choices in your selections, John," Mycroft added. "All of them are dyed with plant dyes, so they won't cause you to itch or break out, and they will feel comfortable when you wear them. If your father would have believed you were posh for wearing luxury clothes, that was his problem. He wasn't the one who had to live with allergic contact dermatitis. Now for slippers."

In the section where men's slippers were sold, John chose a pair of beige Crawford plush suede slippers made by Derek Rose and tried them on. To his pleasure, they felt quite comfortable. Inside, they were lined with sheepskin that felt sumptuously soft, and so good on his bare feet. It was also easy for him to simply slip his feet inside them, without having to reach down to pull them up over his ankles. After scratching his right leg, John placed the slippers in the trolley, along with an equally comfortable slip-on pair that had been made by the same designer.

Afterward, in the men's underwear department, Mycroft selected for him 14 pairs of silk boxer shorts made by Derek Rose. Like the silk pyjamas, the boxer shorts were coloured blue and dotted with tiny white stars.

"The boxer shorts have to be hand-washed," he told John, who nodded.

"And if they feel comfortable, John, don't reject them because they have to be washed by hand," Sherlock added.

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock. "I'll expect you to remember that the first time I hand you my dirty underwear for washing, Sherlock." Sherlock smirked, and a hint of amusement creased Mycroft's lips and brows. John took the boxer shorts into the dressing room to try them on; they all felt so much more comfortable than his current underwear did. He ended up placing them all in the trolley afterward.

"And now for the undershirts, and then the jackets, mackintoshes, and Wellies," Mycroft announced, as John started to push the trolley carrying Rosie. In a nearby section, he and Sherlock helped John to choose several undershirts that were made of 100% cotton and several more that were made of 100% wool, all of which John tried on in the dressing room; they all fit perfectly.

After John came out, he laid the undershirts in the trolley with the rest of the new clothes and set Rosie back in the shopping trolley's seat. At that point, it was off to the shoe and jacket departments.

"Any jacket I wear will need several pockets," John told Mycroft, as they left that section. "I need those pockets not just for my gloves, but for medical supplies and other items."

Mycroft nodded. "Then we will find you a jacket that has several pockets. And if we can find a mackintosh that has the same, we will purchase it as well. But first, we will get you a pair of Wellingtons." John nodded. Once they had arrived at the shoe department, they chose a pair of Wellies that fit John's feet and placed them in the shopping trolley.

Minutes later, in the men's jacket department, the three men looked for jackets that had four pockets on the front. After examining several others, John ended up choosing a thick brushed cashmere jacket with four flap pockets on the front, made by Dolce & Gabanna. It was made of 100% cashmere, and it had a zip with a press stud**. It was very dark grey, almost black. On the jacket's front, underneath one of the upper pockets, there was a regal-looking patch consisting of the label's crest, and which was made of velvet, beads, and a delicate chain.

John smiled as he fingered the jacket. "Of all of the jackets I've seen on these racks, this jacket comes closest to my old sporting jacket. It was a lucky day for me, the day I found that old second-hand jacket at Oxfam." He inserted his fingers into one of the pockets. "And the pockets are just as deep. They will be perfect for keeping supplies in." Wincing, he jerked his fingers out of the pocket to scratch his back.

"Yes, it does, and it will be warm and comfortable in chilly weather," Mycroft said. "You could say that this jacket straddles the line between coats and jackets. Furthermore, it was inspired by military influences, which should please you, John. We'll look at the coats another day, but for now, this jacket will do nicely."

"I believe you're right." John smiled. "And yes, that does please me. Before I decide, though, first I need to try it on, make sure it fits." I hope it will fit, he thought. I will miss my old Haversack jacket, but this jacket will more than make up for that loss if I can only wear it.

John slipped his arms through the jacket's sleeves and zipped it up. To his pleasure, it fit perfectly, and it felt so comfortable. Unzipping it, he removed the cashmere jacket and laid it in the trolley. Then, in another part of the same department, Mycroft helped John to select a new mackintosh, which also fit, as John discovered. Like the jacket, it had four flap pockets in the front, all of them big enough to hold his gloves, medical supplies, and other items that needed carrying.

"Well, is that it?" He looked from Sherlock to Mycroft.

"Not quite." Sherlock exchanged a glance with Mycroft.

John furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

Mycroft removed his pocket watch from his shirt pocket and glanced at it. "Now we return to the shoe department to look at shoes."

