Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sherlock paced around the room. He was feeling anxious. He’s not accustomed to feeling anxious, which made him feel even more anxious. The fact that he didn’t know why he felt anxious made it even worse. And his right hand wouldn’t stop moving.

Focus, Sherlock. Focus on the area. Zoom in. Centralize. Think why. Where are you? You are in the reception building. What are you doing? You are waiting for John to come back from conversing with some early-arriving guests. Does that bother you? Yes. Why? I don’t know. Why? I don’t know. Why? I said I don’t know. What is John doing? Conversing. With whom? Guests. What kind of guests? Guests who would arrive early. What kind of guests arrive early? Those with too much time on their hands. Are they threats? No. Why would you think they are threats? I don’t. Yes you do, you thought up the question and answered it. They’re threats because they could steal more time with John that he could be spending elsewhere. Elsewhere? Yes. What is elsewhere? With Mary or other guests. He can’t see Mary until the wedding, so that rules out Mary. Less than one hundred people saw the invitation list; no one else will be coming this early. Who else is here that he could spend time with?

Me.

Does knowing this feel the same as the anxiety you are feeling?

Yes.

So we can only assume that…?

I am anxious because John is not here.

And?

And I want him to be.

Sherlock sighed.

How do I fix it.

How do normal people help themselves feel less anxious?

Physical activity.

You can’t, you’re in a tuxedo and the wedding is in an hour and a half.

I could remove the tuxedo and shower after.

Not enough time. John would have come back by then. Unnecessary.

Tea.

Tea doesn’t work that way with you.

Talking.

Talking would work. Who would you talk with?

Someone I trust.

Who do you trust?

John.

Incorrect choice for this situation.

Molly.

Will she listen?

Yes.

Talk to Molly.

Sherlock picked up his phone and searched through his contact list. He tapped Molly’s name and typed up a text message. He still preferred to text.

I need you again.
Reception building.
Room 201.
- SH

He pressed send. Exactly seventeen seconds later, he received a reply.

Be right there.

Sherlock continued to pace around the room. He calculated the amount of time that it would take her to arrive at the door to the room. Fourteen minutes and thirty-two seconds. John would surely be speaking with the early guests for that amount of time or longer. They obviously have nothing to do to entertain themselves, so they’ll keep him there as long as they can.

He decided to escape into his mind palace for the time being. He went through the wedding plans.

There was a knock on his door. Three minutes early. She must have rushed. Or she was already on her way. No, too unlikely. She had rushed.

He opened the door to Molly, who stepped right in.

“Are you alright, Sherlock? I got your text, and I was worried.”

“I’m anxious.” He began pacing the room again, shaking out his right hand.

“Anxious?” Molly asked skeptically.

“Yes, yes, anxious. I dislike it. Make it stop.”

“Oh, um, okay.” Molly set her bag down on the bed.

“Why are you feeling anxious?”

Sherlock groaned angrily. “I just had this conversation.”

“Not with me, you didn’t. Now tell me why.”

Sherlock paused. “John.”

“What about John?”

“He’s not here.”

“He’s just downstairs talking to some guests. I saw him on my way in.”

“No, he’s not here. With me.”

Molly made a small “o” with her mouth.

“And I want him to be.”

‘Greg told me about this. Maybe…’ Molly thought.

“Sherlock, I want to tell you a story.”

“How will that help?”

“Just sit down.” She demanded. “My mother would tell me stories when I was feeling upset-”

“I never said I was feeling upset.” He defended.

“Sherlock.” Molly gave him a pointed look.

He sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“My mother would tell me stories when I was upset, and they always made me feel better. I could see myself in the characters.”

“Hmmm.”

“Alright.” Molly took a deep breath. “Once, there was an otter. He was a very clever otter, always knowing where to get food, and he always knew when it was going to rain. He loved to go on adventures, but not many of the other animals were keen to go along with him because he was so mean, and he had very few friends. He was very independent, and he was afraid to love. He didn’t understand what it was or why animals felt it. So he stayed away from other animals, fearing that he might catch the ‘love bug.’ One day, while he was on one of his adventures, he met a hedgehog.”

“Impossible. Otters and hedgehogs live in separate areas. There’s no logical way that-”

“Suspension of disbelief, Sherlock. Let me speak.”

“Sorry.” He mumbled.

“One day, while he was on one of his adventures, he met a hedgehog. The hedgehog had just finished a long journey in the desert, and he was looking for a place to stay the night. The hedgehog looked so sad and tired, so the otter said ‘You can stay with me.’ The hedgehog was so grateful, that he made the otter a nice big dinner of berries and clams that night.” Sherlock opened his mouth to correct her, but she shushed him.

“The next day, the otter wanted to go out on another adventure. He asked the hedgehog if he wanted to come along, not expecting him to agree, but he did! They had great fun on the adventure, and they soon became good friends. The hedgehog loved the otter with all of his heart, and he was so happy that they were friends.” Molly’s tone turned sad. “But one day, the otter left. He didn’t tell the hedgehog that he was leaving, or that he would be back. The hedgehog was very sad. He thought about finding a new place to live because the home that he and the otter shared reminded him too much of the otter.”

“I don’t see how this is supposed to help.”

“I’m getting there, Sherlock. Be patient.”

Sherlock huffed.

“Soon, the hedgehog met a ferret. She was a very pretty ferret, and she was smart and funny. She made him feel better after the otter left. A year later, though, the otter came back. He was very happy to see the hedgehog, but the hedgehog was angry. He didn’t understand why the otter had left him. He thought the otter had died.”

