Johnlock was one of my first and remains one of my biggest ships…. I'm ashamed I haven't written this series before, it's been in my mind for years!

Please read, review and enjoy ?

…

It only takes John thirty-five hours to realise that something was wrong…. Which, considering the unpredictability of his life with Sherlock, was pretty good.

It started like this;

…..

Sherlock's cheeks were flushed, and his hair was ruffled as he leant against the alley wall, a smirk on his face as he watched Lestrade and his officers dragging the victim's secret lover away.

"Excellent…" he panted slightly, his head resting against the brick wall, "…. There's nothing like a good adrenaline rush, right John?"

His eyes are dancing and he's so clearly happy, that it make's John's heart tighten. God, he loves this man so much. "You'd want to do this forever, wouldn't you? All this running around and bloody crime scenes?"

Sherlock glanced down at him, one hand reaching over to curl around John's back, eyes roving over John's face. "Forever…" he murmured at last and his mouth curled into a tiny smile that felt like the sun on John's skin. John got the sense that he was coming to a realisation.

Whatever it was, John hoped it was a good one

"I love you…" he whispered fondly.

"Yeah…" Sherlock tone was thoughtful, "… you too."

…

The next morning, John woke up alone.

Not unusual.

But coming into the kitchen and finding Sherlock actually cooking, inside of experimenting with eyeballs…. Now that was unusual.

The taller man was cooking shirtless, cursing up a blue streak as the bacon popped cheerfully on the stove.

"You know…" John chuckled, "… for a genius, you can be really silly sometimes."

Sherlock just cursed a bit more, poking at the bacon with a spatula as red splotches appeared on his chest.

Yawning and running his fingers through his hair, John headed towards the kettle. "Brew love?"

"Yes. Please!" Sherlock hissed, jumping back slightly from the stove.

John chuckled, ambling over to the counter and flicking the kettle on to boil, pulling out two, clean mugs (aka, none with toes, fingers or bodily fluids in them) and throwing two teabags in them. Once the water was boiled, he poured it out into the mugs, topped it up with milk and sighed in relief.

As he leant against the counter (still a little too groggy to want to properly support his weight), he wrapped his hands around the mug and held it close, feeling the steam on his face, curling around his cheeks like phantom fingers.

"So…" Sherlock said, overly casual, "… you're interested in marriage then."

John was silent for a few moments, watching Sherlock for any signs of disdain (marriage was so 'mundane' after all), before nodding. "Yeah… a little bit."

Sherlock hummed…. Then he swore furiously as another drop of hot oil hit him on the sensitive skin of his wrist, glaring at John when the shorter man cackled like a hyena.

….

After John came back from work, Sherlock was nowhere to be found.

"Mrs Hudson!" He called down the stairs, smiling when their landlady emerged, "Do you know where Sherlock is?"

Mrs Hudson thought to herself for a few moments, before clicking her fingers. "No… I think he went out dearie. I heard the door slam earlier, you know how he gets, I think he must have been- "

"- thank you, Mrs Hudson." John quickly interrupted, before she could go on, "A bit of peace and quiet before he comes back won't hurt. Thank you!"

…

Around six hours later, John was finishing the final chapter of his book, humming softly to himself when the door to their flat suddenly flew open and Sherlock stormed into their shared room.

"Sherlock?"

Silence.

John frowned at the lack of a reply, placing the book down on the table before heading over to the room… only to find the door locked.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!"

Before he could really start to panic, a note was slipped under the door, Sherlock's familiar handwriting scribbled on it.

'John,

Don't panic, but I'm trying to plan something. Need some space.

Ignore Mycroft when he calls.'

John simply shrugged. When Sherlock had these moments, it was best to just leave him be. "Alright Sherlock…" he called through the door, "… love you!"

"… Love you too." He faintly heard Sherlock call back, forcing a smile back onto John's face.

….

He couldn't help but think about what Sherlock was doing, brain racing at a hundred miles an hour trying to figure out what it is Sherlock's planning. He was distracted for the better part of the evening, and it was only when he was watching Doctor Who, when it hit him.

