A/N: It's been a little while since I updated; I have exams coming up so I've been studying too much! Sorry for the delay anyway. Admittedly this one isn't my favourite, but I thought I'd do some Sherlock and Edith interaction. This one is set before all the others, as should become fairly evident. Hopefully the next ones I have planned will be a little more interesting! This one might raise a smile though, I hope. Enjoy!

Third Cup: Best Man

In his time, John had come up the stairs into Baker Street to a plethora of strange objects and individuals. There had been men, women, chemicals, skeletons, cats, straw, televisions, a goose and, on one occasion, a mobster dangling his flatmate out of the window until John had a little word with him. That was why it was almost a relief when, on bustling in backwards to fit the shopping through the door and then turning around, he saw only a young woman quietly sipping a mug of tea in Sherlock's armchair. Sherlock himself was completely ignoring her, sitting at the table doing something on the laptop. Checking the website probably, it had been a while since their last case and now he had slept it off he was starting to get twitchy. The woman seemed unbothered by his inattention. When John had entered she had been resting her feet on the edge of the hearth, warming them through her tights, but she sat up straight when he came in and smiled, setting down her tea cup.

"Doctor Watson." She said. "It's good to see you again. Thank you for your help before."

John knew who she was, of course. They had helped her out on a case some six months before, at the request of Mycroft, who it seemed had a little crush on her. One didn't forget a thing like that. He hadn't heard anything of her since, however, and now here she was.

"Please, call me John." He answered, dropping the shopping down into the kitchen. "Do you need another drink?"

"No, thank you, I'm fine."

"Then…" He came and leant on the back of his armchair, opposite her. "What can we help you with? Is everything alright?" This was the first time he had ever seen a client return after the end of their case, probably because of Sherlock's charming brand of hospitality.

"I'm here to beg and bribe Sherlock." She replied cheerfully. "So I'm waiting until he's ready."

"Alright." John said. "Beg him to… what, exactly?"

"She wants me to come to her wedding." Sherlock said, slamming the laptop shut in ill temper. Obviously there wasn't any new cases forthcoming. "Even though I already said no to Mycroft."

"Wait, you're marrying Mycroft?" John asked, just managing to stop himself from adding Really? Are you sure? He wondered if she was a gold digger.

"That's right." She sat up straighter and positively glowed with enthusiasm. If she was marrying him for his money, she loved money a lot. "You'd be welcome too, of course, Doctor Watson. It's only going to be a very low-key affair at the registry office, just our close family- but you'd be more than welcome!"

"Well, I wouldn't want to intrude." John said vaguely, wondering if his curiosity to see Sherlock's family would overcome his dread of doing so. Then a thought occurred to him. He turned to Sherlock. "Wait, do you even have any family?"

"Just Mycroft." Sherlock said, sounding distinctly disgruntled at the prospect and opening the laptop again. He clearly wanted out of this conversation.

"But that means Mycroft only has you."

"That's why it would mean so much to him- to us both- if you would come, Sherlock." Edith tried, and was ignored. She turned desperately to John. "I'm one of six children, you see, and two of them are already married, and my parents are still around, so I have ten already, but Mycroft-"

"Ten of your relatives." Sherlock muttered. "Joy." He turned around, looking irritated. "The thing that both you and Mycroft seem to be forgetting, Edith, is that Mycroft and I don't get on. We detest each other. We can't even pretend to like each other for more than a few seconds. If I came I wouldn't enjoy it and I'd just embarrass him."

"He doesn't hate you." She said firmly. "And how could he be embarrassed by you?"

"At a wedding?" John interrupted. "I'm sorry, Edith, but I can think of fifteen straight off."

"Exactly." Sherlock turned to John now, sensing an ally. "He wanted me to be best man." He sounded like Mycroft had asked him to go and drink someone else's blood by force- like it was both immoral and disgusting. John couldn't help laughing at his face.

"It's not going to be a long ceremony." Edith said, upset now. "We aren't having a reception and you wouldn't have to come to the meal afterwards if you didn't want to, you wouldn't have to give a speech or talk to anyone. We just need someone to come for half an hour and hold the rings. Please, Sherlock."

John stopped laughing rather guiltily. Mycroft probably didn't care and John hadn't felt too bad about finding it amusing, but this wasn't just Mycroft's wedding. He probably regarded the whole thing as an inconvenience at best; a bit of legal nuisance before he could get on with the business of being married. Edith on the other hand, who knew what she thought? This could be a day she'd been waiting for her whole life, and she'd want it to be perfect; with at least one guest- the only possible guest- to be there on the groom's side, and a best man to hand over the rings. He gave Sherlock a look. He seemed more irritated than ever and once again slammed the laptop shut with violence. It was amazing he hadn't broken the screen.

"I'll come." He said petulantly. "But only if I don't have a case by then. And make sure you keep it short."

"We will, I promise!" To everyone's surprise, she got up and threw her arms around him. Sherlock froze and didn't move a muscle. John was just glad he didn't throw her off; he could see the detective was itching to. "Thank you, Sherlock."

He grunted and she pulled away. He sprang up and moved across the room to one of his stacks of books. John thought it was just an excuse to get some personal space back, but he pulled one out, somehow without dislodging the pile, and handed it to her at arm's length.

"In return, you're reading and memorising this for me." He said.

"If I read it, I can't help memorising it." She returned, a laugh in her voice. John frowned.

"Ignore him." He said. "You don't have to do anything." He turned to Sherlock. "She's not your external storage space for things you want to delete."

"I'm doing her a favour, she can do a favour for me. She said she would bribe me." Sherlock replied.

"I don't mind." Edith said. "It really doesn't take any effort for me to remember, it just stays in my brain; it doesn't bother me. If it means you'll come, Sherlock, I don't mind being your external storage for life!"

"Better start reading up about the solar system then." John said. Sherlock glared.

"You can go home now." He said, and Edith scurried off happily. Sherlock began playing his violin. John winced. It was horribly out of tune.

"What did you do to the poor thing?" He asked, as Sherlock began adjusting keys.

"I made it out of tune."

"Why?"

"To play the Danse Macabre to Mycroft."

"Right." John went to finally start putting the shopping away. "So not only are you going to be his best man, you're giving him private concerts now?"

"I felt it was an adequate summing up of the opinions of marriage I'd been giving him."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad you didn't do it to Edith."

"She's a foolish girl." Sherlock said dismissively, continuing to retune his violin. "She would have cried."

There was a slight catch in his voice. John smiled. "That wouldn't be why you agreed to go to the wedding, would it?" He asked. "Because she was getting upset?"

Sherlock paused and then threw his violin carelessly down on the settee, going back to check on the laptop. "I'll have a case by Saturday." He said, with a hint of desperation. John, knowing he would make sure Sherlock went, case or not, said nothing and went back to unpack the bags.

Oooooooooooooo

A/N: In the canon, and especially in close adaptations like the Brett, you see Holmes unable to refuse a client if it seems like they're about to cry; and I imagine Sherlock can't stand it either but perhaps more because of the noise or something, haha. So that's what this is. :) Of course, if he was the Basil Rathbone Holmes, he would just have given her a sedative and been done with it!