John had heard those words before. A lot of times. He had seen the best and the absolute worst of Sherlock’s disguises. A vicar. A clown. And on one memorable occasion, Sherlock had to pose as an underwear model, with John acting as his agent – John never dared to image that that world was filled with so much envy.
He had seen in Sherlock in various state of dress and undress. Especially that last one after the underwear model case.
But this. The sight that greeted him now, accompanied by Sherlock’s words, left him breathless.
Sherlock was… not Sherlock.
His hair was long and sleek for one, getting close to his waist. A wig. A very professional looking wig, black as night. Sherlock’s eyebrows were gone – had he shaven those off?! – giving him an eternal look, that seemed otherworldly. The freckles that adorned his neck were gone. Make-up. Sherlock had shown his skill with it before and this time was no different. His face was paler, smoother, his fine facial lines gone from John’s sight.
Sherlock’s lashes were accentuated just a little. Just enough.
But that wasn’t everything.
Sherlock was wearing heels and John had dated enough women to know that those, were absolute killer on the ankles. His chest was bare – and shaven – and the only thing covering his nipples, was his hair. And one ridiculous looking necklace. Although Sherlock was handling a fur top before he pulled it on quickly, expertly adjusting his hair so it would fall over the fur. And was that black nail polish?!
John blinked, swallowing down his giggles and he eyed his partner again.
But to top it all off, the leather trousers had made a re-appearance.
John still hadn’t forgotten how that arse felt in those trousers.
‘Have you been listening?’
Sherlock’s voice interrupted John’s stunned silence and he shook his head. ‘Sorry, what? I was…’
‘Case, John! Fashion show. Killed runway model. I need to infiltrate.’
God, where was his phone? Lestrade needed to see this.
‘Yes, like this. It’s alternative. Stop gaping and get dressed.’
John glanced down at himself. ‘I am…’
Sherlock rolled his eyes. ‘Your clothes are on our bed. Hurry up. The cab will be here in fifteen minutes.’
‘Clothes… Sherlock, you can’t be serious!’
‘Do I look like I’m joking?’
John snorted. ‘Honestly?’
‘Shut up, John. It’s for a case.’
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