Deep and Complex Jumpers
Sherlock is twirling around in a circle, cogs turning. Now he's pacing, up and down, up and down. His mouth's moving but his mind is far too occupied to control what comes out of it. "I could go on all night about the depth and complexity of his..." he pauses, scrutinises one of the guests with narrowed eyes before dismissing them, "jumpers..."
Beside John, just an empty chair between them, Janine scoffs, "I bet you can't."
John squeezes his eyes shut and hopes to God that Sherlock hasn't heard that.
With the potential murder of an old friend thankfully avoided, John leads Mary and Sherlock back to the hall. He weaves through the crowd with much less grace than Sherlock, especially when all eyes are on them. John and Mary return to their chairs at the table and everyone else follows suit and sits down. Sherlock stands in front of the top table and taps his glass. As if he needed to.
"Now, gentlemen and ladies... small people, internet porn browsers," he announces, and Mary grimaces at the last one, as do some of the guests. John is sure several look guilty and one starts to sweat. "I said before in a moment of, I will admit, mental distraction, that I could describe in great detail the 'depth and complexity of John's jumpers'." John groans and his head sinks into his waiting hand. "I believe as Best Man it is my duty to embarrass John in as many ways as possible during my speech, and his wardrobe is a great source of merriment, I can assure you—"
"Sherlock," John hisses in a whisper, even though he knows everyone will probably hear him, "you've made enough of a speech. You've been talking on and off for over two hours. Finish it already!"
Sherlock doesn't even turn around to acknowledge him. "I have been issued a challenge," he says, and twists to flash a smirk at Janine, who grins brightly back.
Mary rubs John's arm gently in commiseration.
The rapt attention the audience provided Sherlock with at the beginning of his speech that made everyone cry has now dissolved. People are spending too much time staring at their knives and forks, which are indeed dangerous weapons.
"He has this jumper with navy and white stripes like a soldier—"
"Sailor, Sherlock," cuts in John, his voice only slightly muffled by his hand. "It's sailors who are supposed to have the stripes on their jumpers."
Sherlock clears his throat and carries on, "I've seen several women wearing similar jumpers as a matter of fact. But I believe John bought this one in a shop called Albam. He was most excited until he saw the price tag. It was then that he began flirting with the shop assistant in order to haggle..."
"...The navy and blue stripy one sort of just appeared after our Blind Banker case. After that first joint shopping trip John didn't seem so keen to have me join him any longer. It's made of cotton, though with the appearance of wool..."
John looks up from the table long enough to see that someone a few tables back is taking notes, while everyone else looks ready to commit homicide with cutlery.
Several people have no doubt fallen asleep. If he is honest, John's arse went numb about the time the sun set. Forty-odd minutes ago. He can't help shooting a glare at Janine, but her gaze is glued to Sherlock's back in polite attention.
Mary's quiet beside him. She went quiet around the time Sherlock started listing the various jumpers that John has worn on dates.
There's a thump at the back table as Sherlock's monotonous droning continues, sending another person into Dream Land. John wouldn't be surprised if he appeared in those dreams, wearing a jumper – or maybe several at once. John almost wishes he could fall asleep. But he's afraid his dreams would be covered in wool. Suffocating. Choking.
A muffled curse as the pen of the woman who's taking notes runs out of ink.
"...Then, there was that Christmas when we had Molly and Godfrey—"
Lestrade snaps to attention to shout an indignant, "Greg!"
Sherlock sighs at the interruption and continues, "—Greg over at Baker Street, and John was wearing this woolly seasonal jumper—"
Mrs Hudson bursts into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. John realises that she's been drinking the wine during Sherlock's entire speech. With refills. "I knitted him that!" she says, tears now streaming down her face. Molly reaches over and gently removes Mrs Hudson's fingers from around her glass. "I had the pattern in one of my old magazines." She giggles some more, because old magazines are clearly hilarious, empty hand coming up to pour more wine into her mouth when she realises her glass is gone. She looks surprised.
Someone in the back snores loudly.
"Last but not least," Sherlock says, and John joins in with the sigh of relief chorus, "is John's cream cable jumper. It's old and tattered and I believe he bought that one in Albam too. He wore it on our first case together. He's always wearing it, maybe because he believes it goes with everything – but that is a speech for another time." Sherlock glances out the window and at last notices that it's dark. He claps his hands together loudly, successfully waking everyone up. He spins neatly on the spot to pick up his abandoned wine on the table. He's been speaking for so long, John's surprised it hasn't evaporated. He carefully avoids John's murderous glare.
"A toast, to Dr and Mrs Jumper-Watson." He raises his glass. There are mumbles as people drink. Except Mrs Hudson, who's still trying to find out where her glass disappeared off to. "Cut the cake now?" he asks John, not looking him in the eye.
John and Mary stand. He lets Mary handle the knife to cut the cake. He doesn't trust himself not to stab something tall and detective-shaped multiple times.
The End
Author's Note: The information on the jumpers is from the wearsherlock Tumblr blog, so thanks to them! Worth a visit if you're into clothes and props. This was lots of fun to write, thanks for reading! :)