The next few days passed slowly, as John complained about being in hospital, Sherlock started planting seeds in the Middle East, Irene helped Mary with last minute wedding preparations, and Mycroft Holmes paid a visit.

"Well, Sherlock, it seems you may not need to go very far at all to resolve the situation with John," Mycroft told him, sitting next to John's bedside. For a change, Irene and Mary were off on an errand, leaving Sherlock and John to themselves to talk with the elder Holmes.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked.

"What did you call it? Planting seeds?" Mycroft smirked. "The sheik has made it known through other channels that he no longer seeks the head of John Watson, so long as he is left strictly alone."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Strictly alone? Is that possible?"

"It might be," Mycroft said.

John looked at Mycroft, then at Sherlock. "Right, then, what don't I know?"

"Mostly that there are a number of cells in the Middle East that would rather not deal with my little brother personally," Mycroft said, examining his fingernails. "I'm so proud."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, but is the Sheik involved in anything that would require him to not be left alone?"

Mycroft shrugged. "Actually, his presence in the area helps to stabilize the region there. We'd prefer him to stay, so long as he lifts the bounty on John."

Sherlock looked at John. "I'd say it's your call, then, Captain."

It was John's turn to roll his eyes. "Well, as long as my country says they need him, and he's not planning to kill me or have me killed, I'm fine with leaving him alone."

"It's settled, then," Mycroft said calmly. "But we will, of course, keep an eye on him."

"Of that," Sherlock intoned, "I have no doubt."

"Quickly, now, quickly!" Irene called out to the decorators swarming the banquet hall in the National Portrait Gallery. "The bride and groom will be coming shortly to inspect the space before the dinner."

"Yes, Mrs. Holmes." One of the number detached herself from the swarm and made her way over to Irene. "We're nearly finished. It should be perfect for the wedding brunch tomorrow."

Casting a critical eye over the space, Irene had to agree. While neither John nor Mary wanted a large wedding, they did want an elegant and fun space for their reception. The hall was perfect. Small, circular tables were spaced evenly down the gallery space, draped in ivory linen and topped with fine china and silver. Crystal vases of Gerbera daisies adorned the center of each table, and long ivory tapers, ready to be lit, rose up from silver holders at each table, which could seat six.

The head table, as the only rectangle in the room, faced the others, and was decorated similarly. There would be no dancing tomorrow; just a lovely brunch after a bright morning wedding.

"It's perfect," Irene sighed. "Just want John and Mary wanted."

"I'd agree," Mary concurred as she wandered into the space. "It's fun, elegant, and beautiful. I can't wait for John to see it."

"Isn't he with you?" Irene asked.

Mary shook her head. "No, he and Sherlock had to take care of something. They'll meet us at the restaurant for dinner. With such a simple ceremony tomorrow, there's hardly a need for a rehearsal, especially since we just went through this with you and Sherlock a few months ago."

"Mrs. Hudson has Elena," Irene said. "So it's just the four of us for dinner, I think."

"Shall we, then?"

"Let's."

"Seriously, John, why are we wasting our time here when we could be, I don't know, spending time with our lovely ladies?" Sherlock didn't quite understand the sentiment.

John ignored him, slowly wandering down the alley by Bart's. "I just wanted to remind myself of my mortality, Sherlock."

"Well, that's a bit morbid, don't you think?"

John snorted. "S'pose so."

"I mean," Sherlock continued. "If you like seeing your own blood spatter patterns on concrete, that's one thing, but it's quite another to see them just for the sake of making yourself crazy."

Another snort.

Encouraged, Sherlock added, "There's no point, anyway. I had it cleaned up."

"You had it cleaned up?"

"Yes." Sherlock pointed out the area that John's head met the quid-filled sap. "Right there. Wouldn't do. Wouldn't do at all."

John looked around at his friend. "You sentimental fool."

"Never."

Saturday dawned bright and clear, a blessing of a sunny June day. Mrs. Hudson again took charge of Elena as Irene left for Mary's home and Sherlock helped John, who had spent the night at 221B, into his dress uniform.

"Haven't needed help with this thing in some time," John commented.

"Yes, well, it's not every day my best friend gets married," Sherlock replied. "I need to feel somewhat useful." He smoothed the back of John's jacket and reached for the accompanying hat. "Here."

"Yes, thank you for handing me my hat. Very useful, that," John quipped, placing the hat on his head and adjusting it to the perfect angle. "There."

The pair set off downstairs, where Sherlock hailed a taxi, and the two of them set off for the chapel.