Notes: Hi, everybody. There are now TWO people who actually read and review; therefore, those two (you both know who you are) now have my undying love and devotion, as well as some of my famous chocolate chip cookies. Also, warning: Angst is ahead.
Disclaimer: Well, unless Arthur Conan Doyle had a whoooole lot of plastic surgery, I am not him. Ergo, I do not own Sherlock Holmes or his associate, John Watson.
Wed
I remember your wedding day. It was in August, on a warm, sunny day. It was perfect.
I told you that I would not attend, but I did.
The church was not very full-your parents were dead, and Mary's father was as well. There were only friends and a few regulars from your practice. I snuck in late and sat in the very back row. I had run there, all the way from Baker Street, and I had barely remembered and was therefore quite disheveled. I had forgotten both my tie and my hat, and my shirt was buttoned wrong. You would have disapproved greatly had you seen me in that state.
You were standing at the front, holding Mary's hand.
You looked so happy that it broke my heart. Really. Even though you have often said that I had none, I swear that I literally felt my heart shatter into thousands of tiny fragments, too small to ever be repaired.
Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows and cast colorful spots on your face. Was the flicker of sadness I saw in your eyes only my imagination?
The ceremony progressed. When the time came for you to take your vows, I could stand it no longer. But before I stepped outside into the sunlight, I looked at you, fixing your expression of happiness in my mind for ever.
Then I left. Ran like the coward I was, and still am.