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A Bit Not Good	By : VulpineBeesKnees Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 2926 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: We do not own or make any profit on BBC's Sherlock or any of their characters. It's all for fun.

Chapter List
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John woke with a start to see Anthea moving about their room. He stared incredulously for a moment before sitting up, still fully clothed from the day before. “What the bloody hell are you doing in here.?” She gestured to the pile of clothes she had just deposited on top of the short dresser.

“Mycroft says to get dressed and come downstairs for breakfast.” John found himself wondering for the second time if Anthea had a life outside of Mycroft.

“How the hell did he get our clothes?” John could see the sleeve of one of his nicer jumpers hanging loosely from the pile, but Anthea was already on her way out of the room. The door shut with a deafening click.

His head rolled back as he groaned at the ceiling, before turning to wake Sherlock. Gently he nudged Sherlock’s shoulder. “Sherlock?”

The loss of John's body heat was what woke him initially, but he soon heard John’s warm voice calling to him and opened his eyes to the brightness of the room. Sitting up as well, He felt John's presence beside him, and followed his gaze with bleary eyes to the pile of clothes on the table.

“He’s hilarious.” Sherlock remarked sarcastically as he ran a hand through his mussed curls, “Thinking that I always wear proper clothes when demanded.”

John let out a short laugh, “Of course. I’m assuming you don’t plan on keeping yesterday’s clothes on then at least?” The whole scenario was causing John to be overly chipper considering the previous nights events, but he couldn’t help it. The attitude was just so very Sherlock, the normality of it all was practically intoxicating.

John had a fairly good idea what was about to happen. Before the fall Sherlock had become quite accustomed to moving about the flat in nothing but a sheet on days when he couldn’t even have been bothered to put on pants. This had of course led to the infamous visit to Buckingham Palace with Sherlock in nothing but the accused sheet. This was the point in which John normally stepped up and reminded Sherlock to act his age, but as Sherlock’s actions seemed so natural and uninhibited, John couldn’t bring himself to fight him on the subject, not really.

“You should probably at least leave pants on this time.” He offered, sliding from the bed to retrieve his own fresh clothing. Bothered as he was that Mycroft, or more likely Anthea, had rifled through their belongings he was happy to have clean clothes.

“Oh alright, but only because you asked so nicely.” Sherlock stood a bit wobbly at first, causing John to move towards him slightly, but after a moment he’d gotten his feet under him, and he wrapped the still warm sheet around himself before turning and proceeding to undress beneath it, down to his underthings, leaving them on per John’s request. He kicked the rest of his clothes away, and wrapped the sheet tightly around himself wishing he could just wrap the doctor around him instead. Now that they were up and around, he felt cold, and empty.

Sitting back down on the bed he started thinking about the case the night before. He ran through his mind again, making sure that there was no possibility anyone could have overheard what Moriarty had said to him in his flat that day. No one had been home, and Sherlock had just done a sweep for Mycroft’s ‘big brother’ act not an hour before the man had shown up.

Was it possible that Moriarty had somehow fooled him on that rooftop? This couldn’t be a copycat. It felt too vindictive, too personal. But how could it be? He started fretting over it, and decided that having another episode like last night wouldn’t help anyone, so he

pushed it to the side until he could look over it with other eyes that might be able to help

him calmly see evidence he might not because of the stress on his mental front both from his tedious cocaine addiction and the inability to attempt to process this information without his heart rate skyrocketing.

Slightly startled John halted his motions, his arm half way through the sleeve of the jumper, “You alright?” Slowly he began moving again, a curious eye on Sherlock. The man was now scantily clad in the crisp white sheets, which was sure to infuriate Mycroft, but what had caused John to start was the stare that had been fixed on him. It was the sort of look he got when he was lost in the recesses of his mind palace.

A light blush tinted the detective’s cheeks as he came back into himself, realizing that he had been staring at John, lost in thought as the other had tried to get dressed. Not even bothering to stammer an apology, he turned and flopped onto the bed, burying his face in the down comforter that hadn’t quite lost all the warmth it had absorbed from them.

