One of my fans has recently suffered a break up. (I've heard he's doing better lately, but still.) Though I cannot offer much, I hope this at least makes him smile.

-ooo-

"Sherlock, you can't be serious," the doctor groaned, nearly blushing from the sight. His flat mate had come home covered in pig's blood before, and even that seemed better than this at the moment.

"What? Oh, the outfit. I thought it went rather well with my complexion, given the short notice I-"

"Sherlock, you're wearing a dress!" he spluttered, already exasperated. The detective frowned.

"I don't understand what that has to do with your date tonight," he reminded, "You were just telling me I'd have to entertain myself tonight and then you were about to tell me that you'd gotten a reservation to the diner we – and by we, I mean you – ate at the first night we spent together."

"Look- don't say it like that. People have already started-"

"And I'm sure you're bringing her there to prove to Angelo that you're not, and never will be, my date."

"Never will be? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind that, John. You seemed upset that I was wearing a dress. Is it because I'm a man or is it because it looks bad on me?" he groaned, "I knew I should've picked the longer one. I haven't got the legs for this. You do, though. Can I see them?"

"See what?"

"Your legs, John. If we could…no, no, your face is too masculine. It'd blow your cover in an instant." Dr. Watson suddenly felt lightheaded, as if the breath had been swept away from him. Sherlock was again moving a mile a minute, leaving no chance for him to catch up. He hated when the taller made would bounce from conversation to conversation, but this…

"Sherlock, let me see your arm."

"Why?" Rather than asking again, John simply snatched his arm and turned it over to show not a single nicotine patch. Huffing, he checked the other one as well.

"John, do be gentle." The voice was undoubtedly Sherlock's, but the tone was at least two octaves higher. With knitted brows and an old man's frown, Watson looked up to his friend who seemed puzzled.

"…what," he finally questioned, "was that?"

"No good? Damn, I suppose I'll have to try and keep quiet," he sighed, his voice having returned to normal, "But about your date with…Suzie, was it?"

"Mary," the blond corrected with a now disinterested expression.

"Well you and Mary have fun doing your….relationship thing…while I solve possibly the greatest crime of the week, perhaps even the month."

"…that good, is it?"

"Oh John, it's marvelous. You don't think I'd wear something this nice for anything else, would you?" He seemed to want to strike an appealing pose, but it was Sherlock Holmes, and it only came across as absurdity.

"Yeah…Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"Humor still doesn't work for you." Both men grinned at that, though Holmes wore more of a smirk and John's seemed to fade much faster.

"Right, well I'd best be off," the doctor mumbled, "Put a coat on if you're going outside."

"John, there is no need to be concerned for-"

"It's nippy out," he explained as he slipped on his own light coat. In place of his rather un-classy sweater, he was wearing a blue button-down shirt so the brown leather jacket seemed much more fitting. Yet Sherlock had to admit, if only to himself, that he was rather fond of Watson's extensive sweater collection.

Once the man left, the detective quickly worked to put the finishing touches on his disguise: a light shade of lipstick, smoky-colored eye shadow with a touch of eyeliner, and a silver pendant ornately designed with flecks of azure in the center – just what his target was looking for.

"And that's how we solved the case."

"Oh John," she laughed, "You have the most…interesting stories." Mary Morstan smiled, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear as she leaned just slightly closer.

"Well, at least they're good for something," he retorted with a tight smile. She was nice enough, this woman, but she had nothing spectacular about her, nothing to make her a cut above the rest.

"When the two of you helped me, I thought it had to have been-"

"John, darling!" a voice called from behind the doctor. Mary's expression wrinkled slightly in confusion and Watson could already feel a dull throb in the back of his head. He knew that voice, but why did it have to belong to that man and why did that man have to bury his nsoe in other people's business?

"John, I'm so sorry I left you all by your lonesome the other night, had a meeting to tend to," Sherlock excused, his voice not quite as high as the pitch from before, but just barely believably feminine. He bent over and pressed a chaste kiss to the doctor's cheek before turning his blue eyes on the man's date. Mary looked him over, honestly trying to deduce whether this was a man or a woman who was obviously digging their claws into John H. Watson and refusing to let go.

"And who are you?" Sherlock asked with badly feigned politeness.
"No one…Sorry, I have to go," Mary replied as she stood. John moved as if he was going to object her leaving, but she held up her hand.

"Really, John, it's fine," she assured, "But next time, try making sure you're single before asking a girl out." She then gathered her coat and strode out of the restaurant. Holmes quickly took her seat with a relieved sigh.

"Have you ordered the food yet, John? I might try a bite or two while I'm between cases."

"Sherlock, how could you-"

"That was Mary Morstan, was it not? Hm, she seemed fairly intelligent when we met her. But she couldn't even recognize me," he paused shortly to examine her drink, "She obviously isn't very bright, John. You could do a lot better." John watched him fidget, looking at how she folded her napkin, where her lipstick had smudged on the glass, everything and anything she had done. Even after all this time, he couldn't tell if his flat mate was looking out for him or was just jealous that someone else got his attention.

"…it was probably the wig," he pointed out. Sherlock seemed to have forgotten about the long, straightened hair that he had donned for his case – if there even was one, for that matter.

"Really? I thought it made the outfit. Couldn't have pulled it off with my curls," he replied as he took the wig off, shaking out his real hair a bit. He set it aside, even stretching his arms out. Watson frowned, noticing something.

"Hang on, that bracelet. You didn't have that before. Did you…did you buy that?"

"Yes, I happened to have crossed a jeweler's on my way to-"

"It looks expensive," Watson noted.

"Oh it was," Sherlock agreed, "but look how the diamonds reflect the-"

"Sherlock, you can't just go out and buy diamond bracelets," John hissed, "How will we afford the rent?"

"We'll just tell Mrs. Hudson what happened; I'm sure she'll let it slip. What else was I supposed to do, after all? Go out with a naked wrist? Don't be ridiculous." The doctor once again eyed his friend, whose lips slowly twisted into a grin. He finally surrendered, his head shaking while he smiled in return.

"Then at least, Ms. Holmes, you'll pay the check after scaring off my date?"

"Of course, John. What sort of man do you take me for?"

"A right toff, to start…"

-ooo-

Yes, for those of you that managed to catch it, Mary Morstan is John Watson's future wife.
What a lovely start for the both of them~