Glass: Reader Requests

Mascara

For shezzaspeare

There was a bustling downstairs. The sounds of things being knocked over, drawers being opened and closed. Margaux sat bolt upright in bed, her eyes half-closed, hair tangled and falling over her face. She turned to the other side of the bed, expecting Sherlock to be asleep beside her, but he wasn't there. She checked the time. 2am.

"What the hell is he doing?" she mumbled to herself as she climbed out of bed and pulled on a T-shirt that was hanging over a chair.

She made her way downstairs in the dark, listening as the noises continued in the kitchen. But when she got down the hall and stepped into the room, she felt her stomach turn in fear.

Through the darkness, she saw a woman rummaging through the cupboards. She was hunched over, grumbling and grunting as she poked around the kitchen, completely unaware that she was being watched.

For Margaux, survival mode kicked in. Her children were sleeping upstairs and she was prepared to do whatever it took to protect them. She grabbed a large golfing umbrella that was hanging on the doorknob, arming herself with it like a baseball bat. She took a step forward, her bare feet silent on the cold tiles, before plucking up the courage to speak.

"Get out of my house," she said.

She had wanted to sound tough and scary, but her voice was shaky, breaking in places it shouldn't.

The woman stopped what she was doing and stood upright. "What?"

Margaux loosened her grip on the umbrella, her brows stitching together over her tired eyes.

"Sherlock?"

The figure turned around, revealing a familiar face. She wondered if this was real, if the noises from downstairs had woken her, but she had only dreamed getting out of bed. Standing in front of her was her husband, in a black cocktail dress and a long blonde wig.

"Yes?" he replied plainly, as if it was all completely normal.

"Are you..." she put the umbrella down and walked to the light switch. "What the hell are you wearing?"

The room flooded with light, making both of them squint as their eyes adjusted. She wasn't imagining it. Sherlock really was there, in the middle of their kitchen at 2am, hands on hips, dressed from head-to-toe as a woman.

"It's a long story," he replied.

"Mm, no. That's not going to work on me. You need to explain." she glanced down at his legs. "Are those tights!?"

"Well I wasn't going to go to the trouble of shaving my legs."

She walked towards him. The closer she got, the more she noticed. He was wearing makeup; blush, lipstick, mascara.

"Bloody hell, your lashes are longer than mine," she said as she reached out and touched his face. "Is that my lipstick?"

He rolled his eyes and pulled off the wig to reveal his curls, damp with sweat and flattened to his head. He ruffled his hands through them as he walked away from her, hobbling in a pair of high heels.