“But soon, the hedgehog and the otter went on another adventure, and the hedgehog realized why he had loved the otter, and why he still did, even after such a long time. The otter had realized while he was away, that he loved the hedgehog, too. That scared him. He didn’t want to love. He didn’t know what love was. But he couldn’t stop, even when the hedgehog told the otter that he was going to marry the ferret. That made the otter very sad. Surely he would lose his best friend, wouldn’t he?”

“But he didn’t. The otter told the hedgehog how he felt, and the hedgehog was very happy. The otter married the hedgehog that day, and they lived happily ever after, going on adventure after adventure. The end.”

Sherlock was silent.

“What about the ferret?”

“She was sad, but she had known that the hedgehog and the otter loved each other. She didn’t want to get in the way of them. It was the right thing to do.”

Sherlock thought for a moment. “Why would the hedgehog marry the ferret if he loved the otter?” Sherlock asked quietly.

“Because the hedgehog didn’t know how the otter felt." She paused. She was no longer talking about the story. "And he still doesn't, Sherlock.”

“Oh.”

“Do you see what I’m trying to say?”

Sherlock was silent again, looking out onto space. Molly stood from her seat on the opposite side of the bed and sat next to Sherlock. She turned to him and wrapped her hand around his.

“It’s okay to love, Sherlock.” She told him quietly.

“The otter should have sent the hedgehog a message. To let him know he was alive. Just one word, Sherlock… That’s all he would have needed. One word, to let the hedgehog know he was alive…” Sherlock told himself quietly.

He understood.

“Better?”

“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “Thank you, Molly.”

She smiled. “You’re welcome, Sherlock.” She told him sincerely. The two sat there for a few more minutes. “I’ve got to get back now, Sherlock. I still have to get ready. Will you be okay here?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine.”

Molly gave Sherlock’s hand one last squeeze, then grabbed her bag and departed.

“Oh, hello, John.” Sherlock heard her say just outside the door.

“Hello, Molly. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Sherlock needed me for something. I was just on my way out.”

“Right, okay. Good seeing you, then. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

Sherlock listened to John’s approaching footsteps and the opening of the door to the room.

“Hey, Sherlock. Sorry I took as long as I did. The Henderson's wouldn’t shut up.”

Sherlock stood and faced John. “No worries, John. The important thing is that you’re here now.” Sherlock told him, putting on a mask of happiness and contentedness.

John looked at Sherlock. “Right.” He paused. “Right, then. I’m just gonna put on my tuxedo. Be back in a jiff.”

Sherlock paced the room again while he waited, his right hand tapping against his leg.

He had no need to worry. John had promised him that he wouldn't leave. Surely he hadn't forgotten... Had he?

“Sherlock, could you help me out with my boutonnière?” John asked as he walked out of the dressing room and over to Sherlock.

“Certainly.” Sherlock took a few steps forward and closed the gap between them, taking the boutonnière from John’s hands.

“So what did you need with Molly?” John asked.

Sherlock worked on putting the flower on John’s suit. “I needed her help with an issue I was having.”

“Issue? Couldn’t have talked to me about it?”

“You wouldn’t have… You weren’t the correct person for the job.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Sherlock ignored him.

“Having a little trouble there, Sherlock?” John asked.

Sherlock’s hands were trembling, and he couldn’t fasten the boutonnière onto John’s suit.

“Yes, just-” He blocked everything out, focusing on fastening it. He didn’t want to stab John by accident. He didn’t want to hurt John. Not again. “There.” He tapped the boutonnière twice. “Done.”

“Alright, yeah. Thanks, Sherlock.”

Sherlock gave him a quick smile, which turned into a frown as John turned away to look in the full-length mirror.

“John.”

“Yeah?”

“John, I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“I’m the otter. You’re the hedgehog.”

John looked at him like he had just grown another head. “Yeah, mate, you’re gonna have to clue me in here. I’m not following.”

“John, I’m in-”

John’s phone buzzed.

“Oh, hang on.” John looked at his phone. “Sorry, gotta take this. Hold that thought.”

“No, John – This is of importance–”

John answered his phone and walked out of the room. “Hello? Oh, hello, Alexandra. No, no. It’s fine.”

Sherlock stood there, blinking, until John came back in.

“I said hold that thought, not hold your exact position for three minutes.” John laughed.

“Two minutes and forty-seven seconds, actually.”

“You counted, then?”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“I dunno, read something?”

“There’s nothing here to read.”

John rolled his eyes. “What was it you wanted to tell me?”

‘Say it before you run out of time. Say it before it’s too late. Say what you’re feeling. Waiting is a mistake. Maybe you can have a happy ending, like in Molly’s story.’

"John, I-"

There was a knock at the door. “Mr. Watson? We need you for a moment.” Came the voice of one of the reception workers.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut tight and sighed. John stepped away and opened the door.

“Yes?”

“I’m so sorry to bother you, sir. But we have a question about the ice.”

“The ice? What about the ice?”

“Do you want it in halves, cubes, or crushed?”

“Oh, um. I don’t know, cubes, I guess?”

“Alright. Thank you, sir.” The young man bowed slightly and turned on his heel.

John returned to Sherlock. “Sorry about that. Again. They needed to know about ice, of all things. Now. Third time’s the charm, right?” John smiled up at him. “What did you want to tell me?”

“Just…” Sherlock paused. “Good luck. I’m… Happy for you.”

Damn.

John smiled. “Thanks, Sherlock. That means a lot to me. Really, thank you.” He said sincerely, not knowing that Sherlock was breaking inside.

Sherlock smiled down at him. “You’re welcome, John.”

John took a deep, nervous breath.

