Letter on the Music Stand
"God, what a night," John said, looking around the deserted hall. "I thought they'd never leave."
Mary laughed softly, wrapping her arms around John. "We didn't have to stay."
"It's our wedding reception and our friends. I didn't want to force them out," John said, turning to kiss her temple.
"Do you know when Sherlock left?" Mary asked, resting her head on his shoulder.
"No," John said. "We must have lost him early. I didn't see him leave."
"At least he made it to the reception," Mary said. "You should call him later, see how he is."
"Yes. Definitely." He spotted a familiar dogged case sitting on the small stage. "He left his violin. He must have left early." He sighed heavily. "Git. I wanted to talk to him."
Mary rubbed his shoulder idly. "Call him," she repeated.
John nodded. "I will. Later. For now, I'll take the violin and tell the chauffeur to drop it off at Sherlock's. Mycroft provided the car, anyway." He pulled away from Mary and went to pick up the case.
"John?"
"Hm?" John flipped the case open to make sure violin and components were there before flipping the latches again.
"What's this?"
John glanced over his shoulder. "Hm?"
Mary brandished an envelope at him. John caught the familiar scrawl of Sherlock's handwriting across the front: Dr and Mrs Watson.
"That's... That's Sherlock's writing," John said, straightening to take the envelope. He turned it over and slid his thumb under the flap. "He must have left it after telling us that you're pregnant."
He pulled the singular piece of paper out from the envelope, unfolding it. If he was expecting a letter, he was sorely mistaken. Instead, there was a piece of complicated music, full of notes that John didn't know the name of now and messy handwriting. He didn't need to look at the title of the piece to know that Sherlock had written this piece of music. The handwriting gave it away, but, of course, when John looked, the by Sherlock Holmes only proved what he knew.
"Sherlock wrote that waltz?" Mary asked, looking at John.
John nodded slowly. "He must have... God. I didn't even know."
"He didn't tell us he was composing," Mary said.
"Yeah, but three years ago, I would have known," John muttered, folding the paper up.
"Would he have come to our wedding three years ago?" Mary asked softly.
John sighed. "Probably not."
Mary reached for his hand, squeezing it encouragingly. "Let's go get in our car, and you can call Sherlock on the way to the airport."
John nodded and tucked the letter on the inside of his jacket, bending to pick up the violin. "Come on."
John and Mary cuddled into each other in the back of the cab, huddled over John's phone. He turned it on speaker and dialled Sherlock's number.
He answered on the fifth ring. "John?"
"Hey," he greeted. "You left early."
"Well, you couldn't expect me to hang around all night. Shouldn't you be on your Sex Holiday?"
Mary laughed. John sighed. "I told you not to call it that."
"You're going on a holiday to have sex, activities of which you are capable of doing at home," Sherlock responded smartly. "Are you feeling alright, Mary? Remember to drink plenty to stabilise your fluid intake when you've been vomiting."
"Oi, I'm the doctor here!" John bristled.
Mary laughed again, cuddling further into John's warmth. "I'm fine, Sherlock. I'm sorry that you left early. John wanted to dance with you."
"I did not!"
Sherlock snorted from the other end of the line. "Trust me, Mary, I didn't want to dance with him. My toes have suffered enough from training him."
"I'm not your dog," John retorted.
"Hm."
John rolled his eyes. "Hey, you left your violin at the hall."
"Oh, good, you noticed. You're having it sent over after you're off on the private jet, right?"
"Yeah," John said. He paused. "I noticed your letter, too."
"We," Mary added.
"Yes, we," John said, holding his hand out to Mary.
"The waltz, you mean."
"Yeah. Why didn't you tell me that you wrote that?" John asked.
"It wasn't relevant and you were tumbling about with the fact that you two are about to become active parents. I didn't see why I had to bother you with something else that wasn't important."
"It is important," John stressed before sighing. Trying to explain it to Sherlock would last all through their honeymoon. "Thank you," he said instead.
A gust of air made the connection go all static; John suspected that Sherlock had sighed. "You're welcome." The words oozed awkwardness and the underlying quality of what John thought was exhaustion.
"You should get some rest, Sherlock," he said. "You've been working nonstop since we started wedding planning. Relax."
"Uh huh."
"I'll take care of him, Sherlock," Mary chimed in. "And I'll bring him back soon."
"Oh, good."
John laughed at Sherlock's disinterested tone. "Or maybe she won't, then."
"Whatever would I do with myself?" Sherlock replied, voice flat.
John smiled and rest his head against Mary's. "I'll come see you after the honeymoon. Don't take any good cases without me."
Sherlock hummed in response.
"Thank you.. again, Sherlock, really," Mary said. "For the planning and the honeymoon and... you know. Being there. It wouldn't have been the same without you."
Sherlock made a disgusted noise. "And that's enough of that undue sentiment. Do have fun, John, Mary. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"We're planning on it," John muttered.
Mary chuckled and John put his phone away once he'd hung up, turning to kiss his bride.
Because Sherlock leaving that sheet music and then leaving totally leads to fanfiction and, of course, we want to clock John because he's being horribly blind to how the whole thing makes Sherlock feel.
I do not own Sherlock. Thank you!