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“This is ridiculous,” Sherlock scoffed. He stomped into the sitting room, yellow antennae and black stinger bobbing as he crossed his arms. The too-small plastic gold tiara on his head looked as though it would fall off at any moment, and his yellow and black-striped leotard was several sizes too big.
The black tights were the icing on the cake, though. They weren’t entirely opaque, but they weren’t too translucent either; they allowed a peek at just enough skin to still be appropriate. Admittedly, that had been the reason Victor had chosen them. They’d be easy to repurpose later.
Victor bit his lip to keep from laughing. “You look great. Jack will love it.”
“I look like a buffoon.”
“Like I said, he’ll love it.”
Sherlock’s eyes trailed over Victor’s own costume: the yellow cap on his head, the golden bear on his t-shirt, the lack of tights. Victor could practically hear the gears turning in Sherlock’s head. “What are you supposed to be?”
Victor winked. “I’m your honey, honey.”
Sherlock stared at him blankly. “The queen doesn’t make the honey. The drones are the ones who produce it. And why do you get to wear that when I’ve got this hideous—“
Little feet carefully took down the stairs from the upper bedroom, and a tiny bee stood in front of them. Jack was wearing a costume almost identical to Sherlock’s, minus the tiara. Instead, he had a black dot on his nose (thanks to Victor’s fingerprint collection) and an orange jack-o-lantern treat bucket. He smiled at Victor, tongue sandwiched between all of his five teeth. “Daddy thilly!” He looked over at Sherlock, and his smile dropped as he toddled over to him.
“Papa bee!” Jack exclaimed. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s leg, then looked straight up at him with a wide smile. “Papa bee!”
Sherlock smiled back at him. Victor knew that smile; it had only ever been directed toward Jack, and only when Jack did something especially endearing. Victor smirked. “That’s why.”
There was a gentle rapping at the door, and soon they were visited by the Watsons. John, who wasn’t dressed up, waved and walked in, but after a loud cough, he walked back toward the door and rolled his eyes with a smile.
“Presenting,” he said, his voice emphasizing each syllable, “the beautiful Queen Ella—“
“Elsa, love,” someone corrected.
“Elsa,” John repeated quickly. “And her equally-beautiful sister, Anna!”
“It’s On-uh, Daddy!” a different voice sighed.
John inhaled, giving Victor a long-suffering look. “Excuse me, On-uh.” He bowed, and Grace ran in, waving a ribbon wand that matched her costume. Mary was close behind, her braided blonde wig encrusted with snowflakes, and her blue dress a bit more loose than Victor had remembered from the film. However, Grace certainly looked the part as Anna; her strawberry-blonde hair was tied in two braids, and her dress and boots were spot-on.
Victor clapped for them after their entrance, but Sherlock and Jack just stared. "Can you believe it, Jack?" Victor asked. "We've got princesses in our flat!"
Jack ignored Victor and turned to look at Sherlock. “Wanna go twick tweat!” He tugged on Sherlock’s stinger, waving his bucket with That Face—the face that meant a meltdown if they didn’t get going.
Grace, seemingly a bit annoyed that Jack didn’t have much to say about her entrance, rushed over and grabbed his hand. “Let’s go, Olaf!”
“‘Laf!” Jack squealed, waving his bucket.
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The first stop was Mrs. Hudson’s flat. Grace knocked on the door, and Mrs. Hudson fawned over the both of them as she gave them quite a bit more than their fair share out of the candy bowl. The parents, meanwhile, exchanged conversation—mostly at Sherlock’s expense.
“Didn’t know you were a tights man,” John giggled.
Sherlock stared straight ahead, boring holes into the wall with his gaze. “Shut up.”
“He’s got the legs for it, though,” Mary said, pointing.
Victor raised an eyebrow and smirked. “He’s got the arse for it, too.”
Sherlock’s cheeks turned a light pink, but he still said nothing. Once the kids were satisfied with their haul—and Mrs. Hudson had released them from her good-witch clutches—she immediately walked into the hallway with a big smile and a hand on her tall black hat.
“Oh, Sherlock!” She put her hands on the sides of his face. “Aren’t you such a good father, all dressed up like that!”
Sherlock frowned. “Why are my parenting skills dependent on—“
“And Mary, you look so lovely!” Mrs. Hudson put a hand on her arm. “And—Victor, my goodness, you’re the honey!” She gave John a scolding look for not being in costume and turned back to Sherlock. “Oh, I need a picture of this. Victor, how do I work this thing—“
“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock whined. No one paid him any mind; Victor showed Mrs. Hudson how to use her new camera phone, and within seconds she had enough blackmail material to send off to the Times, if she ever felt the need. Grace and Jack thought it was the most hilarious thing in the world, and, to be honest, Victor had to agree.
Once the photoshoot was over, the six of them headed out into the not-quite-dark city, a bee and a princess leading the way.
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An hour and a half later, the Trevor-Holmeses returned to their flat. Jack was asleep on Victor’s shoulder, his mouth slightly open as one fist clutched Victor’s shirt. Sherlock carried the treat bucket, which was almost overflowing—and not just from Jack’s haul. They’d encountered many a stranger who’d slipped Sherlock a packet of chocolate spiders or popping candy. He’d refused the first time—“Do they think I’m actually trick or treating?”—but after assurance that the candy was a thank-you from people he’d helped, Sherlock was the one who had the meltdown.
“They recognise me in this thing, Victor!”
“You’re hard to miss, to be honest.”
“How am I supposed to be a reputable consulting detective when I’m wearing a bee costume?”
“I’m sure the bees find you reputable.”
“Papa bee! Papa bee!”
Still, they had been out quite a bit past Jack’s bedtime, so when he started rubbing his eyes and yawning, they decided to head back, leaving the Watsons to finish up their rounds. Within the first five minutes of the journey home, Jack had fallen asleep.
They tiptoed upstairs as Sherlock finished whispering about the average number of candies Jack should be allowed to consume each day for the next four months.
"There must be 53 sweets in the bucket, and if we assume the average sugar content of each is—"
The minute they reached the landing, Sherlock ran off to the bedroom without another word.
Victor assumed Sherlock meant to change, so he took Jack up to his bedroom, turning on the lamp in the corner as he slipped off Jack’s shoes and tucked him in bed. He debated wiping the paint off his nose and putting him into his pyjamas, but that might wake him. So, instead, Victor watched Jack sleep for a few moments, the way his chest rose and fell, the slight movement behind his eyelids.
When Victor was about to leave, Sherlock appeared at the door, still dressed in his costume. He walked over to Jack’s bed and sat on the very edge. Victor couldn’t see what he was doing, but Sherlock pet Jack’s head before leaving the room. Victor waited a beat, two, then turned back toward Jack.
In his arms was a stuffed bee with a tiara.