An Eye for Detail
By: InitialA
Disclaimer: I own nothing in BBC Sherlock.
"You're not actually having them dye the roses purple, are you?" Sherlock peered at Mary from over his phone; he was languishing on the couch in his pajamas, his bare feet dangling over the arm-rest. "Twenty minutes ago you were going on about the expense of the caterers."
"Yes, I am, Sherlock, and it's lilac. What have the two got to do with the price of pasta in Palermo?" Mary asked patiently.
"Everything, if you want anything left to spend on your honeymoon. But logically, if you slight the staining of your shoots, your budget with find itself balanced for the better."
"But I've already contacted the caterers about cutting the carp from our cuisine."
"Of course, if you enjoy punishing the pescetarians in your party, by all means, carry on," Sherlock went back to his phone with an look of exasperation.
"I already did 'p', darling, pay attention next time," Mary told him.
"I let you win that one."
"By using 'pescetarian'? That's a winner's word, you weren't paying attention."
"Went out with a flourish."
"Keep trying to lie to me, Sherlock, you'll get it someday."
"Hang on," John interrupted from his chair. "What the bloody hell are you two on about?"
"It's a game, love," Mary said.
"Alliteration, see how many sentences we can string together with the majority of words beginning with the same letter while having a comprehensible conversation."
"And that proved to be too easy, so we agreed that we'd have a go at at least seven sentences before repeating letters."
"That was too easy," John said flatly.
Mary smiled and nodded. Sherlock merely flipped his phone to horizontal. John flipped his paper back up; irritated mumbling could be heard from the other side. Mary chuckled. She went back to her binder, just as Sherlock said, "Seriously though, ditch the dye. White roses, classic and tasteful. If one liked that sort of thing."
"You are not staying in the inn, there are seventeen ways in which a particularly clever killer can find their way into your room and murder the both of you before you can think to call for help," Sherlock snapped, pacing the living room.
"They've got a lovely honeymoon suite overlooking the garden," Mary protested.
"You're not honeymooning there, what's the point of even staying in a honeymoon suite? No, it's completely out of the question, no, you'll have to change it. I've done some inquiring, there's some acceptable inns nearby, completely within reason to travel to and from the reception. Security risks are still unacceptable, but the locations are more discreet."
"Sherlock, really…" Mrs. Hudson chided.
"Mrs. Hudson, I have enemies, John has enemies. What better time to strike than when his guard is the most relaxed it's been in ages?"
John raised his biscuit. "Just pointing out, no enemies."
"Don't be naïve, John," Sherlock said scornfully.
"Wasn't that the point of the vanishing detective, removing our enemies?" John asked, glaring over his coffee.
"Naturally, but even I only had an 87.392% chance of removing every element of Moriarty's empire. No, I really must insist."
"Sherlock…"
Mary laid a soothing hand on John's arm. "John, let's at least consider it."
"You're only going to make him worse, you know."
Mary only smiled, then glanced up at Sherlock, still wearing a new line into the floorboards.
"I am not exchanging my shoes because you think they make John feel inferiorly short!" Mary stood on the balls of her feet to get into Sherlock's face.
Sherlock was impassive. "I don't think, Mary, I know."
"I love these shoes, Sherlock," she pleaded.
"Your fiancé loves you no matter how tall you are next to him."
"We're the same height in these shoes, I don't understand why—"
"It's a complex. I've pointed it out to him on multiple occasions, though I don't believe he's taken the hint in having it looked into it…"
Mary scoffed, dropping to her heels and going to the window, checking the street to be sure John wasn't coming up yet. "Oh now you're just playing the clever card, hoping I'll be too emotional about John's well-being to stop and think about it."
A look of annoyance flickered across Sherlock's face before it recomposed to neutral again. "I'm doing no such thing—"
"Give it a rest, Sherlock. Did you think, instead, we might look into having John's shoes raised, just half an inch or so?"
Sherlock blinked once, twice, and then he looked at her with bewilderment. "People do that?"
She glanced at him. A ghost of a smile played on her lips. "Men with 'complexes' do."
"Oh… oh, right then… carry on… better make it three-quarters of an inch…"
"If you tell anyone, swear to God, I'll make what I did to you in November look like you banged your head on the doorframe," John threatened.
"Client confidentiality, John," Sherlock said, and pressed 'play' on his iHome.