"Sherlock's going to propose…" he whispered to himself, glancing over to the door of their shared room, "… Sherlock is actually going to propose."

He knew he was repeating himself and wished he could go to Sherlock…. But he knew that he'd have to let Sherlock do this in his own time, let him make it perfect.

A jolt of thrilled joy shot up his spine when he wondered how Sherlock would go about it.

…..

Over the next three days, John imagined it thousands of different ways – most of them were small and intricate proposals, he couldn't imagine Sherlock planning any grand public spectacles.

Maybe at Angelos's?

Or the next crime scene… Sherlock would definitely plan something like that.

The part he thinks about the hardest, is the way the words will sound coming out of Sherlock's mouth.

'John, will you marry me?'

He doesn't care where or how it happens. All that matters is Sherlock.

And this is a big step for the consulting detective – one John hadn't actually expected him to take. Being in a relationship like this is something Sherlock never believed he would ever be a part of, or want to, so the fact that he's willing to go all in and propose… it means everything.

He'll wait for as long as Sherlock needs, no matter what.

….

This is how it ends.

Sherlock showed up at the door to the living room, dressed immaculately in a suit and tie, his purple shirt neatly pressed underneath. "John…" He began, his smile shy and his eyes alight with nerves.

John's throat went dry at the sight of him. "Sherlock…" he rasped, "… you look… nice."

"Hmmmm, ready?"

John frowned, "Ready for what?"

"Dinner of course. Keep up John."

John rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his face, "Alright, alright…. Let me get changed and then we'll be off."

…..

Angelo's was as intimate as it usually was, their table lit by candlelight and little else. They eat dinner side by side in a booth, eating off one another's plates. John felt like he did when they first started dating, stomach skipping around inside him.

Sherlock's hands were shaking when he brandished the ring box and went down on one knee. "I want to marry you, " he blurted out, and John couldn't help the strangled laugh that bubbled out of him, "I mean…" Sherlock went on hurriedly, "… I do love you, and it's painfully obvious you love me too- "

"- Oh obviously." John interrupted, prompting Sherlock to smirk at him.

Sherlock's hands were shaking so much that he could barely pluck the ring out of the box. He took a deep breath and said, "Will you, John Hamish Watson, marry me… ill-advised though that may mmmfff- "

"Yes…" John gasped into his mouth, "… yes, yes, yes."

…..

Days later, John was starting to see the old Sherlock come back.

"Sherlock." Came his muffled whine, as he lay slumped over the table, hair dishevelled, face buried in his arms, surrounded by dozens of wedding invites.

"John, "Sherlock mocked, "I don't see what the problem is."

John's head shot up, and he fixed Sherlock with a look that would have been almost intimidating if he hadn't had an invitation stuck to his left cheek.

"Do not give me that look John…" he scolded, "I'm serious. It's not necessary."

John looked scandalised, almost hurt.

"Of course, it's necessary!" he exclaimed, "How can you say that? It's tradition!"

"Ah yes, so important!" Sherlock drawled, rolling his eyes, "Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective is getting married to his blogger, but the ceremony isn't traditional! Whatever will England do?!"

The way John's shoulder slumped as he dropped his gaze made Sherlock want to throw himself under a bus… or willingly go and work for Mycroft. He'd maintained a solid thirteen-day streak of being a somewhat decent human being… almost two weeks, it was a new record.

A new record that had just been ruined.

"But's that's all the more reason, isn't it?" John mumbled, looking up at him, "Otherwise, what was the point?"

Sherlock's heart sank so quickly, he felt like he'd swallowed a rock. "The point of what?" he choked out, "Of agreeing to marry me?"

John's eyes widened, and he gasped, "No! Oh god, Sherlock no, of course not, I love you, I want to marry you. I just…" He sighed, saying nothing for a few moments and looking down at his hands again.

Quietly, Sherlock got up from his chair and made his way over and took John's hands into his own. John breathed deeply, and Sherlock knew he wasn't imagining the way the sound seemed to shudder.

