John

John tentatively entered the hall from the street. He was still buzzing from the fact that he was now engaged, but until Sherlock was happy, John knew he wouldn't be.

Fast violin music jumped down the stairs from the flat above as John climbed them - Vivaldi's Summer. One of John's favourite pieces, but Sherlock's music mirrored his thoughts, and this jumpy, erratic song wasn't a good sign.

He had a feeling that the music would stop the moment he entered the apartment, so he paused to savour the last few notes before gently unlocking the door. His feeling had been right – the instant the door was opened the whole building went silent.

Sherlock was facing the window, quickly putting the violin back in its case. The only light in the room was the light from the softly burning fire, and a dim glow from the streetlights outside. It gave the room an ominous feeling, like the walls were closing in on him. And that damned yellow smiley on the wall seemed to be glowing. John closed the door and leant against it, wondering what to say as he watched Sherlock start to throw himself onto the sofa, swing away when he saw that John was next to it, and instead settle into his chair, looking pointedly away from his flatmate.

John swung his arms awkwardly for a moment, deciding against joining Sherlock in the other armchair, and sat on the sofa that Sherlock had avoided.

They sat in silence, unspoken words swarming around the room like an angry storm of bees, until Sherlock cleared his throat and said quietly, 'So… Congratulations.'

John met his eyes for a fraction of a second before they both hurriedly looked away, but in that tiny moment of communication they had said more than they were probably going to get out of each other for the rest of the day.

'Uh, thanks.' They went back to silence. John stared at the back of his friend's head.

'Look, Sherlock-,'

'Interesting business, marriage, isn't it?' Sherlock said quickly, jumping up. John sighed and settled into a more comfortable position – when Sherlock was in a mood like this, it was best to stay out of the way and let him use his energy how he liked. He wished that he could get up and move to his room, in case Sherlock tried to waste his time by shooting at him again, but any movement now would result in all attention fixed on him, and that wasn't what anyone wanted.

Sherlock was pacing up and down the room, twisting something in his pale hands. He couldn't see clearly because of the distance and Sherlock's agitated movements, but John could tell that it was something small, and black.

'Marriage – the formal union of two people, typically as recognized by law, in which they become husband and wife. Or, you could say, a combination of two or more elements – but I think the first one applies here rather more than the first.'

Great. Now he was quoting the English Dictionary.

'You've known this woman for a while, haven't you? Almost as long as we've known each other. Of course I don't remember when you started dating, but it was surely sometime after the time I saved you in the tunnel, yes? You were with Sarah at that time, but obviously it's not still her. I think people should know each other for a long time before getting involved like this, don't you? It's viewed as 'hasty' by some if the relationship has lasted less than a year.'

He was talking very fast, still pacing around the living room.

'When are you planning to have the ceremony? Does she want it soon, or will you wait a few years – no, of course, she won't have told you that yet, but whatever she decides I'd recommend going with it. She's probably been planning her wedding for years. I suppose you'll be inviting me, and maybe Lestrade and Molly, but I'd advise not bringing Mycroft, he's not good with these things.'

Suddenly John noticed something. Despite being in such a frenzied mood, he wasn't trying to deduce John's life story from a strand of his hair, as he usually did at such times; in fact, he was barely looking at him at all.

Something was wrong.

He cleared his throat – 'Sherlock…' – but Sherlock was still talking over him.

'I suppose I should start looking for a new roommate, then. Or maybe I'll just get an animal instead – they're much easier to take care of, and frankly, far quieter. But there aren't many animals I like… maybe a cat. Cats are the only species on this Earth that I haven't had some sort of falling out with yet. Except bees.' He paused briefly. 'I like bees.'

John was utterly perplexed. 'What are you on about?'

'Bees,' Sherlock repeated slowly. 'Bees are nice, there's nothing wrong with bees. They're fascinating creatures, really, almost as intriguing as the human mind -,'

'For Christ's sake, you and your bees!' cried John, finally getting Sherlock to stop rambling and turn his attention to him. 'No, Sherlock, what I meant was why are you talking about finding a new roommate?'

'Obviously you're going to want to move out and live with Anne, aren't you? Or…' For the first time, Sherlock looked slightly worried. 'You aren't planning on having her live here, are you? Because that would be absurd, really, there's not enough space for three of us. You don't even have a room on this floor, and Mrs Hudson-'

'If you would let me get a word in,' John said loudly, causing Sherlock to turn back to him, face once again devoid of all emotion, 'you would know that Anne wanted to rent the flat upstairs, if you didn't mind.'

Sherlock thought about it for a second, and then went back to pacing without answering. John sighed heavily. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing's wrong.' The answer was too quick.

'Come on, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that you're upset by something.'

It was a mark of the strength of Sherlock's emotion that he didn't make a snarky comment about John's 'far from genius' mind.

'Why didn't you tell me before?' Sherlock asked, very quietly.

Oh. John was momentarily put off, but with a physical effort he cleared his mind. 'To be honest, I didn't think you'd care. But if it turned out that you did care, I was worried that you'd react badly, and try to put me off.' John surveyed his tall, silent friend apprehensively. 'Clearly, I was wrong.'

Sherlock seemed to struggle with himself for a second; John could see the emotion inside warring with his need to cloak his feelings. Possibly aided by his unstoppable instinct to explain everything, the emotion won. 'Of course I care! You're… you're my only friend.' It was clearly painful to say. 'How can you expect me not to care when my – best friend – decides to get married?'

The day was clearly going to spew strong feelings at him until he cracked. John could recall maybe a couple of times that Sherlock had introduced him as a 'friend', and it had always been followed by John correcting him with 'colleague', but never had Sherlock ever said he was his best friend. John wondered just how much of an impression he must have made on Sherlock to get that close to him.

