Author's Note: This is my first Sherlock Holmes ficlet. It is based on the recent film - which I absolutely love.
I am an amateur author of false name,
I borrow worlds of another's fame.
I stake no claim on recognised locations,
Neither do I own canon situations.
I merely come here to spend a while,
Reading other's work; writing my own style.
I earn no money, no wage, no dosh.
I gain no finance, no revenue, no cash.
I do not mean to step on legal toes,
I mean no infringement, I'm friend not foe.
So please, do come in, relax, unwind.
I hope in my work, enjoyment you will find.
Dr. John Watson took another glance into the mirror and straightened his cravat, again, before ensuring that the small pin in it was perfectly centred, again.
"Watson, old boy, your attention to detail is most encouraging. Why, if only you'd apply the skill to something other than your neckwear." said Holmes from the chair by the window, plucking away at the strings of his violin.
"I want it to be perfect. Everything about today should be perfect." the doctor replied, moving to sit on another chair.
"Perfection is a state that cannot truly be achieved, though, your neckwear is as perfect as is possible." Homes said, carefully placing the instrument down and regarding his long-suffering friend and brother-in-arms. "Now, I do believe that your nervousness is perfectly understandable, given the situation; however, please do desist in molesting your cravat."
"How come you're so calm, Holmes?" Watson said, standing and pacing, barely noticing the dull ache of his leg as he did. He was too rattled today to take note of pain.
"Why, Watson, I'm not the one getting married today, you are. Is there a reason that I should be nervous?" Holmes gave him a wry look.
"Holmes, it wouldn't shock me if you were never wed, there's only one woman on the planet who could keep up with you - only one woman you could love more than your cases; the trouble is that she's a first-rate criminal and keeps making an ass out of you…"
Watson trailed off, hearing the chimes of the clock on the mantelpiece; the chimes were followed a few moments later by the clatter of wheels and the clip of hooves on the street outside. Holmes rose and looked out of the window.
"Come now, Watson, the carriage that will take you to the church awaits!" Holmes stood and grabbed his jacket, pulling it on and smoothing out any wrinkles.
"Holmes, just one request, just one…" Watson began as they left the building.
"And what would that be?" asked the detective.
"Behave. At the wedding, and the wedding breakfast - please behave yourself. Don't offend anybody, don't do that thing you do where you determine someone's life story from the little details, and if they truly insist - I beg that you don't mention anything that anyone could find offensive… just, please, behave." Watson ended his little rant with a deep sigh.
Holmes merely looked offended at the notion, as if his exceptional mind couldn't quite grasp why his dearest friend was telling him this. In silence they walked to the carriage waiting for them, climbing in and closing the door.
"You know, old boy, you can still back out now, if you wish. Though, I'd be loathe to have to move various items out of your old room at Baker Street, I quite approve of the extra space…" Homes began, expecting Watson's strike coming towards his face and blocking it effortlessly.
"Homes, do you remember what I just said about behaving?" Watson prompted.
"Of course I do, what do you take me for, Watson?" Holmes replied.
"Please, just… just… just…" Watson trailed off.
"Not to worry, old boy, I quite like the lovely soon-to-be-Mrs.-John-Watson." Holmes chuckled.
"Yes, but what you really like is when she bakes an apple pie - and you couldn't bare to be deprived of your current favourite treat! I've no idea what she puts in the pastry, but its rather delicious, and the filling isn't too sweet." Watson laughed, finally beginning to relax and embrace the happiness of his wedding day, finally ignoring the pit of nerves that had taken over his stomach.
"It is the most excellent treat! So much more appetising than Nanny's!" Holmes protested, before he gave a sly grin, "And you'll find that she adds ground almonds to the pastry, Watson."
"Really?" Watson asked.
"Either that, or she's adding cyanide to it - though, as neither you or I have suffered - and bearing in mind that you get the lions share of any apple pie she bakes, and I a mere sliver…"
"She saves you more than a 'sliver' Holmes, and you know it! For some odd reason, she likes you too - goodness knows why!" Watson chipped in.
"Well, just my charm and good manners, I suppose…"
"… Good manners? The first time you were introduced to her you offended her so much that she threw her drink over you!" Watson snipped.
"Perhaps my honesty, then?" Holmes mused.
"Perhaps it's the fact that she's one of very few people in the world who you insist call you 'Sherlock', and not 'Holmes'." Watson chuckled.
"That was only after I first tasted her apple pie… And, returning to the earlier topic, as neither of us have suddenly dropped dead, I can assume she incorporates almonds into the pastry, not poison." Holmes finished.
"We're here." Watson whispered, eyeing the church from the carriage window.
"There's still opportunity to escape, I have formed quite the plan to…"
"Holmes, shut up." Watson laughed, climbing from the carriage and waiting for his friend (and best man) to disembark.
Author's Note II: Adding ground almonds to sweet pastry was one of my Grandma's tricks. It tasted absolutely amazing! Unfortunately, Grandma never wrote down her 'secret' recipe for pastry - in her recipe notebooks she simply wrote (and I quote) "Pastry as usual". So, I've still no idea quite how much ground almond I need to add to pastry to get it to taste so un-usual and delicious. Unfortunately, she died when I was nine, and she didn't pass her recipe onto anybody. However, I just thought I'd add that little snip of real life into the fiction.
I hope you enjoyed my little ficlet.