John Watson never imagined that he would be standing here again. That's not entirely accurate. He never dared hope he'd be standing here again. He wore a simple suit, charcoal grey offsetting the crisp white of his hair. Gone was the pale blond he had insisted was only beginning to fade the last time he had done this. Ten years, he thought, shaking his head in disbelief. How could that much time have passed as if overnight? He remembered so clearly the details of the last time he had stood in this spot. Waiting, breathe held. Almost disbelieving that any of it could be real.
...
"And do you, John Watson…"
The rest of the standard vows, the obligatory questions, never reached him over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. This was finally it. What he had been seeking for so long. What he had been afraid he might never find.
When the eyes gazing into his own clouded with anxiety, he realized he had missed his cue. A whispered inquiry from just a few inches away, and the full force of what he was about to do hit him like a tidal wave.
"John? Forgive me; however, as your best man, it is my duty to ask… are you sure you want to do this?" The look in Sherlock's eyes said that even he, himself, was uncertain what the answer would be.
John looked straight ahead, and the words rushed out of his mouth without need for a second thought.
"Oh, god yes."
...
And so here they stood, once again. John promised himself that he wouldn't make the same mistake this time, that he would pay attention and answer appropriately. Until he heard the thin strains of a violin. A rich, haunting melody, which had only graced his ears once a year since that long-ago Sunday. Turning toward the back of the hall, he watched his best man – his best friend – playing with his eyes closed. Tears welled in John's eyes, and he knew. He knew that today, just as a decade earlier, he would miss his cue.
Sherlock had agreed to the charcoal suit, but refused to wear an ascot, a tie, or even a fastened top button. He and John had fought about it, but in the end, he knew he'd have his way. After all, they had done this before, and back then Sherlock had acquiesced to every one of his friend's demands. He was determined to have something his own way, even if, he reluctantly admitted to himself, this was John's day.
...
There was a recitation of a poem – Shakespeare or the bible or some other such clichéd nonsense – and the officiant, maybe it was a vicar, who cares, said something about the eternal hope of love. That line had stuck with him. John was hopeful. John believed in love. John was… eternal.
He also remembered the moment John said, "I do." Because he hadn't. He'd been lost in thought, which he later insisted was not a second thought, and it had been incumbent upon Sherlock to make sure, one final time, that he wanted to go through with this. He'd been asking once a week, and beginning the Sunday before the wedding, once a day. It was his duty as best man to ensure that the groom was happy, and what could be a greater risk to his happiness than marrying when he had doubts?
But John hadn't wavered. Not in those days and weeks, and not in the ten years since. As expected, John Watson had been the perfect husband. To Sherlock's great relief, he had also managed to remain the perfect crime solving partner, blogger, and best friend.
...
It was this thought, of John Watson's loyalty, his friendship, his dedication, that caused Sherlock to falter almost imperceptibly as he drew his bow across the strings of his violin, playing the song that he had written for this exact occasion ten years earlier. It was this thought that caused the single tear, as it had all those years ago, to fall across his cheekbone.
"And do you, John Watson…"
"John?" Sherlock whispered. "John… are you… are you sure you want to do this?"
"Hm?" John shook his head slightly, then a broad grin broke across his face. "Oh… god yes."
"And do you…"
Sherlock never imagined himself standing here once, let alone a second time. He was still perplexed by being asked to act as best man. It seemed quite unnecessary, and all John had offered by way of explanation had been, "who else would I ask?"
Sherlock sighed, the breath audibly shaky as it left his throat. He couldn't comprehend why he was so nervous. Of course a lot had changed after the last time, but what could change now? This was simply a renewal of vows, a ceremony designed to reaffirm what was already a tried and true framework for everyday life. He sighed again, and stiffened his shoulders. He promised John, and that meant –
"Eternally, I do." Sherlock smirked at his partner – his husband – then added, "obviously."