Hi guys. This is my first fanfic ever. Not much mature content… some swearing and such. John has some relationships with women but in the end it will always be Johnlock. If you don't like stories about gay army doctors and consulting detectives, please exit now. I don't own anything except the plot (though I had inspiration)

This is set post-reichenbach.

3 years. 3 bloody years since he had seen his best friend jump off a roof. So many things he could have said but went unheard. John H Watson stared out the stained glass window. Earlier in the day it had been raining, leaving a light mist outside. John squinted through the window, trying to see past the depiction of Jesus or an angel or whatever it was. John was not a very religious man. He never really had been but all ideas of a god had vanished when he had met the man closest to being a god. His name again. The word still ran through his brain. Every minute, every second.

Sherlock.

"-On? John? Mate, you alright?" John's eyes flicked up to where he was being called. Greg Lestrade was standing over him, his grey hairs more prominent than they had been recently, probably due to the coal black suit and crisp white shirt he was wearing.

"John… You're doing it again. Spacing out. Look-" Lestrade tried to start something but was abruptly cut off.

"Greg, I'm fine. Just a bit nervous is all." The ex-army doctor tried to give a weak smile to his friend. Lestrade didn't seem too convinced, "I mean, Greg. You can understand what I'm going through, right?"

The detective inspector stared at John and shook his head, "I know you get stressed with these kind of things. I mean, bloody hell John. But… This is different and you know why."

John slumped a bit in the armchair, head resting in his palms for just a few seconds. When he looked back up he had a friendly grin on his face. He stood and brushed off his tuxedo, adjusting the bow a little and picked up his cane. Patting his friend on the shoulder he crossed to room and stood by the door briefly. Without looking back at Lestrade he spoke,

"Everything's good, mate. It's fantastic."

John hoped Lestrade didn't notice the waver in his voice as he limped out of the room. Lestrade shook his head, now alone in the room.

Is it really a good idea to get married so near the cemetery, John?

The church was rather full. John Watson was a likeable man, and it showed from the amount of friends and family that had shown up on his side. From the front of the church and leaning on his cane, John recognized most people. Neither of his parents were there, but he hadn't expected them to be. His family had been drifting apart ever since Harry had come out. Joining the army had been his only escape. But no one had ever known that apart from Harry and John. Except… Sherlock. He had known. He'd never told John he knew but John was sure of it. Neither of their families had been close. Yet another connection they had shared. And- No. John cleared his head of Sherlock. It would only make things worse. John was happy now, wasn't he? He had moved on, or so he kept telling himself… Found a lovely woman. About to be married.

He continued to scan the crowd, who were pleasantly chatting. Sarah from surgery was here; she gave him a bright smile and turned back to a conversation with her new boyfriend. He knew Harry was here, in the church, probably helping his wife-to-be get ready. Her wife, Clara was sitting in the second row. After Sherlock's death they had gotten back together and sorted things out. Many friends from Scotland Yard and Surgery were here. Whenever he caught an eye he offered a clear smile. Greg slid up beside John and tapped him on the shoulder. John turned and raised an eyebrow in question. Lestrade cleared his throat and whispered,

"Uh... John, can you come here for a sec? Someone wants to –uh- talk to you."

Confused, John looked around. No one stood out. He knew he had plenty of time until the wedding actually began so he shrugged and followed Lestrade.

A man in a 3-piece suit was facing one of the windows of the parlor. His ginger-brown hair combed over his head. John knew who it was before he turned around. The doctor grimaced.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Ah John, good to see you too."

"Mycroft"

"Congratulations on the wedding. Mary, was it? Her background doesn't betray any horrible scandals so I can only hope for the best."

"Answer the question, Mycroft, or I will not hesitate to punch the British government in the face."

"I trust you've heard the news?"

John opened his mouth to say something but stopped.

"Ok then you haven't. Honestly John, I know you haven't forgotten him. Telling yourself to move on, are you? I expected more of you."

"Mycroft, wh-"

Mycroft fished a newspaper clipping out of his pocket.

"This is from this morning. News is quickly spreading to other newspapers. I've already received info that the story will be the feature of several front pages tomorrow. He handed the clipping to John. John stared at the Holmes elder for a second then took the clipping out of his hand.

He almost dropped to the ground. Gracing the slip of paper was a blown up picture of the consulting detective that John just couldn't forget. The photo was attractive, the wind blowing through his dark curls, his bright eyes open and looking into the camera, clearly deep in thought. His cheekbones were high and prominent. He looked exactly like the man John had spent so long memorizing, longing for. He reached out and traced the curls before he sucked in a breath at the headline. In bold letters across the background of the photo it read "GENIUS DETECTIVE WAS FRAMED. EVIDENCE PROVES SHERLOCK HOLMES INNOCENT."

He reread that sentence over and over again. The article was true to the headline.

