"If anyone has any objections to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace."
At the priest's words, a slow silence fell over the entire crowd. Surely, no one could doubt it: John and Mary were perfect for each other. It was obvious to anyone just how much they cared for each other. No one spoke. Until...
"I object." No one stood from the crowd. No chairs scraped the ground as some half-drunken man stumbled to his feet and kicked a chair over, as one might expect. In fact, the two words had come from the man standing at the altar-not John, of course, but his best man. Several gasps ensued, and the crowd swapped horrified glances.
"An objection has been made. Would you like to verify your statement and explain as to why-"
"Yes, thank you, I would." Sherlock cut him off, turning to John. He didn't care that about a thousand eyes were burning into his intensely. He didn't care that, at that moment, Molly and Lestrade were hating him more than ever for ruining such a momentous occasion. He didn't even see them. All he saw was John Hamish Watson, the man he'd been secretly in love with for as long as he could remember.
Sherlock cleared his throat. "Now, those of you who know me understand that I tend to screw the majority of things in my life up, and I tend to send people's lives into ruins and laugh as the debris falls around me. But I can't let this one go. I tried, John, for you, but I couldn't. That woman-Mary-is not who you believe she is."
"Sherlock." John's face had paled considerably. "Sherlock, please-"
"No, John. I'm sorry. Mary, why don't you tell him? Tell him the truth. Tell him everything. Tell him how you stole the identity of the deceased woman after her burial. Tell him how you're only using him to get to me, to get answers, to get yor case noticed!"
"Sherlock, you've had way too much to drink..." John began. Again, Sherlock shook his head.
"Mary can testify," he spoke, turning for the first time to the blonde bride, whose face was whiter than her gown in all her shock. "Tell him the truth. If you really care, tell him the truth."
"Mary, don't listen to him. He's just trying to get to you..." John murmured reassuringly. This time, it was Mary who spoke.
"No. John, he's...he's right."
John stared at her, his mouth agape. "Mary...what...?"
"I'm not Mary Watson. Sherlock's telling the truth. The wedding's off, John. I-I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, John. I hate to be the one to tell you, but I was the only one who found out. And I couldn't bear to see you go on like this, living a lie, oblivious to the facts..." he bit his lip.
"Fine," John spoke sharply, and he ripped the pinned corsauge from the front of his tux and threw it to the ground. "I never loved you, anyway."
"John-" she began.
"SHUT UP!" He exclaimed loud enough to shake the entire building. "I'm going home! Any of you can do whatever you want, but I'm not staying here. And I'm not staying with her!"
"John...calm down," Sherlock murmured, and John fell silent, staring at the crowd, awestruck at his sudden infuriation and the confession. "Come on." He returned to the crowd, raising his voice. "John just needs to get a few things sorted out. Until then, he'll be at Baker Street with me."
No one objected, not even Mary; no one dared to speak a word.
After a silent cab ride to the apartment, the two entered the apartment.
"How did you know?" John asked. "How did you know, and how didn't I know?"
"It's what I do, John. I'm a consulting detective. I only just confirmed it all, just now...and I didn't want you to-"
"No. No, Sherlock, I'm not mad at you. I'm...thank you." No sooner had the words escaped his lips did John add, "For everything. For being the greatest best man I've ever known, for being...everything, Sherlock. You're everything."
"W-what do you mean?" The consulting detective's voice quavered. "John...?"
"The only reason I was ever with Mary was because I thought...I thought she could somehow fill the void. When you were dead..." he broke off, shaking his head. "When we thought-when it happened-I couldn't get on with life, Sherlock. I started seeing my therapist again. She asked me if there was anything I regretted saying to you. I said yes. She asked me if there was anything I regretted not saying to you. I said yes. She asked me what those things were, and I didn't tell her, Sherlock, because you were the only person I could tell. I didn't love Mary. I tried to, really. I loved you...and I still do." He stepped closer to Sherlock.
His words momentarily seemed to stop Sherlock's heart completely. There was no way this could be real. This had to be a dream. "What are you trying to say?" He murmured.
"I think you know exactly what I'm trying to say," John replied. "I'm in love with you, Sherlock Holmes." Their eyes were only inches apart.
"And I'm in love with you, John Watson." With those final words, Sherlock leaned in, closing the gap between the two, their lips locking onto each others'.
Sherlock grinned. Colleague. Acquaintence. Flatmate. Ally. Friend. Best Friend. Infatuation. Boyfriend...probably. And maybe someday...husband.
"You're the one I shaved for," John whispered to him, pulling away momentarily.
Sherlock shot him a grin. "I know," he replied just before leaning in for yet another kiss. As this one intensified, John's lips parting and Sherlock's tongue teasing along the edges of his partner's lips, neither of them pushed the other away or said a word. Yes, the day had taken a surprising change. Yes, the wedding was off. Yes, John's wife had been a complete and total liar. Yes, this fact was unsettling for him. No, neither of them regretted a thing.
Yes, John Watson and Sherlock Holmes announced their monogamous relationship the following morning.