John groaned. "How many more bloody stops are we going to have to make before we leave here?"

"Just one, John, before teatime. And one more afterward."

"But my shoes don't make my feet break out."

"No, but with your new quality clothes and your new quality wallet that our mummy bought for you, you will need new quality shoes," Mycroft said firmly. Shaking his head, John resumed pushing the trolley. "And then we will stop for tea." With a resigned shrug, John accompanied the others as Rosie babbled.

They returned to the Men's Shoes and Accessories department, where this time, a shop associate measured John's feet and started bringing out pairs of shoes for him to try on as he perched on a soft armchair. Under Sherlock and Mycroft's guidance, John chose a pair of brown leather Gucci trainers, a pair of brown John Lobb leather-strand Oxford brogues, a pair of black Tom Ford leather Elkan loafers, and for smart shoes, a pair of Tod's black leather Oxford brogues. Since all four pairs fit his feet perfectly, the associate placed them back in their shoeboxes and laid them in the trolley. Then the Holmeses, John, and Rosie went to the nearest check-out, where Mycroft paid for John's new wardrobe.

At Mycroft's request, the cashier pointed them to the nearest till, where Mycroft handed the new clothes in. The shop associate assured them that the new clothes would be stored in Customers Collections on the ground floor until they were ready to go there and reclaim them.

"Well, where shall we stop for tea?" John asked with a sigh, as they left behind the trolley and walked away from the till, with John holding Rosie against his chest with one hand and scratching his side with the other.

"Suppose we go upstairs to stop at the Georgian Restaurant?" Mycroft suggested. John exchanged a glance with Sherlock and nodded. They had stopped for tea there once before, when Mellie had bought the new socks for John. As John carried Rosie, the three men took the escalators to the fourth floor.

At the Georgian Restaurant, the men ordered finger sandwiches and scones that were served with jam and clotted cream, as well as cups of Earl Grey tea for themselves and a glass of apple juice for Rosie, which she drank from her sippy cup. As they sat around the round table that was covered with a snow-white tablecloth, listening to the soft, relaxing piano music playing in the background, John fed Rosie one of his finger sandwiches. For dessert, John ordered a Black Forest tart for himself and a madeleine for his baby daughter, and Sherlock and Mycroft each ordered a strawberry pistachio fraisier. As John ate and fed his daughter, he thought about the recent life changes he and Rosie had already gone through.

"All right, John, just one more stop to make," Mycroft announced, after he had paid the bill. "And then we'll go the ground floor to reclaim your other purchases and go home."

John sighed. "What?"

"You'll see." With a shrug, John and Rosie accompanied the Holmes brothers out the restaurant door and into hall.

They took the lift to the lower ground floor, which was located below the ground floor, and walked from there to the Fine Watches department. John frowned as he saw where Sherlock and Mycroft were taking him. "You really think I need a bloody new watch? I already have one."

Holding Rosie against his chest with his right hand so that his left hand would be free, John held up his left wrist, on which the Breguet watch knock-off that he had bought at Oxfam two years before, prior to Rosie's birth, when the old Tag Heuer Monaco knock-off that he had purchased back in Afghanistan so long ago had worn out, now rested. "And last I checked, it still told time." He looked at the time on his watch as he spoke. "Still does, in fact. And it has never caused me to itch or break out, I'm glad to say." Biting his lower lip, he scratched his left thigh. "Unlike my clothes," he muttered, glaring down at his jeans.

"You bought that watch second-hand at Oxfam, when your old one wore out shortly before Watson's birth," Sherlock pointed out. "It was already several years old when you purchased it. And while it does still tell time, it is less accurate than it used to be, and its cover has been cracked for months now. The day is coming when it will wear out just as your old one did." He smirked. "This will save you having to replace it when that day comes."

With a shrug and a resigned smile, John nodded acquiescence. There was no arguing with a Holmes, as he had learned during his early days as Sherlock's flatmate, and in his dealings with Mycroft over the years. And besides, it was true: the plastic watch cover was cracked. It had been cracked in the building collapse when John had been critically injured the previous summer, and it was indeed less accurate than it had been before the collapse.

"I will pay for the new watch myself, John, so don't start worrying about the cost. I will shoulder the cost," Mycroft added. "You just focus on choosing a good watch. Sherlock and I will help you." With a sigh, John nodded and shook his head. For a long moment, he gazed at the expensive Rotary watch that adorned Sherlock's left wrist.