John shrugged as he continued to get dressed and in a few moments he was standing in front of Sherlock, his head cocked to the side as he regarded the detective carefully. Finally he reached out a hand to pull Sherlock from the bed. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Sherlock didn't take Johns hand but instead stood, striding out of the room, leaving John to follow in his wake. He strode into the library knowing full well that his insufferable arse of a brother was waiting for them. He didn't however expect what he saw when he walked in.

Nothing would have seemed out of the ordinary to anyone except the consulting detective himself. Mycroft had a softer expression than per usual, and he seemed more relaxed than Sherlock had seen him in years. His skin had a healthy glow, and his usual snark smile was less snark and more smile. Greg was wearing the same suit he'd worn the day before and smelled faintly of his brother's aftershave. The DI's face flushed a little as they entered and he caught Sherlock's knowing gaze.

Could it be that the man Greg was seeing was his own brother? He'd always assumed Mycroft was more like himself in the fact that he was married to his work. He decided to watch the two of them and wait for them to reveal more of their relationship.

"Always good to see you properly dressed for the occasion Sherlock." Greg teased as they bustled into the room. Sherlock only gave him a sarcastic smile and moved to sit in one of the chairs in front of Mycroft's large wooden desk.

Mycroft shook his head minutely. “Please ignore my brother’s attire Greg, giving him attention only encourages the behavior.” He shot John a look that clearly asked why he was allowed out of the room as he was, but all the doctor could do was shrug surreptitiously from behind Sherlock as he moved to take up the last seat in front of the desk.

“First things first.” Mycroft started, pulling a file from the inside of his desk and pushing it across the table to Sherlock. “A few quick signatures and I should be able to reinstate your ‘status’.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, glaring at his brother for a moment before accepting the pen being held out to him and signing the highlighted areas.

“There.” he spat, pushing the file back to Mycroft

With that piece of business out of the way a sort of understood silence between the four of them as they readied themselves for what was to come.Finally John spoke up. “So have you learned anything since last night?” He could tell by the lack of information offered that there was little to report.

“As I said last night we can safely assume this is a copycat,” Mycroft deadpanned, “I saw Moriarty’s body, he’s dead.”

“So was The Woman.” Sherlock snorted, “In any matter, there was a note, on the back of the sign the victim was wearing, that quote on the sign, ‘You should see me in a crown.’ I’ve heard it before. Moriarty had said with only me in the room. However, I dropped the note... it’s most likely lost somewhere as I’m sure none of Lestrade’s brilliant crew would have thought to pick it up...” He looked away angrily, “It’s unlikely that this is a copycat in any case. It’s more likely that the man that shot himself on top of Barts was not the real Moriarty...” He let that thought sink into his own brain for a moment. It was possible.

John had almost forgotten slipping that piece of paper into his pocket the night before, his thoughts had been occupied by much else at the time, but as Mycroft stared at Sherlock incredulously as if he wasn’t sure how valid his brothers word was at the moment, he spoke up. “I have it, the note. I-. . . when Sherlock left the room, I saw the paper fall and I assumed it was important, but with everything that happened I forgot.”

The entire room seemed to fix him with a look that was a mixture of relief that the evidence had not been lost and irritation, mostly from Mycroft and Sherlock, that John hadn’t thought to even look at it until now.

“I’ll just. . . “ gesturing towards the door John hurried to retrieve the note in question.

By the time he returned he had read over the note three times, walking slowly into the room he held it up slightly, “What the fuck is going on?” Now John understood what had set Sherlock into the panic. Hurrying back to the seat John smoothed out the paper, crumpled from being in his pocket, in front of Mycroft.

Mycroft read the note carefully before handing it over to Lestrade with a pointed glance that held a silent conversation, Go along with me. Turning to Sherlock, the elder Holmes steepled his chin upon his hands, “I told you when you came back that we could never be sure you found everyone. You took care of all the major players, but Moriarty was devious. It is likely there is still someone, some sort of criminal, left with just enough information with so as to get to you. They are not Moriarty, and it is very unlikely they pose half the threat he did. I identified the body myself Sherlock. He is dead.”

The detective opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.

“Okay, fine. But what are we supposed to do because Moriarty or not, they obviously know a lot about us, and have the same intent that he did. . . “ John trailed off, looking back and forth between Mycroft and Lestrade.

