A/N: When Sherlock solves the murder I have no idea if any one could actually die this way. I researched it but couldn't find much helpful information. So please be kind and let's pretend someone could actually die this way even if you know they couldn't. Its not too outlandish, please be open to creative murder schemes if you would. Thank You ! Please give me constructive reviews!

Chapter 3

Their wedding was only two days away. John was nervous beyond comprehension. He sat outside of 221B breathing in the crisp winter air and trying to relax. He watched as countless cars drove by him, creating a calming breeze. London wasn't any different but John felt like a foreigner. He wasn't that same person he'd been three years ago. He used to be a heterosexual, emotionally broken Army Doctor with PTSD and a psychosomatic limp. That was before he met Sherlock. Sherlock had immediately seemed to John like he had an air of danger to him. Not afraid of anything. He had also striked him as particularly attractive. With those raven curls and trim form, not to mention those cheek bones and those piercing blue eyes. He had never noticed another man's beauty before Sherlock. Sherlock had completely transformed him. Now he was a practicing civilian doctor with two fully functioning legs, all his marbles, and a boyfriend. He owed Sherlock everything. He might not have been here if it wasn't for Sherlock. John got up slowly from the curb. Since he owed the love of his life that much, he shouldn't be avoiding him. He opened the door to 221B with a smile. He loved this apartment. Even when Sherlock had "died" he had loved it, the memories had just been too much. He tramped up the stairs. Upon reaching the door, he heard the violin. Ah, Sherlock was writing a song. He also smelled smoke. He opened the door. There stood Sherlock, completely surprised, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He put down the violin and tried to hide the cigarette. "Ah, darling there you are, I was getting worried." John walked up to his raven haired detective. "Hand it over." Sherlock grumbled and gave John the cigarette. John put it out and threw it away. "Why? I thought we agreed. You quit."

"Yes but I'm getting married in two days and I haven't even finished composing our first dance. "

John smiled. " Not going well?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, it's going perfectly. I accidentally composed The Blue Danube."

John looked deep into his detective's eyes. They were troubled. With more than just a composer's block. "What is it?"

"I've been thinking about that case again."

"I thought we agreed that you wouldn't worry about it until after the wedding."

"I know but I can't help it, it's automatic. I haven't found any evidence or motive as to why the bride was killed. I do think it was her bouquet though. I went to the coroner's office and found that the victim had one almost invisible pinprick to one finger. I think that the cyanide was on the bouquet, sprayed on, maybe the flowers were stored with it. The pinprick allowed the cyanide on the bouquet to seep into the bloodstream slowly, which is why she wouldn't have died immediately. It took a little while to get enough cyanide into the bloodstream, and then it caused her to die in the middle of the ceremony. What do you think?"

John scratched his head. "Um. okay."

"Nevermind, I'm going to go talk to Trisha again. Care to come?"

'Uh, yeah sure."

They hopped in a cab and went back to the Florist shop that Trisha owned. Sherlock walked in briskly, avoiding the cold air. John stayed outside and let Sherlock do the talking. His heart was racing again. He had had to much time to think about weddings on the cab ride over. What if their wedding went to hell? Something went wrong, or god forbid Sherlock chickened out? What then?" John out his back against the glass window of the Florist and sank to the sidewalk, worrying and fretting over every possible thing that could go wrong.

Sherlock walked into the florist, leaving John outside. John seemed as apprehensive about the wedding as Sherlock was. So he let him be. He walked up to the counter.

" Hi Trisha, Sherlock Holmes, remember?" The young woman smiled and looked up from the roses she was cutting. "Hello Mr. Holmes, how can I help you?" She put down the flowers, pricking her finger on the way. She cursed and put her bleeding finger in her mouth.

"Are you alright."

"Oh. yes, I'm alright. I've never not pricked myself on a bouquet of roses. So what was it you came to ask?"

"I was wondering whether Samantha's wedding bouquet came from your shop?"

"Yes, on the house of course. Beautiful pink roses and baby's breath."

"Did anyone have access to the bouquet besides you before the wedding?"

"Only my husband Harvey. He helps store and water the flowers."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, why?"

"Well I have reason to believe Samantha died from cyanide poisoning by way of her bouquet."

"You're not suggesting I-"

"No, no,no just that someone did. Maybe at the church?"

"No. no one besides me and Samantha had access to them at the church."

"Must have been here then."

"I don't know who would have. Harvey certainly wouldn't have killed Samantha. Maybe someone broke in."

