"Nobody could be that clever," a shaking voice whispered.
"You could." John Watson watched the dark figure wavering up on the building, his mobile phone slipping in his sweaty grip.
"Goodbye, John..." the deep voice crackled through the receiver.
I apologize for all the pain I have caused you.
"S... SHERLOCK!"
My dear Watson, you once asked me if I had told you everything there was to know about my life. While I can honestly say I have told you the truth, I may not have told you all of it…
Three years passed. For three agonizingly long years he watched, studying every move made by the man he had torn to pieces, Doctor John Watson. The poor man couldn't seem to emotionally overcome his death. It consumed his every thought, devouring him up from the inside.
His therapist said it was a normal reaction. His friends tried to cheer him up with pity-filled gifts, while others didn't blink an eyelash at the hollow man. He holed himself up in his apartment, alone, until something nudged him out. Could have been the hunger for solving crimes. Maybe he missed dating overly-sweet young ladies. It didn't help that after a few months Mrs. Hudson shooed him out to go get a job.
John did make it a point to get out of the house every day, however. At least once was all it took in the beginning. He'd grab his coat, nod a solemn goodbye on his way out the door, and headed to spend a while talking to a cold slab of stone. The cemetery was peaceful, and not many people stopped by on dreary days. Too bone-chilling.
Watching the dissipating stream of mist his breath created with tired eyes, John sniffed with his mouth in a hard line, getting to his feet and brushing off the seat of his pants. Swiftly turning on his heel, he walked off, closing the squeaky gate behind him.
Today's conversation shook him worse than most times... a voice thought, eyes tracking the hobbling man. Why would tha- OH, stupid, stupid! It's the third anniversary of my death...
With a sigh, Sherlock snuck his way back to the flat, making sure to hide his face as usual. Oh, disguises were a wonderful thing. He arrived in the alley behind the flat right as John flicked on the light two floors up, but then flicked it off.
He's going to rest. Good. He needs it...
Waiting twenty minutes or so to be sure, Sherlock hurried around, feeling around the brick wall for the precise spot about seven and a half feet up where a key sat, sticking halfway out from the groove between two bricks. It looked a bit more realistic than a key seeming to float in midair anyway.
With a quiet grunt, he leaped upwards, his slender fingers tipping the key from its spot. It toppled down to the wet ground with a tink, letting Sherlock grab it, only to look around cautiously before disappearing, as if he had entered some sort of invisible box.
One more day, that's it. That's all I said I'd wait and I simply can't wait any longer.
"Are you sure you're alright enough to go through with this, John?" a woman asked, eyebrows synched worriedly on her forehead, her eyes searching his.
"Yes, I'm fine," he sighed with a small smile, probably because this question had been asked only about thirty-two times in the past week. "Look, love. I promised you I wouldn't back out, and I'm a man of my word."
Her lipstick-covered lips shimmered as she smiled warmly at him, lightly brushing the side of his face. "I know."
"Oi! What are you two doin' in 'ere?!" Lestrade suddenly called down the hallway, stomping up to them. "Bride an' groom aren't s'posed to see each other on their wedding day! 'S bad luck!"
"Yeah, yeah..." The woman in white rolled her eyes, playfully fixing John's bow tie before skipping off.
The two men stood quietly in the hallway for a moment, the sound of heels click-clacking soon fading to the point where they could no longer hear it. When that point came, Lestrade gave John a curious look and asked, "So you're sure you're ready for this?"
John inhaled deeply before turning to his best man and nodding curtly, just once.
Lestrade shrugged and gave him a pat on the shoulder before exiting the scene to leave John to his own thoughts. He stood rigidly for a moment, eyes squeezed shut and brows furrowed, his thoughts paining him. A moment later, he gathered his wits about him and shook his head, stiffly making his way down the corridor before rounding the corner into the reception area.
A curly-haired head peeked out from behind a door, sighing wearily as the heavy footsteps faded.
In the reception hall, the small gathering of people were just about finished filing into the rose petal-strewn room, chittering happily at the decorations and finding their way to a seat. I must say that the church, despite the middle-to-low budget, was most definitely a sight for sore eyes. Various white flowers were simply everywhere, providing a wonderful contrast with the dark oak. Roses, irises, baby's breath, and orchids all bundled together in vases and intertwined with ivy that draped like a veil of hope throughout the room. A organist sat in the far corner by the stained glass windows that shone color into the scene. It seemed the London overcast was gracious enough to let the sun shine through to meet the warm hearts gathered at this merry occasion.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..." the priest began, reading from a book.
John was standing with a tight smile stretched across his face, the woman in white stepping up to meet him just as Sherlock slipped unnoticed through the door and slunk down the wall towards the couple. A light, straight-haired wig was brushed back, giving him side-sweeping bangs that fell beneath a pair of slim glasses. He had managed to blend in well dressed in a snappy black tuxedo that matched those the best men were clad in. Merely seconds before a young boy could look curiously over at his shenanigans, he hid inside a wide curtain, another perfect idea forming in his mind.
"... as long as you both shall live..."
There's not much time...! Sherlock thought, his heart racing. Stealing a glance at John's face before sliding from another curtain into the next, he slowly made his way to the front like James Bond without the explosions and scantily-clad women. The dark-haired man crept up next to the best man closest to the action, Lestrade, and stood next to him for a split second, brushing a spec of dirt from his sleeve.
"And do you, John Hamish Watson, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded bride as long as you both shall live?"
John stared at his wife-to-be with a wide grin, his eyes going wide for a split second at the presence of person only feet from him.
It can't be...
"Mr. Watson?" the minister repeated, looking over his rimmed glasses at the groom. Someone in the audience coughed.
When he didn't respond, Miss Bride-to-be tapped him on the arm and whispered, "John, love, are you alright?"
He snapped out of his momentary trance, the figure somehow there one second, gone the next. "Yes, yes sorry. Where... Where were we?"
With a concerned expression, the minister answered, "Your vows...?"
"OH!" God damn it, what is wrong with me today?! I must be seeing things... John smiled unconvincingly at the woman before him, took her hands in his, and began to slip the ring onto her dainty finger. "I d-"
"Oh no you don't."