Giving Lestrade a small nod as if in silent agreement upon some unknown subject Mycroft continued. “You two will continue to work on cases for Greg, but you will not be the first ones in like last time. Once sites have been secured you will be permitted to take a look around, gather your own evidence. If this character is serious about bringing you harm any crime scene could be a trap.” Mycroft paused for a moment, letting it all soak in. “There is, of course, one last stipulation. If you wish to continue being brought on with any cases you will need to alter your appearances, particularly you Sherlock.”

Sherlock glared at the both of them. Stupid wankers

“You’re just trying to make my job harder aren’t you?” Sherlock asked, obviously irritated, “Why should I have to change the way I look to continue on cases? Why can’t we just wear a police uniform or something?”

Lestrade finally spoke up from behind Mycroft. “Because this copycat isn’t exactly the only person you need to worry about spotting you.” He produced a laptop and turned it around where Sherlock could see what was open. “There’s about a hundred different fansites dedicated to both you and Moriarty, some believed you were still alive, some didn’t. But some of those sites are downright creepy with how much they know about you.”

Sherlock leaned forward and scrolled through some of the web pages that had been pulled up. There were quite a few that talked about all the little details from the last few days leading up to his jump, and the information went from discussing the work Sherlock had been doing on his website before it was shut down, all the way to what products he used in his hair to keep it so curly and what the exact shade of green his eyes were.

John craned his neck, trying to read over his shoulder, but there wasn’t anything new. He had seen many of these sites over the past three years, in fact the pages Lestrade chose to open were some of the more mild ones. That being said, John had been under the impression that they died out after the first year or so. The detective pushed the laptop away from himself and crossed his arms once more, looking at them and raising an eyebrow as if to say, So?

Lestrade sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “You’ll have to change your appearance, both of you.” He cut his eyes at the doctor then, “They’ll know you from the way you dress and your hair Sherlock. You need to do something totally different from your norm. Which means no more expensive suits Sherlock, and definitely not your coat and scarf. And no jumpers John.”

The doctor could see why Sherlock needed to change his look. He stuck out like a sore thumb, what with always popping his coat collar up and all, but no jumpers. Not wanting to cause more hassle, considering the obvious hell Sherlock was preparing to raise, John simply dropped his chin, letting out a rather bothered sigh.

“And you think you can force us to do this?” Sherlock asked, raising his chin, his defiance back in full force.

“Sher-” John started, but was cut off by Lestrade. The two were practically peacocking.

“If you want to continue to scout crime scenes you will.” Greg replied, crossing his arms, just as stubborn.

“You need me.”

“You need the case’s as much as we need you to solve them.” The Detective Inspector countered.

Mycroft cut in before Sherlock had a chance to continue his argument with Lestrade. “None of this is up for discussion Sherlock. You either abide by the stipulations we have set up or barricade yourself inside 221B, because whoever this is, they want you in the public light. That’s how the media found you yesterday, someone tipped them off.” The elder Holmes was leaning forward, his voice lacking it’s standard monotone, an edge of urgency creeping in. “You’re quite right in the fact that your expertise is inimitable, but it will be for not if we let whoever is doing this get to you. The rules that have been set out are not just for your protection Sherlock. They are there to protect Greg, his team, and John.” Mycroft knew all too well that that would quiet Sherlocks disputes. Shifting his attention to John, Mycroft raised his eyebrows, “If there isn’t anything else Anthea will be able to help you on your way. There are a variety of clothing shops with my information on file.” He stood as if to see them off.

"No need to feign politeness Mycroft." Sherlock sniffed, standing in all his sheeted glory, "You've already ruined enough for one day haven't you?" He turned on his heel, striding out of the room, the sheet trailing behind him like a train.

"Come John!" He called after him as he made his way back to their room to dress for the inexplicably tedious day of shopping they were about to embark on.

John waited just long enough that Sherlock had already swept from the room, “Thank you. He’s not happy about it, but if this will keep him safe, thank you.” There wasn’t really much else John could say, so drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, and releasing it with a sharp breath he nodded and followed after the detective.