“Well, how do I look?” he asked, looking in the full-length mirror again, brushing some imaginary lint from his jacket.

Sherlock suddenly realized that there was a lump in his throat. So he just smiled at John, and John smiled back.

Because that’s what best friends do.

Chapter Text

Sherlock waited outside of the doors to the church with John. He was nervous, even more so than John. His attempts at calming his shaking were to no avail. John was silent, pacing every now and then.

“I need to use the restroom.” John said.

“You went four minutes ago. It’s simply your nerves making you think you need to. You haven’t drunk anything all day. If anything, you’re going to faint from dehydration.”

John glared at him. “Well thanks a bloody lot for that, now I feel lightheaded.”

“It’s nerves, John. Nerves.” He sighed.

“Don’t start with me. I’m already nervous enough as it is; I don’t need to argue with you right now.”

Sherlock kept his mouth shut.

One of the doors to the church opened slightly, and Mrs. Hudson stepped out.

“Hello, boys.” She smiled.

“Mrs. Hudson.” John nodded.

“Sherlock, I want to have a word with you.” Mrs. Hudson linked arms with Sherlock and walked with him down the hallway to a bench near a window.

“What is it, Mrs. Hudson?” Sherlock asked. He had elected to sit on her left, giving him a better view of John. He couldn’t take his eyes off of him. He was looking at his John in the last few moments that he could call him his. In just a few short minutes, he would no longer be his. He would be hers.

Mrs. Hudson took his hands in hers. “Sherlock.” He looked at her. “Are you okay, Sherlock?” she asked sincerely.

Sherlock looked away, back to John. The sunlight was hitting John just right, silhouetting him. Sherlock gave a small sigh. He looked back to Mrs. Hudson, then down at their hands. He didn’t respond.

Mrs. Hudson could see the pain in his eyes, and she knew that he was not okay. Not in the slightest. “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I really am.”

Sherlock gave her a half-hearted smile. “Not to worry, Mrs. Hudson. It isn’t your problem, it’s mine. You don’t see very much of me after this. I’m going to be working with Mycroft again.”

“Oh, Sherlock.” She put a hand on his cheek.

The bridesmaids and groomsmen had lined up at the door, which was Sherlock’s sign to line up and Mrs. Hudson’s to get back to her seat. He heard the music begin to play.

“Good luck, Sherlock.” She tapped him lightly on the cheek. He escorted her to the main door and she sneaked inside.

Sherlock readied himself and turned to John. “Ready?”

“Into battle.”

Sherlock put a reassuring hand on John’s shoulder. This was the last time that he would ever touch his John. He savored the moment, lingering a bit too long. John didn’t seem to mind, though. He removed his hand, nodded once to John, and headed to the back of the line with Mary’s bridesmaid that he was partnered with. She smiled at him and greeted him politely. He ignored her.

The doors opened and the efficient walked in, followed by John, marking the beginning of the processional.

This was it.

The groomsmen and bridesmaids walked down the aisle in pairs, lining up on their respective sides.

Sherlock and the bridesmaid were the last ones to walk down the aisle. He could feel the eyes of almost every person in the room on him, but he ignored them, too. He only had eyes for John.

Next was the ring bearer, Archie, who gave a cute smile to the bride’s side, then the groom’s side. He was followed by the flower girl that one of Mary’s friends had provided.

Sherlock was counting down the moments with dread. He knew who was coming next, and what it meant.

Mary appeared at the top of the aisle. She was wearing a beautiful wedding gown and a veil, and her flowers matched the white of her dress. Sherlock had made it so. He knew John would like it, which is why he did it.

Mary walked down the aisle, and all eyes were on her. Except for one pair.

She walked down the aisle alone; her parents had died when she was very young, so she had no one to hand her off to John.

Mary passed her bouquet off to the bridesmaid that Sherlock was paired up with. Every single bridesmaid was in tears. Sherlock wondered why.

Mary faced John, took his left hand in his right, and together they faced the officiant.

"Welcome everyone. John Hamish Watson and Mary Elizabeth Morstan have chosen you, those special and important to them, to witness and celebrate the beginning of their life together. Today, as we create this marriage, we also create a new bond and new sense of family - one that will undoubtedly include all who are present here today."

A lump had formed in Sherlock’s throat again. He stepped an inch closer to John.

"Love should have no other desire but to fulfill itself. But if your love and needs must have desires, let these be your desires: To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To know the pain of too much tenderness.”

Pain.

“To be wounded by your own understanding of love; And to bleed willingly and joyfully. To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;”

Love.

“To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;”

Ecstasy.

“To return home at eventide with gratitude;”

Gratitude.

“Then to sleep with a vision of the beloved in your heart and a song of love on your lips. When you love someone, you do not love them all the time, in exactly the same way, from moment to moment. Such is an impossibility, and even a lie to pretend to.”

Impossibility. Lie.

“And yet this is exactly what most of us demand. We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb.”

Terror.

“We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity;”

Permanency. Duration. Continuity.

“When the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity - in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern.”

Partners.

Each word branded itself into Sherlock’s mind. Each word held a memory of or a feeling for John.

“If anyone has any objections to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Sherlock’s lip trembled and he took in a breath.

But he remained silent.

John and Mary turned to each other.

He had missed his chance. He felt his heart drop.

"Do you, John Hamish Watson, take Mary Elizabeth Morstan, to be your partner in life and sharing your path; equal in love, a mirror for your true self, promising to honor and cherish, through good times and bad, until death do you part?"

John smiled at Mary. “I do.”

