Author's Notes: I do not own any of these characters, but I do own the situation they are currently in. It was going to be a one-shot, but I wanted to have something up for Christmas, so I opted to post what I had. It's good as it is, but I will add to it for New Year's. This is my first attempt at a Sherlock fic, so I hope it passes inspection. Many thanks to Keara, my all-time favorite writer and best friend, for her help in making this better than it would have been without her help. Merry Christmas to all of my past, present and future readers! Reviews are wanted and welcome.

Fancy That

A Sherlock Fic

By Tenshi-Chan

John grimaced as he looked at the costume he'd been given for the fancy dress party that Sherlock had invited him to. He had, initially, wondered why his flatmate was going. Sherlock had quickly informed him that it was his mother's annual Christmas charity event, and he hadn't wished to upset her by refusing the invitation. He closed the box and stalked out to the main room and glared at his flatmate. "I don't care if it's for a good cause, Sherlock, I am not wearing that ridiculous outfit," he proclaimed.

Sherlock glanced up from his current experiment and blinked at him. "Oh. Well if you feel that way about it, we could trade." He motioned to a similar box that had been carelessly tossed onto the sofa.

John walked over and opened the box. "Ah." He closed the box again and looked over at Sherlock, who was watching him with a bland expression. "Ah. Right, then. I'll just go get dressed in my costume. You can keep this one."

Sherlock nodded and went back to what he was doing. "Better dress quickly. Mycroft and that assistant of his will be here soon."

"Mycroft is going?" John was amazed that Sherlock would even consider going to the same party as his older brother, much less one where he'd be dressed in something he wouldn't ordinarily be caught dead in.

Sherlock sighed in what could only be exhasperation. "Of course. It is Mummy's party, after all. It would be bad form to throw it and not invite her first born. I already told you that it's the only reason I'm going. Ordinarily, you know I wouldn't willing go within 10 meters of him."

John nodded. As always, Sherlock's answer made sense.

Lestrade sighed as he entered Sherlock's residence, followed by Anderson and Donovan. He hated not being answered by the man, so he did the only thing he could think of and staged a drug bust. "All right ... Oh! Sorry."

A woman with long dark hair glanced over at him from where she was sitting on the sofa. She was slender and obviously very flexible since her leg was straight up against her chest as she straightened the seam on her fishnet stockings. Without speaking a word, she gracefully lowered her leg and stood, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress as she slipped her feet into a pair of spiked heels. The dress was slinky with slits almost to her waist and made of shimmering black material. A red leather bustier was laced up the front to push together her pert breasts. Around her neck was what looked like an intricate weaving of black chains and blood red rubies hanging from a delicate lace choker. Once she was done straightening herself, she picked up a cell phone and started texting. An amazing feat considering that her black nails with blood red tips were rather long.

"Freak's no where to be seen. Oh ... hello there." Anderson leered at the woman, who responded by rolling her eyes and walking over to the door and turning to face the group. She looked rather disinterested in the goings-on. Donovan scowled at Anderson then went about looking for drugs in an unnecessarily vicious way.

"What's going on in here? Oh! Uhm ... hello, Lestrade." John Watson entered and promptly turned an unflattering shade of red. He was wearing black leather pants with a black mesh shirt, under which a pair of nipple rings with a connecting chain could be seen. He nervously crossed his arms over his chest, looking away from the gathered police. He appeared to be taller due to the steel-toed platform shoes he was wearing, and he was fiddling with a studded leather collar with the fingers of one hand.

Lestrade raised an eyebrow at the man. "I didn't know you were into that sort of thing." He looked the doctor up and down again, appraisingly

John flushed a little deeper before clearing his throat. "Uhm ... did you need something? Sherlock and I are leaving in a bit with Mycroft and his assistant, so we won't be available for the rest of the night." He blinked when he looked over at the woman, whom Lestrade reasoned was Mycroft's assistant since he'd never actually met the woman who changed names frequently. At the last conversation he'd had with Sherlock regarding the woman, he'd gotten the name Isabelle for her. "You look good."

Anderson smirked as he removed his gloves and sidled closer to the woman. "Hey, if you're free after whatever you're doing with the Doctor and his pet freak, give me a ring." From the way the woman stiffened, Lestrade had to wonder where Anderson's hands had wandered.