"You know, Sherlock, you've had that watch ever since I first met you," he said.

Sherlock smirked. "Of course, I have! This is a quality watch, and quality watches are made to last, unlike the cheaper brands and the cheap imitations. In the years I've known you, John, you've owned two knock-offs—one cheap imitation of a Tag Heuer Monaco, which you bought at a market in Afghanistan, and the other a knock-off of a Breguet, that you bought at Oxfam last year, when your old one wore out. Both of them were cheaply made, which made them poor quality and more likely to wear out."

He looked at John. "And the fact that you appear to favour cheap imitations of expensive brands tells me that you prefer the expensive brands, although you have never owned one."

"Yeah, well, cheap watches have been all I've ever been able to afford," John pointed out. "You know I've always had to live within my budget, and that means no wasteful spending."

"Fortunately, John, that's about to change," Mycroft said, as he removed and glanced down at his expensive vintage pocket watch before slipping it back into his waistcoat pocket. "You will not have to settle for cheap imitations after this; henceforth, you will be able to afford the expensive brands themselves. And it's not wasteful spending when the purpose is to protect you against allergens."

He looked up at John, who shrugged. He couldn't really argue the point where the new clothes were concerned, he knew, but watches were another matter. Still, there was no arguing with Sherlock and Mycroft. Whether he was willing to or not, he was going to receive nobby outfits and accessories, including a new luxury watch.

A member of Harrods's in-shop watch team joined them. "Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes," he greeted Mycroft, who nodded in greeting. "Mr. Holmes," he greeted Sherlock. "Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked.

"Yes." Turning to John, Mycroft said, "This man, Dr. John Watson, is in need of a new watch, and he needs some guidance as he tries to decide which one to buy."

"Of course. If you gentlemen will follow me, I will show you to a private room, where I will show you some watches to choose from, Dr. Watson." John nodded, and they all followed the shop associate to a nearby private room.

"Have a seat, Dr. Watson, and I will bring you a selection of watches to look over." The associate gestured toward a sofa.

John nodded. "Thank you." The associate left the room, and John sat down on the sofa, cradling his daughter against his chest and scratching his neck. Mycroft and Sherlock took their seats in adjoining armchairs.

Minutes later, the shop associate returned, followed by another associate who was pushing a wheeled cart that held a collection of fine luxury watches, and John handed Rosie over to Sherlock. As the first associate brought each watch to John, one by one, the doctor started looking at their various brands—Rolex, Breitling, A. Lange & Söhne, etc.; all the while, the associate described each watch and its functions to John, who noticed that Sherlock's Rotary brand of watch was not included among them. Silently, he wondered if Sherlock had purchased his watch somewhere else. After some minutes of looking at the different brands, John began to focus on the Rolex watches that the associate had brought him.

After looking at a number of them and listening to the associate describing them, the retired army doctor began to closely examine one in particular, that had an ice-blue watch face with a crystal glass cover. In addition to the time, the day and the date were both displayed on the face, though neither they nor the time was correct. Underneath the day, at the top of the watch face, etched on its inside, where the hands were, were the Rolex logo and, below it, the words: 'ROLEX OYSTER PERPETUAL DAY-DATE.'

The bezel surrounding the edge of the watch face appeared to be set with—were those diamonds? John furrowed his brow as he peered at the tiny gemstones intently.

"Yes, John, those are diamonds," Mycroft broke into his thoughts. "Those are real diamonds lining the bezel. And the watch itself is made of platinum."

John shook his head in bewilderment. "Then this is truly a rich man's watch."

"Yes, it is. But you shall have it if you want it."

The shop associate smiled. "This would be an excellent choice, Dr. Watson. This Rolex watch is an oyster perpetual day-date 40, Calibre 3255. It's a mechanical watch; it lasts for approximately 70 hours, and it's self-winding. As Mr. Holmes said, it's made of platinum, and its bezel is set with real diamonds. And it's water-resistant up to 100 meters."

"And it's brand-new," Sherlock added. "It's only been out for a few weeks, John, and it's a quality watch, so it will be a long time before it wears out." The shop associate nodded agreement.

Smiling, John took the watch and held it up. "I'll have to try it on, to see if it fits."

