SHERLOCK

Just The Three Of Us Against The Rest Of The World

Sherlock walked slowly up the path, away from the marquee – the music fading softly into the background. John and Mary, along with the rest of their guests, were all too busy dancing to even notice that he'd left – but strangely Sherlock found that he didn't really mind. Today was their day, and for once he had the presence of mind to realise that tonight was not about him. John had moved on with his life, and so it seemed had Sherlock Holmes.

He'd never felt anything closely resembling what he'd imagined to be love before. He'd always seen himself as emotionally distant from other human beings, and had done his best to keep himself so, but in the two years he'd spent away from John he'd come to the conclusion that that wasn't strictly true. There had been an empty space in his heart, and a sadness which had plagued him for a very long time, and it hadn't been until a few months later that he'd finally realised the reason why – he missed John.

Everything was going to change now he realised, and Sherlock felt his heart, what little there was of it anyway, crumble. It was only now beginning to sink in that John wasn't going to be around as much as he had once been any longer – and although it pained him to admit it Sherlock Holmes had to confess, at least to himself, that he was really going to miss having his best friend by his side.

He wasn't being left completely alone, there was still Mrs Hudson to keep him company of course – but she wasn't John – and in that moment Sherlock couldn't escape the pangs of loneliness which troubled his heart. He sensed that they'd come to the end of an era – both of them about to step off the precipice into a new and unknown chapter in their lives – and in that moment he felt as though he was losing his best friend.

"And where do you think you're going?" A voice suddenly shattered the peaceful silence of the cool spring evening from behind, snapping him unceremoniously from his contemplation, and he spun around to see John standing behind him – Mary standing in the entryway to the marquee, only a few yards abaft.

"I… I thought you were dancing…" He faltered, caught off guard and feeling distinctly vulnerable for one of only a few times in his life.

"Mary noticed you leave." John explained. He held his friend's gaze for a moment, closing the short distance between them, and there was a frown of enquiry upon his face. "Sherlock are you alright?" He asked, sounding concerned.

Sherlock's steely gaze met John's, and he slowly turned away.

"Yes." He answered tersely – not really feeling it, but doing his best not to let his friend see just how deeply effected he really was. "Why wouldn't I be?" He asked.

John looked at him, drinking in his expression and observing the other man from a distance – trying to determine what he was really feeling in that moment. Fear, regret, loneliness and there was a deep sadness in his eyes which the doctor could tell he was trying not to let show.

"I understand, you know." John explained, and Sherlock's eyes suddenly snapped up to look at him.

What did John understand exactly? Sherlock wondered.

"Mary spotted it weeks ago," He continued, "of course I was too blind to notice it at first – the fear you felt when I first asked you to be best man. I thought that it was just the people, the thought of having to stand up and speak in front of such a large crowd, but it's more than that isn't it? You're scared…"

"Scared?" Sherlock scoffed, "honestly John you should know by now that I don't get scared – ever. I'm immune to fear." But there was a slight quiver in his tone as he spoke – barely perceptible but discernable enough for John to pick up on. He nodded – they both knew that that wasn't strictly true.

"Yes Sherlock, scared." He ventured to continue. "We've both noticed it these past few weeks. We've been doing our best to try and prove to you in any way we can that this, us, me and Mary, doesn't change anything between you and me you twit.

You're still my best friend." He explained. "I spent two of the worst years of my life hoping that you weren't really dead, and praying that one day you'd walk back into my life. I'm not about to give up on you now that those prayers have been answered. We'll still see each other every day."

"I seem to remember you head butting me in the face." Sherlock frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose in memory of the incident which had left him struggling to stem the flow of blood oozing from the centre of his face.

"Yes… well… you did kind of ask for that Sherlock." John faltered, "Yours was possibly not the best way to let your best friend know that you'd been alive for the past two years, two years throughout which you'd allowed him to grieve, and just omitted to give him some small sign that you were still in fact alive… but I'm over that now." He smiled.

Sherlock looked at him, initially unsure of John's meaning and the turn the conversation appeared to have taken, but seeing the – what he could only describe as barely disguised – love in John's eyes, he laughed.

"Sherlock, would you like to dance?" Mary asked, approaching the two men from behind. Sherlock simply looked at her, stunned by the unexpected offer. He turned to John, whose smile widened, and he nodded.

"I believe its bad manners to refuse a request from the bride on her wedding day." He urged.

"I don't dance… in front of people." Sherlock said, and suddenly a look of panic passed over his face. John and Mary observed his agitated expression, as he shifted uncomfortably from one uneasy foot to the other – but Mary calmly took him by one hand, his cold fingers instinctively wrapping themselves around her warm palm, and with one gentle squeeze John observed Sherlock relax slightly.

How did she do that? He wondered. She was now working to bring Sherlock out of his consternated condition in the same way she'd slowly worked to bring about a change in John's grief stricken state after he'd thought that he'd lost Sherlock.

"It's alright." She reassured him. "No-one will notice. No-on will even care. They're all too busy enjoying themselves to worry about what anybody else is doing."

Sherlock swallowed hard to try and dispel the lump in his throat.

"At the end of the day does it really matter what the rest of the world thinks anyway, Sherlock?" John asked, and as he edged slightly closer to the man he quietly whispered a few words of reassurance in his ear. "It's just the three of us against the rest of the world. Anyone else who has a problem with that doesn't really matter." He explained.

"Four." Sherlock corrected him.

"Four." John nodded, looking back at his friend and smiling – that was going to take some getting used to, he thought. "Which brings me to something else," He pondered, "Sherlock, how would you like to be a Godfather?"

"A Godfather?" Sherlock looked momentarily stunned as he allowed John's unanticipated question to sink in. In all his life the consulting detective would never have foreseen himself as Godfather to somebody else's child, then again a few years ago he would never have been able to imagine himself as best man at his best friend's wedding. "Are you sure you really want to inflict me upon a child?" He asked, sounding a little unsure.

"I wouldn't want anyone else." John grinned, "Besides little Archie seems quite taken with you."

He looked to Mary, who nodded her immediate approval – and as she took them both gently by the arm, sandwiching herself between the two men, she and John walked Sherlock slowly back in the direction of the marquee. Tomorrow they would leave for their honeymoon, but neither could stand the thought of Sherlock being left alone tonight.

Theirs would be very different to how Mrs Hudson had described married life, he thought. The end of an era didn't always have to signal the start of drastic change. Sherlock had vowed tonight to always be there for them from now on, no matter what, and as all three returned to the party arm in arm John vowed silently to always be there for him too.