"I, John Hamish Watson, take thee, Mary Morstan, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth," he held her right hand in his as he recited his vows.
They loosed hands.
Then, she took his right hand with hers and recited, "I, Mary Morstan, take thee, John Hamish Watson, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."
They loosed hands once more. The minister handed John the ring and it slipped from his hand - to shake out all the evil spirits, as the superstition went. He quickly bent over to pick it up and slid it onto the fourth finger of her left hand.
Holding the ring in place, he recited, "With this Ring I thee wed, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."
Mary felt the ring on her finger, gleaming against her skin, as John left it there. She could barely contain her joy, and why should she? She was married! She stared into her husband's eyes, her eyes gleaming. He met her gaze, calm and steady as ever, a small smile playing across his lips. He had been so nervous leading up to the wedding, it was a relief to finally see him happy and relaxed.
And why shouldn't he be? They were married! She could hardly believe it, but it was true, and that made it all the more incredible. She fancied this was the happiest day of her life, and who knew, perhaps it was. At that moment, there was nothing that could have made her any less than ecstatic.
But even then, there was a twinge of doubt in the back of her mind, reminding her of Mr. Holmes…
The minister finished the blessing and she and John made their way down the aisle arm in arm, under a shower of rice. She looked straight ahead toward their future together, careful not to turn right or left, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw John's head twitch away from her, as if he was trying to glance back at the alter, but stopped himself in time.
Mrs. Forrester had been kind enough to lend them her home for the reception as Mary had none of her own. She and John stationed themselves in a corner, which had been adorned with bouquets of roses and orange blossoms for the occasion, and were swept away in the greetings and congratulations of everyone who had attended. It felt like all of London had come, though she would have sworn the guest list had not exceeded fifty.
As the stream of new arrivals thinned and their guests dispersed into the hall where they stood around talking, she noticed John begin to fidget. Mr. Holmes had yet to arrive. She was not surprised; the arguments had apparently not ceased as the wedding neared and she had heard that it was with much reluctance that he had agreed to be the first man. But kind, sweet John never once blamed Mr. Holmes for it. Mary had half a mind to speak to the detective herself, but she didn't know what she could say that wouldn't do more harm than good.
Mary squeezed her husband's hand, and craned her neck to whisper in his ear, "Don't worry about him," she said, "Don't let him ruin this day for you."
He gave her a small smile. "I won't. I just hope he's alright."
"And I hope you're alright."
They stood there some minutes longer, just in case another guest were to arrive, and finally Mr. Holmes did appear. Almost immediately she saw John break into a grin of relief. The tension that had been building all but vanished. Mr. Holmes gave a slight smile at the sight of the effect he had on her husband, but it did not last long.
He greeted Mary first, as was customary, but with a curt nod and a frown.
"At long last," John exclaimed, bustling with nervous excitement for the first time that morning, as Mr. Holmes turned to him. "I was worried you left without saying good bye!"
"It crossed my mind..." Mr. Holmes answered simply.
"Well I, for one, am glad you came." John clasped his hand in an eager shake and for a moment they stood there, their eyes locked in a strange battle of wills.
Finally, they separated and Mr. Holmes forced out an uncertain, "Congratulations, my dear Watson." Mary did not know if she had imagined a slight emphasis on the word "my."
"Come, join the festivities," John said eagerly and Mr. Holmes consented, but he seemed less than pleased.
They all made their way through the crowd, wading through second and even third greetings and congratulations from their guests, as they approached the table at which the rest of the bridal party was already seated. John helped Mary into a seat next to Mrs. Forrester before sitting down beside her. Mr. Holmes took the open chair on his other side. When they were all seated, John served his wife and then himself. Mary began to eat, suddenly realizing just how hungry she had been.
Meanwhile, John turned to Mr. Holmes, "Holmes, have something to eat, relax, enjoy yourself perhaps..."
"I am not hungry," Mr. Holmes insisted, ignoring the rest, his expression set.
.
Breakfast soon ended with little time to eat and even less for conversation. They cut the cakes and soon the newlyweds left to change into clothes for the road - they would be leaving for their honeymoon from the reception. Mary was helped out of her wedding gown, into a sensible light blue dress, suited for travel. After a moment to herself, she stepped out into the hall to wait for John.
She heard raised voices emanating from the room across from hers. It was John and Mr. Holmes. She couldn't quite make out the words, but they got clearer as the conflict seemed to escalate and the voices inside grew louder.
"I made my choice!" she heard John insist.
She approached the door, unable to contain her curiosity.
John's voice suddenly dropped so she could only barely make out the words from right outside, "You made yours."
"This," she heard Mr. Holmes sneer in reply, "Was not my choice."
"I'm sorry Holmes, this conversation is over," John said. He then said something else, but it was too quiet for her to understand.
She barely had enough presence of mind to step out of the way before Mr. Holmes left the room, slamming the door behind him. She nearly jumped at the loud noise and her heart began to race as her mind filled with excuses. She quieted her raging thoughts as she watched Mr. Holmes pace the corridor, pointedly ignoring her.
Finally she forced her mind into sufficient order to ask in simple confusion, "Why are you here, if you don't mind my asking? You obviously don't want to be, and I imagine you would be much happier if you hadn't come. Why did you?"
There was a long, thoughtful pause before he responded, almost too quiet for her to hear, "For John," and left without another word.
The room they were staying in was dark. Mary lay upon the bed, staring up at the ceiling, her white nightgown splayed out around her. Her husband lay sleeping beside her, but as tired as she was, she could not join him. Her heart raced with the pure elation of the day. She was married! Her cheeks were still flushed with joy.
But deep down she knew that wasn't the only thing keeping her awake. A nagging doubt simmered in the back of her mind; what of Mr. Holmes? She could not deny that there was something amiss.
John loved her, he had married her, for goodness's sake! Was that not enough? But she already knew the answer; it couldn't be, could it? Her gut and everything she had ever been told said that it was wrong. But this was John she was talking about, her dear, beloved John. Could she condemn him for something she did not even understand?
He was her husband; he had chosen to marry her, was that not enough?
She wanted to trust him, and why couldn't she? He had not given her any cause for distrust, he was a kind, honorable man, laws of man and God be damned, if it came to that! What did they have if not trust between them?
He had made his choice, and that was that. She ought to be happy that he had chosen her.