Disclaimer: I do not own SHERLOCK, or any associated characters.
Tumblr Prompt, "I Think I'm Forgetting Something -Sherlock"
Since it was asked by the same person I inadvertently made it a follow-on story from the original prompt. Could be stand alone, but I like them together.
~*Pound The Alarm*~
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"Sherlock, we need to go NOW," Lestrade shouted, running through the small flat in no small amount of panic trying to find the world's only consulting detective. A high degree of urgency sent the man dashing through one room after another, even braving the highly-organised mess of the younger Holmes' room in an attempt to locate the errant adult-sized child.
He paused outside the bathroom door, hearing the shower idly trickling and knocked. "Sherlock, are you in there? It's no time to be showering, we have to go immediately!"
No reply.
Well, nothing verbal… there was, however, a strange sound of squelching echoing out through the partially ajar door.
Praying to every god he was aware of, Greg begged them to not be walking into a room where he might be faced with a fully unclothed and therefore nude, Sherlock Holmes… he'd seen that sight already and it still took several drinks of hard whiskey to wash it from his memory.
He stepped inside, and sighed in exasperation…greeted with the sight of a certain genius sitting in the bottom of the tub, shower lazily spraying on his head, saturating his bedclothes and robe.
Sherlock was cross-legged, elbow resting on his knees and fingers steepled together. He did not even acknowledge Greg's presence until the Inspector leaned over and turned off the steady stream of water.
"Lestrade…?"
"Yes Sherlock?"
"…why are you in my bathroom turning off my thinking water?"
Greg just stared at him, "Sherlock, please tell me you're joking… or I will have a stroke… we have to get the hell out of here and you're in saturated pyjamas!"
"I will have you know, Inspector, that what I was doing was of UTMOST importance to the case… I was using an ancient memory-stimulating technique, for I believe…" Sherlock paused, "I think I may be forgetting something, George… something important…"
Lestrade took a deep breath, and let it go, "It's Greg, and yes… yes you are, now get up before I drag you out of there and strip you myself!"
"Well, Inspector, that does seem highly inappropriate seeing as we both have fiancées who are not one… another… OH," Sherlock trailed off.
"Yes OH you bloody idiot of a total genius, now get up, strip and towel off while I go find your suit… or we'll be late!"
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By the time he returned to the small bathroom, Sherlock was dry, naked and wrapped in a towel… sitting on the side of the tub with his head in his hands. God dammnit, this was going to run them SO LATE, now was not the time for an existential crisis…
"Greg… Greg I'm getting married…" Sherlock said, incredulous.
"Yes, that would be the reason I'm standing here holding your suit while you're having a 'cold feet' moment on the side of a bathtub…" he responded dryly. "Now suck it up and put these on… or Mycroft will get John to the wedding before we do, and then I'll lose the bet we have going."
As he knew it would, the name of his brother spurred the genius into action; which also unfortunately meant the towel got the floor show and Greg saw all the rest. Well, certainly the brothers were gifted in many ways, they'd won the genetic lottery and how was that even fair?
It took moments for Sherlock to get ready, throw on the shoes Greg tossed at him and pin the small white flower in his lapel.
There was a minor argument about whether or not Sherlock should wear his favourite blue scarf, but eventually Greg conceded that if the consulting detective wanted to take his security blankie to the wedding… then he could take his security blankie to the wedding.
"Just get in the bloody car!" the Inspector shouted, dragging the genius down the stairs by the scruff and hoiking him out the door of 221 Baker Street.
Sherlock immediately tried to go back inside, "Look, I really think I should meditate in the bathtub for at least another hour, Gregory…"
"And I think you should get in the bloody car, my ability to throw you into that car trumps your need to panic about this!" he shouted.
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By the time they rolled up at the venue, the Holmes estate as it were, Greg was a shade away from throttling Sherlock…who had chattered incessantly on the way over and only just composed himself as he got out of the car.
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As the wedding procession continued on inside, Mycroft sidled beside the Inspector and simply smiled smugly at him.
"You can shove it, you knew I'd lose… trying to get Sherlock ready is like herding cats, it's fucking ridiculous, but I got him here." he growled low at the other.
Mycroft gave him an uncharacteristic peck on the cheek, "Of course I did, but he was more likely to respond to you than take my direction. The bet may have been… an exaggeration of my desire to get you to perform that particular role, and it is true I knew you would not arrive before I had convinced John to get here… though that did take slightly more persuasion that I had initially anticipated."
At a meaningful glance from Lestrade, Mycroft hurriedly responded, "Oh no, no, no… I promise you that I did drug him or have him dragged here, just normal pre-wedding jitters that were soothed away… with a mild sedative… that wore off before we arrived, I assure you. But in anycase, my dear silverfox, the bet was a sham and acknowledge that you have worked harder than I so… you win this one…"
"So you mean you'll…?"
"Yes, but after the wedding, that we will miss if you don't come inside right now…" Mycroft said as the wedding march started, only to glance sidelong at Greg and add, "Oh don't be so lewd, there'll be time enough for that later… come along."
Greg followed his husband inside, thinking that finally, after all this time… there was some payoff for wrangling the Holmes brothers.
He was so pleased he didn't even bother to point out how pleasantly pharmaceutically tranquil John looked throughout the wedding…
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The End