"If it doesn't, I will have the aftercare workshop adjust the watch's brand to fit your wrist," the associate assured him. Nodding his thanks, John placed it on his left wrist. Even though he was left-handed, he always wore his watches on his left wrist because it was such a hassle to have to take them off to rewind them or reset the time, as he'd have to do if he wore them on his right.

"It's a little loose," John said, and cleared his throat. "I like it, and I should like to have it, but it needs to be adjusted before I can wear it." He scratched his arm.

The shop associate nodded. "Then it's yours." He took the watch. "If you will wait here, Dr. Watson, I will take it to the aftercare workshop for adjusting." John nodded.

"May I go with you?" Sherlock asked him. "While your team is adjusting the watch, I should like to speak with you privately about mine."

The associate nodded. "Certainly." Sherlock handed Rosie back to John, and then he and the shop associate left the private room, and the other man took the cart containing the other watches out of the room. John remained behind with Mycroft and his one-year-old daughter, who once again sat cuddled in her father's arms. For a few minutes, John gazed down at the crack on his watch face's plastic cover.

Twenty minutes later, the shop associate and Sherlock returned with the watch. "Try it on now, Dr. Watson, and see if it fits," the associate said. With a nod, John handed Rosie back to Sherlock, removed his watch, and strapped the new watch onto his left wrist. That time, it fit perfectly, and it was set to the correct day, date, and time. He smiled and removed it, handing it to the associate.

"I want to thank your aftercare team for adjusting and setting this watch for me," he said, as the associate placed the watch back in its Rolex box.

"And you have our welcome." Smiling, the associate rose to his feet. "If you will come with me to check-out, you can pay for your new watch there."

"Thank you," Mycroft told him. "And then we have some other purchases waiting for us in Customers Collections that we need to pick up."

The shop associate nodded. "Certainly." As the others spoke, John fastened his old watch back on his wrist and stood up.

At check-out, Mycroft paid for the new watch, and the cashier placed it in a small Harrods shopping bag and handed it to John. Afterward, John, Rosie, and the Holmes brothers took the escalator from the lower ground floor up to the ground floor to reclaim John's new clothes.

Mycroft took out his mobile phone and called Andrew. "Pick us up in front, on Basil Street," he ordered, and then he turned it off and slipped it back into his suit jacket pocket.

After they had reclaimed John's new wardrobe in Customers Collections, a shop associate accompanied them out the front door, where Mycroft's car waited. With Andrew's help, John, Sherlock, Mycroft, and the associate placed all of the Harrods shopping bags in the boot.

Back at 221B Baker Street, as John carried Rosie, Mrs. Hudson, who squealed with delight at the sight of all of the Harrods shopping bags containing John's new clothes, helped Sherlock and Mycroft carry the new purchases down the ground-floor hall to the old Victorian-era dumbwaiter# (which had been modernized with new workings during the building's renovation the year before) in the back of Mrs. Hudson's kitchen pantry, where they sent it upstairs to John's floor. They all went upstairs, took the bulging shopping bags out of the dumbwaiter near John's bedroom, and carried them into his room.

"We're going to have to donate all of your current clothes to Oxfam," Sherlock told John, after they had set the bags on the floor in the corner across the room from the door.

"We will do that tomorrow," Mycroft added. "Since it's late in the day, we will leave your new clothes in their bags until then."

With a nod of thanks, John sighed. "Thank you," he said wearily. "I've always been a budget-conscious person. I've had to be, you know. Buying expensive luxury clothes, luxury wallets, or luxury watches just wasn't something I could afford, and without your help, I would have been in a real fix, trying to find clothes that wouldn't trigger my contact dermatitis." As he scratched his stomach, he glanced down at the bags. "Are you sure they are all dyed with plant dyes?"

"Most definitely," Mycroft assured him. "I've bought many of my own clothes there for years, and so have Mummy and Father and Sherlock, and every item of clothing we've gotten there and elsewhere is plant-dyed. Your new ones are, too. Once you start wearing your new clothes, I believe you will find your itching and redness soon disappearing."

"I will look forward to that." John smiled wryly and then scratched his side.

"Tomorrow, John, after we stop at Oxfam, we will set you up a new bank account for the money that Mary left you," Mycroft said. "And I believe that this will be a good time for you to change banks, while we're at it."

John sighed. "Where?"

"The same bank that our family uses." Mycroft gestured toward Sherlock as he spoke, and the latter nodded agreement. "Your money will be in good hands there."