"And do you, Mary Elizabeth Morstan, take John Hamish Watson, to be your partner in life and sharing your path; equal in love, a mirror for your true self, promising to honor and cherish, through good times and bad, until death do you part?"

Mary smiled at John. “I do.”

Sherlock mouthed the words as she said them. Just so he could have the chance to say it.

"Mary, I give you this ring as a symbol of my love. As it encircles your finger, may it remind you always that you are surrounded by my enduring love.” John slid the ring onto her finger.

"I give you this ring as a visible and constant symbol of my promise to be with you, for as long as I live." Mary slid the ring onto his finger. Sherlock forced his tears back.

"Wedding rings are made precious by our wearing them. Your rings say that even in your uniqueness you have chosen to be bound together. Let these rings also be a sign that love has substance as well as soul, a present as well as a past, and that, despite its occasional sorrows, love is a circle of happiness, wonder, and delight. May these rings remind you always of the vows you have taken here today.”

The officiant looked to John and Mary. “And now, by the power vested in me, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss."

John put his arms around Mary and dipped her, planting a firm kiss on her lips.

No.

No.

No.

No.

He promised.

"Family and Friends, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. John and Mary Watson.”

The guests erupted in cheers.

Chapter Text

The bridesmaids and Sherlock formed a line and walked out of the church, with John and Mary in the front. Sherlock made sure to stay near them. The doors opened and the church bells tolled.

John was beaming, and Mary had a smile that wouldn’t remove itself from her lips.

“Congratulations!” the cameraman told them. “Okay, hold it there. I want to get this shot of the newlyweds.”

Sherlock came up and stood next to Mary, completely oblivious to the fact that the bridesmaids had stopped, and he was supposed to have stopped with them.

“Er, just the bride and groom, please.”

He remained in his place.

John looked to Sherlock. “Sherlock.”

Sherlock turned to John, and immediately realized that he should move. “Oh, sorry.” He stepped away.

“Okay, three, two, one, cheese.”

The newlyweds smiled for the camera and the bridesmaids threw flower petals into the air.

“How about a shot of the ladies?”

John stepped away and over to Sherlock as the bridesmaids came forward.

“Molly, Mrs. Hudson! Get over here.” Mary waved them over and they stood on either side of her.

The camera flashed. “Boys next!”

John and Sherlock switched places with the girls. Archie came over, too, and stood in front of Sherlock. John put his top hat on Archie’s head. Archie just loved the idea, and he adjusted it to fit him right on the head.

“Greg, come on.” John beckoned him over and he stood on Sherlock’s left.

“Three, two, one, cheese!” The camera flashed.

Archie threw the top hat in the air, and Sherlock and John threw handfuls of flower petals along with it. Greg looked up to watch them float, squinting his eyes because of the sun.

Everyone joined together, two families becoming one. They hugged, they laughed, young women saying “Hey, we’re cousins now!” to each other. Flower petals rained down on the lot.

Molly and Tom remained on the sidelines, simply there as guests, not family members of John or friends of Mary. Tom looked at all of the petals falling from the sky in what seemed to be a never ending flow. He had his hands on Molly’s arms, and she was not amused by him. She was looking at Sherlock. She still hadn’t moved on, no matter how hard she tried to believe that she had. Tom was fine, yeah. He looked and dressed like Sherlock; that was why she started dating him. It lessened the pain of his absence for those two years. She knew that Greg fancied her. She had once considered leaving Tom and dating Greg, but Greg didn’t look like Sherlock.

She was now glaring at Sherlock and the main bridesmaid, whose name she learned was Janine. Jealousy swam through her. Sherlock didn’t look too pleased with his current placement, which dulled her jealousy somewhat.

“The famous Mr. Holmes. I’m very pleased to meet you.” Janine said, looking up at Sherlock. She bit hre lip. “But no sex, okay?”

Sherlock was startled. “Sorry?”

Janine laughed. “You don’t have to look so scared. I’m only messing.” She motioned to herself, then to Sherlock. “Bridesmaid, best man. It’s a bit traditional.” She nudged his arm.

“Is it?” he asked, uninterested in the topic. He quickly scanned the crowd for someone she could fulfill her wish of sex with.

“But not obligatory.”

“If that’s the sort of thing you’re looking for, the man over there in blue is your best bet. Recently divorced doctor with a ginger cat.” He noted the ginger-colored fur on his jacket. “A barn conversion and a history of erectile dysfunction.” He looked closely at the man’s cowboy boots that were covered in sawdust. “Reviewing that information, possibly not your best bet.”

“Yeah, maybe not.”

“Sorry, there was one more deduction there than I was expecting.” Why would there be one more deduction there?

“Mr. Holmes, you’re going to be incredibly useful.” She linked her arm with his.

Sherlock looked down at their arms, confused. The cameraman took another picture of them.

John and Mary were huddled together, watching Sherlock with Janine.

“Do you think they’ll get together?” Mary asked.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

John turned to her, baffled. “Because it’s Sherlock. The only things he ever has feelings about is murders.”

“Oh, you’re wrong about that.” Mary said under her breath.

“What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing. Come on, let’s get going to the reception.”

The group began walking towards the reception building. Sherlock unlinked his arm from the bridesmaid and walked just behind John, taking him all in.

John turned around to see Sherlock behind him.

“Oi, Sherlock. Want to come and greet guests with me and Mary?” he offered. John wasn’t expecting him to agree, but Sherlock jumped at the opportunity.

More time to spend with John.

The three lined up at the door to the building, John in the middle and Sherlock to his left.

“Remember not to say anything out-of-line.” John told him.

“Why would I say anything out-of-line?”