He didn't look at Sherlock when he finally spoke.

"Traditional is all I ever wanted," he whispered quietly, "I remember being at Harry's wedding to Clara… it was a mess, nothing had been done right, and I just remember thinking to myself… 'mine will be better, mine will be planned, a perfect day to the perfect person.'

He looked up, straight into Sherlock's eyes.

"I know we fight, but I do love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you… which is why I want to plan this wedding with you!"

And for roughly the 12'637th time since he and John had started their friendship, and then relationship, Sherlock felt slightly ashamed.

"I'm sorry…" he said, hoping John could hear the sincerity and remorse that dripped from his words.

John smiled, "It's alright Sherlock."

"No, it's not. But I'll make it up to you."

"So… you'll help?" John asked hopefully.

"Of course!" Sherlock reassured him, "What do you need me to do?"

"Well… you can start by choosing a best man."

Sherlock frowned, "But, I don't know how you expect me to just pick someone?"

John chuckled, "It won't be that hard."

"…. Alright, how about Gavin?"

"Greg… and I've already picked him. I'm planning to ask him when we finally get around to telling people."

Sherlock groaned, dramatically thumping his head against John's leg. "You have other friends, why can't I have Ge- Greg?"

"Because Greg is a good friend of mine…. You do have someone else you can ask, you know."

Sherlock raised his head, frowning at his fiancé… and then he realised exactly who John was referring to. "No." he growled, "No."

"He's your brother Sherlock- "

"- he's a manipulative bastard!"

"I know, trust me, I know!" John chuckled, "But he is your brother and deny it all you want, he's helped a lot."

"And other times- "

"- and other times, he's stood in our way." John sighed, nodding in agreement, "Alright, think of it this way. Mycroft probably already knows about our engagement…. But there's no way he'll expect you to ask him to be your best man…. You'll have the advantage."

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest once again… only to shut it and smirk at the thought. "He'd never expect it…" he hissed in delight, "… I'll actually be able to shock him, silence him!"

He leapt to his feet and started to pace the room, "It's brilliant… Genius. I'll finally be able to- "

"- Sherlock."

Sherlock paused, spinning around to face John, who was frowning at him sternly."

"I know what I said…. But I don't want you to ask him if it's only to score points on this-this ridiculous sibling feud you two have going on!"

"Then why would I ask?"

"…. Because he's your brother Sherlock."

Sherlock was uncharacteristically silent for a few moments, prompting John to get to his feet and head out of the living room. "Just think about it Sherlock."

….

Sherlock hated visiting his brother's home…. It screamed 'privileged' and 'snobbishness', and Sherlock despised that.

It reminded him too much of Holmes Manor.

Before he could even knock on the door, it swung open and Mycroft's assistant stood there, not even bothering to look up from her phone as she moved to one side. "He's expecting you. Third door on the left."

Sherlock just grunted, taking his time through the corridor until he reached the indicated room.

"Come in Sherlock."

"Let me knock first…" he muttered under his breath, pushing the door open and sneering at the sight of his brother behind the desk, "… Mycroft. Working hard as usual?"

"England never sleeps brother of mine, therefore yes, I'm working hard…. Congratulations on your engagement by the way, I hear the ring was impressive…. Although, had you given me a bit of notice, I could have organised something nicer for Doctor Watson."

"The ring was nice enough…" Sherlock growled, before taking a deep breath, "I need to talk to you…. It's important."

"Getting cold feet already brother mine?" Mycroft glanced up at him, narrowing his eyes. "Tense muscles, a twitch in the upper lip, slight perspiration on the brow… definitely nerves. And for some god-forsaken reason, you've decided to come and see me about it."

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock stepped forwards and took a seat opposite his brother. "Wrong." He stated, "I am not getting cold feet."

"Your face would suggest otherwise."

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, only to take a deep breath and start muttering under his breath.

"Can't punch him. John won't be happy. Can't punch him. John won't be happy."