Sherlock was looking at him endearingly, and suddenly John narrowed his eyes.

'Hang on,' he said, a hint of accusation in his voice, 'Are you doing that thing where you act all nice just to get something from us?'

His best friend looked instantly hurt. 'No! Why would you-? Fine, I see, but I'm not doing it now. We've been through so much together, I just thought… but I can understand if you don't feel the same.' He sighed and threw himself back into his chair, hugging his Union Jack pillow. 'I've never had a friend like you before; there must be a reason why.'

John got up and sat in the chair across from Sherlock without missing a beat. He looked at him, but all he could see was Sherlock's dark curls, as his face was buried in the pillow. He wasn't crying, he was just being melodramatic, which John confirmed with a loud 'ahem', and an unsuccessful attempt to peer at the detective's face.

'Look, Sherlock, you're great when you're not being such an arrogant idiot-,' here John could imagine the corner of Sherlock's mouth ghosting up in a smile, 'but you seriously don't strike me as somebody who'd care in the slightest about whether I was engaged or not – you don't even notice when I go on holiday, despite being apparently one of the most perceptive people in the world.' John paused, considering, as Sherlock slowly looked up at him, his bright eyes glinting strangely in the firelight. 'No, wait, you do care if I'm going out with people – you like to laugh at what I do with them.'

Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes again.

'Hang on,' John said suddenly. 'That was why you were following me, wasn't it? You wanted to laugh at me.'

There was silence from the opposite chair. John rolled his eyes and looked calmly into the fire, before he heard a voice whisper, 'I'm sure you can see that it didn't quite go according to plan.'

John opened his mouth, and then closed it again. How did you reply when Sherlock Holmes said something like that?

'Uh – I – um, so, is there, um, anything else going on? Any… cases?' John asked randomly, attempting to lighten the mood in the room.

Sherlock jumped up. 'No, but there is something that I wanted to tell you.'

'O…kay…' John said slowly – Sherlock was looking hyper again. 'Like what?'

'Well, after watching you propose I realised that there was a strong chance that I would never be in that situation. I'm quite sure that nobody will ever love me, and I don't think I will ever love anyone – what?' He broke off, annoyed, as John sniggered.

'Look in the mirror for once, will you?' John asked.

Sherlock glanced into the mirror hanging on the wall opposite him. 'John, we've been over this – it's my face.'

'Once again, you see, but you do not observe,' John said, mimicking Sherlock's attitude, right down to his smooth purr of a voice, so perfectly that Sherlock looked back at him, grinning. 'You know what – never mind.' Sherlock's grin turned into a frown, as he turned curiously back to his own reflection. 'The point is, the only thing stopping you is you.'

Sherlock was still examining his reflected image, his head tilted to the side, but a mischievous light seemed to come into his eyes as he said, 'That's right. I am.'

John started to reply when Sherlock added, 'But that won't be a problem, not anymore.'

Sherlock would have laughed at John's expression had he not been looking away – the surprise on it was almost comical. It took a few blinks for John to manage, 'You - wha-?'

'You know, of course, that I consider myself married to my work. But – recent events – made me wonder if that was the right path to take.' Here he paused, and fished the little black box out of his pocket to play absentmindedly with it in his hands again.

'So… you've divorced yourself from feelings, and now you want to do the same with your work.'

Sherlock nodded at John's reasoning. 'You could say that, yes.'

'And then what?' John was eyeing that box apprehensively. He had a feeling that Sherlock hadn't gone straight back to the flat after seeing John propose.

'And then, of course, get married again. How could you expect anything else from me?' Sherlock smirked.

'To who?'

'Myself, of course,' he said, with a perfectly straight face. 'I'm at that stage in my relationship where I feel that this is the right way to go.'

John couldn't even speak.

'This isn't a ring or anything,' he added, holding up the box. 'I just stopped by Mycroft's to get his signature, saying that I could do this. I put it in the box for effect – obviously your mind would jump to conclusions after your recent proposal.'

Sherlock gave him a cynical grin and threw him the box.

'Since I witnessed your proposal, I thought it only fair for you to watch mine.'

He mutely opened the box, still staring at Sherlock as the man himself turned back to the mirror. He barely had time to glance at its contents – a small folded piece of paper, containing a short printed statement and an elaborate signature – before Sherlock started to talk again. But he wasn't even talking to John – he was having a conversation with his reflection. It went like this:

'So, you're looking nice today.'

'Why thank you, my friend. So are you.'

'I'm glad you think so. Anyway, I have a question for you.'

'A question! How impossibly exciting! What could it be?'

'Will you marry me?'

'Oh my goodness!' Sherlock squealed and clasped his hands together. 'How unexpected! Of course I shall!'

'Oh thank you! You've made me the happiest man in the world!' He smiled widely. 'I can't think of who I will tell first – but certainly not my friends, as friends apparently don't tell each other anything.'

With that dramatic ending, Sherlock made to storm off into his room, but John had been expecting such a finale, and jumped up to intercept him. Sherlock stared down at him with ice in his pale eyes, but John didn't flinch.

'I have three things to say to you, Sherlock. First, please never ever do that again. It has scarred me for life, and I don't think it says good things about your mental stability, either.' Sherlock huffed and moved his weight defiantly to his back leg. 'Secondly, this doesn't help with anything. Look, I'm sorry if you're offended because I didn't tell you, but I'm seriously trying to not even think of how you might have acted if you had known beforehand.' John stopped, images of Sherlock hiding his ring – sending Anne off to America – even having John arrested – flashing horrifyingly through his mind.

Sherlock waited for a few seconds, arms tightly crossed, before asking stiffly asking, 'And thirdly?'

'Congratulations on your engagement,' John growled, and left without another word.