He took John's hands and placed one on his shoulder and took the other in his own; he rested his right hand on John's waist. "Feel what I'm doing for now. I lead, you follow," he began, and moved with the music. "Don't worry about tripping for now, it happens. Don't get flustered—don't. Take a breath and continue. Trust me. Trust me to lead you where you're supposed to be, you'll get there in time, and it will be okay. And turn… it's all right, I've got you. Lift your feet, don't scuff up your soles, you go through more pairs of shoes from shuffling your feet than any man I've ever tailed, it's sloppy…"
"You're a real charmer," John grunted, looking at his feet.
"You won't get anywhere from staring at your feet," Sherlock countered.
"They want to do whatever they want to!"
"Who's in charge, you or your feet? Tell them to do what you want. Stop being nervous, it's only me!"
For another quarter of an hour, Sherlock waltzed John around the living room. Finally, John insisted he try to lead, and Sherlock obliged… until they stood together in the living room for so long that John finally had to admit that he had no idea how to lead. Sherlock broke his neutral expression and started to grin. John glared. Sherlock started to laugh; John kept up the glare for a heroic twenty seconds before reluctantly joining him. "You're going to be really hopeless," Sherlock told him.
"Shut up and teach me how to waltz."
Sherlock stood at a parade rest behind John as he smoothed his tie under his waistcoat. "You're looking at me in that way again," John remarked, adjusting his knot.
"Like what?" Sherlock asked.
"Like you're an owl and you're trying to decide if you want to bother chasing that mouse tonight or not."
"I in no way resemble an owl, John."
"Yeah, you do a bit."
Sherlock pursed his lips a bit, frowning. John breathed a quick laugh. "Oh come on. Look, do me a favor and go check on Mary for me. Make sure… I dunno, she hasn't come to her senses and ran off or something."
Sherlock smiled briefly. "I calculated the chances of that, actually, cross-referencing the guest list—"
"I forbid you to deduce anything for the next three hours. Mary. Check on. Go," John practically shoved him out of the sacristy.
Sherlock glared briefly over his shoulder, and then went to the bridal suite. He knocked briefly. The maid of honor opened the door. "Oh, it's you."
"Yes. Well. The groom requested I make sure his bride hasn't thought better of this entire arrangement, which would, of course, be a complete waste of time and money for everyone involved, and undeniably the most selfish act a person could conceive of on such a—" Sherlock was cut off as the maid of honor dragged him in, just after Mary called, "Oh shut him up, get him in here!"
He straightened, and cleared his throat. "Right…"
Mary turned from the mirror and smiled warmly. "Well, it's more of a surprise to me that you actually came. I was sure you'd refuse to show up for a case."
"Wouldn't miss it," Sherlock felt stiff, and it was no surprise his voice was the same.
Mary came over to him. "Relax, darling. It's going to be fine. We're just about ready here. How's John?" Her tone changed, laced with worry.
"John? Fine. He's fine. I mean, not entirely fine, he's created at least seven new curses, two of which impressed me, and redone his tie four times, sure that something was mucked up. But other than that show of nerves, he's fine."
"Good. Right. Well then, go shove him out the door, we'll meet you at the end of the aisle. Oh, and…" Mary stopped him as he turned to go. "Thank you, Sherlock."
She hugged him briefly. "For what?" He asked, confused.
"For everything. You did most of this," she gestured around. "To think, I'd thought about hiring a wedding planner, when it turns out that a consulting detective was what I really needed. Seriously, if you ever get bored of solving crime, you've got a knack for weddings." She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'd ask you to pass that on to John, but I know better."
Sherlock smiled briefly, and left. In the sacristy, John was finally putting on his morning coat, apparently satisfied with his tie at last. "How is she?"
"Better than you."
"Ah, but we knew that going in," John said, smiling.
"She's fine. She said… she'd meet us at the other end. Also…" Sherlock stepped forward and, hesitating for a moment, awkwardly hugged John. The ghost of a kiss grazed John's hair, and Sherlock stepped back. "She said to give you that."
"Oh. Well… thanks."
Sherlock smiled briefly, then looked at the floor. John straightened his coat. "Got the rings?"
Sherlock patted his coat. "Yes. I do believe you're as ready as you can be."
"Well… let's get on with it…"
Sherlock followed John out of the sacristy. Even he couldn't deduce which of them was more nervous.
((That time Sherlock was the best man and set the bar impossibly high for everyone else. That time I cried again over character development. That time I really wanted to write about Sherlock hijacking Mary's wedding planning but instead decided it was their mission in life to make John's life more frustrating than ever.
Team Sherlock and Mary Ruining John's Life Forever))