POV for this chapter: Sherlock

Um, I don't have much to say for this one.

Enjoy!~

Sherlock was lying on his bed and glaring at the ceiling, his hands folded over his stomach, the only light coming from the moon through the opened window. It was the night before his wedding and he refused to admit that he was nervous. Why would he be nervous? There was no reason to be nervous; the whole thing was an arrangement and nothing more. He may have felt a little queasy, but that could be attributed to indigestion. So, no nervousness. That would be irrational.

He needed to distract himself from his nonexistent nervousness.

He closed his eyes. The result of his first case with John was….unexpected. Sherlock rolled onto his side, curling up in a ball and ignoring his quick heartbeat. He thought he had screwed everything up in the café by accidentally insulting John (it was truly an accident—Sherlock didn't know that he would get so angry by having his addiction exposed), but apparently not.

Sherlock replayed John's outburst in his mind for the fourth time within the hour:

"You sound like you don't care."

"What, and you would?"

"Yes! You're my fiancé!"

John cared about him. John referred to him as his fiancé in front of strangers and failed to tell said strangers that their engagement wasn't by choice. It was a step in the right direction.

"Why do I care?" Sherlock growled into his pillow. "It doesn't matter if he denies or acknowledges our circumstances. After tomorrow, we'll be flatmates. That's it. And, well, friends," he admitted with slight disdain "and perhaps partners, in a sense…" Sherlock sighed into the darkness. "He's just kind and interesting and handsome; I've ignored those traits in others, so why not him?"

"Fantasizing about your beloved, brother?"

Sherlock flipped onto his other side and saw Mycroft standing in the doorway. "How did I not hear you? Your weight always causes the floorboards to creak."

"You were distracted," Mycroft replied coolly with a slight smirk.

"Shut up and leave. Why are you even here?" Sherlock sat up and crossed his arms.

"I'm here to support you."

"Nonsense. What support would I need?"

"Considering that you were lamenting to your pillow about John Watson, I'd say a lot."

When Sherlock said nothing, Mycroft went on, "And, let us not forget that you asked me to dig into his past. I'm surprised you didn't deduce it all yourself."

"I did," Sherlock said. "I just wanted confirmation."

"Hm, sure. Why did you want to know all that, anyway?"

"None of your business."

"Did it have nothing to do with your latest case?"

"Go away," Sherlock's lip twitched.

"You could have gotten other assistants—that pathologist is fond of you, isn't she?—and yet you chose him."

"Whatever you're thinking is absurd. John is my friend and nothing more."

Mycroft gave him a patronizing stare.

"Tomorrow will mean nothing," Sherlock muttered and flopped down on his side again to face the wall. "Leave."

"Now, Sherlock—"

"Leave, Mycroft. Your presence is unwelcome and unnecessary." He stared at his wall and waited for the sound of footsteps. After ten seconds, Mycroft left the room and shut the door behind him.

Sherlock bounced off his bed and began to pace the short distance of his bedroom, "Stupid Mycroft, thinking he knows everything about my mind and feelings. What does he know? Nothing! He needs to learn to keep his big nose out of things."

Sherlock's quick pacing made his mother knock on his door, "Stop all the racket, Sherlock!"

"No!"

"Don't make me come in there."

Sherlock stopped pacing.

"Good boy." Sherlock heard her walk away.

Sherlock sat on the edge of his bed, feeling on edge. It was only 9:30. He couldn't spend the night in his room or else he'd go insane.

He grabbed his phone from his bedside table and texted John (Mycroft gave him John's number, but that was irrelevant because Mycroft was irrelevant).

John. SH

John. SH

JOHN. SH

Sherlock?

Yes, John. SH

How did u get my number?

Not important. I'm bored. SH

Good 4 u.

John, can you not type like you're seven? SH

Sorry, Im a bit drunk. Btw, u don't have 2 keep signing ur texts. I kno its u

I want to sign them. Why are you drunk? SH

Stag night. heard of it?

I'm aware of the concept. Did you attend strip clubs? SH

Yea. My friends insisted. Kind of weird telling u this. Since. U know.

What? It's not like you're cheating. SH

It sounded nonchalant, but Sherlock was disgusted by the knowledge that John probably had some random woman touching him. But, there was no time to examine that now.

Ugh, your typing is atrocious. I'm calling you. SH

Sherlock no Im still out!

Sherlock called John immediately. He couldn't bear to read John's drunken texts any longer. It was mind-numbing. Besides, he wanted to distract himself from the thought of John at strip clubs and his nonexistent nerves.

John picked up on the fifth ring. "Sherlock?" There was a lot of background noise, mainly loud music and laughter.

"Obviously."

"Jeez, what'd you want?"

"I told you, I'm bored. I can hardly imagine you enjoying the night, either."

