Three Weddings Part 1

Chapter 36

A/N: OK, I've folded. I can't leave it. I have to give you one more comfort chapter. Because I'm not a Blue Meanie. So you get another one tomorrow morning. But that's positively the last, ok?

At least until I get the next 47,000 words done!

They had decorated it that morning, well before the ceremony. It was parked in the cobbled courtyard of the stable block. There were empty tin cans and foil balloons attached with string to the rear bumper, along with quite a few lengths of toilet roll. Anthea had contributed one of her own lipsticks (a rather nice YSL one, Sherlock had been impressed to note) so that they could write 'Just Married' on the rear window, the boot and the side door panels. The waxy pink looked excellent against the steel blue of the paintwork.

'How long have we got left?'

They were peering at the car from behind the wall of the stable block, a line of black-clad men in kevlar vests and helmets standing hunched against the golden sandstone behind them. Baxter checked his watch.

'I reckon about three minutes,' he said. Even the furrow in his brow was elegant, John noticed.

'We haven't got any bomb squad on site?' Sherlock asked him.

He shook his golden head. 'The dogs were supposed to have cleared the place this morning. Jesus, this is a mess!'

'We'll have to wait for Moran to blow it then,' Sherlock said quietly, his voice full of tension. 'Besides, if he has remote control, he'll be watching and the minute anyone gets close to him, he'll detonate it.'

'He's sitting out there watching us?' John asked.

'Undoubtedly so, yes.'

'Fucking cold-hearted bastard,' John growled under his breath.

And then it blew.

There is nothing quite like the explosion of an Aston Martin in the gathering twilight of a warm summer's evening. The gust of heat and the blast wave. The brilliant white and yellow of the flames. The rattle of hot metal on the cobbles. The intense burst of roaring sound.

A single front wing panel tumbled back down through the blue sky and clattered on the stones like a comic motif.

John was deaf for a few moments, back in time for a few moments more, his blood freezing in his veins. He wrestled with the memory of the piercing agony in his shoulder as he went down with a sniper's bullet amidst an IED-triggered ambush. Then Sherlock's fingers were clenching around his, calling back into the present, and he looked into the tender pewter of his lover's eyes.

After a second or two they cautiously inched out from behind the wall, now peppered with shrapnel holes.

And that was when the second blast went off.

Emily's shoes had high heels. Dad had insisted she take them off, but it wasn't easy to walk through the open pasture land on the edges of the formal gardens barefoot, at least at any speed. Mycroft had huffed, and to her amazement, swept her up into his arms and carried her. She felt like a Disney princess.

Dad had given Mattie a piggy back.

They made much faster progress that way.

They had just reached the brow of the hill when she heard the first bang. Mycroft put her down, and they all turned back, looking down the long slope up which they had walked to where the house nestled in the valley. She saw a gout of flame shoot up from some outbuildings at the back, heard herself gasp.

Mycroft squeezed her shoulders, pulling her against him a little, and she wondered whether he knew he was doing it. He smelt sharply of aftershave and wine, and another, very male smell which she had always thought that only her dad smelt of. Man-smell, she had named it. She looked up at him, tall as he was, saw the freckled underside of his chin, soft and vulnerable, saw his adam's apple bob.

'Was that-' her dad started.

'The stables,' Mycroft answered. 'Must have been the car.'

'We should get on, sir,' the huge man they had been told to follow said.

'Yes,' said Mycroft, turning to her. 'Come on, little lady.' And he went to pick her up again.

Then the second explosion happened. It was much bigger. Emily felt the rush of the blast even at the top of the hill. They turned back again, just in time to see the huge column of smoke and dust rising from the house itself. She saw one side of it shudder and collapse.

She put her hand over her mouth in horror, and felt her new step-father start against her, the shock running through his body and into hers.

'Mummy,' he whispered, and his eyes were wide with pain.

DON'T MISS TOMORROW'S BONUS CHAPTER!

APPLAUSE:

This story could not have been produced without the continuous support of several thousand readers, to whom deepest thanks are offered. Particular thanks and applause for all the feedback go to the dogged commenters who have stuck with me throughout, and who are listed below. You are all amazing:

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