A/N: Sorry for not updating as quickly as usual. I had lots of fun writing this chapter, and I think it's pretty good, so I hope you enjoy it as well. Thank you to anyone who has followed, favorited, reviewed, or even just read my story; I appreciate all of you.
I wouldn't say I'm bitter or anything, but having Mycroft flaunting his colors nearly whenever he sees me is starting to grate on my nerves. Sometimes he'll mention the lovely shade of green Gregory's name is written in, or mention that it's strange that some things stay gray even after 'going color'.
At least Lestrade has the courtesy to refrain from mentioning anything color-related around me, even when I'm probably an arse to him a fair share of the time we spend together. He only rarely slips up and points out how particulary beautiful the sky looks or accidently forgets I can't see in color.
Almost 30 years old, and I'm still seeing only the dull pallete of gray, black, and white. Pathetic.
Even Mycroft's already gone color.
"No need to fret, brother dear. I'm sure you'll find your John eventually."
His condescension is really starting to push all the right buttons, and I know he's doing it on purpose. My eyes narrow vaguely as I turn away to hide the disgusted curl of my lips. I wonder how me and him were even friends at one point.
"Don't feed me lies, Mycroft. I've met 43 Johns in my entire life, none of which have even been remotely close to being my soulmate," I sneer, looking back to my brother's scrunched up face. Good; I'm glad I'm annoying him so.
"You will find him, Sherlock," Greg cuts in, placing a refraining hand on Mycroft's. "It'll just take some time. Myc and I were older than you when we first met." The D.I. smiles at me, but I'm too busy hating the repulsively sentimental nickname he just referred to my brother as. I want someone to refer to me like that.
Lock might sound nice. Sher? Sherly; no, sounds too much like a female-
"Sherlock!?"
I extricate myself from my Mind Palace, training my eyes on Lestrade's face as he looks at me warily.
"What were you thinking about?" he asks, and he sounds genuinely curious. Unlike Mycroft, who usually asks just to know why I'm not listening to his instructions, Lestrade's nose isn't crinkled in distaste.
"Nicknames," I say simply, giving my brother a withering look as I rise from my chair. "Now, brother, if you don't have anything useful for me, I will be forced to evict you from my flat."
"Nonsense; you're too lethargic for all of that." I swiftly turn to Mycroft's smug face, his eyes glinting with some wry form of humor I don't find amusing nor tolerable.
"Oh, my mistake. I'll just have Mrs. Hudson show you the exit." I smile saccharinely, mock waving my hand at them as I gesture to the door. Mycroft remains rooted to the couch, although his face scrunches up even more, if that's even possible.
"Come on, Myc," Greg sighs, patting his hand gently; I want to fling myself onto the chair across the room at the affectionate gesture.
My brother glances at the D.I., annoyance clearly written on his face as he looks back to me. It's fairly obvious that I must look petulant(Mycroft says my bottom lip juts out and I cross my arms), but he sighs in defeat, and I know I've officially won this time.
"Well, Sherlock...such a nice little chat we've had...may I ask if your answer is yes or no before I leave?"
I stop suddenly, forgetting myself as I try to remember what it is this conversation had even started because of. Then, the answer is blatantly obvious, and it enrages me.
My fists clench on their own accord, and I feel my face contort into a nasty scowl, but I know I'm not angry at either Greg or Mycroft(although both of them are sometimes dreadful). I'm just...envious, I suppose the word would be.
"Oh...bloody yes, Mycroft!"
He goads me with a stern look, eyebrows raised as if to say,"I want to hear you say it". I glare daggers at him momentarily before Lestrade gives me a pleading look, and I sigh long-windedly.
"...Fine...Yes, Mycroft; I'll be your bloody best man!"
"Oh, well that's very kind of you," he smirks, swinging his umbrella too cheerily; I'm not sure how Lestrade can stand the man. He saunters up to me and pats my shoulder as he tugs the D.I. along. "Well, we'll be off now, brother dear. I'll see to your...preparations for the wedding."
I shake his hand off of me as I gesticulate to the door again. "You should be off now; the British government can't stay out of commission for too long." I stiffly clap his shoulder, and he gives me a look that screams,"Really," but I honestly don't care.
"Come on, Myc." Greg is in the doorway, beckoning my brother, and I find that I'm glad Mycroft found his soulmate, in some twisted sense of the word; he has someone else he can bother now. Someone who can keep him away from me.
"Yes, 'Myc', go on." I wildly motion to the door again, much more annoyed with his actions than I overtly show; I can't have him thinking he's winning anything.
