Sherlock An Easter Wager

"If this ends in me murdering him I'm blaming you, Lestrade."

Greg laughs and holds his hands up, "put your ears on and man up John. You made the bet with me and lost, it's only fair."

John glares but puts the brown rabbit ears on the top of his head and carefully rearranges his hair around the band in the mirror.

"So where's his majesty? Has he actually put the outfit on or did he sneak out the window?"

Before Greg can answer the man in question enters the men's loos in all his undressed glory. Only Sherlock Holmes could give such a glare while wearing frilly purple knickers, stockings, six inch heels and a pair of bunny ears.

"Are we doing this or not?" He huffs.

Sherlock usually makes quite an intimidating figure with his tall stature and long coat. Standing with his arms crossed and heeled feet planted apart with ears perched on the top of his head, however, not so much. Greg hides his smile behind his hand.

"At least you put it on," John sighs, "let's get this over with."

"Wait," Greg holds his hand out to stop them, "stand next to each other, I want to get a photo."

Sherlock narrows his eyes, "is this necessary? Isn't us wearing these things enough?"

"I need something to remember this by," he smirks, "I doubt I'm ever going to win a bet against the pair of you again."

John rolls his eyes and totters over to Sherlock on his slightly smaller heels and awkwardly stands beside him. Greg waves his hand for them to shuffle closer together and snaps a photo with his phone.

"C'mon lads, the Yard has been looking forward to this for weeks."

He ushers them out of the loos and into the main building of Scotland Yard. With the desks pushed out of the way the room is large and full of Greg's coworkers and their families. He enters the room with Sherlock on his left arm and John on his right with a wide grin to loud whoops and cheers. Greg wriggles his eyebrows and grins cheekily when he spots a few people with their cameras and phones out. Once satisfied that everyone has got their photos he unloops his arms from Sherlock and John's and gives them each a pat on the bum.

"Go, enjoy the food. You work with us so this is your party too, boys," he winks and leaves them to find his family.

When John turns around, Sherlock has disappeared. Typical, he thinks, the one time we'd be better together he chooses to run away.

He leans back against a table and immediately braces himself for an insult when he sees Sally sidle up to him. Instead she hands him a drink and a still-warm hot cross bun with a smile.

"I think you deserve these," she smiles, "so what exactly was the bet you guys had? The boss refused to tell me."

"Honestly, I expected Sherlock to win it," John says around a mouthful of bun, "had my eye on the perfect outfit for Greg to wear when he lost."

Sally frowns, "you bet on Sherlock doing something? Surely you should know better than that now."

"I should, but I obviously haven't," John laughs, motioning at his lack of clothes, "I had Sherlock and Lestrade play Kerplunk."

Sally claps a hand over her mouth to stop her snort.

John shakes his head, "no, you can laugh, I was an idiot for thinking Sherlock could beat Greg at it after the Cluedo incident. The board is still on the living room wall with a knife through it."

"You realise he has a lot of nieces and nephews and is a demon at board games now?" Her shoulders shake with laughter.

John chuckles into his drink, "I do now."

"Well, good luck with the rest of the day. I think someone wants your attention," Sally says nodding towards a glaring Sherlock at the opposite end of the room.

John smiles and starts towards him, after giving a small smile to Sally.

He leans against the wall beside Sherlock and knocks their shoulders together.

"It's better than nothing I suppose," he says, raising a hand to fiddle with his bowtie.

"I'd rather have my sheet back than this," Sherlock grumbles, "this barely covers anything."

John chuckles, "I don't know, it feels a little liberating. I can see why a few of my girlfriends liked things like this."

"How Irene Adler wore heels like these I will never understand," Sherlock mutters, lifting a foot and turning it side to side.

"You'd never know what with how graceful you are in them," John watches the muscles in Sherlock's leg move and leans down, "did you shave?"

Sherlock tilts his head, "yes? I always do. Did you?"

"I did?"

John feels slightly uncomfortable as he watches Sherlock turn his gaze at him to really look at him, head to toe. He feels Sherlock's eyes linger first on his rabbit ears, then his tie and scar, travel down to his red and black knickers, and finally his red stockinged legs, finishing at the black heeled pumps.

"You actually shaved your legs?" He asks.

John shrugs his shoulders, "thought if I have to wear it I might as well go all the way."

Sherlock narrows his eyes before grabbing John's wrist and dragging him in the direction of the loos and man-handling him into a cubicle.

They miss Greg begrudgingly handing a ten pound note over to Sally.


End file.

Sherlock, Humor