In his haste Sherlock had made it to the room before John had even hit the stairs, he could see Anthea on the sofa in the sitting room, ostensibly waiting for Sherlock to dress so they could go shopping. John trudged up the stairs, he was not excited about having to change his look. What was that even supposed to mean, he thought to himself, he didn’t have a look. Sherlock’s appearance would be much easier to alter, and for a moment John let his mind wander to the many directions they could go to make Sherlock look less obvious.

With a short knock John pushed through into the spare room they had been occupying.

Sherlock was buttoning up his dress shirt, having already donned his pants. He turned when John knocked on the door.

"Isn't this ridiculous?" He asked stopping buttoning two shy from the top. "We shouldn't have to change the way we look..." He grumbled more under his breath as he pulled on his suit coat and gathering up his coat and scarf.

"Tedious....." He murmured pushing past John again and heading out the door, leaving his clothes in the room to be returned later.

John hurried after Sherlock, catching him by the elbow at the top of the stair, “And you shouldn’t have had to disappear for three years, but you did.” it took John half a second to realize how harsh that sounded, “What I mean is, you did what you had to. We shouldn’t have to change the way we look, but if we want to stop this, for good, then we need to be willing to do whatever is necessary.” Letting go of his hold on Sherlock his features softened, “It’s only a monumental event if you make it one, we’re just going shopping.”

Looking over the banister John could see where Anthea was waiting for them, “Besides. It’s on your brother, remember?” He shot Sherlock a mischievous grin at this remark.

John’s harsh statement had stopped him dead, like a shot of ice running through his veins. He felt like the bottom of his stomach had just dropped out. John tried to backpedal, but the damage was done. His eyes were cold when John let go of his arm.

“Yeah.. just shopping...” he said softly and headed down the stairs. Anthea ushered them out into a car that whisked them away to downtown London. During the trip Sherlock was quiet, introverted into his mind palace as they drove through the dreary world.

They pulled up to a small mens boutique that had mannequins out in the front window dressed in clothes both more casual and younger than either of them were used to. “This is your stop.” Anthea said, still typing away, “Here’s a list of boutiques on this street. Get yourselves enough clothes for several weeks and then take a cab home. Make sure Sherlock changes his hair too.” She then went back to texting and paid them no more mind. Sherlock rolled his eyes and pulled himself from the car without another word.

Slipping out after Sherlock John held up the list that had been given to them. Of course the first shop on the list was the one they were standing in front of. John shook his head, finally a little overwhelmed. “Right,” he started, glancing up and down the street. Luckily it was Sunday morning, so the streets were rather calm.

Sherlock was obviously still disinterested in the entire affair, so it wouldn’t do for John to lose focus. Setting his sights on a boutique farther down the street called Lacombé John started walking, “Come on. This place doesn’t look quite as bad.” He pointed at the boutique about four buildings away from them which had made Mycrofts shortlist.

The boutique looked a bit like an upper end young gentleman's store, and Sherlock decided he could stand it. Barely.

John kept his gaze focused on the pavement ahead of his feet as they walked towards Lacombé “So,” John began carefully, “Are you gonna be able to lose the infamous coat?” He side stepped into Sherlock playfully. If the detective didn’t loosen up soon it was going to be a very long day.

John bumped into him, but his mood was still soured by the earlier comment he had made. "It's hardly infamous..." He replied with a flat tone. He opened the door with a stiff arm, and began perusing the racks quickly with hardly a look.

John’s rebuttal came quickly with a small chuckle, “Have you seen the websites?” But Sherlock was already gone, the doctor couldn’t be sure he’d been heard, but assumed it was best he let the man be alone for a moment, it didn’t last long. The detective was still bothered by John's words that morning, but as in all things, he needed him. "John?" He called back, knowing the man wouldn't be that far behind, "Where do we even start?"

Placing a button down shirt he had been inspecting questioningly back on the rack John followed down the lines of clothing to where Sherlock stood. Where to start, that was a good question. “Trousers?” John laughed at his own uncertainty, it was no secret that Sherlock was the better dressed of the two on any given day. Shit, John thought to himself, Sherlock pulled off a sheet better than he pulled off his jumpers most days. Shaking off the thought, John walked over to the wall which seemed to contain every possible color and fade of denim there was. He shrugged, “You normally wear dress pants, so denim would definitely be a change.”

"Denim..." He scoffed, "how dreadful." He sighed and picked up a pair that he knew would fit him about like his normal pants. He grabbed another pair and held them aloft.