"Oh, don't think you'll be seeing the last of me-"
"No, sadly, I won't see the last of you until you're dead," I sigh, mocking dismay as I splay my hand over my chest. "Such a tragic, depressing life I will live without your presence."
I'm silently pleased at the way his lips curl into an almost snarl. Lestrade finally intervenes, though, pulling at my brother's arm incessantly.
"Mycroft." He turns abruptly to the D.I.; probably at the explicit use of his full name. "We've got to go."
Mycroft scans his soon-to-be husband's profile, then rotates to face me. He gives me the same once-over before sighing for so long his lungs sound like they'll give out any moment. He eventually grips Lestrade's hand and makes his way to the top of the steps, but then he turns back.
"Just be good at the wedding, won't you, brother dear?" I faintly register the slight smirk on his face, and I have the "sudden" urge to punch him, here and now.
"I'll try," I grate out, giving Lestrade an incredulous look; Mycroft doesn't seem to understand privacy whatsoever. This is my flat, and I asked him to leave; he and the D.I. should be gone by now.
"Good," is all he breathes before he and Lestrade are trotting down the stairs, Mycroft's posh shoes clacking on every step. I sigh as I twirl to see them through the window, his ominous black limo parallel with the curb.
Disgustingly, they kiss before piling into the vehicle, Lestrade with an almost ditzy smile as he clamors in. I scoff as I practically throw myself into my chair; how can they be so overtly affectionate in front of me?
I want someone to kiss me like that.
"I, Gregory Lestrade, take you, Mycroft Holmes, to be my lawfully wedded husband."
A bunch of clapping follows the kiss, but I'm left wondering how Mycroft and Lestrade know so many people; how many friends can the British government actually have?
They pull apart, and the very smile they give each other is making me (probably irrationally) angry. Before my brother met Lestrade, he almost never smiled, and everything is changing almost too quickly.
Everyone around the room raises their glass, and I find my arm mimicking on its own accord, bringing my hand over my head. Then, everyone tips their head back and drinks, as do I. I've never cared for alcohol much, but this champagne is incredibly sweet and expensive, and I find that I really want another flute of it.
"Frankly, I never thought I'd be someone's best man, especially not Mycroft's. We barely get along the few times we're together. We fight, he's intrusive, apparently I'm a child; I wouldn't even consider us remotely friends." The audience is looking at me oddly, and I glance to "the newlywed husbands" to see my brother's scrunched up face, scolding me quietly.
"But even though we don't usually get along, and even though I'm envious that he has his soulmate, and I don't," the crowd looks sadly at me(but I brush it off),"I'm genuinely...well, I wouldn't say I'm happy for him, but I am glad. Of course I'm glad he found his soulmate; I'm not selfish enough to loathe him for it." I hear Lestrade chuckle from the seat beside mine.
"Now, Lestrade has been a good friend to me, although he can be a bit overbearing. I know I'm obnoxious, but he deals with it, and with me forgetting his name." A wave of laughs from the audience. "I'm glad he can find some sort of happiness by being with Mycroft, although I'm not sure how he can stand him." More chuckles.
"So although I despise my brother, and my relationship with Lestrade is usually limited to business, I stand here as their best man to congratulate the consummation of...whatever it is they have." My arm snakes up into a toast, as do the audiences before I finally say,"May their relationship prosper, as it is written that soulmates complete each other. Let us hope that Mycroft would drop his cakes and pastries and God awful umbrella for Lestrade, even though I firmly doubt it."
"Cheers," I finally shout, and everyone tips their glass as if they're tipping a hat in thanks. Then they all guzzle the champagne as I swallow a meager sip, and the hall bursts into fits of laughs and shouts and applause and hollers.
Lestrade tugs me roughly, and then I'm being crushed by his arms. I raise my hands in protest, my effort in vain as he continues to grip until I honestly can barely breath. He eventually lets go, a smile on his face that's so happy, and I don't understand why.
Mycroft waddles over to me, a smirk spread across his pudgy face. His expression is less scrunched as he clamps a hand on my shoulder; his way of saying thank you, I suppose. Honestly, he doesn't have to thank me, and I really don't want a hug.
His hand pulls away, and I'm left with a sort of satisfying feeling as Mrs. Hudson approaches me with happy chirps of congratulations. The rest of the hall rejoices in their own way, and my brother makes his way over to his assistant, the one with the ever-changing name, who is standing by the dessert table, ready to cut the cake which Mycroft has been eyeing for quite a long time.
I smile; today is good.
A/N: Any feedback or criticism is highly welcomed and appreciated.
