"Sugar and spice and everything nice
Wasn't made for only girls
GI Joe in panty hose is making room
For the one and only" - Green Day

Naturally this was all for a case.

A rising football star had recently gone off the grid after someone found out his dirty secret. The secret being he liked to relax after a stressful practice or losing a game by dressing up in drag and heading out for a few drinks. After three days with no contact his closest friends and family members had assumed he'd needed a few days to himself in hopes the whole thing would blow over, but by the end of the week his wife having still heard nothing filed a missing person's report with New Scotland Yard. Somehow the report had made its way to Lestrade's desk.

The case turned promising after a search of his belongings turned up a napkin for a drag club called Funny Girls. The napkin had a phone number and a lipstick print on it. It was decided they would have to send in some undercover operatives and when John called Lestrade begging for a case to give Sherlock something to do, he dumped it on them.

On the cab ride over to the club Sherlock continued to brief John on their goals for the evening. They were aiming to make this a one night deal. The man was either there of his own free will or he wasn't there at all and would only re-emerge in his own good time. Officially he had only been missing a week, and as far as anyone could tell he had good reasons to be hiding.

"You can call me Shirley and I'll call you Joan." Sherlock finished.

"What?"

"You heard me, I'm not repeating myself." Sherlock said, turning to look out the window.

"I heard you, yeah, but shouldn't we have names like, 'Ivana Humpalot' or 'Pussy Galore'?" John tried to laugh it off but blushed furiously anyway.

"We are not prostitutes, John, have some self-respect." Sherlock snapped "besides only performers have names like that."

"Well can't I at least pick my own name?" John asked, not really caring, just trying to make a point.

"Alright, fine, but if I forget it you only have yourself to blame."

The cab was silent for some minutes when John finally said "Lola."

"Hmm?" was the reply

"Lola" John repeated, "I want you to call me, Lola."

"Fine" Sherlock huffed.

21:00 hrs.

The club actually had a cozy feeling to it, as though everyone was welcomed. The walls were a rustic red and cream that swirled together in soothing patterns. A gorgeous Mahogany bar ran along the left side of the room and a few of the leather topped bar stools were occupied. Looking straight ahead John saw a lounge area with plush looking love seats and chaises. Beyond the lounge area was the dance floor, which rested at the foot of the stage. The right side of the room was taken up by the dining area which mostly consisted of small round tables with two to four high backed chairs placed around each one.

The club didn't serve a full menu but one could order a select number of appetizers. About four of the twenty or so tables had people hanging around them. The largest group caught John's attention, about six women in their twenties were huddled around two of the high tables, and one was wearing an oversized button with "BRIDE" printed on it. The night was young and John thought Funny Girls was a poor choice for the ladies to begin their evening out, but at this hour it didn't charge cover and the drinks were reasonably priced. If the girls stayed long enough John knew they'd have a Hen Night to remember.

"That's the owner, over there" Sherlock whispered in his ear pointing to man dressed in a fine Armani suit lounging on a chaise, a pretty woman on either side of him. "Michael Hunt."

"Come on" Sherlock hissed, giving John a push in the direction of the bar.

John stumbled a bit then regained his balance and walked as gracefully as he could to the bar and managed to take a seat on one of the high bar stools with minimal difficulties.

"What's your poison?" the young man behind the bar asked.

John opened his mouth to reply, ready to order a pint of his preferred larger but was abruptly cut off by Sherlock.

"Two Sex on the Beach, virgin please." He said, pitching his voice high so it came out sounding vaguely feminine.

The bartender smiled knowingly and set to work mixing the drinks.

Sherlock answered John's glare "may I remind you Lola we are on the job, can't have you getting drunk now can we?"

John continued to glare, but didn't protest when Sherlock paid for both their drinks and took a begrudging sip. It tasted good. It would taste better with alcohol in it.

21:20hrs.

John hummed along tunelessly to the low elevator music that was emitting from the clubs sound system, as he sipped at his drink. Tonight was karaoke night at the club. There would be no elaborate show pieces tonight but anyone was welcome to request a song they fancied having a go at. John assumed this was at least part of the reason the girls were still here. The club had filled up some more and a man in baggy black track-pants and neon t-shirt was on stage setting up the required equipment. John checked his mobile for the time, ten minutes until karaoke was due to start.

