Lord Sherrinford met John and Sherlock in the foyer as they waited for their overcoats.
"Pardon us, Captain Watson. I must have a final word with my brother before he departs."
Lord Sherrinford didn't wait for John's brief nod before unlocking the study door and ushering Sherlock into the empty room. He made sure the door was shut completely behind him before speaking.
"Congratulations, brother, on that lovely display on the lawn. Lady Adler almost believed it, for a brief second, just long enough for her laugh to stutter. She handled it quite smoothly, though, pretending she was entranced by the beauty of such a loving moment."
"Did Victor believe it? That will be the true test."
"What do you mean, Victor?"
"Do not tell me you neglected to invite him, Mycroft." As annoyed as Sherlock was at Victor's unexpected presence, he did enjoy knowing something his brother did not.
"I most certainly did not invite that man, I promise you." Lord Sherrinford's voice was edged with the pointiest icicles.
"He was here. Gone now, most likely."
"Did you invite him?"
Sherlock glared at his brother. "No, of course not."
"He must have accompanied someone else. I shall endeavor, dear brother, to find out whom."
"Don't bother. He's already made his trouble."
Sherlock didn't put it above his brother to allow Victor into his home for the sole purpose of proving to the provocateur that Sherlock was now a married man and out of his reach. Sherlock just wasn't sure if Mycroft understood that his marriage would mean nothing to the Victor he knew. Marriage vows meant little when it came to his pursuance of pleasure and discord.
"What sort of trouble?"
Sherlock didn't want to tell him, but Mycroft was only helpful if he had full knowledge. Surprising him only led to further annoyance.
"I had gone up to my old room; he was there. When I descended the staircase, he followed."
"Making it clear what you two were doing in an upstairs bedroom, no doubt. Sherlock, how could you be so stupid?"
"I'm not going to have this argument for the umpteenth time. My acquaintance with Victor is over. It's been over for a year. It is not a mistake I wish to repeat."
"See that you don't."
"Draconian, egotistical, dictatorial…" Sherlock drained his extensive vocabulary onto his brother as he pulled open the door and rejoined his new husband in the foyer.
Lord Sherrinford moved to shake his brother-in-law's hand.
"Have you said goodbye to Sir Harold, Captain Watson? I understand he leaves for Essex in the morning."
"I've no wish to, Lord Sherrinford," John answered shortly. "Are you ready, Sherlock?"
"More than," answered his husband with a dramatic sigh.
Lord Sherrinford's coach was waiting at the foot of the front steps to transport them to their new home on Baker Street. Neither of them spoke, and John only sat on the seat beside Sherlock so he wouldn't have to face that probing glare directly.
Time, he told himself, they both needed time to figure out where their place in each other's life would be. Nothing had to be set in stone tonight. John could be patient. Just because John so desperately wanted to kiss Sherlock and Sherlock came away from the activity so dispassionate and unaffected didn't mean that was the end. And even if it was, John could live his own life. Sherlock was right about one thing: this marriage was freedom for them both.
But he didn't have to think about this now. He certainly didn't want to talk about this now and was very glad for the other man's silence.
The ride to Baker Street was surprisingly quick, not being too terribly far from Lord Sherrinford's posh Mayfair address. John thought he might have walked farther to Bow Street, but he'd have to check a map. Also they were situated very near the bit of land the Regent had commissioned architect John Nash to develop. It would be a lovely place to walk, if they allowed in the public.
The coach pulled up in front of a narrow townhouse in a row of similar places, number 221 next to the door. Lamps glowed in two of the upstairs windows; their few servants had been sent ahead by Lord Sherrinford to prepare the place for habitation and, of course, Sherlock had already taken up residence. One of the young, efficient footmen from the Sherrinford House opened the door a few moments after the clatter of hooves stopped in front of the house, welcoming the new occupants as they descended from the coach.
"Welcome home, Captain Watson," a womanly voice greeted as John stepped inside the door. The young man closed the door behind him and instantly moved to take John's coat.
"What about me, Mrs. Hudson. Am I not welcome?" Sherlock was grinning at the woman who'd appeared. She was older, but still spry.
"Of course you are!" She patted him on the shoulder with a good amount of familiarity. Sherlock bussed her cheek, stripping off his greatcoat and tossing it to the footman, who caught it easily as if he expected the heavy wool to fly into his arms at any second.