“Because you’re Sherlock bloody Holmes.”

Sherlock didn’t understand the expression, so he dropped it.

Sherlock and Janine are stood together a short distance away from John and Mary. Janine looked admiringly at the waiter as he walked past.

“He’s nice.”

Sherlock sniffed deeply. “Traces of two leading brands of deodorant, both advertised for their strength, suggestive of a chronic body odor problem manifesting under stress.”

“Okay, done there. What about his friend?”
Sherlock turned to look where she was looking. In the nearby kitchen, another waiter was carefully pulling out the skewer from the middle of a large joint of roast beef.

“Long-term relationship, compulsive cheat.”

“Seriously?”

“Waterproof cover on his smartphone. Yet his complexion doesn’t indicate outdoor work. Suggests he’s in the habit of taking his phone into the shower with him, which means he often receives texts and emails he’d rather went unseen.”

“Can I keep you?” Janine asked.

“Do you like solving crimes?”

“Do you have a vacancy?”

Sherlock’s eyes drifted over to John and looked away quickly. Janine patted his shoulder and went to talk to a friend. Sherlock walked in a circle and saw Lestrade  sitting at a table alone, drinking the provided alcoholic beverage. He obviously didn’t have a date, and was disappointed by it. He turned his attention to John and Mary. The two looked to a man in a military uniform, who Sherlock recognized as Major Sholto. John stepped away to greet him, and Sherlock took his place next to Mary.

“So that’s him, Major Sholto.”

Mary turned to look at him. “Uh-huh.”

“If they’re such good friends, why does he barely even mention him?”

“He mentions him all the time to me, never shuts up about him.” He probably never mentions him to you because you never cared to inquire about his life. Mary took a sip of champagne.

“About him?” Sherlock asked, jealous. John talks about him all the time? Not… me?

“Mmhmm.” Mary made a disgusted sound after swallowing her sip of champagne. “I chose this wine, it’s bloody awful!”

“Yes, but it’s definitely him that he talks about?” Sherlock’s eyes turned sad.

“Mmhmm.” She nodded.

Sherlock and Mary watched them. John looked at Major Sholto with such admiration, just like how Sherlock looked at John.

John looked back at Sherlock and Mary and back to Major Sholto. Sherlock’s heart skipped a beat.

“I’ve never even heard him say his name.” Sherlock told Mary as he scrutinized Major Sholto.

“Well, he’s almost a recluse, you know, since…”

“Yes.” Sherlock had read up about the incident.

“I didn’t think he’d show up at all.” She told him.

“John says he’s the most unsociable man he’s ever met.”

“He is? He’s the most unsociable?” this was getting ridiculous. First John doesn’t shut up about this man, and now this?

“Mmhmm.”

“Ah, that’s why he’s bouncing around him like a puppy.” He spat. Sherlock blinked and tore his eyes away, choosing to focus on the ground.

“Oh, Sherlock!” Mary laughed and hugged his arm. “Neither of us were the first, you know.”

Mary’s happiness began to agitate Sherlock. “Stop smiling.”

“It’s my wedding day!” She defended.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and left her standing there. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

Mary took another sip of her champagne and made a face and a disgusted sound.

“Yes? What, Sherlock?” Mycroft answered.

“Why are you out of breath?” Sherlock paced the back of the room. Damn nerves.

“Filing.” Mycroft said sarcastically.

“Either I’ve caught you in a compromising position or you’ve been working out again.” He said, as if it were a bad thing. “I favor the latter.”

“What do you want?” Mycroft ignored the insult.

“I need your answer, Mycroft, as a matter of urgency.” Tears were filling up Sherlock’s eyes, and he had to force them to stay there and not fall.

“Answer?”

“Even at the eleventh hour, it’s not too late, you know.” Sherlock blinked away his tears.

“Oh, Lord.”

“Cars can be ordered, private jets commandeered.” John can renounce his engagement to Mary…

“Today. It’s today, isn’t it?” Damn. He had told Gregory that he would attend. “No, Sherlock, I will not be coming to the ‘night-do,’ as you so poetically put it.”

“What a shame.” Sherlock turned to look at John and Mary. “Mary and John will be extremely d-”

“Delighted not to have me hanging around.”

“Oh, I don’t know. There should always be a spectre at the feast.”

Mycroft changed the subject. He knew it was a sensitive topic, but he needed to put his two cents in. “So, this is it, then? The big day.” He said, sadness for his brother evident in his voice. “I suppose I’ll be seeing a lot more of you from now on.”

Sherlock’s heart clenched. “What do you mean?” he asked, although he knew exactly that Mycroft meant.

“Just like old times.” Before John.

“No, I don’t understand.” I hope he’s not actually saying what he’s saying. There’s no point in denying it. Although, one can hope.

“Well, ‘it’s the end of an era,’ isn’t it?” he said, referring to Mrs. Hudson’s story. “John and Mary, domestic bliss.”

Sherlock was in denial. “No, no, no. I prefer to think of it as the beginning of a new chapter.” He turned to look at John again, who was speaking with a couple of other guests.

Mycroft remained silent.

“What?” Sherlock demanded.

“Nothing.”

“I know that silence. What?” he demanded again.

Mycroft ignored him. “Well, I’d better let you get back to it. You have a big speech or something, don’t you?”

“What?” his voice was stern.

“Cake, karaoke… Mingling.”

Of course he would mention cake first.

“Mycroft!”

“This is what people do, Sherlock. They get married. I warned you, don’t get involved.”

“Involved? I’m not involved.”

“No…”

“John asked me to be his best man, how could I say no?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m not involved.”

