"My dear fellow!... I- My dear fellow!" I repeated the words stupidly as the glass of port in my hand trembled, for I could not think of anything sufficient enough to express my surprise at the news I had just heard from Holmes' own lips. He sat there in the armchair opposite me, unsmiling, with a look of anxiety on his face.

"You are not displeased, Watson? Tell me frankly if you are. I do not want this to become a source of division between us."

"My old friend... How could it possibly be? I am happy for you both, truly."

His expression told me he was not entirely convinced.

"Come now, Holmes... let us have out with it. So you think that because I proposed to Rebecca and was refused, I would bear ill will against my friend because he was accepted? I scarcely knew what I was doing at the time; it is all forgotten. And it is a poor man, indeed who fosters jealousy in his heart."

"And a good man, indeed, who will take no part of it." He said with a smile, leaning over to refill my glass.

"I cannot tell you how long I have waited and hoped for the time when a good, fine woman would capture your attentions..."

"It is not as you think." He interrupted sharply.

"How so?"

"I mean, it is not the romantic scene of domestic tranquility that you believe it is. " He took a long sip. " I laid the matter before her as a business proposition... as a marriage of companionship... of like minds."

I slowly digested the meaning of his words.

"And... she accepted, on those terms?"

"Yes. She was admirably calm and reasonable about the matter."

I exhaled a deep sigh of pain and perhaps a little bit of disgust. Admirably calm and reasonable indeed. I knew Rebecca. Beneath that calm exterior was a raging storm of emotion... she would sooner think of death than refusing him.

I looked as he sat, more subdued than I had ever seen him before, his eyes lowered and fixated at a point on the carpet. Though I might lodge with him and chronicle his actions for a hundred years the man would always remain an enigma to me.

I longed to tell him, to say something for both their sakes. But what? 'Rebecca is in love with you, Holmes?' ... So as usual I took the easiest alternative- to say nothing about it.

"Watson... may I ask of you a great favour?"

"Of course."

"Will you be my best man?"

"I am honoured... but surely that is a role that properly would go to Mycroft."

He waved his hand. "Mycroft will understand. Besides, he will be consoled by the task of giving the bride away. Will you, Watson?"

I smiled. His sincerity was so great that it was impossible to stay disappointed with him for long. "Of course... and when is the happy occasion?"

"Three weeks from today, at St. Luke's down the street. She graciously acquiesced to a small wedding."

And small it was indeed. There was Mycroft, myself, and Billy. In the pews sat Mrs. Hudson, Miss Collins, Mycroft's wife Mariette and sister in law Margueruite.

Holmes himself looked well, though remarkably uncomfortable in a newly pressed suit as I stood by him at the altar . A white carnation peeked out from his breast pocket, contrasting with his severe and disciplined bearing.

The organ sounded its first chord-not the blaring chord of the conventional march... but a tasteful, softly lilting melody that I knew Rebecca must have chosen. The massive doors of the church opened and there appeared Mycroft in all his bulk, and at his arm a very lovely bride in a simple gown of lace and a string of pearls.

Eventually the vows were said. Holmes said his deliberately, with precision and a kind of admirably dutiful tone, though never once he met Rebecca's eyes. Gently his long,nervous fingers slipped the ring on Rebecca's hand.

Rebecca recited hers with equal gravity and clearness, though once I saw her take a long glance at his face, her voice trembling.

Then came a small procession and reception at 221b. No one thought to shower the couple with rice, for it had began to rain heavily in the freezing weather outside.

"Mon Dieu!" I overheard Mariette whisper when she saw the downpour, crossing herself devoutly and whispering to Mycroft something about bad luck. He laughed audibly as she chided.

For the next hour or so we alternately stood or sat uncomfortably, sipping champagne and eating wedding cake at 221b while Mrs. Hudson and Billy looked on. It was the ladies alone who managed to keep the atmosphere somewhat cheerful and in keeping with a celebration of matrimony.