"Good heavens...” he looked down at the pants that looked like they were made for women. The legs were so small he was worried even his thin limbs wouldn’t fit. With a scoff he put them back and moved on to grab a few more pairs of jeans and presented them to John. He had enough pairs in different shades of blue, black, and grey, as well as a pair of khakis.

“Will this work?” he asked.

Picking through the stack in Sherlock’s arms John hummed appreciatively, nodded, then took them from him with a nod toward the back of the shop. “You have to ask an attendant for a key to the dressing rooms I believe.” And with one hand John shooed him in that direction. The moment Sherlock turned away John reached for the skinny jeans the detective had so blatantly scoffed at, and carefully slipped them into the middle of the stack.

Eventually John would have to try on some new clothes as well, but he was hoping to get away with just replacing his jumpers with a different style shirt.

When Sherlock returned with a key John handed the stack of jeans over, a little too gleefully. He wouldn’t admit it to Sherlock, but he could get used to his flatmate wearing something other than suits, loungewear and sheets.

Sherlock plucked a few shirts on his way to the dressing room, knowing John wouldn't be too far behind. Stepping into the changing room he began to hang everything up on the pegs in the room, and found the impossible pair of pants he'd seen earlier.

"Oh good lord John..." He mumbled frowning. He thought about immediately placing them somewhere else, but feeling like having a bit of a lark after his earlier sour mood, he slipped them on. He turned in the mirror and looked himself over. They made him look taller, and his long legs look longer, if that were possible. He removed his shirt and pulled on a black and blue plaid flannel shirt to go with the black jeans and stepped out of the small cubicle.

"Well? Do I look properly ridiculous?” He leaned back on the door and crossed his feet at the ankles.

John had been toying with a shirt at the end of one of the racks, and turned when he heard Sherlock. The blondes eyes got wide for a moment when he caught sight of Sherlock, there was no reason he should look that good in those clothes, but he did. “Uhm,” John’s mouth felt a little dry as he looked Sherlock over, “You actually put them on?” A smile broke across his face, “They don’t look that bad Sherlock, like at all. Do you like them?”

Personally, John was now convinced that Sherlock should always wear denim. As he looked Sherlock over once more he nodded, yes definitely.

Sherlock blinked at John as the doctor looked him over. His eyes went wide, and his mouth shifted as if it had gone dry, and then that smile. His stomach gave a flutter, and he decided that smile was something he wanted to see more often. In truth the pants felt like they fit fine. They were a little tighter around his legs than he was used to, but that didn't bother him. His thinness made it so the pants weren't too tight across his hips, which he was thankful for, but they were much more of a snug fit. And as he watched John's reaction he decided, yes he did like these. Very much.

"They will suffice." He said, his voice even so that he didn't give anything away, and turned back to try on some more clothes.

After what felt like an eternity of parading in front of John like a peacock, he had settled for a few more pairs of the jeans John seemed to like, a few loser pairs, and a pair of a little bit nicer slacks. He'd amassed a small collection of plaid button downs, some t-shirts and casual long sleeves as well as a new jacket. It was leather with jersey knit lining and a hood like some of the hooded sweatshirts he'd seen some younger men wearing. He'd also picked a few pairs of shoes, including a pair of black converse high top sneakers.

All the clothes he had chosen were neatly folded and bagged up for him, having refused to wear any of it home, he wanted to be able to wear his own clothes for at least that long.

But now, it was John's turn to have to go through the pony show. "Guess we will have to look around and see if we can find you anything you will be comfortable in other than jumpers" Sherlock teased as he lounged on one of the benches in front of the dressing rooms. "Personally I think your jumpers make you look older... You need something that says young and hip." The air quotes were almost audible in his voice. "I'm sure we can find you some leather or suspenders around here somewhere..."

John shot a feeble glare at the detective, but as he turned to peruse the racks of clothing a smirk pulled at the corner’s of his lips, at least Sherlock was enjoying himself a bit, even if it was at John’s expense. “My jumpers do not make me look old. They just,” John hesitated, and then conceding to Sherlock’s comment sighed, “don’t look particularly young. Oh fine, but you stay put. I will not entertain your antics, there will be no suspenders.”

