Author's Note: I don't know if this type of fic has been written about Sherlock and John before, but Lisa and I felt inspired. It is totally time for a crazy wedding romantic comedy to be made about them. So now I present to you my first extremely ridiculous crack!fic P.S. There are lots of references to other movies/TV shows Benedict and Martin have been in. (And other shows too!) See if you catch them!
About 2 years from the moment Sherlock flew off the top of St. Bart's, he was wasting away in a colorless hotel room. A text message appeared on his phone. He glanced over at it.
Sherlock, you've run out of chances to tell him the truth. John proposed to Mary today. – Mycroft
Sherlock threw the mobile phone across the room, where it conveniently landed on a worn out chair to break its fall. He thought, that fat whore! Why would he want to spend the rest of his life with her? She looks like that prostitute I met on that boat to Australia once… Only older and fatter! She weighs like 5 million pounds and she's unattractive! Who cares if she's a published author and does tons of charity work? That doesn't make her any more worthy of MY JOHN. Sherlock was clearly green with envy. He knew that nothing could be done to change things, but he was still very upset.
The detective clicked on the television, trying to find the quickest way to relax his mind. During his time hunting down Moriarty's colleagues, he'd spent way too much time watching cheesy romantic comedies to numb his pain. He scrolled through the channels and found one of his favorites. He'd tuned in at just the right point, his favorite scene, the wedding. In this particular film, the woman's lover came back at just the right second to stop her wedding to a horrible lying man… Then Sherlock had an idea, a brilliant idea.
He got up and grabbed the phone off the chair. His fingers flew quickly across the keys.
Brother, I need you to get me the date and time for the wedding. - SH
He waited silently for Mycroft's response. Several moments later, the phone vibrated.
She wanted to have it as soon as possible. It's in two and a half weeks. They are having it at her father's estate in the country. – Mycroft
Sherlock growled. What a dull stuck-up rich snob with her stupid high-end estate, why does he have to love her? Does he even really love her?
Send me a detailed invitation as soon as one becomes available. - SH
He ran his fingers through his flat red hair. His missed his dark curly locks. Mycroft had made him go through that awful keratin treatment… then the process of bleaching and dying it… horrific! For his safety… yeah right, his older brother probably just did it for a laugh.
I received an invitation this morning. I will take a picture of it and text it to you, so you know the particulars. – Mycroft.
Sherlock waited anxiously for the picture message to arrive on his mobile. The picture came. The invitation was scripted in beautiful hand-written calligraphy. He read it out loud to himself.
It read:
Mr. & Mrs. Nathaniel Morstan request the honor of your presence at the marriage of their beloved daughter Miss Mary Lynette Morstan to Doctor John Hamish Watson son of Mr. & Mrs. Edwin Watson.
The ceremony will be held on Saturday the twenty-first, two in the afternoon at our family estate. A reception is to follow.
A knot formed in Sherlock's stomach. Would his plan really work?
In the weeks leading up to John's wedding, Sherlock hand over the remnants of the Moriarty case to Mycroft. He focused all of his attention on slithering in John's shadow. The detective took up residence in an Inn just a couple miles down the road from the Morstan estate. Each day, he followed the wedding planning adventures of Mary and John.
Gardens of magical flowers lined the castle-like mansion of the Morstan estate. Gorgeous stone pathways weaved through the grounds, like something out of a storybook. In one clearing amid the shrubbery, a stall stone stable was placed. Ivy and other greenery grew up its aging walls. Fifteen horses hung their heads out of wooden stall doors.
From Sherlock's hidden spot among bushes, he could clearly see across a riding ring with low fences and toward Mary grooming a stunning horse. John was standing on the other end of the paddock, with a cane in his hand. The detective sighed; He's really limping again? I though Mycroft was just trying to scare me…
Mary finished grooming the pure white stallion. She smiled at her fiancé and shouted, "You're excited to see me ride side-saddle right? I've been practicing so I can ride in my dress." John nodded, but seemed to show no real interest. The bride disappeared into a tack room and reappeared with a brown, leather traditional side-seat saddle, which she quickly threw onto the pale steed's back.
As she began riding circles in the ring, two figures emerged from one of the mythical garden walkways. One spoke, "Oh yes, we're here! This is the stable! My daughter is set on having her favorite stallion as a part of the wedding party! That's okay right?" Sherlock deduced that this woman was a clearly Mary's mother. She was short and slim. She was beautiful in the way only the rich can be, even while slight wrinkles lined her tired face. The younger woman standing next to her was obviously a wedding planner, hired to make Mary's dream nuptial ceremonies a reality.
The planner replied, "Why of course she can have the horse in the wedding! That's perfect! She'll look like a princess."
Sherlock snarled. Princess, yeah right… She's more like a nasty fire-breathing dragon!
John had dozed off, evidently bored out of his mind. Mary stopped riding at the edge of the ring nearest her bench. She kindly remarked, "Dear, the wedding planner is here. You should probably greet her." John snored loudly. Mary barked, "John Hamish Watson!"
Sherlock muffled his unruly laughter. John rose quickly, a bit shocked. Mary shook her head and rode to the other end of the ring to meet her mother and the planner.
Later that afternoon John went off to a fitting for his suit, but Sherlock decided to stay behind and continue watch Mary from the shadows. He followed her to a wooden gazebo among the gardens. Standing in its center was a dark-haired, brawny man. She ran into his arms and he embraced her tightly. Sherlock gasped as they began to kiss passionately. Moments later they bid each other farewell and ran off in opposite directions. Now Sherlock had no choice. He had to go through with his initial plan, for John's sake.