John lay in his old bedroom upstairs, with his arms crossed behind his head and just stared at the ceiling. He supposed that he had made a real mess of things with Mary, damn his temper. But what could he be expected to do? As much as he loved Mary, he couldn't allow her to keep harassing Sherlock for her own purposes. He tried to reason with himself that every woman gets this way with planning a wedding, but he had never expected Mary to take it this far. It was bad enough that she didn't seem to care for Sherlock at all, and only seemed to tolerate him for his sake. He'd recognized that immediately but had convinced himself that her being polite to Sherlock in his presence would satisfy him enough to ignore the enmity between the two of them.

But now he sees that he was only fooling himself. And he wasn't sure how long he could go on choosing sides in each of their battles.

He tossed around a bit, only made slightly more comfortable by the fact that he had stripped himself down to just his pants and his undershirt. His clothes were folded neatly on a chair on the other side of the room. No, there was no use. He wasn't getting much sleep tonight, simply because there was so much on his mind.

He tried to think back on when it had truly become apparent that he would have to start choosing between the two of them. He thought back to that day about 2 weeks ago, after him and Mary got into it about Sherlock being the best man.

Yeah he could understand Mary's point about asking Stamford. They had been mates far longer than him and Sherlock, going far back to their days at St. Bart's. And it was, in fact, Stamford that had introduced him to Sherlock in the first place. Be that as it may, him and Mike were still casual friends at best, going out for a pint on occasion.

Not like him and Sherlock.

Sherlock annoyed him to no end, but he also kept John thrilled with his deductions. After all this time, it still amazed him how Sherlock seemed to conjure the information he needed out of thin air, and he was spot on every time. His lack of social graces was embarrassing in most settings, but John couldn't help looking at him during those times and see him as completely adorable when he tried to cover up some faux pas that he committed. He knew, in truth, that he only did that for John's benefit. Sherlock couldn't give a flying fig about what others thought about him. But at times he was considerate enough to consider John's feelings, however irrational he had thought them to be.

And the fact that, genius that he claimed to be, he still had a look of complete shock when John asked him to be his best man. Just remembering the look on Sherlock's face when he had asked still had him chuckling to himself.

He had come back to Baker Street, and took a deep breath before climbing the stairs to the flat. He wasn't sure how this was going to go, given the fact that Sherlock had no concept of subtleties. Still, he would ask him. He was his best friend, after all.

He walked back in the flat and had found Sherlock at his laptop, typing away furiously. Did he find a case to work on? If so, why hadn't he let him know? No matter. He had other things on his mind.

He stood there for a minute, assuming that Sherlock would acknowledge him in some way. After about 5 minutes, he gave up on that. He cleared his throat loudly enough for Sherlock to hear.

Without looking up Sherlock asked, "Has your pressing business been attended to?"

John just blinked. "Yeah I suppose so. All except for one very important matter."

Still focusing on his screen Sherlock replied, "Far be it for me to interrupt."

"Actually it's something that I can't attend to without your help."

Sherlock swung his head up to look at John, his brows furrowed in confusion. "Whatever it is John, I assure you that you can definitely find someone more qualified."

"Not this time. You are the only one that can help me."

Sherlock sat back in his chair with a sigh. "Well I guess it was only a matter of time before people started to realize that I'm the only one around here who can actually get things done correctly."

John blinked. "Oi! I've been known to get things right a time or two!"

Sherlock smirked at him. "Even a broken clock is right twice a day."

John shook head and took another deep breath. He didn't come up here to banter with the sodding bastard. He came up here with a purpose and he wasn't leaving until his mission was accomplished.

He walked over to his chair and sat down, mentally trying to prepare his words. Sherlock just stared at him with a blank face, waiting.

"Oh come on John. It can't be that difficult. Just tell me what you need so that I can get back to my work. Time is of the essence you know."

"It's about the wedding."

Sherlock groaned loudly and pinched the bridge of that regal nose of his. "God, not you too."

"Sorry. But it needs to be done."