Sherlock looked thoughtful for a minute. "Well I won't trouble you anymore. If you remember any helpful facts it would be much appreciated, if not, i'll call the shop when I have information. Thanks Trisha."

"No, problem."

Sherlock turned up his collar and went outside. John was slumped up against the side of the florist shop staring at the cloudless winter sky. Sherlock sat down next to him. "what's wrong?"

"What if something goes wrong? At our wedding, I mean? You're almost universally hated and feared by every killer in London. What if someone tries to kill you?"

Sherlock gingerly took John's hand and kissed it before entwining it in his. "Nothing will go wrong. I won't be assassinated, and I won't mess it up, it will be perfect."

John smiled. "Do you really believe that?"

"Yes. I really do."

John got up, releasing Sherlock's hand. "Well then let's go. We should go get our tuxedos."

Sherlock grinned. "I can't wait to rip that tux right off you the minute we get to Paris."

John smiled and the two got up and walked hand in hand away from the quiet florist shop.

John was hyperventilating. Today was his wedding. His Wedding. John and Sherlock were at opposite ends of a very nice country club outside of London, preparing to be wed. Lestrade sat in the corner of John's dressing room, already bombed, holding a bloody mary. "I always thought you and Sherlock would make a good couple. When I first met you, I thought you were gay. I am a very good detective. Very good indeed. I think I need another bloody mary. Molly walked in then, she was the one and only bridesmaid. She looked lovely. Sherlock had picked out a strapless aquamarine dress and she wore a white rose in her hair. She smiled at John and went to take care of Lestrade. He looked up at her blurrily. "ah.. waitress, can I get another bloody mary? ...What is it they say about that chap bloody Mary? She walked in the T-Tower of London, with a bloody Mary in one arm and a cat in the other..." Lestrade started singing about Bloody Mary's bloody Mary and passed out in his chair almost tipping his bloody Mary on the cream colored carpet.

Luckily, Molly caught the drink and pushed Lestrade upright, proceeding to shake him awake and give him a cup of strong black coffee. John smirked, despite his present state of panic. Lestrade may have been a bad choice for best man.

Sherlock was sitting in his dressing room, only half dressed. His jacket looked lovely, but he had only one leg into his tuxedo pants, and his bowtie was hanging from his neck, untied. He was sitting at a computer. He was on the internet, searching Trisha's husband Harvey on the police database. He had been arrested once, for a domestic dispute and abuse. THere were records of several other domestic dispute calls. A violent man. And, apparently, he was a chemistry teacher. One who worked with many chemicals, including cyanide, perhaps? Sherlock thought this was the perfect suspect. He had means, opportunity. Just, no motive. Sherlock had searched and found no record of any bad blood between Samantha and Harvey or even William and Harvey. There was no evidence of an affair, or of money problems, drug problems, nothing, and those flowers were clearly meant for Samantha, the killer must have known she meant to hold them for the ceremony. Sherlock was distracted by a knock on the door. "Come in."

"Hello, brother dear."

Ugh. Perfect. "Hello, Mycroft. Here to tell me I'm a fool for willingly entering the institution of marriage?"

"You just said it, so I don't have to."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He got up from the computer screen and walked over to a full length mirror in the corner of the room. He attempted to tie his bow tie, but his thoughts were so clouded with the case and with pre-wedding jitters he couldn't remember how. Mycroft sighed and came to his brother's rescue.

"How's the case."

"Terrible. I have a suspect, but he had no reason to kill the bride."

" How do you think he did it?"

" I think that he stored the bride's flowers in cyanide so she would prick her finger on the thorn and die slowly, so she would make it less obvious how she died. "

" And you say that he had no motive?"

"None whatsoever."

"Maybe she got the wrong bouquet?"

Sherlock's eyes went wide. "Of course!" He laughed and grabbed Mycroft's phone. He pulled the number out of his coat pocket and called Trisha's flower shop, there was no answer. He pulled on his coat and headed towards the door.

"Sherlock, where do you think you're going? You're getting married in twenty minutes!"

"Be back in fifteen."

He rushed out of the dressing room, calling a cab. He waited in a corridor until it arrived and ran to meet it. He gave the cabbie Trisha's address and told him to book it. He flew out of the country club and towards London.

Sherlock arrived in ten minutes and ran inside the small shop. "Trisha?" She was no where to be seen. "Trisha?!" Sherlock walked into her greenhouse area. "Trisha?" He walked around a flower bed and found Trisha. She was lying in a small pool of blood. Her head bludgeoned in. Sherlock kneeled down, checking her pulse. "Damn it," Sherlock whispered to himself. "I'm too late." He got up and turned around. He saw Trisha's husband Harvey, holding garbage bags and a chainsaw. The man looked frightened, but only for a second. He quickly regained his composure. "Can I help you?"

