The wind whipped around his neck as he turned and stole one final glance at the reception hall. Sherlock stood in place and waited. His eyes surveyed the scene before him as it was obvious the reception would carry on with out him. A sigh escaped his lips as he realized no one had seen him exit the premises. All though that was the detectives intention he had rather hoped one person in particular would've noticed his absence.
"Well.." Sherlock muttered to himself. "That's...that."
A slight chill suddenly engulfed Sherlock causing him to catch his breath. Pulling his coat around his lithely frame, he turned and begun his trek towards Baker street. With in moments Sherlock managed to hail a taxi and it didn't take long for Sherlock to realize that he was indeed very tired. But it wasn't just the feeling of being tired. With every breath Sherlock could feel his chest tightening along with his throat. His eyes seemed to hurt horribly.
Sherlock was jarred out of his musings as the taxi came to a stop. Glancing up Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief as the front door of 221B Baker Street welcomed him home. Quickly he paid the driver and made his way to the front door. For a moment, he stood and stared at the address. On one hand he knew John wouldn't be there to greet him. But something inside him began to break as he wished John would be there any way.
Raising his hand Sherlock reached out to open the door. It was then he realized his hand was trembling. For a moment he stood and stared at his hand. He tried stilling it but it was no use. He then opened the door and headed up to his flat. Upon entering, his breath caught again. He couldn't help but notice how big the room seemed to him. Out of sheer habit his gaze wondered over to the two chairs that adorned the sitting area. Sherlock felt his throat tighten as his eyes focused on the arm vacant arm chair opposite his. Suddenly he felt something drop on his cheek. Reaching up Sherlock put a hand to his face. Glancing at his hand he saw it was wet. Gingerly he placed his lips on the spot.
"Salt?" Sherlock stammered. "But that means..."
Shaking his head, he took of his coat, and threw it on the couch. Sherlock began to pace back and forth as he tried to deduce what his symptoms were, and more likely what their cause was. He had seen those same symptoms before, but where? What did they mean? Suddenly a thought struck him.
"The wedding!" Sherlock exclaimed.
Indeed the guests at the wedding had shown these same symptoms when he had given his speech. He thought he had ruined John and Mary's wedding by delivering the worse best man speech in history. But it hadn't been until John had stood and embraced him that Sherlock understood.