“I believe you. Really, I do.” The sarcasm was back. “Have a lovely day and do give the happy couple my best.”

“I will.” Sherlock nearly ended the call, until Mycroft spoke again.

“Oh, by the way, Sherlock, do you remember Redbeard?”

Sherlock clenched his jaw. He thought of the dog that he had as a child, Redbeard. “I’m not a child anymore, Mycroft.” He said, his voice raspy. Sherlock remembered how he wanted to be a pirate when he grew up. That's why he named the dog Redbeard. Such a stupid and impractical aspiration.

“No, of course you’re not. Enjoy not getting involved, Sherlock.”

Sherlock immediately hung up. He turned to look at John again. The servers were going to be bringing out the food soon, so he sat down at the head table next to John, bracing himself for the best man speech.

Sherlock’s best man speech came from his heart. John truly was the bravest and the best man that he knew, and he was eternally grateful for John for saving his life on more than one occasion.

He had made a risky move during the speech. He had admitted to John that the loved him. In front of an entire room of people.

He successfully disguised it by adding Mary as one of the people that loved John most in the world. But Sherlock knew that he loved John the most, and he knew it would never change.

The Mayfly Man coming up was an unexpected surprise. Sherlock had gone on an all-out deduction attack and ended up admitting to John that he was the one who always kept him on the right track in his mind palace.

Overall, Sherlock would say that it was a success.

“Ah, Janine.” Sherlock walked up to Janine and immediately began talking, ignoring the fact that he had just interrupted her conversation with another bridesmaid.

“Yes? What is it, Sherlock?”

“We need to rehearse. Come with me.” Sherlock put his arm in escort position and she took it, but not before apologizing to the other bridesmaid.

Sherlock took her into a side room and they entered closed-position. He ignored her questions as to why they needed to do this.

“So. I notice you haven’t been talking with any other girls.”

Sherlock eyed her.

“You know, there’s nothing wrong with being gay.”

Sherlock stepped on her foot by accident, but she brushed it off. He looked at her like she had grown a second head. “I’m not gay.”

“Sure you aren’t.” she looked at him. “I see the way you look at John.” He sped up the dancing a bit, catching her off guard. “So if you’re not gay, then what are you? Are you bisexual? Asexual?” Her voice turned sympathetic. “You can tell me, you know. I don’t have any reason to tell anyone.”

He eyed her again and thought for a long moment. “For a long time, I wasn’t interested in romance. The thought was appalling, and it still is, although less so. As you know, I was gone for two years. You could say that the phrase ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ applies to my current situation. I hadn’t realized it before, but what I thought to be a simple feeling of fondness and familiarity had grown into the feeling that can only be described as love.”

Janine smiled a knowing smile.

“I have put myself in different shoes, you could say, on plenty of occasions, imagining if I could feel the same way about a different human being. But, no. The thought is truly vomit-inducing. One could say that I only have eyes… for John…” Sherlock trailed off at the end.

Janine said nothing. There was nothing she needed to say.

 “Pretty good.” He told her after a few minutes. He dropped closed-position. “Just hold your nerve on your timing.”

“Why do we have to rehearse?” she asked again.

“Because we are about to dance together in public and your skills are appalling.” He told her, as if it were the most obvious thing.

Janine laughed. “Wow, you’re a good teacher.”

“Hmm.”

“And you’re a brilliant dancer.”

“Can I let you in on something, Janine?” He felt he could… not trust, per say, rather he felt that she wouldn’t ridicule him for letting her in on this.

“Go on, then.”

“I love dancing. I’ve always loved it.”

“Seriously?”

He pondered for a moment. “Watch out.” Janine stepped away. Sherlock looked around to make sure that there was no one else to see him do this.

And just then, he did a pirouette.

Granted, it wasn’t the best; he wasn’t wearing the proper clothing and he had an audience for the first time in a long time.

“Oooh! Oh” Janine wasn’t expecting that.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Never really comes up in crime work, but, you know, I live in hope of the right case.”

“Oh, I wish you weren’t… whatever it is you are.”

Just then, John passed by the room. He stopped when he saw the two in there and stood in the doorframe.

“I know.” He agreed. It hurt him, really. It distracted him, too. But he would rather love John than not, no matter how hard it pained him.

“Well, glad to see you’ve pulled, Sherlock, what with murderers running riot at my wedding..” John said, trying but failing to hide the jealousy in his voice.

‘Pulled? What does he mean, pulled? Does he think I’m attracted to her? That’s repulsive.’ Sherlock thought.

John slapped Sherlock on the shoulder in a friendly manner. Janine smiled, knowing Sherlock secretly enjoyed it.

“One murderer… One nearly murderer.” Sherlock corrected and turned to Janine. “Loves to exaggerate – you should try living with him.

‘I’ll leave that part to you, Sherlock.’ Janine thought.

“Sherlock.” Lestrade popped his head into the room through a door on the opposite wall. He stepped through the door and pointed to where he just came from. “Got him for ya.” The wedding photographer stepped into the room.

“Ah, the photographer, excellent. Thank you.” Sherlock stepped forward. “May I have a look at your camera?”

“Erm, what’s this about? I was halfway home.” He laughed, trying to make light of the situation and mask his fear of the impending finding-out. Nevertheless, he handed his camera over to Sherlock.

“You should have driven faster.” Sherlock said slightly menacingly. Sherlock turned on the camera and flipped through the photos. “Ah, yes. Yes! Very good.” He had found what he was looking for. “Now you see… Perfect.”

“What is it? Are you going to tell us?” Lestrade asked, looking over Sherlock’s shoulder at the photos on the camera screen.