"Goodness, let me look at the both of you."
Sherlock obediently descended the two steps he'd already climbed and stood next to John.
"Married, I just can't believe it!"
"It must have been inevitable, Mrs. Hudson, for you know I do not believe in miracles." Sherlock's tone was friendly and impish. John had never seen him behave like this with anyone else in their short acquaintance.
"John, this is Mrs. Hudson. She will be our housekeeper. Matthews there is footman, valet, butler, whatever-else-you-may-require." The young man bowed politely to John, arms now relieved of coats. "Mycroft provided you with a maid, too, did he not, Mrs. Hudson?"
"Yes, yes, I sent her home for the night ages ago. She'll be around in the morning. Now, you should show your Captain Watson around the house. I could send a nice pot of tea upstairs for you, if you wish?"
"That would be lovely, thank you, Mrs. Hudson." The woman and their footman disappeared towards the back of the house.
"A quick tour, then, John?"
"Certainly."
Sherlock was off and practically running.
"First floor sitting room, public. I see Lestrade and clients in here." He took a few steps past the staircase. "Kitchen," he gestured vaguely in the direction Mrs. Hudson had disappeared. "Her rooms are tucked behind there. This," Sherlock said with a grand gesture of flinging open the door just under the staircase, "is my laboratory!"
John caught up to him and peered inside the door. The room was spacious, or would have been if it was not piled with books, papers, and boxes of glass lab equipment. The walls were lined with tables and there were two large windows that opened to the narrow space between the houses. They were clearly more for ventilation than any sort of light or view.
"I have not had time to set up all my experiments. I do not allow Mrs. Hudson or the maid in here, and no one at all unattended. They might disturb something fragile or important. You may come in here, if you wish, but I don't recommend touching anything."
This was clearly a large compliment to John, since he was apparently trusted not to louse anything up.
"Our main living area is upstairs."
Sherlock took the lamp from the table near the door and closed up his lab. His long legs took the stairs two at a time; John followed more carefully. It had been a long day and his legs were getting tired.
The room at the first landing was a rather nice sitting room with windows facing the garden at the back of the house. The view was slightly desolate this time of year, but no doubt Sherlock would instruct the growth of vibrantly colored poisonous plants in spring. The thought made John smile just a little, remembering the day they met. Sherlock was a force of nature, he was.
The sitting room was mostly set up, though there were boxes of books and paperwork.
"I wish to organize my books myself, or I shall never find anything. I can't imagine what Matthews, or Heaven forbid, the maid thinks is proper cataloguing."
There was a large desk near the window, plenty of shelves on the wall near the fireplace, comfortable-looking leather chairs and a long sofa. John glanced around.
"I think this will be quite nice, Sherlock."
"You're pleased? Excellent. Moving everything again would be quite tedious. Come along."
Sherlock disappeared through a door.
"This is your bedroom," he announced when John had followed. "I've taken the second bedroom upstairs. I thought that with your leg, the fewer stairs at the beginning and end of the day, the better. However, if my habits of wandering around at all hours of the night begin to annoy you, we can switch."
John wasn't quite sure what to say. "I'm sure it will be fine," he finally managed, but Sherlock wasn't particularly listening to him.
"I see you're tired, John. It's been a long day. Be grateful that newlyweds are expected to leave early." Sherlock grinned impishly. "Mycroft will be kept awake by the festivities until nearly dawn. Get some rest. Matthews will bring up the tea tray for you, a nice, soothing peppermint I imagine, and you can settle in."
Sherlock was nearly out the door when John spoke.
"When did you last sleep, Sherlock?"
"What day is it?" he replied with a distracted flutter of his fingers. "Too much to do, John! I ought to be able to finish the books in the sitting room at the very least, see what Mycroft has kept behind that I'll have to steal next time he makes me visit."
Sherlock swept the door shut behind him, not hearing John's belated, "Good night."
John had indeed settled in a half hour later, warm tea in his stomach, a glowing fire in his fireplace. He could hear Sherlock puttering around in the sitting room next door, but the sounds were homey and comforting. He would much rather that Sherlock, well, wanted to be in this large, soft bed with him, but he didn't feel nearly as lonely as he thought he might. He felt a lot of possibility opening in front of him, and so while he was still a bit unsettled, he wasn't unhappy.