I said a week. its been at least a month...
I feel terrible.
Enjoy the second part!
Dislcaimer: You read chapter 1 right?
I will not divulge any further information on John's 'stag night'. The experiment was a failure, and a repeat will be required to gather the correct data.
I have been looking at pictures of the wedding. John's laptop of course. His password is still undeniably easy to decipher. (Mary Watson, if anyone's particularly interested. No spaces. Capitals). Turns out the infected suit he'd brought into the flat wasn't actually the planned wedding attire of the dear doctor. No, I was dragged into Westfield Shopping centre (for a full day). Being best man, I was 'expected' to 'behave', according to the engaged couple's consistent tirades. Oh dear God. We went into twelve shops, one of which was owned by a minor criminal dealer in drugs (Cocaine and Heroin to be exact). Thankfully we didn't purchase our attire there and instead stopped our (in my words) regrettable outing next door, where I was forced into an incredibly ordinary suit that I remain adamant could have been taken from my very own wardrobe at home. (The only difference being the ridiculous, impracticable diamond shaped tie, sickening beige waistcoat and grey top hat).
I must say, I could not have been happier when John announced that we were finished this torturously boring activity and, upon returning to 221B, I hate to admit that I almost instantaneously discarded my outdoor clothes (in my room. I'm a high functioning sociopath not an insult-to-society nudist) and dressed in my pyjamas and blue dressing gown before resuming my usual position in my armchair by the fire, with my violin (John had requested I play at the wedding and, though incredibly reluctant, I acquiesced to his request).
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