A/N: I have a couple more chapters just about finished, but at the moment I don't know if I'll continue writing this to completion heh. I guess it depends on you guys. If I do continue, the rating may change. I don't know. Oh and can I just whine about how my muse has been so finicky lately, because it has. I don't even know what's going on. I am trying not to give up on my Bane of Existence series though, have no fear. Anyway. Be sure to tell me what you think! Constructive criticism is totally welcome by the way!
P.S. - As with all my other fics, this has been and shall continue to be cross-posted on AO3. Go to my profile if it's your preferred cup of tea.
Chapter 1: The Proposal
Sherlock gets right to the point.
"John, we should get married."
He says it without inflection, in such a perfectly bored tone that if John wasn't listening to the words he's actually saying, he would have thought Sherlock was talking about something as banal as the weather.
John has been making himself (and maybe Sherlock too if he can get him to eat) some spaghetti bolognese. The knife he's using to cut the onions almost slips, narrowly missing his metacarpals. He's not sure he's heard right.
"Excuse me?" he hints politely for some much-needed clarification.
"You heard me," Sherlock presses with all the patience of a toddler, "Let's get married."
John puts down the knife, sensing this is one of those conversations.
"And why should we do such a thing?" John says, with all the patience of a medical professional.
Sherlock rolls his eyes as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, "You're the most logical option."
John waits for the punchline.
When none seems forthcoming, after a long moment of silence and a silent stand-off, he rolls his shoulders and simply says, "Uh, no. Sorry."
Sherlock looks genuinely confused as if he didn't factor this possible outcome into his calculations, but it's wiped away quite quickly.
"Why not?" Sherlock asks, squinting at his friend. He looks like he's about to stomp his foot and throw a tantrum.
John leans back a bit, blinking with disbelief, "Sherlock, I'm not marrying you because 'it's the most logical option'."
Sherlock makes a little sulky noise that John was completely expecting, or something along the lines of.
"But this is the best way," Sherlock says, vehemently, "The official who performs the ceremonies is a murderer and all of my current evidence is merely circumstantial, John. He must be caught in the act to gain grounds for a solid conviction."
John really couldn't care less, "No. I am not marrying you, Sherlock."
"But John," Sherlock stretches out his name into a whine that would do a six-year-old kid proud, "It's for the greater good!"
John snorts, "Like you care about the greater good."
Sherlock smirks smugly, "No, but you do."
John sobers up at that. He says, "Get someone else to marry you."
"It's a civil marriage official."
"Get Lestrade to marry you!"
"He wouldn't marry me if his life depended on it, and the feeling's mutual. You on the other hand -"
John can't believe what he's hearing, "And what the hell makes you think that I would?"
"There are lives at stake here, John," Sherlock widens his eyes in mock earnestness.
John stares at him. He says, "You've got to be joking."
Sherlock says, "I never joke."
"Yeah you do," John counters.
Sherlock heaves a sigh, "It wouldn't mean anything if that's what you're so concerned about. If it eases your mind, we can get a divorce the following day."
"No, Sherlock! There is no way I'm marrying you!" John's voice rises a couple of octaves, and he bunches his hands into fists as if that would help strengthen his resolve.
"But why not?" Sherlock says as he huffs and crosses his arms.
John actually cannot believe this is his life.
"Do I really need to spell is for you? Find another way to catch the murderer."
"Why. Not?" Sherlock asks, leaning over the bench, face set in hard planes and sharp irritation.
"Because it's just not what mates do, Sherlock," John says through gritted teeth.
Sherlock tilts his head and regards him for a moment, "I've heard that a spouse is often one's best friend. Don't you think I've already considered every other option? This is the one most likely to give me what I need."
John considers the very, very sharp knife in front of him. He closes his eyes, and counts to ten, as slow as he can.
After a moment, he glares up at his impatiently fidgeting friend, "Alright. Fine. But I have conditions."
Sherlock waves a hand, indicating he continue.
"It doesn't mean a thing," John holds out one finger.
"Absolutely not," Sherlock shakes his head emphatically.
"We get divorced the very next day. Seriously, I don't care about the usual grounds for divorce rules," John continues, unfurling a second.
"Certainly. Mycroft owes me a bit of a favour anyway," Sherlock gives a feline smile.
"You may not tell another soul about this once it's over, nor will you tell a soul while we're married. Capiche?" John's steely eyes bore into Sherlock in the most menacing way he can muster.
It would have worked on anyone else, but this is Sherlock, and no matter that he wouldn't say it aloud; Sherlock finds John-in-a-huff incredibly endearing. He always feels an irrational urge to do things he would not normally consider, never mind actually do.
Sherlock doesn't allow himself to grin in triumph, but instead nods his solemn acceptance and exits with his usual dramatic air.
John sighs and gets back to making dinner.
