Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.
AN: Sorry to keep you guys waiting for so long...I had no internet the past few weeks, so couldn't update...
Chapter 9:
Irene and Mary talked idly over things as Nero reached out a chubby hand to try and grab a butterfly from where he was rested in Irene's arms.
'So, when's Nero's birthday?' Mary asked suddenly. 'I can't believe I didn't ask that before!'
Irene laughed. 'January 6th.'
'Wait.' Mary frowned. 'Isn't that also Sherlock's birthday?'
The Woman nodded. 'Coincidence. We didn't really plan it. We thought that it would be a few days after Sherlock, but apparently, Nero wanted to have the same birthday as his daddy, so...'
Mary laughed at the thought.
'Well,' She checked the date. 'It's May now, and we didn't celebrate Sherlock or Nero's birthday, so we're going to do it next month.'
'Next month?' Irene asked, slightly amused.
Mary nodded determinedly. 'Next month, on the 6th.' Irene laughed.
'Nero may love the attention, but I'm not too sure about Sherlock.'
Mary frowned. 'Then he's going to have to deal with it. Because we're doing it no matter what they say.' Irene laughed.
'Well put, Ms. Morstan. Well put.'
Irene was brought back into the present by Sherlock finishing his account. 'Married. Obvious really. Our Mayfly Man was trying to escape the suffocating chains of domesticity, and instead of endless nights in, watching the telly, or going to the barbecues with awful dreadful boring people he couldn't stand-'
Irene wanted to laugh at the same time. Sounded a lot like Sherlock, but she knew that Sherlock wouldn't cheat on her.
After all, other people, as he so poetically put it, were "awful dreadful boring people".
'He used his wits, cleverness and powers of diguise to play the field. He was...' He looked at both newlyweds, who were shaking their heads indiscreetly. He caught Irene's eye discreetly, and Irene smiled at him, though she gave the tiniest of shakes of her head.
Of course, Sherlock understood.
'On second thoughts, I probably should have told you about the Elephant in the Room. However, it does help to further illustrate how invaluable John is to me. I can read a crime scene the way he can understand a human being. I used to think that's what made me special – quite frankly, I still do.
'But a word to the wise: should any of you require the services of either of us, I will solve your murder, but it takes John Watson to save your life. Trust me on that – I should know. He's saved mine so many times, and in so many ways.'
Sherlock held up his phone, which he hadn't put away. 'This blog is the story of two men and their frankly ridiculous adventures...' A small smile, which earned him a chuckle from everyone.
'Of murder, mystery and mayhem. But from now on, there's a new story – a bigger adventure.' He looked at the newlyweds, who smiled happily back at him.
'Ladies and gentlemen, pray charge your glasses and be upstanding.' He picked up his own glass, watching everyone else do the same. 'Today begin the adventures of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson.' John sighed while Mary giggled.
Irene grinned, remembering Sherlock's unusual interest in John's middle name, which had led to numerous guesses.
'The two reasons why every single one of us is...'
Irene recognised the face too late. Sherlock had figured out the case. She frowned, wondering what she had missed, before Sherlock dropped his glass.
The Woman wanted to slap herself on the head. She remembered Sherlock trying to guess John's name, before stealing his birth certificate, which was supposedly "confiding" in him.
'...here today!' The glass smashed to the floor. He raised his head, shaking it. Irene immediately knew the signs. She frowned in concern at him, but he seemed distracted as he accepted another glass.
'Now, where were we?' He shook his head, before nodding. 'Ah, yes. Raising glasses and standing up. Very good. Thank you.'
Sherlock looked at them for a moment, before putting his hands down in the universal hand sign of "sit down". 'And down again.' Confused, everyone sat down, with Irene slowly dawning upon the answer herself.
The World's only Consulting Detective placed his glass down. 'Ladies and gentlemen, people tell you not to milk a good speech – get off early, leave 'em laughing. Wise advice I'll certainly try to bear in mind. But for now...'
He leapt across the table, leaving surprised gasps.
'Part two.'
He walked around the central aisle. Irene tried catching eye-contact, but failed. 'Part two is more action-based. I'm gonna ... walk around, shake things up a bit.'
Sherlock looked around in what was his "deductive stare" as he looked at every man in the room, excluding Archie. 'Who'd go to a wedding? That's the question. Who would bother to go to any lengths to get themselves to a wedding?'
Sherlock turned back. 'Well, everyone.'
He turned around and clapped his hands once.
'Wedding are great! Love a wedding!'
Meanwhile, Irene could faintly hear Mary. 'What's he doing?' She whispered to John.
John's posture was tense. 'Something's wrong.'
Both exchanged a look with Irene, who shook her head. She was just as clueless as them until Sherlock looked at her, and she could read what he was thinking from his eyes.
Sherlock headed back to the table where John was sitting. 'And John's great, too! Haven't said that enough. Barely scratched the surface. I could go on all night about the depth and complexity of his ... jumpers ...'
Something was definitely wrong. If only Sherlock would look at her! Irene, frustrated, followed Sherlock's every move.
'...and he can cook. Does a thing...thing with peas...' It was obvious that Sherlock was struggling to keep his composure. 'Once. Might not be peas. Might not be him. But he's got a great singing voice...or somebody does.' He growled in frustration, teeth clenched. 'Ah, too many, too many, too many, TOO MANY!' He grimaced.
'Sorry. Too many jokes about John! Now, er...' He looked dazed for a moment. 'Where was I? Ah, yes.' He blinked once. 'Speech!' He pointed at the top table, grinning. 'Speech.' He clapped his hand once again. 'Let's talk about...'
He looked slightly lost for a second, before he continued. 'Murder.'
John sighed while Mary frowned. Irene herself had her eyes wide. She knew what he was talking about now, and immediately scanned the guests.
'Sorry, did I say "murder"? I meant to say "marriage" – but, you know, they're quite similar procedures when you think about it. The participants tend to know each other, and it's over when one of them's dead.'
He called over to Janine, and began to rattle out deductions about a man and his soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend. Only Irene could catch his fingers moving behind his back on his phone, sending a text. Irene turned to Lestrade, who looked at her in confusion.
Irene nodded at Lestrade's pocket, where he kept his phone.
Confused, Lestrade took it out, and turned to Sherlock.
'Geoff, the gents. The loos, now, please.'
'It's Greg.' Lestrade said, incredulous that Sherlock still hadn't remembered.
'The loos, please.'
'Why?' Lestrade looked at his phone as it beeped out a text.
'Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's your turn.' This was said rather pointedly.
Lestrade looked at his phone.
Lock this place down.