Before Lestrade could reprimand the man, Mycroft Holmes entered with the air of a man who could make everyone in the room disappear with no questions asked, and he probably could. He was dressed as a Victorian gentleman. Right behind him was a woman dressed as a French maid, who was busily texting away on her cellphone. How she walked without bumping into anyone or anything was a mystery. "Ah! Sherlock! I got your text and came straight-away." He tutted. "You smudged your make up."

Everyone, except for John Watson, froze and gaped at the woman that Anderson had just felt up. Lestrade opened and closed his mouth several times before he was able to speak. "SHERLOCK!"

The woman scoffed and opened her mouth. "Really, Lestrade, and you call yourself a Detective Inspector? I wonder how you solve any cases at all with such limited deductive abilities." Sherlock craned his neck to look over his shoulder at his own back and sighed. "I don't suppose I could bring up charges against Anderson for harassment, could I?" He turned slightly, enough to show off a stark white handprint left behind by the powder on the inside of Anderson's gloves.

Anderson turned pale, then a bit green. "Oh my God!"

John was snickering where he was standing. Sally Donovan turned from pale white to flaming red in a matter of seconds before storming out of the flat, and Mycroft's assistant approached Sherlock with a lint brush of some sort. She wordlessly started dusting the obvious handprint off of Sherlock's backside.

Sherlock tutted at Anderson, though he was smiling wryly. "Poor Anderson. Struck out three times tonight, didn't we?" He held up a finger. "Your wife is out of town again, as she usually spends the holiday with her family which cannot stand you, so you stay home." He held up another finger. "You were just hitting on a woman who turned up to be a man in drag ... your observation skills really leave much to be desired." He held up a third finger. "And your usual partner for when your wife is out of town just left due to you hitting on me."

Mycroft's assistant pulled a small case out of her carry-all and motioned for Sherlock to bend down a little. When he did, she opened the case and lifted the tray inside to reveal a rather clever multi-level make-up kit. "Pucker." When he did, she applied more of the deep red lipstick, as well as sharpening the lip edges with a matching pencil. She pulled out a piece of paper. "Blot."

Lestrade was distracted from what Sherlock was doing by a few things. Anderson running out of the apartment as if chased by demons, and Mycroft Holmes approaching him.

"Inspector, I do hope you realize that my brother is not on the police payroll, and is therefore should not be subjected to this humiliation just because you wish to pull him onto a crime scene. It is quite understandable that you pull this sort of stunt when he chooses not to tell you something regarding one of the little cases he is currently on, but he already informed me that he is not on a case at this point in time." He straightened his tie and the cuffs of his shirt before speaking. "Now since that unpleasantness is out of the way, I will take this time to inform you that you have been invited to this year's gala. You will find your invitation at your residence, and I took the liberty of choosing fitting costumes for yourself and your charming wife." When Lestrade cast a wary glance at Sherlock, Mycroft smirked a little. "A small prank on my part, nothing more. I must say that I'm impressed at how well Dr. Watson is taking it."

Lestrade looked over to where John was resolutely fixing the collar around his neck and subjecting himself to having a leash attached to it by a smugly grinning Sherlock. He didn't want to think about why Sherlock was smiling like that. Then he turned to Mycroft, realizing only now what had been said to him. "Why am I invited?"

Mycroft's eyes softened and his voice lowered to a mere whisper. "For your role in getting my younger brother away from drugs, my family and I are eternally in your debt. It worries me to think where he would be now had you not been in the right place at the right time." The statement hung in the air.

Lestrade nodded and motioned for everyone to clear out before heading for the door.

Sherlock's voice stopped him. "I'll want to hear more about this case in the morning, Lestrade." He gave the Inspector a fleeting smile. "It will keep me from getting bored over Christmas week."

John snorted from where Mycroft's assistant was currently putting eyeliner on him, apparantly finished with her work on Sherlock. "You'll be done with it in about two hours and you know it." He blinked when his hands were taken. "What are you doing?"

With a small flourish, Mycroft's assistant pulled out a bottle of black nail polish and quickly applied it. Once she was done, John did that move that Lestrade had seen his wife do when dealing with wet nail polish and spread his fingers while shaking his hands in an obvious effort to make the color dry faster.

Lestrade shook his head and left the flat. He seriously did not want to think about why John was dressed in what could only be the costume of a submissive partner in a BDSM pairing with Sherlock as his female dominant.

Mycroft's voice reached him as he was exiting the flat. "The car will arrive for you in one hour. I suggest you hurry. You don't want to miss out on all the fun."

To be continued ...