"Three years ago, consulting detective and apparent genius Sherlock Holmes was accused of being a fraud and hiring "Richard Brook." To play the part of an evil mastermind: Jim Moriarty. An article written by former-reporter Kitty Riley claimed Holmes hired actor "Richard" to play villain as to make Holmes seem like a hero. Soon after the article was published, Holmes jumped to his death off the roof of St Bart's hospital. The reason why was assumed to be that he was proved to be a fake. Evidence has recently come to light that proves the detective innocent. Richard Brooks never existed. An investigation into the supposed actor went underway and they found out each of his documents and proof of existence was forged and certified fake. Jim Moriarty was also proved to have been what many interrogated men called a 'consulting criminal.' Further investigation has gone into Holmes's case and why he committed suicide but his name has been cleared. Recently more protests have been starting around Holmes's name and now they have a further boost. As their slogan stands, "I believe in Sherlock Holmes."

John didn't notice he was crying until a teardrop stained the page. When he looked up, Mycroft was looking smug. He folded his arms and started walking towards the exit.

"Mycroft."

"Keep the clipping, John. And do have a good wedding."

"You… you helped didn't you?"

Mycroft stopped and turned to look at John.

"I didn't want my family name to be tarnished now, did I?"

"Th-thank you…So much."

Mycroft stared at him. John almost smiled. Sherlock used to look just like that.

"I have a feeling John. That if my brother hadn't died, you wouldn't be having a wedding now." And with that Mycroft was gone

John only gaped at the spot where Mycroft had been standing a minute ago. His cheeks flushed at the meaning of the sentence because at the back of his head there was a little voice chanting, He's right, he's right.

When he walked back out to the alter, he still had a few minutes. Geez women took long to prepare. It would have taken less time if it had been Sher… John paused. What was he thinking? He loved Mary now. She had helped him… but… no. Sherlock was dead.

Lestrade was back by his side in another two minutes. His eyes were a bit wet though his grin was wide and John deduced he had found out about Sherlock as well. Lestrade patted him on the back and they shared a smile of relief. No words were needed. At Sherlock's funeral, Lestrade had sincerely apologized for doubting Sherlock and said he still believed in him. John had eventually caved in and forgiven him. After that, they had become good friends and now Lestrade was John's best man.

John noticed him wave at someone in the pews and turned to see Molly. Molly caught his eye and looked shocked for a second. He had sent her an invite but hadn't expected her to come. She hadn't been in touch recently. She gave him a forced smile and nervously averted her gaze elsewhere, becoming very interested in flowers near the door. He turned to Greg with a questioning look and Greg shrugged, "I haven't been out with her recently, but she's acting a bit strange." John acknowledged this with a nod. He had found out that they had tried to pursue a relationship after Lestrade's wife left him but hadn't heard of it since. He assumed that there was nothing happening between them any more or else he may have heard more.

The church organ began to play and John snapped out of his thoughts. He shot his eyes down to the end of the aisle and there she was. Mary. Beautiful as ever, with her blonde hair pinned up over her head and her pale skin clean and delicate in her long white dress. A veil covered her face though John knew under the veil she was still gorgeous. She never accepted anything less than perfect, especially with her own appearance. She stood alone, bouquet in her hands and bridesmaids trailing behind her. Neither of her parents were here either, except this was because her mother was deceased and her father still missing and suspected dead. She started floating towards him, every step perfect, not once wobbling in her high heels. She had been practicing walking in them around the apartment for so long and had even sprained an ankle once. She was graceful but it reminded him all too much of someone else's walk. His long practiced strides, one foot in front of the other, each time without a mistake. What if he had been walking down the aisle instead? NO! John was not gay. He couldn't have loved Sherlock, could he have? But all the things he wanted to say to him…

Mary was soon in front of him. He stopped thinking about…him… and lifted her veil. She truly was beautiful; he lips shining red and eyes bright. Sherlock's eyes were brighter. What? Stop no… I love Mary, right?

So he had convinced himself he did. Somewhere in his head, he thought he said he loved Mary just to move on from Sherlock and now he was committing to a lifetime with her. The priest droned on for what seemed like ages. Every now and then Mary squeezed his hand or smiled at him, her teeth a brilliant white. He looked back at Mary and smiled, squeezed her hand in return, but his stomach was rolling and head still spinning from the news of Sherlock's innocence. Finally it was time.

"John Watson, do you take Mary Morstan for your lawful wedded wife, to live in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love, honour, comfort and cherish her from this day forward, forsaking all others, keeping only unto her as long as you both shall live?"

The question. Such a simple response, yet he had practiced to himself so many times, never sounding too convinced. He had even spoken it to Sherlock's grave, wondering if he'd approve of Mary. He looked into Mary's eyes.

"I –"

He was cut off by the sound of doors slamming open at the other end of the chapel and a resonating gasp. He looked back and froze in shock.

"I'm not too late am I?"

A familiar deep voice echoed through the room. There standing in jeans and a well-fitting blue t-shirt – hardly his usual look – looking slightly out of breath but composed with the slightest hint of a smirk on his face, dark curls, cheekbones and all was Sherlock Holmes.

Well that was long ;) Hope it was Ok but it didn't sound quite right in some places. :/ Oh well, next chapter up at some point.