Mycroft left as Sherlock's face turned an interesting shade of purple.
"I hope you find the clothes to your liking." he said, grabbing his umbrella from where it was propped up on a stack of books. "I think you will." he added with a dubious look at her current attire. "You sir, I will see again soon." he said almost fondly to Munchkin, who was still spread out on the couch, like the lazy mutt he was. Sherlock stayed where he was and Madeline followed his example by not standing to see him out. Instead she found a star shaped chip out of the paint on the door and stared at it until she heard his steps retreat down the stairs and his car take off.
She turned back to Sherlock. He still hadn't moved, an expression as close to shock as he could produce on his face, the box still clutched tightly to his chest.
Madeline pushed everything off the small coffee table, hearing the tinkling of breaking glass and not caring much. Sherlock didn't move. She pried the box from his fingers. Sherlock didn't move. She cut the tape with the knife she was attacked with earlier. He just stood their completely blank and unmoving as Madeline investigated the contents of the box. The first handful was embarrassingly lacy and purple. Madeline peeked at Sherlock from under her lashes to see if he'd seen and judged that he hadn't shoved the offending articles to the very bottom of the box. There was more lace in midnight blue and black that hurriedly followed. The rest was fairly standard, a couple of pairs of skinny jeans in black and dark blue denim and several button up shirts in the same hues as the lace. And socks! There were thirteen pairs of socks rolled up into balls. They were not socks fitting of a 'grown up', printed with with skulls, hearts and stars; black striped with blue, red, pink, purple, white and green.. Madeline liked her socks. In the bottom of the box, now mixed with her ridiculous underwear there was a pair of heavy leather boots. They were the very essence of grunge, studs adorned the shiny leather and the laces were mismatched metallic silver and gold.
Madeline felt a little shiver of delight and recognition at the sight of polished leather and metal. She pulled on a pair of thigh-high purple and black striped socks and undid the zips that ran down the side of the boots and tugged them on. They fit better than she could have ever imagined.
A hug for my feet. She thought, extremely pleased. Wait is that... foot grooves? Madeline wiggled her feet and could feel indents in the soles that fit her feet perfectly. I wonder her if these are my shoes? She pondered, pushing her fingers together under her chin in a very Sherlockian way.
How on earth would Mycroft have my shoes though?
She sank deep into thought.
oOoOo
John came home four hours later to find Madeline in Sherlock's shirt, thigh-high stripy socks and some shoes that screamed punk, and Sherlock in his usual attire, their posture mirrored. Feet shoulder width apart perfectly balanced, with their hands in the classic Sherlock pose. They were staring at each other, but not really seeing and their mouths were moving rapidly, mouthing out silent words.
John felt himself develop a headache.
Didn't I do enough for my country? Now I have to babysit two of him? This is not okay...
"Tea, anyone?" he asked, not really expecting a reply, as he took off his coat and scarf..
Munchkin stretched down off the couch and approached John. John smiled at him and Munchkin smiled back.
"It might be nice, having you around." He said, feeling a bit silly talking to a dog. "At least some one will listen to me."
He looked back over at the pair. Madeline looked like some kind of goddess, with her hair falling down her back like golden waterfall. And somehow she looked better in Sherlock's shirt than he did. Sherlock looked some what more animated than normal, more interested in the case than when John had left this morning. His eyes sparkled with the beginnings of a big case.
John shuddered, and then went about his tea-making, whistling to himself to break up the tension filled silence.
He was just about to sit in his chair and tell Munchkin about his day when Madeline and Sherlock simultaneously jumped into life and exclaimed "Seven!"
They glared at each other for a moment then turned to John, identical expressions of delight on their faces.
John couldn't help himself. He carefully placed his a-little-too-full cup of tea on the suspiciously clear table and burst into hysterical laughter.
If he hadn't, he would of cried.
After his fit subsided a little, he struggled to put on a straight face and found a spot on the wall to look at; their similar faces of mild disgust and confusion couldn't set him off again.
"Seven what?" He asked, falling quickly into his role of sidekick who needs things explained. Sherlock loved to explain his genius.
"Seven theories." Madeline interjected with a brain-melting smile, before Sherlock could show off or convince John to play his deduction game that John always lost.
"About who exactly she is." Sherlock finished with a smirk.
He knew John hated their game.
"Mycroft came over today. He knows who I am." Madeline said, turning to Sherlock. "These are my shoes, they fit perfectly. And these socks are mine too, judging from the wear patterns."
She grinned, "I have excellent taste."
John nodded in agreement, even though he was being thoroughly ignored.
There was definitely something with those socks. He thought.
Madeline noticed Sherlock looking at her in an odd way ; John noticed Sherlock looking at Madeline in an odd way; and, after three minutes thirty seven seconds, Sherlock noticed he was staring at Madeline in an odd way. He quickly shifted his gaze to the skull on the mantle.
Madeline had no idea what the look had meant. She wondered if she had imposed by wearing his shirt. It did seem kind of inappropriate now.
John recognized the expression after the first minute. It had been awhile; Sherlock wore this expression in his brief entanglement with The Woman. He could only hope this wouldn't end as badly.
Sherlock was intrigued. This woman had managed to match his stare, hour for hour, made similar if not the same deductions about herself as he had and looked looked so right in his shirt, he wasn't even mad she'd been in his room.
Madeline started to get uncomfortable in the silence, where first Sherlock, then John, then Sherlock inspected her.
"I think I should leave." She said hesitantly. "I'll bring your shirt back tomorrow."
She headed to the door, snapping her fingers for Munchkin to follow.
"No."
She stopped and turned back.
"You forgot your box."
He was right in front of her all of a sudden, thrusting the box into her hands and she was herded out of the room with Munchkin and was left standing on the landing.
"Well," she said to Munchkin, "that could have gone worse."
When she got down to her room, she heard his violin start up, Madeline prepared herself for a night of classical music.