“Try looking yourself.” Sherlock handed the camera off to Lestrade.

“Look for what? Is the murderer in these photographs?” John asked as both he and Janine came to look at the photos.

“It’s not what’s in the photographs, it’s what’s not in them. Not in any of them.”

“Sherlock?” John asked, warning him. “The showing-off thing, we’ve discussed it before…”

Sherlock took in a breath. “There is always a man at a wedding who isn’t in any photograph, who can go anywhere, and even carry an equipment bag around with him if he likes, and you never even see his face.” He walked closer to the photographer and looked down towards his hand. “You only ever see...”
Sherlock rapidly slappeds one cuff of a pair of handcuffs around the photographer’s wrist and the other cuff around the frame of a nearby birdcage luggage trolley. “…the camera.”

“What are you doing? What is this?” the photographer questioned.

Sherlock held up his phone to show the screen to the others. “Jonathan Small, today’s substitute wedding photographer – known to us as the Mayfly Man. His brother was one of the raw recruits killed in that incursion. Jonny sought revenge on Sholto, worked his way through Sholto’s staff, found what he needed, an invitation to a wedding – the one time Sholto would have to be out in public. So, he made his plan and rehearsed the murder, making sure of every last detail.” Small looked calmly at Sherlock.
“Brilliant, ruthless, almost certainly a monomaniac – though, in fairness, his photographs are actually quite good.” Sherlock tossed his phone to Lestrade. “Everything you need’s on that. You probably ought to... arrest him or something.”

Out in the hallway, Mary came into view, looking for John. She spotted him, smiled, and hurried towards him. Janine leaned closer to Sherlock and spoke quietly without looking at him.

“Do you always carry handcuffs?”

“Down, girl.”

Mary held out her hand to John. “Come on, quick!” she reached his side and John put his arm around her as she turned and saw Small nearby. He was looking at Sherlock fixedly.

“It’s not me you should be arresting, Mr. Holmes.” Small said.

“Oh, I don’t do the arresting.” Sherlock nodded towards Lestrade. “I just farm that out.”

“Sholto – he’s the killer, not me. I should have killed him quicker.” Small grinned manically, which then faded and he shook his head. “I shouldn’t have tried to be clever.” He said eerily.

“You should have driven faster.” Sherlock said equally as eerily.

Sherlock put his arm in escort position to Janine, who took it, and they walked out of the room, with John and Marry following.  

Lestrade looked down at Sherlock’s phone, then to Small. “Right.”

Thoughts and memories of john swam through Sherlock’s head. He was playing the violin for John and Mary’s first dance.

He couldn’t bear to look at them. He knew that John was slipping from his grasp, and he was doing so much quicker than Sherlock would have liked. If he even liked it, that is.

He had written this song for John, and only for John. He may have addressed it to both John and Mary, but it was a lie.

Everything was a lie. Everything was always a lie. A lie, a cover, a mask. Concealed. And now, he had to conceal his feelings for John for the rest of his life.

Declaring his love and playing it off using Mary’s love during his best man speech hadn’t helped him in the slightest. If anything, it made it worse.

He could repress the emotion. Maybe it would go away one day. Maybe not seeing John as often would help him. But then again, absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Sherlock was going to be returning to an empty flat after the wedding, knowing that John was going to continue to slip further and further away from him.

John had promised him. He had promised Sherlock that he would never leave him. And today, by making a promise to someone else, he broke that promise to Sherlock.

John. John. John Watson. John Hamish Watson. His John.

His blogger. His army doctor. His partner. His best friend.

His love.

His John was gone.

Never to return to him.

No.

Sherlock swore that he would keep that promise to John.

Even though John would eventually slip away completely, Sherlock would keep him in his life as long as he could. He couldn’t live without John.

As the song faded away, Sherlock came back to the present. He shook his head, attempting to clear his mind. Surprisingly, it worked, albeit not very much.

The song ended, and John dipped Mary.

In that moment, Sherlock dipped John. He wasn’t very heavy, so he could support John’s weight, seeing as John was caught off-guard and didn’t have the time to support his own weight.

John’s face was inches from his, his eyes wide, clearly not expecting to have been dipped.

Sherlock looked deeply into John’s eyes. He wanted to commit them to memory. He never wanted to forget the color of John’s eyes, the warmth and devotion in them. He was worried, afraid, scared that he wouldn’t be able to look into the eyes of his army doctor for much longer. The emotions and thoughts and feelings he saw in John’s eyes would no longer be only for him to look at in a few day’s time. John would develop new attachments and feelings and emotions for other people, and soon John’s eyes would be purely cleansed of anything involving Sherlock.

Little did he know, John was doing the exact same.

Sherlock leaned in closer to John’s face. “And this is where you kiss her, John.” He said in a low voice. He looked back and forth between John’s lips and his eyes.

“Is that so?” John breathed, looking down at Sherlock’s own lips.

Maybe, just maybe… If he leaned in a few more inches… He could...

The crowd cheered and applauded as John did just that.

Janine cheered extra loud, looking over Sherlock, who gave her a pointed look. He turned to the music stand in front of him where he had placed his so that it wouldn’t get crushed while he was playing. He picked it up, showed Janine what he was holding and then tossed it across the room towards her, and she caught it.

