Author's notes: the title is taken from George and Ira Gershwin's song "They all laughed" - specifically, the Fred Astaire version.
Many thanks to randomly_rusted and prettybaby666, for their help and their patience.
They All Laughed
1. Sylvia Tamagno – Morstan
If she lived to a hundred years, she'd never understand her daughter.
Even as she looked at her now, Sylvia Morstan couldn't help but smile and feel her heart clench at the same time. Her Mary looked beautiful in her wedding gown – if only she had gone for a floor-length one, she would have been even more beautiful!
But Mary didn't want that, like she didn't want a church or more than a handful of guests, and any suggestion had been met with "stop earbashing."
Not that there had been much room for suggestions: by the time she had flown in, everything had been ready and planned.
Not for the first time, Sylvia wondered what Mary was thinking, marrying John Watson.
Not that she had anything against him – he was a doctor, he was a kind man and he had been so frightfully good during that horrible time, when Mary... no, no, better not to think about it.
It was gone, it was passed, Mary was safe and married.
To John Watson.
After knowing him for little more than six months and he so much older than her and always hanging around that strange Holmes character!
Mary must have gone crazy. Or maybe it was just an infatuation – he had helped solve poor Nathan's disappearance, then he had saved her from those criminals, what woman wouldn't have been infatuated?
But Mary said she knew what she was doing and got pretty aggro if she even hinted at waiting a bit more – or at least having the wedding back home in Perth, which would have worked just as well.
Oh, well. It wasn't the end of the world after all: infatuation would fade and things could be taken care of quietly – Doctor Watson seemed reasonable enough.
Besides, what was a divorce today? Sylvia's own mother would have been horrified, had she lived to see this, but back home nobody would bat an eye. Really, considering the only Australian guests were herself and Mary's old friend Becca King, it would be as though she had never married at all.
Perhaps it was better that she had wanted just a civil ceremony – she would be able to marry in church next time. Maybe with a proper wedding gown.
On the dance floor, Mary Morstan-Watson leaned closer and whispered something in her new husband's ear. John smiled.