John stomped off down Baker Street in a huff. What the hell was wrong with Sherlock? He's used to him being an arrogant bastard when he was mad or a sulking schoolboy when he was upset, but this was something totally different. He heaved a sigh and kept walking. Whatever it was, he knew that he had to figure it out before he ended up strangling him.

His mobile chimed again. Taking it from his pocket he glanced down and saw a text message from Mary.

What do you think of Lavender? -MM

The color or the flower? - JW

Both actually. – MM

It's alright, I suppose. – JW

Great. Lavender it is than - MM

John shook his head. Mary was going ahead full-steam with the wedding planning and she was definitely a force to be reckoned with. Truth be told, he knew that she was going to go ahead and plan it her way anyway, so why keep asking him all these questions? But he was wise enough not to say anything. Mike Stamford had reminded him that 'a happy wife means a happy life' and if that meant smiling and letting her get her way (in most things) then he was perfectly willing to do so. He was certainly used to Sherlock being the same way.

Sherlock. Stubborn git. But while it was on his mind, he texted Mary back.

Before I forget, which shop are we using for the tuxedos? I need to make sure where I'm dragging Sherlock for his fitting. – JW

After a long pause he received: What do you mean? – MM

Sherlock's fitting for his tux? He is my best man after all – JW

I thought you wanted to ask Mike Stamford – MM

No, YOU wanted me to ask Mike. I told you it was going to be Sherlock – JW

There wasn't an immediate reply, which meant only one of two things: either Mary dropped the subject completely (not likely) or she's furiously typing out a long tirade. His phone chimed 5 minutes later, proving it to be the latter.

John Hamish Watson! You better listen to me! I know that Sherlock is your partner and all that but I honestly cannot see why you want to invite the man! You of all people know what he's like. He'll probably show up late, if he bothers to show at all. And IF he does show up, do you really want him mingling with all our guests, deducing all their secrets and putting them on public display? Think about it. We're already having an open bar. Don't you think the guests will drink us completely broke after having to deal with that insufferable pratt? – MM

John was torn between laughing and roaring. He knew all too well the urge for a drink whenever Sherlock started in on something that he had wanted to keep to himself. But how dare she?! He hadn't said a damn thing about her wanting to invite people she hadn't seen in years (some since primary school) just so she could show off her 'Army Doctor'. In truth it used to make him preen just a bit when she said things like that. Now he thinks this wedding is becoming more of a show than anything. Regardless, she has no right telling him who he cannot invite to his own damn wedding! But, being reasonable John, he had to admit she had a point. Heaving another sigh, he turned around and headed back to Baker Street. He supposed it was better to have this conversation now rather than later. He squared his shoulders and walked with a purpose, like he would if he was marching into battle.

Perhaps he was.

…

Once John left, Sherlock flopped back on the couch in a huff. Why was John being a grumpy puss? He'd notice the difference between the two of them, only when Mary was involved somehow. Apparently she didn't like him at all. Sherlock couldn't care less. But her attitude was changing the way John was acting around him and THAT was something he couldn't stand for. The sooner he revealed all to John and got him away from that insufferable bitch, the sooner everything could go back the way it was before. Well, maybe not EXACTLY the way things were before. He doubted that they would ever be the same once he admitted his feelings for John. No matter. Sherlock had already made up his mind and it had to be done.

Grabbing his mobile off of the side table, he sent a quick text to Mycroft.

Need assistance. – SH

He sat back for a second then decided that he needed to clarify that statement. Knowing his brother, he could interpret that message to the point of completely surrounding his flat with a swat team and helicopters. He decided to clarify, and quickly.

It's about John. – SH

A moment later he heard the chime.

Ah, yes. Do give him my Congratulations. – MH

Sherlock read that and mentally shook his head. 'I shall do no such thing' he thought. But he wasn't going to tell his nosy big brother that. He did need his help after all.

I need something to give him. A congratulatory something-or-other. – SH

Sentiment getting the best of you, little brother? – MH

Sod off. Can you help me or not? – SH

What would you like? – MH

You know I don't pay attention to these sorts of things. – SH

Whenever you figure it out, then I shall see what I can do. – MH

Sherlock growled and threw his phone back on the side table. He should have expected Mycroft to be of no use to him. He didn't even know why he bothered in the first place.

But he knew he had to take his mind off of it for a while before it literally drove him insane. He stood up and headed to the kitchen, intending to put the kettle on. But he got halfway there before a familiar craving suddenly took hold of him and it stopped him in his tracks. He turned around and allowed his eyes to quickly dart around the room, taking inventory of all his usual hiding places. Damn. He could instantly tell by the slightest deviation of certain objects that John had once again found his stashes and had promptly disposed of all his cigarettes. He couldn't help the slightest curve of his mouth, grinning at another example of just how clever John really is. Sighing, he gave up that thought and resumed his trek into the kitchen. Once the kettle was on, he went to his laptop to see if there were any cases to catch his attention. At this point, he would even accept a 5 on his scale, just to temporarily get his mind off John. But there was nothing. Apparently the criminal class had gone on holiday away from London, and Sherlock was finding it damned inconvenient.

He was just about to close his laptop with a slam when something caught his attention. He wasn't even sure why because it was in the Entertainment Section and he usually avoided that at all costs, unless there's a celebrity death that the tabloids usually get all wrong. Just one particular name leaped at him and for the life of him he couldn't figure out why or where he knew that name from.

Celine Dion.

He closed his eyes and thought for a moment, then it hit him. John was a fan. A BIG fan. He never understood why. An overly dramatic Canadian? Nonetheless, John considered her music one of his guilty pleasures.

Suddenly an idea struck him so hard that he berated himself for not thinking of this before. Quickly he went on YouTube and pulled up a few of her songs and read the lyrics. One after the other, all syrupy and boring. But the last one he clicked on had him intrigued. After reading the lyrics he had to stop himself from literally jumping out of his chair. He quickly grabbed his phone again from the side table and text Mycroft.

I need 3 concert tickets. And a private meeting with the performer would be helpful as well. – SH

It's not for that Bieber fellow is it? God, I hate what he does to this country when he comes around. All those screaming nit-wits making enough noise to wake the dead. – MH

Don't be stupid. 3 tickets to Celine Dion. Front and Center would be useful. – SH

Consider it done. But why 3? Surely to don't plan to attend with them? – MH

It's a surprise. One that I know that John will never forget. – SH

Very well then. And 3 backstage passes as well? – MH

Just me. And I need more than just a backstage pass. I need to speak with her one-on-one at least 2 days before the show. – SH

Care to explain why? – MH

All in due time. In the meantime, I need a tuxedo for that night as well. Do be a good big brother and send your tailor over, whenever he's finished letting out your own trousers of course. – SH

Mycroft replied with a slur of his own but Sherlock paid no attention. He was going over a million scenarios in his head and coming up with a contingency plan for each one.

It had to be perfect. He was only going to get one shot at this, and it was either going to make him or break him.