John, who had pulled Mary upright again and was laughing happily, waved his thanks to Sherlock, then kisses Mary again as Sherlock stepped to the nearby microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, just one last thing before the evening begins properly.” His voice was sad, but he didn’t try to mask it. He would be masking too much in the years to come. “Apologies for earlier, a crisis arose and was dealt with. More importantly, however, today we saw two people make vows. I’ve never made a vow in my life, and after tonight I never will again. So, here in front of you all, my first and last vow. Mary and John, whatever it takes, whatever happens, from now on, I swear I will always be there. Always. For all three of you.” Damn. Cover it, Sherlock. Cover it. “Erm, sorry, I mean - I mean… I mean two of you. All two of you. Both of you, in fact. I just miscounted. Anyway, it’s time for dancing! Play the music again, please. Thank you!” neon lights came on and music started. “Okay, everybody, just dance, don’t be shy.” Some people came onto the dance floor. “Dancing, please. Very good.” Sherlock stepped down from the stage.”

Sherlock walked over to John and Mary, both of whom were very confused. “Sorry, that was one more deduction than I was really expecting.” Why has that happened to me twice today?

“Deduction?” Mary asked.

“Increased appetite, change of taste perception. You were sick this morning. You assumed it was just wedding nerves. You got angry with me when I mentioned it to you. All the signs are there.”

“The signs?” Mary asked concerned.

Sherlock looked between them both. This was it. “The signs of three.” Sherlock glanced down to Mary’s stomach.

“What?” Mary needed clarification.

“Mary, I think you should do a pregnancy test.” Sherlock’s voice wavered at the end. John hung his head, clearly shocked by the revelation.

Mary’s expression immediately changed to an excited one.

“Well, the statistics for the first trimester are-”

“Shut up.” John told him. “Just. Shut up.”

“Sorry.” Sherlock looked away.

“How did he notice before me?” John asked Mary, as if Sherlock didn’t have exemplary deduction skills. “I’m a bloody doctor.”

“It’s your day off.” Sherlock told him, as though it would help the situation.

“It’s your day off!” John retorted.

“Stop. Stop panicking.” Sherlock told him.

“I’m not panicking.”

“I’m pregnant, I’m panicking!” Mary shouted.

“Don’t panic.” Sherlock told her. “None of you panic.” He said, softer. “Absolutely no reason to panic.” He was mostly reassuring himself.

John looked up at him. “Oh, and you’d know, of course!”

“Yes, I would. You’re already the best parents in the world, look at all the practice you’ve had.”

“What practice?” John asked.

“Well, you’re hardly going to need me around now that you’ve got a real baby on the way.”

No one thought to correct him when he said that they weren’t going to need him around.

John looked up at Sherlock. And he smiled. Sherlock looked down at John, and he smiled back.

John put a hand on the back of Sherlock’s neck, smiling. John put a hand on Sherlock’s and Mary’s shoulders.

The three of them together.

The sign of three.

Sherlock’s smile faded.

“Are you all right?” John asked Mary.

“Yeah!” Mary said, a little breathlessly.

John smiled up at Sherlock with the biggest smile he could manage. Sherlock looked at John with nothing but love in his eyes. They looked at each other for a long moment, then John broke the eye contact and they both looked a bit awkward. There was a slightly embarrassed pause for a couple of seconds.

“Dance.” Sherlock told them. The sadness in his voice had returned.

“Hmm?”

“Both of you now, go, dance. We can’t just stand here, people will wonder what we’re talking about.”

“Right.” John said.

“Well, what about you?” Mary reached out to touch Sherlock’s arm, her voice tearful.

“Yeah, we can’t all three dance, there are limits.” John said.

“Yes, there are.” Sherlock agreed, disappointed.

Mary cleared her throat. “Come on, husband, let’s go.” She said, her voice still tearful.

John pointed over his shoulder. “This isn’t a waltz, is it? 

Mary laughed.

“Don’t worry, Mary, I have been tutoring him.”

“He did, you know. Baker Street, behind closed curtains.” John turned to face her. He took her right hand with his left and puts his other hand on her waist. “Mrs. Hudson came in one time. Don’t know how those rumors started!” he sniggered.

Giggling, Mary put her left hand on his shoulder and they danced off into the crowd. Looking over John’s shoulder, Mary smiled at Sherlock and mouthed a ‘thank you.’ He smiled, then nodded to her.

As his friends danced away, he lowered his eyes, then slowly turned and looked at everybody dancing all around him, keeping his head lowered as if not to meet anyone’s eyes. He both looked and felt very lost and alone in the middle of the crowd.

After a few moments he had a thought and lifted his head, still looking around but now with more intent. Eventually, he spotted Janine dancing some distance away. She was wearing his boutonnière, pinned to the top of her dress. She looked across the room and smiled at him. Returning her smile, he began to walk towards her and she lifted her hand and pointed to her right with her thumb up, grinning happily. Sherlock stopped as he realized that she was dancing with one of the men he had recommended to her earlier. She turned away and continued to dance with her new friend.

Sherlock turned towards the stage.

On the music stand, he had his hand-written music he played for the newlyweds. In the top right-hand corner, he had written:

Waltz,
for Mary & John
by Sherlock Holmes

He folded up the sheet music and tucked it into an envelope addressed to Dr. and Mrs. Watson. He placed it on the music stand.

Dejectedly, Sherlock stepped off the stage and walked through the crowd, not noticing Molly watching him. He didn’t look back at the dancing crowd. He didn’t take one last look at John.

He grabbed his coat and scarf from the coatroom and left the building.

It was a cold night, but he didn’t seem to notice. He put his coat on in a way that John had always thought was funny. He buttoned it shut.

And slowly, very slowly, he allowed the sadness to consume him. He finally allowed the tears that he had been holding in all day to fall.

And in that moment, Sherlock Holmes knew that he no longer had a place in the lives of Dr. and Mrs. Watson.