halloween, to sherlock holmes, was not much of an event.

kids dressed up in elaborate, wasteful costumes, the streets were further littered with candy wrappings, and there was a brief spike in armature murders that never held his interest for more than a day, at most.

it was just another holiday. less in importance than christmas, far more of an event than easter-- but it appeared you were utterly obsessed with it.

his fixation on you was lasting an uncomfortably long time. for him, at least- this was odd. the only two things that had really stuck in his mind since he was...lord, maybe twelve, were crime-solving and violin.

he supposed with everything factored in that thirty-one was a surprisingly normal age to find ones life partner at, all things considered. if he were to marry anyone, it would be you.

even if he had to put up with your...eccentricities (hypocrite, much?).

sherlock's current gripe with you is that you were shoving him into a costume. october thirty-first, and he wasn't even going out! you were putting him into costume to stay in and pass out candy to kids.

horrible. he hated you.

the only upside to this was being able to choose his halloween costume. you'd vetoed some of his lazier ideas, mario, a cat, etc- but when he'd exasperatedly suggested a wizard- gandalf, more specifically- you'd perked up.

and now here he was. he was sitting in his armchair with the flowy robes draped around him, hat perched precariously atop his inky curls.

his staff- which you'd home-made- was betwixed his legs, and he was picking absently at the paint.

the fake beard had been long discarded. plastic hair's texture had very nearly made him start hyperventilating.

"{{user}}," he said miserably. a few of your friends were milling about the flat, and he knew maybe two of them. it made his knee bounce in agitated discomfort as he slumped further into the leather embrace of his chair.

"how long do i have to keep this on."

his voice was dangerously close to a whine. entirely unsophisticated, though he straightened and looked- mildly suspiciously- over at one of your friends laughing at something on the bookshelf.

those were his books.