Chapter 7 – Forsaking All Others
Mycroft sipped at his tea, placing the cup down on his desk as Anthea walked into the room, a stack of post held under her arm.
"Good morning, Sir." Anthea greeted him, placing the mail on the desk in front of Mycroft. "Today's post for you and the latest report on the Trump situation." She handed a separate report over.
"Thank you, Anthea." Mycroft said, opening the report and flicking through it with a grimace of distaste. "Oh it's far too early for this." He closed the report and dropped it on his desk, picking up his mail instead. He flicked through the usual letters and memos from various international ambassadors, government agents and heads of state, freezing as he came across an envelope out of the ordinary.
It was a thick envelope, his name printed on ivory parchment in delicate typed calligraphy. Raising it to his nose, he detected a faint hint of aftershave, Bentley's Lalique. Mycroft snorted. His brother's taste seemed to be getting more extravagant as he grew older. His eyebrows raised, Mycroft slit open the envelope with a silver letter opener and pulled out the contents. Glancing over them, he felt his mouth fall open in horror.
You are invited to the wedding of
William Sherlock Scott Holmes
and
Janine Isabelle Donlevy
on
Saturday 26th March
at The Dorchester Hotel, 53 Park Lane, London.
"Oh, dear Lord." Mycroft groaned, staring down at the invitation. "Sherlock…"
The mobile phone in Mycroft's pocket started to ring and he reached into his waistcoat to take it out.
"What on Earth are you thinking?" Mycroft asked as way of greeting.
"So." Sherlock said, his voice sounding oddly hushed. "Will you be best man?"
"Best man?" Mycroft repeated. "Sherlock, why are you doing this?"
"Oh, shut up, Mycroft." Sherlock snapped. "Will you do it? It's on your birthday, after all. It'd be a shame for you not to get a part."
"My birthday? Are you telling me you somehow managed to plan a wedding within two weeks, at the Dorchester of all places, just so that you could pretend it was my birthday present. How did you even do it, Sherlock? They're booked up two years in advance."
"The manager owes me a favour." Sherlock replied, his shrug almost audible, even down the phone. "Will you do it or not?"
"You know my thoughts on this, Sherlock." Mycroft said. "If you didn't, you would have told me before, rather than springing it on me in the form of an invitation and uncharacteristic show of brotherly sentiment."
"Mycroft." Sherlock was positively whispering now. "Will you just do it, please? I need…"
"What?" Mycroft jumped on the sudden display of vulnerability.
"I need somebody there who's on my side." Sherlock's voice had almost broken as he spoke and Mycroft felt his supposedly frozen heart breaking with it.
"Who else are you inviting?" Mycroft asked.
"Mrs Hudson." Sherlock replied. "And Molly Hooper. Janine likes her for some reason; God only knows why."
"Doctor Hooper has helped you a lot." Mycroft rebuked him. "She's a kind, good person. Too good, almost."
"That's why I'm surprised Janine likes her." Sherlock snorted and Mycroft had to laugh at his sudden return to usual form. He was just thinking that maybe there was hope for his brother after all when he heard Sherlock shush him quietly and the sound of a shower being switched on in the background.
"Are you hiding in the bathroom to phone me?" Mycroft asked, all previous humour evaporating.
"Never mind that." Sherlock hissed. "Will you be my best man or not?"
"Of course I will, Sherlock." Mycroft said. "But surely John or Gregory…"
"They're not coming." Sherlock sounded suddenly sad.
"Did you ask them?" Mycroft asked gently. "Did they even get an invitation?"
"I couldn't." Sherlock muttered. "And you can't either."
"I won't." Mycroft assured him. "I know when I have the potential to do more harm than good. Do you need anything?"
"No." The detective said. "I'll be fine."
The line went dead and Mycroft gazed morosely down at the phone in his hand. He wasn't sure whether he was making the right move, agreeing to be Sherlock's best man. One thing he was sure of, though, was that he couldn't let his little brother do this alone.
Mycroft adjusted the rose pinned to Sherlock's lapel, ignoring the younger man when he tried to shrug off his hands. There was a strange atmosphere in the room as the guests and wedding party waited for Janine. There was only a small number of guests, especially on one half of the room, and there was little chatter or laughter. Instead, guests were sitting quietly, some whispering to the person next to them, most simply watching Sherlock and Mycroft's preparations. The occasional cough or cleared throat was quickly stifled, echoing unwelcomely through the overlarge ballroom.
"Are you sure about this?" Mycroft asked, trying unsuccessfully to make eye contact with his younger brother. "There's still time, you know."
"I'm sure." Sherlock mumbled, staring out at the guests waiting for the wedding to begin. "I know what I'm doing."
"I'm glad you do." Mycroft whispered, turning to face the registrar as the sound of Pachelbel's Canon announced the bride's arrival. "Because I have no idea."
The wedding went, to Mycroft's disappointment, without a hitch. He had watched, dread settled firmly in his stomach as he watched his brother bind himself to Janine. He almost laughed as Sherlock vowed to honour and respect her, forsaking all others. He had already done that, Mycroft thought, and rather against his will.
Now though, the vows had been said, the rings had been exchanged, and it was time for the dreaded best man's speech. As he stood beside his brother, staring out at the guests, Mycroft found his speech gone from his mind. What was one meant to say when you were celebrating an event they were sure was the greatest mistake of their brother's life? How could he get any sort of message across without leaving Sherlock in a worse situation than he was already in.
His eyes fell upon the table of Sherlock's guests. They were an embarrassingly meagre offering. Mummy, Daddy, Angelo, Molly, Mrs Hudson and, bizarrely, Philip Anderson. Mycroft watched them, saw the way Angelo was fiddling absently with his own champagne glass, the way Molly was clutching Mrs Hudson's hand in an apparently comforting gesture, and, suddenly, he knew what to say.
"I gave a lot of thought about what to say today." Mycroft began. He made brief eye contact with Mrs Hudson and gave her a brief, reassuring smile. "Growing up with Sherlock was a unique experience. He was demanding, explosive, challenging in every way you can imagine. But he was also funny, intelligent, loyal, generous, affectionate, passionate, loving; qualities I am sure he will bring to his marriage and his new family.
"For so long, Sherlock was an overly independent, even isolated man, who refused to live with other people. Some may say lucky for them, but I would have to disagree. Over the last few years, Sherlock has found a treasure trove of wonderful people who have shown him that he can live with others, and together they can thrive. He has grown into a great friend, a good man who will go above and beyond to protect those he loves. He would slay the deadliest dragons, jump from the tallest towers – or even St Bartholomew's Hospital – for the sake of other people. And, in that same way, I know there are so many people who would go to any lengths for him. There are people in this room, beyond this room, people all over the world, who would do anything at all to help Sherlock Holmes.
"And so I come now to Janine. What is there to say about the woman who has become Sherlock's wife? Janine is a beautiful, charming, funny, intelligent. She came into Sherlock's life and brought with her an intellect and wit to challenge even him. She is a truly remarkable lady and I am looking forward to welcoming her into our family." Mycroft hesitated, hoping the true meaning behind his words, the warning, would reach Janine, or at least Sherlock.
"And now," Mycroft said, lifting his champagne glass. "I ask you to stand and raise your glasses to Sherlock and Janine. May you have a safe and happy life together."
Sherlock met his brother's eyes as he sipped from his own glass and the wedding guests echoed Mycroft's hopeless toast.