"Sherlock…" Mycroft interrupted him, a fed-up sigh escaping him as he stared at his younger brother, "…. Why are you here?"

"… You are happy that I'm getting married, right?"

At the uncharacteristic nerves in Sherlock's voice, Mycroft straightened up, placing all the papers back on the desk, indicating that he was giving Sherlock all of his attention. "I have concerns…" he admitted to Sherlock, "… you know how we were raised. Sentiment is a weakness, and yet..."

When Mycroft stopped, Sherlock found himself leaning forwards in curiosity.

"And yet?"

"… And yet Doctor Watson has been good for you. So yes, I am glad that you're getting married."

Sherlock nodded, a determined look flashing across his face, "Yes…. And I want you to be my best man."

Silence.

"Mycroft?"

Sherlock thought this would be one of the best moments of his life…. The day he finally managed to surprise Mycroft.

This…. This silence was unnerving.

Mycroft looked like he was going to have a heart attack any moment now.

"Y-You…" The older brother took a deep breath, adjusting his tie, before continuing, "… Y-you want me to be your best man?"

"Isn't that what I just asked?"

Astounded to see his older brother act like this, Sherlock found himself leaning forwards, actually excited to hear the answer.

"I assumed you would ask Detective Inspector Lestrade." Mycroft eventually stated, still struggling to compose himself.

"So… you don't want to?"

Sherlock actually found himself disappointed…. It wasn't like he really wanted his brother to be his best man, but it would have been nice to hear Mycroft say yes.

"Sherlock."

His brother's voice pulled him out of his thoughts, prompting Sherlock to glance back up at the government official, taking note of the uncomfortable look on Mycroft's face.

"It's not that I don't want to Sherlock…. But even you have to admit that we don't have the best relationship and- "

"- and you're my brother." Sherlock crossed his arms and leant back in his chair, resting his feet on the desk, "As much as I hate to admit it, you've been there since the beginning. You stopped me overdosing or chocking on my own vomit. When John was hurt, you arranged the best care for him, even though you won't admit it."

Before Mycroft could disagree with the statement, Sherlock held up his hand and stopped him in his tracks. "Don't try and deny it, those Doctors practically danced to attention, as does everyone you bribe…. Mycroft, I want you to be my best man."

"I-I- "

"Please?"

Chuckling at the quiet 'please' (a word he didn't hear often enough from his brother), Mycroft slowly nodded, finally having regained his composure, "I would be delighted to Sherlock."

"Great!" Sherlock shuffled uncomfortably from side to side, "I'm sure you'll be… good, a good best man."

"… Thank you, Sherlock."

There was another uncomfortable shuffle, before Sherlock suddenly leapt to his feet. "Well…. That's done now. I'll let you get back to taking over the world."

"Oh, I'll have no time for that brother mine…" Mycroft smirked wickedly, "… I have a best man speech to write after all. How much do you think the people will appreciate hearing about your adventures as Captain Sherlock the pirate?"

"…. This was a mistake."

"Can't take it back now Sherlock."

"Hmph…" Glancing back at his brother, Sherlock gave him one last smile, before rushing out of the door, almost running into Athena along the way. As he passed her, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, and turned back, "… John will probably have one of those 'official invitations' for you, but you are you know… invited."

She looked a little stunned by the statement, before she quickly turned her attention back to her phone, her eyes suspiciously wet. "I'm sure I can work it in around our schedule."

…

"Sooo…." John twisted around and beamed at Sherlock, clearly already knowing the answer, "… how did it go?"

"… Fine. It went… fine."

"Just fine?"

His tone was knowing, and Sherlock couldn't help but roll his eyes at it… is this how John felt when he was talking?

"Mycroft and I have agreed that, in order to make our wedding a pleasant day, he will act as my best man." Sherlock glanced at John out of the corner of his eye, "Our relationship hasn't magically improved John."

"I know! I know…" John held up his hands in mock surrender, the grin still on his face, "…I bet he was thrilled though."

"Hmmmm…. I invited Athena as well."

"…. Good… You can write out her invitation then."

"Ugh."