A/N: Short one! It's always Molly trying to persuade Sherlock into a costume. Well I took a spin on it! Enjoy!
2. Costumes
"No!" Molly was glaring at the outfit that Sherlock was holding aloft. He being utterly clueless in this sort of thing had no idea what was making her freak out.
"You love Alice in Wonderland?" Sherlock was bemused by her response. He was fairly sure, when Molly came up with this 'let's choose one another's costume' malarkey that he had managed to get it right. Apparently not.
"Sherlock that outfit is not going to fit!" Molly's death eye could possibly kill him. Molly had chosen a Terry Pratchett Discworld Assassin for him; the outfit consisted of everything black. A large black belstaff, a black shirt and waistcoat with the emblem of the Assassins guild that Molly had hand stitched onto each piece of fabric and then a pair of black trousers.
She'd been nice to him.
She was still glaring at the outfit that might just cover her butt, if she pulled on it hard enough.
"It comes with suspenders and stockings, even underwear in the right colour." He continues to explain blithely. "The saleswoman was very helpful, suggesting this outfit and the accessories when I gave her your measurements. The other option as a nurse and I thought as a doctor you wouldn't appreciate that!" He smiles at her.
"Saleswoman." Molly's tone wipes away the smile. Sherlock tries to calculate how pissed off she was with him.
Very. She's dumped the bag containing his costume and stalked past him, he hears the front door slam a few moments later. He eyes the offending item and is still unable to work out why Molly had caused such a scene.
It was a nice outfit; silk and well made. The woman behind the counter at Agent Provocateur had said it would suit the description Sherlock provided of Molly. He also of course wouldn't admit that he's ever ready mind had provided the images of Molly dressed as zombie Alice. The blue silk was artfully torn, it would still cover the underwear that Sherlock had purchased. His body gave somewhat of a primal urge and Sherlock tamped it down with rational reasoning.
His mind switched to puzzling over Molly's mysterious behaviour. Finally – about 30 seconds later – Sherlock had eliminated every option and logically pinned it to Molly's lack of self-esteem. He then tried to determine how to remedy this and the solution entered his mind immediately. A costume had had banned the past few years.
Mr Darcy.
*S.H*
"Let's just get our own costumes." Molly's voice was clipped and Sherlock knew she hadn't forgiven him. "Now I'm going to get takeaway." She dusted her hands on her skirt and hauled herself upright. She didn't even ask him if he wanted Chinese or Indian but she was out of the door.
However when Molly came back, bundled in her scarf ladened with plastic bags she was not expecting the sight before her.
Sherlock was dripping on the carpet.
His white shirt gapped open revealing that pale expanse of chest, even if the fabric was see through. His black trousers clung to his legs.
"I was thinking I could wear this for Halloween?" Sherlock's tone told her he really was trying to make up for his blunder earlier. He was shifting on the spot slightly; the flat was colder than he had originally thought.
"That outfit." Molly whispered, undoing her coat. "Better be reserved solely for my eyes." She launched herself at him, dropping her scarf and bags, kissing him hard. "You're freezing!" She mumbled against his lips.
"The flat was not as warm as I thought." He said against her, thankful for the warmth she brought. "Bed?" He felt her nod and swept her up. "My lady allow me to escort you."
"I like this costume Sherlock."