"I knew you killed Samantha. I just figured out that you meant to kill Trisha."

Harvey smiled. "Ah, Mr. Holmes, Trisha mentioned you. No sense denying it. It was a good plan too. I felt bad about Samantha though, she was nice. Trisha however, always made things difficult. Even killing her." He looked at the body of his wife. "I really would have preferred a neater end to all this. Now I have to kill you too." Harvey advanced towards Sherlock. Sherlock, dressed for a wedding, had no weapon. Harvey pulled a gun from his back pocket. "Sorry, Mr. Holmes. But you're a liability. "

"The hell I am!" Sherlock picked up a flower pot nearby, and threw it ant Harvey's head, momentarily knocking him out. Harvey crumpled to the floor. Sherlock ran towards the back exit. He was late for his wedding!

He ran down the street and hailed another cab. He once again told the driver to rush.

John sat at the front of the room he was supposed to be getting married in, head in hands. He knew Sherlock would do this. Molly was sitting next to him, a comforting hand on his shoulder. He heard a door open loudly and he saw Sherlock, breathless and disheveled, at the front of the room. He jumped up as Sherlock rushed down the aisle to meet him. John grabbed Sherlock. "You're twenty five bloody minutes late. " Sherlock tried to smile. "I know, I'm sorry. Shall we get on with it now?" he looked expectantly at the Vicar. The vicar smiled and began to speak. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..." The vicar was cut off as the doors opened again. Harvey was standing there, a small gash in his forehead from the flower pot, and a murderous gleam in his eyes. "Mr. Holmes, you thought it would be that easy? Just run away and catch me later?" Sherlock was frozen to his spot. He glanced at John, who had his mouth agape in equal horror and confusion.
"I know I'm going down already, so why not go out with a bang?" He pointed the gun at Sherlock. What happened next Sherlock couldn't even explain it was so fast. He heard the shot and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, John was in front of him. John grabbed his chest and took his hand away with blood. He turned towards Sherlock and collapsed. Sherlock dropped to the floor and immediately put pressure on the wound. "Call an ambulance!" Lestrade, definitely alert now called an ambulance and ran after Harvey. Guests were pouring out of the room as fast as they could and Molly was kneeling next to Sherlock. Sherlock leaned over John, tears welling up in his eyes. John's eyes were barely open. "John? Can you hear me?! Stay with me! Can you hear me?! Please, John!" John just felt his eyes close.

John reawakened in a hospital bed, surrounded by flowers and four pale blue walls of a tiny hospital room. He looked under the covers and saw a couple thousand pounds of bandages covering his chest. He looked to his right and found Sherlock there,in a small uncomfortable chair, his head bowed over his lap and his hands clenched together.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock shot up and grabbed John's hand.
"You're awake!"

"Yes, what happened?"

Sherlock explained the entire story. How Harvey did it, how he killed Trisha, how Harvey shot John, how John had almost died and had to have open heart surgery. At the end, John just sat there with a smile on his face.

"Why are you smiling?"

"Because only you could mess up a wedding that badly."

Sherlock grinned. "Speaking of weddings."

The vicar walked into the room. Sherlock looked at John with hopeful eyes. "How about it? Marry me?" John pulled himself into a sitting position with some effort. "Why not?" The two recited their vows in the small hospital room, and kissed passionately after they said I do. Sherlock then jumped up and grabbed his violin, which happened to be conveniently on the small table near the bed. He then proceeded to play the most sweet and gorgeous music John had ever heard. When he was finished, John asked, "Was that our song?" Sherlock smiled. "Yes, I finished it that day in the dressing room. Did you like it?"

"Loved it." John pulled Sherlock down for a kiss. When they pulled apart, John looked worried. "Did they catch this Harvey man?"

"hmm? Oh, yes, actually Lestrade did. He hit him over the head with a bottle of vodka that was sitting on the bar in the reception room as Harvey ran through it. After Harvey was taken away, he then made himself a Bloody Mary with what was left."

John laughed. Of course he did.

"Are you happy, my dear Dr. Watson?"

John was quick to answer. Even though all of this had occurred, and been the doing of Sherlock, he knew this was the life he wanted. "Totally."

Sherlock took John's hand, kissed it and John fell asleep knowing that his life would be full of mayhem, murder, and danger. But it would also be full of Sherlock. With that, he could face anything.

The End