Sherlock sat, his eyes fixed far away.
With his tux hanging on the closet door and his shoes polished for tomorrow's wedding, he could only wish that everything will fall accordingly.
Of course his calculations were sure to be precise, having laid out almost 7 possible scenarios in his head. All of which were described and fed to his friends.
Friends. Yes.
Sherlock thought deep and hard, realising that if he had let John, Lestrade and just everyone who was offering their help, things could've been easier. Of course he wasn't the catalyst for seeking assistance but he saw no other option.
Mycroft phoned him, though, asking about the progress of the case and Sherlock just hissed at him, annoyed. His brother have yet to be of use to his case, but rather, he just came in prancing in and about, acting like a know-it-all. But then again, Sherlock found out that Mycroft was told to step out of the matters at hand, considering this task was given to Sherlock as part of the amends of the Magnussen issue.
Sherlock shook his head slightly, dismissing thoughts of understanding his brother. Of course Mycroft could intrude, orders or not. He was Mycroft for crying out loud!
But still, Sherlock could handle this.
The pattern is not a pattern.
He was glad Irene caught what he was trying to say. This isn't a matter of playing the game, it was a matter of getting into it-indulging all of what they have into this upcoming event.
It was a not a case anymore, it was a production.