"Alright, get on with it."

"I need a best man."

"Gavin Lestrade? He's a man, and good at it."

John shook his head in laughter. "It's Greg. And he's not my best friend."

"Oh, Mike Stamford, I see."

"I had already had this out with Mary. He's great and all, but he's not my best friend either."

"Then who's left? You're not giving my much to go on here, John."

John just decided to wait and stare back at him, just to see how long it would take him. After a moment, he could see Sherlock's eyes slightly darting back in forth, a clear indication that he was reviewing any and all information that he had, looking for a solution to this riddle. The longer it took, the funnier it became.

After a full 5 minutes, he couldn't stand it any longer. He stood up from his chair and roared "IT'S YOU, YOU BLOODY GIT!"

Sherlock looked genuinely startled. The phrase 'deer in the headlights' came floating through John's mind and he couldn't help but double over in laughter, which only seemed to confuse Sherlock even more.

After a few moments, John managed to compose himself. Sherlock was still staring him. John doubted that he even blinked the entire time.

"That's getting a bit scary now."

Sherlock took a breath and tried to speak. "You…you mean…"

"Yes."

"That I'm your…"

"Yes."

"Best friend?" Sherlock's voice was barely above a whisper, clearly uncertain how to process this new information.

"Of course you are."

But Sherlock, in his maddening adorable way, actually tried to talk John out of it!

"Surely there are others better qualified for the title!"

"Best man or best friend?"

"Both!"

"Nope. Sorry Sherlock. It's you, guilty on both charges."

Sherlock then stood up slowly, took a step or two until he stood before John. He solemnly clasped his hands behind his back, then cleared his throat.

"John, I haven't the words to convey to you what I wish to say at this moment, so forgive me if I should stumble a bit." John stood up so that they were face to face. If this was going to be as serious as he thought it was going to be, he decided it was better to do it this way.

After a slight pause, Sherlock continued. "I don't have friends. Never have. They always seem to drag me down. I obviously have no social skills and trying to maintain a friendship without that knowledge was more work than I was ever willing to put into it." Seeing John smile in agreement encourages him to continue. "The point I'm trying to make is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious asshole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet. So if I didn't understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody's best friend."

"Sherlock, of course you're my best friend. We've survived so many things together and went through even more that no one but us would either understand or believe."

"I guess that I had incorrectly assumed that Mary would be taking over that function in your life."

"In some ways, yeah she probably will. But this?" he said, gesturing around the flat, "this is just us. No one else. And it will always be that way."

After letting that sink in for a moment or two, Sherlock graced John with a smile that was so brilliant that John had no choice but to grab him by his shoulders and pull him into a hug. Sherlock was caught completely off guard but recovered quickly enough to hug John in return.

The memory of that had John still smiling as he continued to stare up at the blank ceiling. Mary hadn't taken it so well when he finally told her that Sherlock had accepted the responsibility but she didn't have much choice. Since he had allowed her to arrange for the damn doves to be released, she can let him have his best friend as his best man, and she can keep her mouth shut about it.

He tossed and turned some more, never getting completely comfortable enough to doze off. He was just about to head downstairs when he faintly heard the faint notes of Sherlock tuning his violin. That had him stopping and just listening. It had been so long since he had heard Sherlock play, and it had always found it incredibly relaxing. So he just laid back, closed his eyes, and allowed the beautiful music to soothe his mind until he slipped away into a blissful sleep.

He never knew that as soon as John had turned to head upstairs, Sherlock had immediately started going through his mental catalogue of composures, choosing a few of the ones that John seemed to enjoy the most. He knew John wasn't going to be able to fall asleep very asleep, because John was the type to overthink and over rationalize things until it drove him mad. His row with Mary was certainly fuel for that fire.

John wouldn't want to talk about it, and he respected that. But this was something he could do for him. In a way, it was a gift. The only one he could give John.

For now. He let that thought swirl through his mind and he smiled to himself. Then he picked up his bow and began to play.