HELLO MY LOVELIES. Yes, I wrote a Sherlock fic! *claps excitedly* No, no, this is not my actual writing style. I'd like to think it's a whole lot better. I did absolutely no character analysis, so...Yep. Most everything is completely OOC. No research, no plot planning. I did not Britpick this either. Whatever.

I know it seems kind of long, and it keeps dragging on in the beginning. The beginning of this is kind of serious and really bad. The entire fic is really bad, actually. BUT THAT'S WHY IT'S A CRACK FIC. It will get more crackish as it goes on, I promise.

And yes I implied(psh, blatantly stated) Mystrade.

I regret nothing.

John Hamish Watson straightened his bowtie anxiously. He swallowed, beginning to be more than a little bit nervous. Behind him, John saw his friend smile reassuringly in the mirror. John turned and looked up at Greg, and laughed weakly.

"I'm probably just being daft, aren't I? I don't know why I'm having second thoughts...It's so last minute." John looked at the D.I.'s face almost desperately, eyes begging him to say something, to say that his fear was ungrounded.

But Lestrade only threw him a wry look, and patted John on the back awkwardly. He paused as if thinking he might say something more, but obviously decided against it and closed his mouth again, ushering John out of the back room and into the hallway. Walking down the brightly lit hallway, John continued to become more and more restless, babbling as they walked.

"I mean, Mary is absolutely lovely. She's so beautiful, fun and always so happy. She really knows how to give a bloke a good time, too, oh yeah..." Here John stopped and looked down, feeling a heat spread across his face. "I mean, I...We didn't...I..."

Lestrade laughed. He seemed grateful for the excuse to do so.

"I'm sure you have, John. I'm quite sure. And with your girlfriend history, I'm sure you're happy that you actually had...a..fun..time instead of being thrown out or having to sleep on the sofa. Congratulations, mate, you're doing alright. Mary loves you, I've seen it. When 'Croft and I were spying on you, the day that she proposed, you seemed like a great couple. I'm happy for you, okay? We didn't mean to ruin the moment with the champagne, and um, the newt, you know. I mean...never even mind...agh..." Lestrade looked down, his face had flushed and he seemed to be kicking himself mentally for bringing up the infamous incident.

Looking up, he saw John mimicking the act of digging a hole. They both laughed like idiots, remembering.

"Okay, now let's get a move on. You look great, and just calm down. God, when I get married, am I going to be this bloody nervous? Maybe I'll have to phone the lucky guy and call it off. I'm starting to rethink my current relationship..."

"Greg."

"Yes, John?"

"Shut up."

He did.

"I'm going to go to my wedding now."

John stood at the altar, waiting for his bride to walk in. He had finally had overcome his pre-wedding jitters. Standing tall, or rather, short, at the head of the church, he felt like the happiest man alive. He had everything he ever wanted. Today he was getting married to the love of his life, he would finally be able to settle down. Have kids; keep working at his job at St. Bart's, live happily ever after. He had been promoted at his job, he was making a large income now, and he would be able to provide for a luxurious lifestyle with Mary. Yes, John Watson was a truly happy man. He was full of joy. No longer limping, no more trauma from the war haunted him, he slept peacefully, completely happy and at peace with life. To make a long story short, John was absolutely peachy. Except...because there's always an exception, isn't there?

Three years ago today, John Watson had lost his best friend. Sherlock had left him, left him completely alone. Life with the world's only consulting detective had been so exciting, full of late nights spent running down dark passageways, coded messages, dramatic escapes, brutal murders, and childish, stubborn, annoying behavior from his curly haired flatmate. John got used to the teasing, the vicious jabs at his blog, the fighting, and oh god, the violin playing. It got to the point where John was beginning to forget how normal humans behaved. Spending all of his time with Sherlock, he had adapted into feeling like this was normal. It wasn't, no way, John knew that now.

He cast around for something to think about, he didn't want to lose his composure in front of all of the wedding guests, not to mention the priest who was waiting patiently to his left. Sherlock still brought so much emotion to John, and feeling pretty emotionally unstable again, he did not need to break down in front of the entire church.

But the thoughts of Sherlock would not leave John's mind...Now he was picturing the man's sharp cheekbones, his amazing eyes, and oh god, his GORGEOUS curls. So dark and beautiful...John wished that at least once, he would have been able to tangle his hand in them, pull them gently, watch them boing back into shape...while kissing those sweet cupid lips.

Wait.

Was John "I'm Not Gay" Watson having extremely gay thoughts about his dead best friend? ON THE DAY OF HIS WEDDING?!

cliffhanger oh no

Also, this fic is dedicated to the person who gave me the idea for this. It was someone on Instagram. Alas, I no longer know who.

Reviews are lovely! Any criticism, flames, compliments-I don't care, I want whatever you have to say.