"Shit, 'course you'd know that," John slurred. "I dunno why I'm not enjoying this. Supposed to be fun."

"Is it boring?"

"Kind of. Alcohol helps, though all my friends are too drunk to speak."

"Lovely." Something about hearing John's voice made Sherlock feel better, but he wanted to see John. Being with John while he was intoxicated would be an interesting experience. There would be a lot of data to collect. "I'm bored. You're bored. Let's do something about it."

"Crime scene?" John asked hopefully.

"I wish," Sherlock sighed. "No."

"Then what?" John then giggled, "A romantic walk in the park?"

Sherlock considered this. "Why not?"

"It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding," he teased.

"You're the bride?" Sherlock smirked.

"Huh? No! No, that's not what I meant! Stop laughing!"

Sherlock's laughter died down to a couple chuckles. "Our boredom is still unsolved. Why not take a romantic walk in the park, my bride to be?"

"Oh, that sounds lovely, sweetheart." John started giggling again.

He must be truly inebriated. "I'll pick you up from your current location."

"How ya know where I am?"

"Criterion, correct?"

"Er, yeah."

"Mike Stamford mentioned it yesterday."

"Ah. Gotcha. Well, don't keep me waiting long, dearest."

"I wouldn't dare, angel."

They both laughed before hanging up, Sherlock chuckling richly and John giggling hysterically.

Sherlock wondered if flirting was similar to that whole exchange. Shaking off the thought, he grabbed his coat and headed out the door.

Getting John out of the bar was too easy. John was right; his friends were completely smashed. They didn't notice Sherlock at all, and he preferred it that way. They seemed like imbeciles.

John was humming happily as he walked next to Sherlock. "The stars are pretty tonight," he looked up at the sky.

Sherlock found drunken John highly amusing. He looked up. "I suppose." He was indifferent to stars, but he would humor John. "How are you this drunk already? It's only 10:00."

"Oi, you look like a lightweight yourself, so shush," John elbowed Sherlock in the stomach.

Sherlock smiled. "I wouldn't know. I don't drink often."

"Hmmm, not surprising." John looked around. "Oh, we're here."

"Yes, we've been at the park for two minutes and thirty-eight seconds. Do keep up."

True to his word, Sherlock brought John for a walk through the park, though he doubted it could be considered romantic. The park was mainly empty, leaving room for John to stumble around without disturbing anyone.

"So, there were strippers." Sherlock didn't know why that bothered him or why he brought it up. The thought of some woman touching John….Possessiveness rose in Sherlock's chest.

"What? Oh, yeah. Yes, there were."

"Why? I don't see the appeal in having a stranger rub against you."

"Ah, well, it's my last night as a free man," John winked.

"Yes, and you're spending it with me," he pointed out.

"Yep," John said simply, nearly tripping.

Sherlock grabbed his forearm. "Careful."

"Yeah, yeah," John batted Sherlock's hand away. "I'm fine, jus' tired," he leaned against a nearby tree.

"You're spoiling the mood," Sherlock frowned. He wanted John to pay attention to him.

John laughed, "Ooo, I forgot this is our romantic walk. Will you kiss me under moonlight?"

Sherlock snorted, but it died in his throat when he saw a sparkle in John's eyes that could not be attributed to alcohol. Sherlock prayed the light from the streetlamps revealed the pink that was surely staining his cheeks.

John was disheveled, his hair messy, face flushed with a cocky grin, and his jumper riding up his stomach on one side. It was endearing and…attractive.

John crossed his arms and leaned his head back against the tree.

"John," Sherlock pouted, "don't fall asleep, how will you entertain me then?"

John laughed and sat down against the tree on the cool grass against and patted a spot next to him clumsily. "C'mere, then."

John seemed much more open now. Sherlock decided that he liked it, though it worried him some. The uneasy feeling in his stomach was returning. He sat down next to John awkwardly, drawing his knees up to his chest.

"Relax, will ya?" John clapped him on the shoulder. "You look like you're bein' tortured."

"Perhaps I am."

"Nah. I'm way too charming."

They chuckled quietly and settled into silence. John's body was warm against Sherlock's side in the coolness of the autumn night, and Sherlock felt the desire to get closer to him, but he refrained. At this proximity, Sherlock could smell John's cologne mixed with alcohol. It was unexpectedly enticing. What the hell was happening to him?

Sherlock had been too busy looking down at his hands to notice John staring at him with an oddly wistful expression. "What?"

"Mm, nothin'. Just…last month, I was dreading this whole thing. But—god I'm drunk—it's not so bad. You. You're not bad. I'd still rather not do this, but not 'cause I don't like you."

Sherlock's lungs stopped working. When his chest started to burn from lack of air, he inhaled sharply and then cleared his throat. "Yes, well, I have similar sentiment." It came out too brisk, too sharp, but John smiled widely anyway.