John nodded. "All right."

"Don't wear your old pyjamas tonight," Sherlock ordered him. "They will aggravate your dermatitis if you do." Opening the dresser drawer, he immediately removed John's old nightclothes and handed them to Mycroft; rummaging through the shopping bags, he found John's new sets of pyjamas and laid them in the drawer. Then, as he rummaged some more, he dug John's new dressing gowns and slippers out of their shopping bags, hung the dressing gowns in the wardrobe, and laid the slippers on the wardrobe floor, removing the old dressing gown and slippers that John had worn for so many years while he did so.

"Wear a pair of your new pyjamas when you go to bed tonight, John," Sherlock told him. "In fact, since it's so late in the day as of now, don't plan on leaving the house again today, but take a shower before you go downstairs, and put them on when you're done. Leave your clothes outside your bathroom door, and I'll take them downstairs while you're showering. In the morning, before you get dressed, I will help you put away your new clothes, and we'll remove the rest of your old wardrobe and get it ready to take to Oxfam. And then we will return to Harrods to buy you and Watson some new toiletries."

"And I will stop by to help," Mycroft added. Looking at Sherlock, he added, "We will return to Harrods after our appointment at the bank! I have already scheduled it, John, for ten o'clock tomorrow morning. We will go first to Oxfam, and then to our bank appointment. Afterwards, we will go back to Harrods."

John held up his hands. "All right, I'll wear them. I really don't want to itch anymore, today." Grimacing, he scratched his arm and then his stomach. "And I'll be ready to go to the bank tomorrow with you."

"John, you will be so comfortable now, and you will look so nice in your new outfits," Mrs. Hudson told him, with a pleased smile. "I will look forward to seeing you in them tomorrow." With a wan smile, John hugged her, and she patted his cheek. "And don't you worry about Rosie. I'll look after her while you and Sherlock are out." John smiled his thanks.

"Mummy will look forward to seeing you in your new clothes, too," Sherlock added. "Tomorrow morning, after you get dressed, I'm taking a picture of you to send to her." With a smug look, he added, "You will look much better after this than you did in those hideous Oxfam clothes you always wore." John shrugged.

Mrs. Hudson and the Holmes brothers left John's bedroom, with Sherlock carrying Rosie with him, and John perched on the foot of his queen-size bed. With a snort of laughter, he shook his head in disbelief.

I never thought I'd be doing this, he thought wryly. I'm a Watson, not a Holmes! Watsons don't wear expensive luxury outfits. Nobby clothes, expensive wallets, and expensive watches have never been affordable on my budget, nor that of my parents. Wincing as an especially sharp itch crept up his back, he reached behind him to scratch it. But then, Watsons don't usually have allergic contact dermatitis, either. Now that I do, I must avoid the causes of my outbreaks, and that means avoiding synthetic dyes. Mycroft is right. Once it was established that synthetic dyes were the cause, that is what a dermatologist would be ordering me to do. He rolled his eyes and gazed down at the bulging shopping bags. Wonder what Harry's going to think when she sees me in those?!

With a sigh, John rose to his feet and shook a dose of antihistamine into his hand to wash down with a glass of water. It doesn't matter, really. Harry will just have to understand that my allergy has forced my hand, and it has.

He took a good look at the shopping bags piled against the wall in the corner and shrugged. At least his new clothes were not only attractive, fashionable, and stylish, they were also all comfortable and nice-looking, and not one of them had any synthetic dyes. Once he started wearing them, the itching and redness would soon dissipate. And thankfully, he had gotten the new clothes in time to prevent a rash, blisters, and swelling from joining the other symptoms, and his itching from getting worse. In the meantime, he needed to take his antihistamine dose, take his shower, and change into one of his new pyjamas, one of his new dressing gowns, and a pair of his new slippers, and then go downstairs to check on Rosie. Closing his hands over the tablets, John picked up his new cotton pyjamas, left the room, and strode bare-footed to the bathroom to take his medication and his shower.

XXXXXXX

Notes: *Andrew is the name of one of Mycroft's drivers in sgam76's "Scheherezade" universe.

**A press stud is a British term for a snap fastener.

#Read Chapter 48 of sgam76's "A Long Walk Down a Dusty Road" in Archive of Our Own for the story of how the old Victorian-era dumbwaiter in Mrs. Hudson's house came to be discovered, modernized, and used.