Sherlock pulled out his mobile and a piece of paper with a number on it from his hand bag. "I'm going to call the number and see if any phones ring." Sherlock explained. This was a good idea, the club was still relatively quiet and despite the addition of patrons, sparse enough that between the two of them they could spot someone checking their phone. John watched as Sherlock entered the number and hit the 'dial' button, he turned around and scanned the crowd.

Nothing. Nothing. There. Michael Hunt had pulled his mobile from his trousers' pocket. He frowned at it and Sherlock hit 'end call'. Mr. Hunt laid his phone to rest on his leg but didn't put it away.

"Did you see what I saw?" Sherlock asked John, already knowing the answer.

"If you saw a man checking his mobile when it rang only to see a number he didn't recognize then yes, I believe I did." John smiled and took another sip of his drink, maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Quite."

…..

The first person to take the stage was an elderly man; John figured he had to be in his seventies. The man's naturally silvered hair was permed in tight curls and a plain silver chain hung around his neck. He wore a floor length midnight blue evening gown and almost brought John to tears with his rendition of Frank Sentara's My Way.

When the man had first taken the stage Mr. Hunt's arm candy had left him and Sherlock had made his move. John wasn't sure where Sherlock had learned to sway his hips like that but knew a few women who could do with the lessons.

"Mr. Hunt?" Sherlock asked coming to stand directly in front of the man. He was using his false feminine voice again, really playing it up; after all he had spent hours practicing.

Sherlock watched as the man gave him the once over and tried not to shiver at the feeling of disgust building up inside him.

"Hello gorgeous. Where did you come from?" Mr. Hunt said finally bringing his eyes all the way up to Sherlock's.

"Ah, a friend told me about your club, said I might be able to get some work here. When are you holding auditions next?" Sherlock was trying to be shy and confident at the same time, shy at meeting what a 'normal' person would perceive to be a relatively attractive middle-aged man, yet confident in his own abilities to perform well enough to be hired, granted the opportunity.

"Tell you what, you sit here and have a drink with me," he patted the empty spot beside him, "we'll chat a bit, and I'll let you know." Hunt's voice had taken on a flirtatious tone and a lecherous leer had settled on his face.

Sherlock sat down on the chaise making sure to leave space between him and Hunt, but it was futile. The minute he was seated Hunt slid over closer wrapping his arm around Sherlock's shoulder.

"Mr. Hunt" Sherlock began to protest but was cut off.

"Please, call me Mike." He said with another greasy smile. 'God how did women stand it, being flirted at like this', Sherlock thought. John obviously had better methods.

"Now, what can I call you, sweetheart?"

…..

After the aged queen two of the Hen Night crew got up and did Spice Girls Stop, which John had hummed along to. That was followed by a young guy in a mini skirt, with ripped stockings and knee high boots who sang along to Cher's version of Love Hurts. He left the stage in tears, not because he had been bad, John had actually been impressed with his vocals, more likely because he was going through a break up. John had just finished his second drink and was beginning to feel the need to pee. He looked around for any sign of Sherlock and saw that he was still sitting next to Hunt. Well at least maybe he was getting somewhere with the investigation.

John shimmied off the stool and made his way to the back corner, left of the stage, where the sign for the loo hung. Upon reaching the doors John had a moment of panic, which one was he supposed to use? Technically he was a 'gent' but at the moment he looked like a lady. Did it even matter in a place like this? John shrugged his shoulder and took a chance pushing open the door to the gents.

It was the wrong choice.

Seated on the counter top was the youth in the mini skirt and stockings, his legs were wrapped around the bartender who had poured his and Sherlock's first drinks. Their tongues were in each other's mouths and the bartender's hand was on the youth's knee and sliding up toward the hem of the skirt. John closed his eyes and let the loo door shut. He hoped desperately to vanquish the images from his mind but he couldn't un-see it.

John knocked softly on the door labeled 'ladies' and when he didn't hear any protests opened the door and went in. Thank goodness it was empty, he really had to pee, and checking his reflection in the mirror, noted, re-apply his lipstick.