Sherlock looked down at John's sleeping form, a small smile on his face. Pressing a kiss to the blond temple, he crept out of their room, grabbing his tux as he went. After months of planning, his and John's wedding day finally arrived.

They had planned to get ready separate, Sherlock at the small chapel they had rented for the wedding, and John at Baker Street. It had been one of the things John had insisted on.

"We aren't supposed to see each other before the wedding." John said, pressing kisses to Sherlock's face. "It's considered bad luck."

"Wrong, John." Sherlock retorted. "It's considered bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding. Neither of us are brides, so the silly superstition is null and void."

But John had persisted in his request, and Sherlock had no choice but to give it to him. Anything to make John happy.

Making his way outside, Sherlock found the car that would bring him to the chapel. Stepping in the sleek, black vehicle, Sherlock glanced up at 221B, a fond smile still on his face. He could hardly believe that in a few hours, John would be his forever.

"I don't believe I've ever seen you this happy." Mycroft said, and Sherlock looked over in surprise. He hadn't thought his brother would pick him up himself.

"I don't believe I have ever been this happy." Sherlock answered, his eyes flicking up towards his and John's flat once more as the car began to move.

"No, I don't believe you have. Congratulations, dear brother. John is getting himself a fine husband." Mycroft's lips twitched, his own version of a smile.

"I'm the lucky one here." Sherlock said, his own smile growing wider. "I don't know how I got so lucky as to have John want me."

Minutes seemed like hours, and Sherlock was practically vibrating out of his skin. Every time someone would enter the small building, Sherlock would pounce, trying to see if it was his husband-to-be. After he nearly tackled the minister, Mycroft locked him in a room for everyone's safety. Prowling around the small room, it was exactly 17 minutes and 23 seconds before they let him out, and he was ushered to the front of the chapel.

Unable to keep his normally cool mask of indifferent on his face, Sherlock smiled as he looked around at the guests gathered. He could see Mrs Hudson, tears of joy already running down her cheeks. Molly Hooper sat next to Greg Lestrade, a shiny new engagement ring on her finger, matching grins on their faces. Sherlock saw several people he and John had helped over the years, including Henry Knight, and even Angelo, who was waving brightly at him.

Bouncing on his heels, Sherlock waited for John to arrive, rolling his eyes when the time for the wedding came and went.

"John never pays attention to the time." He told Mycroft, who held his ring for John in his hand. "He'll be here."

But soon fifteen minutes became an hour, and Sherlock began to despair. Surely John hadn't left him. John loved him, and wouldn't want to hurt him in this way.

"Sherlock…I don't think John is coming." Mycroft said, two hours after the wedding was supposed to start.

"No, he has to come." Sherlock said, wincing at how desperate his voice sounded. "He has to."

The guests had long since left, giving Sherlock awkward smiles and half-hearted condolences. The consulting detective had ignored all of them, his eyes trained on the door to the chapel. But John never came.

Sherlock had always thought a broken heart was a fanciful term. One that mindless idiots created to make their plight all the more dramatic, but this was worse than he could have ever imagined. It felt as though his heart had been torn to shreds, a physical pain so much worse than any stabbing or gunshot wound could ever be.

"Come on, Sherlock. I'll drive you home." Mycroft said, reaching out to grab Sherlock's arm.

"No thank you. I'll walk." Sherlock's voice was flat and emotionless. He made his way quickly for the doors, walking swiftly in the direction of 221 Baker Street. Belatedly, he remembered that he had left John's ring in the chapel.

'No matter.' He thought bitterly. 'It's not as if it will come to any use.'

Sherlock stopped by a filling station to purchase a carton of cigarettes, and he was on his third one by the time he reached the two car accident.

One car, a sporty red thing, only had a few dents on the shiny surface. The other car was nothing more than a twisted, smoking line of metal. Sherlock sneered at the doctors that swarmed the mess, panic clear on their faces. He was about to turn around when he noticed the license plate.

It's one of Mycroft's cars.

No…

Sherlock doesn't notice the cigarette falling from his mouth, hissing as it lands in a puddle at his feet. He doesn't register moving forward, shoving emergency crew out of his way. All he can remember is freezing as his eyes land on John, the man's beautiful tux stained with blood.

Choking back tears, Sherlock darted forward, his fingers searching for a pulse he will never find, stroking the cheek of the man he will never get to kiss again. Grabbing John's hand, Sherlock is surprised to find something already there. He peeled back John's fingers, shocked to find a shiny gold band resting in the middle of his palm.

With trembling hands, Sherlock picked up the ring, words inscribed on the inside catching his attention.

I will love you until the day that I die. JW

Two days after John's funeral, Sherlock retires for good. With the help of Mrs Hudson, he finds a small cottage in Sussex where he raises bee's for a living. The gold band of John's stays on his left hand, a testament to the man he loved. And every morning he makes two cups of tea, one black with two sugars, and one with a splash of cream, no sugar.

Just how John had always liked it.

Fin

A/N: This was a prompt from ImagineYourOTP on tumblr