"Good! Glad you know that. I'm not good at this kind of stuff when I'm sober."

Clearly. "Hm."

John rested his head against the tree trunk and stared ahead. "Can't believe it's tomorrow."

Sherlock wasn't good at this and he lacked the liquid courage John had. Fortunately, John went on without waiting for a response, "I know it won't change much and all 'cause you said I can date people, which is nice of you, by the way, but it's still kinda big. Marriage always changes things."

"It's just a legal document," Sherlock huffed. He never thought marriage was a big deal, hence his initial indifference to the engagement.

But would marrying John change things?

"Mmm, no, it changes things," John replied. "Not all things. But some things." He yawned. "Big things. Small things. Never thought I'd get married this young, either."

"Neither did I," Sherlock agreed.

"You know," John said in a much lighter tone, "my sister said she got me lube n' condoms as a wedding gift. She thought it was funny. I guess I could use them at some point."

They both tensed.

"Oh god, not on you!" John exclaimed. "I meant with someone else! At some point. With, you know, another person. This is why I don't drink much, I'm rambling. I can tell I'm rambling but I can't stop. Why'd I even think it was a good idea to tell you that? Shut me up, Sherlock."

"Shut up, John," Sherlock said with a hint of panic.

"Thanks, mate."

The term felt wrong and the men frowned.

Sherlock went through all the elements on the periodic table in his head not to think about John using lube and condoms on him.

John nudged Sherlock's shoulder. "Ya never told me; are we gettin' rings?"

"Oh, yes." Change of subject, good. He can deal with this. "Mummy and Daddy insisted. They're silver, I think. I haven't seen them." He paused. "You don't have to wear it," he added as an afterthought.

"Neither do you," John said, "especially in your line of work."

"Yours, too. You're part of the Work now, John."

John nodded happily. "I know. That should be our honeymoon: a case."

"I couldn't imagine it any other way," Sherlock said dreamily, earning another giggle from John.

Sherlock was eager for another case with John. He wanted to show off in front of him again and receive John's praise. It was a slightly selfish desire, but Sherlock never considered himself a selfless person.

But more so than that, Sherlock just wanted to spend more time with John. His few amicable times with John had been the happiest in his memory. He wondered how he and John would get along once they moved to Baker Street.

Sherlock had a small smile on his face, thinking about a future filled with cases and John, and felt at ease.

John had been silent for a few minutes, so Sherlock looked over at him to see that he had fallen into a drunken sleep. "John," he said quietly. "Get up. A tree isn't a suitable bed."

John grunted and didn't open his eyes. "Don't care. I'm sleeping here."

Sherlock fought a smile and stood up. "Open your eyes, John."

"Piss off," he mumbled into the lapels of his jacket. John looked tiny curled under the tree, like some woodland creature. Sherlock never thought he would use "cute" to describe John Watson, but there he was.

Sherlock leaned down and extended his hand. "I don't want you looking groggy for pictures tomorrow; you'll make me look bad. Actually, no, I'll look better compared to you. Never mind, then."

"You prick," John smiled faintly and opened his eyes. He accepted Sherlock's hand and stood.

When he tried to walk, he tripped on his own two feet and fell forward. John's arms spun around wildly and he fell right into Sherlock's chest.

It happened so quickly that it took Sherlock a moment to realize his arms were around John's back, supporting him. He didn't remember doing it. His reflexes must have kicked in.

John must not have noticed right away either, for he stared up at Sherlock with a dazed expression, mouth slightly ajar. After a beat, John's eyes widened. "Oh, shit!" he stumbled out of Sherlock's arms. "Sorry. Fuck. I need a bed."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "It's quite all right," he said. "Typical reaction to," he gestured with his hands, "the alcohol."

"Yeah. Thanks, for, you know, the catching of me."

"No problem." John had fit nicely in his arms. Stop it, Sherlock! "We should get a cab."

"Mmm, yeah. Gotta rest for the big day," John said lightly, but it was forced.

They made their way toward the street in silence and it took Sherlock forty seconds to hail a cab. "There you are, John."

"You sure? I can hail one for me."

"No, you go ahead."

"'Kay, thank you." John got in the cab. Before he shut the door, he said, "Sherlock? Remind me to drink again not ever."

Sherlock smiled softly. "Will do, John."

Sherlock watched the cab drive off, his heart pounding. He put his hand over his chest curiously, feeling the steady beat through the fabric of his shirt and coat.

Sherlock's phone buzzed in his pocket.

Will you admit to your premarital jitters? MH

Piss. Off. SH

The wedding is next chapter! I'm excited. I don't know what will happen because I haven't written it yet, but I'm still pumped.

Please review!~