"I tried on your pants..." He said, his voice taking on that childish, almost whiny tone that he tended to get at times. In truth, he actually liked John's jumpers. They looked warm and comfortable, just like he knew the man to be.

Although Sherlock had been the most apprehensive about the whole trip, John was without a doubt the most indecisive. He moseyed around the shop for a bit before he found an area that suited him.

“You know,” John called, from two racks over where he was comparing two startlingly similar button down shirts, “We are going to have to do something about your hair, since it’s apparently. . . . iconic with our fans.” Deciding to try both shirts on John laid them over his arm along with three others. “I think there’s a place near Baker Street we could go to tomorrow.”

Emerging from behind the racks, his arms laden with a few new pairs of jeans, a casual blazer jacket, a variety of button down shirts and a few dark T-shirts John headed for the dressing room. It wasn’t as if John only wore jumpers, so it wouldn’t be too hard for him to not wear them, it just seemed he was particularly known for them. All of the clothes he had found were of much better quality than anything he currently owned anyhow.

"Absolutely not." He said as John passed him. "As much as I enjoy contact with you. Physical contact with another person is quite distasteful..."

John paused before entering the small dressing room. Turning to face Sherlock he considered explaining that there was no reason to be bothered by the slight amount of contact that came with visiting the hair salon but then he thought about all of the physical torment Sherlock had been through, it was a surprise he let John get as close as he did. So instead he left it to Sherlock, “How are you going to change your hair then?”

"You could cut it for me." He said nonchalantly as if it were the most normal thing in the world, "I suppose Mycroft will expect me to change the color too..." He reached up and tugged at an incessant curl that fell down over his forehead, "There was quite a discussion over the color on those dreadful websites..." He released the curl, letting it spring back into place and huffed out a sigh.

"Would you do that for me John?" Normally he would just expect the man to do it and pressure him until he did, but for some unknown reason, he felt like he should ask.

Reaching his free hand to cupping the back of his neck John thought about it for a moment before responding. “I haven’t cut anyones hair since. . . God since Afghanistan.” He laughed, dropped his hand to his side and shrugged contently. “Yeah, I can do it for you, just no complaining. I am in no way a professional. “ With that he slipped into the dressing room to begin the show. As he stood staring at a pile of clothes he would have otherwise never considered John shook his head. Oh the things we do for each other.

John came out in several different shirts which all looked very flattering and were fine, but Sherlock would be glad when all of this mess was over. When they stopped having to hide who they were. He was always one for the thrill of the chase, but he’d been chasing for three years... he just wanted to lie around the house nuzzling into John’s jumpers but it seemed he couldn’t even do that anymore.

He was frowning slightly when John came out in a god awful shade of yellow that made him look very sickly and pale. “Good god no.” he said waving the man to go back into the stall and change. He hoped that was the last of this changing nonsense. He just wanted to go home and have a cup of tea and watch crap telly with his blogger.

John was in the dressing room, changing back into the clothes he’d arrived in when his phone began ringing. Pressing the phone between his shoulder and ear so he could finish getting dressed John answered. “Hey Mary, I ca-. . . What? Are you okay.” Forcing his shoes onto his feet without pausing to properly lace them John grabbed the phone, urgency creeping into his voice. “Yeah, of course.” Gathering the pile of clothes he’d decided on with one arm and pushing through the door of the dressing room he gestured for Sherlock to follow him to the counter. “Okay, I’ll be there in just few.” Setting his own small pile of clothes on the checkout counter he finished, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. “Yes, I’m on my way now. Ta.” John shook his head, staring at the phone dumbly for a moment.

“I have to go.” He was slipping his phone back in his pocket, ready to head out the door. “Can you take this stuff home for me? One of the nurses, someone broke into her flat. I have to go.” And so with hardly an explanation John was heading out the door, and hailing a cab.

Sherlock frowned as John gave a quick excuse and left him at the counter. He knew why John had to go, he was the knight in shining armor for everyone, always taking care of everyone including the detective himself. Sometimes, Sherlock absolutely hated that trait.

Notes:

Sorry guys. Next chapter is awesome.. And by awesome I mean full of terrible angst. Anyways. Enjoy. Review. And follow us on tumblr

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