"My dear, how on earth did you manage to make this man think of anything else besides his work, beekeeping and music?" said Mariette, her plain face made agreeable by her cheerful, rather teasing smile.

"I didn't." Said Rebecca unsmilingly. Mariette and her sister laughed. Rebecca's cheeks were flushed with pink while Holmes' face deepened into a look of annoyance that he reserved for the most exasperating clients.

Time passed and soon I noticed Mycroft approaching me with a glass of port in hand. "What do you make of it, doctor?" he whispered to me, indicating the couple that now stood safely out of earshot.

I shrugged. "I think they will suit each other well and I wish them the best." I said, vaguely, not sure of the question.

"Yes, yes... but what of Sherlock? What of the sudden marriage to the girl?"

"He did not tell you of his reasons?" I said innocently.

"Seldom do we discuss such things... Come now, Watson, we both know him well. What caused him to do it?"

I hesitated... he had not instructed me to keep it in confidence... and Mycroft was not a man disposed to chatter...

"He told me it was was a matter of companionship... of a recent distaste of living and being alone all his life. Rebecca suited him and it seemed they had a likeness of minds..."

Mycroft smiled derisively and suppressed a chuckle.

"Ah, you've confirmed my suspicion doctor, in less than a few sentences! Tired of living alone indeed...Sherlock thrives on solitude. He would brave the very demons of hell alone, and enjoy doing it."

"How do you mean?"

"Suppression of emotion and the exaltation of reason as the ultimate ideal... that is the credo Sherlock and I were brought up with, that is firmly ingrained in both of us. Yet, it was always I that kept it more faithfully. I am indolent; passionless as Sherlock has perhaps noted to you. You will never find me burning with angry indignation at an injustice, nor working feverishly for the pure joy of it. Those are decidedly not the signs of a man incapable of feeling.

But I don't condemn this in him, you understand. It is undoubtedly what distinguishes him from me and all other men of similar intelligence-the fact that he is full of passion, which through much discipline he has tempered for his purpose, to harness and channel for his own means. It is quality of seen in him even when I was a youth, seven years his senior. And it is that knowledge which leads me to conclude that he is deeply in love with yonder lady."

"In love?" I whispered at a dangerously high volume. "Come now... For his own sake I have wished that it were so on more than one occasion. All of what you say about his nature is quite true, but look at him! Does he betray any sign of a man in love?"

"As we both know, he is quite the actor." Mycroft shrugged. "I dare not read him by his face or words. And there are other possible factors involved. Consider my new sister, there. What motive did she have for accepting my dear little brother ? Money? With her talent she could do better in that arena, either through matrimony to a well-off man or through a career of her own. Companionship? If Sherlock told her openly, as he must have, that he has no romantic attraction to her, that would be enough to frighten nearly any female off, if she was not already frightened off by his eccentricities.

So what made her say "I do" in spite of all this? It must be a highly irrational factor indeed- love. Do you not think Sherlock must have reasoned it out similarly? He must know...or at least suspect that the girl loves him. And why else would he seemingly ignore the fact and go through with this marriage in such an unemotional state? The only answer is that he must, to some degree, return her affection.

So either way, my good doctor, I am afraid Sherlock is destined to love his bride."

"Afraid? Afraid that he will experience the happiness you have found with Mrs. Holmes?"

"My marriage to Mrs. Holmes is one of political and diplomatic convenience. That is not to say it is without its affection...we suit each other well enough. But love... that is an entirely different matter."

I opened my mouth to protest but I saw Holmes glaring with his face of a hawk in our direction.

Mycroft loudly announced it was time to go. I followed suit.

"Good night to you both, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes." I said, shaking Holmes hand and kissing Rebecca's cheek. "Know that I wish you all the happiness this world can afford. I-" I didn't know what else to say. Holmes smiled kindly.

"I know it, old man... we both do. Good night." He grasped my hand firmly.