"Are you okay?"
"Stop asking me that, John!" Sherlock retorted, pacing the expanse of his room in the church.
John raised his eyebrow, but Sherlock dismissed it after the glance. He had bigger things to think about than what John was thinking.
His stomach was in knots. He wasn't sure why, but it was. The last thing he wanted to do right now was vomit; it would ruin the entire night. But he did feel sick. He hated it. Nerves were the last thing ever on his mind, but... there it was.
"It's time to go out now," John commented, glancing at his watch.
"Fine," Sherlock said, pivoting on the spot and leading the way out of the room.
He knew that John was thinking about him. It was obvious. It was practically painful even being in the same room as him right now. Well, Sherlock thought, at least the thing would be over very soon and the truth would be out.
Finally.
He took his place on the altar, John standing nearby. There was no one in the church and Sherlock had purposefully made it that way. It was him, John, the priest, and soon to be Eileen. Thankfully, Eileen didn't mind having a small wedding; she had had the extravagant wedding the first time she had been married.
The wedding march began to play - it was a recorded track - and both Sherlock and John looked towards the doors of the church.
Eileen, dressed in a pale pink (which Sherlock despised, but, again, recycled wedding dress) flowing gown, started down the aisle. Sherlock smiled widely despite himself and relaxed, only slightly, although he could still feel tension radiating throughout his body. Tension. Excitement. Definitely excitement.
"Hey," he greeted softly, placing his hands on her waist and pressing his lips against hers softly. "You look beautiful," he said quietly.
"And you look handsome as well, love."
John tapped him on the shoulder just then and he glanced over at him. "What?"
"You're supposed to wait until the priest marries you," John said dryly.
"Spoilsport," Sherlock muttered, although he settled for taking Eileen's hands and keeping the rest of himself... to himself. "Alright."
He more or less zoned out during the priest's speech. He didn't care, one way or the other, what the man was saying. None of it mattered to him. Not now, not ever. Never.
And then onwards to the vows. Handwritten vows. He listened with little interest as Eileen babbled and blubbered through her happy tears about how this was the best day of her life, or something sentimental; it made Sherlock's brain hurt, even now.
And then it was his turn to talk. He could practically feel John's eyes boring holes into the back of his skull.
As it were, Sherlock hadn't written anything. He was just going to talk and things would progress from there.
"Eileen... You've no idea how happy I am to be here. I'm honoured to be able to be the person who fills the void in your heart. Ever since your late husband, I worried that, after such a tragedy, a beautiful woman such as yourself wouldn't be able to find it in her heart to confide your love in someone else..."
Eileen sniffled, smiling through her tears. "I'm glad you got to be that person, Sherlock. After Robert... I didn't know how I was going to find someone to replace him..."
Sherlock tilted his head. "It really was such a terrible tragedy. Horrible how these things can happen. Horrible," he repeated.
Eileen nodded awkwardly. "It was..." She smiled weakly, again. "But I don't want to talk about my husband's murder, Sherlock. I just want to get married... Start anew... A fresh life... We're turning over a new lead."
Sherlock didn't hear the latter part of her statements. Instead, he looked at her intently. "Murder?" he echoed. His tone hit just the right level of I'm-a-Consulting-Detective-and-you've-just-said-something-terribly-interesting.
He heard John sigh behind him, but he ignored him.
Eileen sniffed again. "Yes... You know that. You knew everything about his death even before you met me..."
"Yes," Sherlock agreed. "But the police file said it was suicide..."
John shifted - he was uncomfortable, Sherlock could tell - behind him. Sherlock still didn't look back; he was fully focussed now.
"What?" Eileen asked, looking confused.
"You said 'murder'," Sherlock said, taking his hands back to steeple his finger beneath his chin. "You said murder but the police report says suicide."
"Well, he wouldn't... commit suicide, Sherlock, not my Robert." She reached for his hands but Sherlock stepped back.
"You never prompted the police that it might not be murder. There was never a mention of suicide in the police report. There was no sign of a break in, either, but tell me... who commits suicide by shooting themselves in the chest?" He smiled triumphantly. "Shot through the heart. Signifies a bond, emotional, most likely romantic. He hadn't any gunpowder burns nor any other signs that he would have committed his own suicide. Just now, you said murder when you weren't paying attention... and you know all of this... because you're the one who killed him."
The priest suddenly moved forward, pulling out handcuffs and snapping Eileen's hands up behind her back. (The priest was actually a friend of Mycroft's, on the force - private security, like.)
Sherlock could feel that John's mouth had fallen open and he glanced over his shoulder, semi-delighted to find that he was right. "What?" he asked.
"You... You lied," John said, looking completely gobsmacked.
"Did I?" Sherlock looked back at Eileen, who had gone from crying to glaring daggers. "I suppose you can take one thing from this..." He paused. "You took Sherlock Holmes's virginity. Created a monster... but all the same."
He leaned forward to her ear.
"Did you enjoy it?" he breathed.
He leaned away as the priest led Eileen away.
"Sherlock!" John exclaimed. "You lied; this was all faked!"
Sherlock looked back at him. "No. Not faked. The relationship was real. We had sex. Did some dating things... uhm, dinner and such. And the engagement was real. That man is a real priest. Nothing was faked, just wonderfully planned."
John stared at him.
"... Yes?" Sherlock said shortly, loosening his tie.
"You faked it all. Well, most of it. You didn't really love her... or did you?"
Sherlock shrugged. "What's 'love'?" he asked pompously. "I like sex. Sex is nice. Dating isn't and she was horribly emotional."
John laughed shortly. "What did you plan to do if she didn't confess?"
Sherlock shrugged, again. "I knew she would. It was a vulnerable moment. Actually, I had hoped I wouldn't have to take it this far, but when I realised that it would become necessary, I put the plan into action. It worked perfectly." He smiled. "And I got you in the fun as well."
John stared at him for another moment before his post-case smile broke out across his face, too. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you're the one person in the world I confide in and I had to make her believe that you believed that I was serious."
"Oh, yeah," John said. "Simple."
"Obviously," Sherlock said. "Hmm... I've worked up an appetite. Italian sounds fantastic."
"Sherlock?"
"Hm?"
"Sherlock."
"What do you want?"
A week had gone by since the disturbed wedding service. Sherlock had fallen back into old life as quickly as he had into 'domestic' life and, to be frank, he was glad to be rid of the woman. How did John think that he would ever divorce The Work to begin with? The man was totally suggestible.
"What are these?"
Sherlock glanced up from his microscope.
John was holding up a pair of lacy underwear - lingerie that barely counted as lingerie at all - with two fingers.
Sherlock blinked before grinning widely. "Memories of a case, John. Simply memories."
"Can I throw the memories in the trash? Or, at least, your bottom drawer?"
Sherlock laughed and looked back at his microscope.
This case... Well, for various reasons, he was actually quite chuffed with himself for it.
Had to finish this before His Last Vow airs, because I know I wouldn't have wanted to write it after HLV for reasons. :P (I ship Janlock, more like.)
Thank you all for the support throughout the hiatuses and I hope you found this new and improved 'Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton' enjoyable. :P I do not own Sherlock. Thank you!
