And the long word count is back, for now. We're not quite at the honeymoon yet, but we'll be there soon!
I would like to take a moment to thank SeverusDmitri18, Verona Madrid, 8of9, Belen09, oatniel, Jaa-Ne, reflectiveless, JGHB, dana-san, ENTWolf, Makindeor, MarkMeUp, JustBeAQueen, Agar Loki, Canada-Matthew, theivydaggers, The Lord Writer, Drunken Strawberries, snapletonius, TakingItOutOnTheWall, CrystalCay, Johnlocked86 (yes they will confess their feelings...eventually), Zaryin, TheTruthInYourEyes, and everyone who had favorited/followed this story for your support and encouragement. You guys are awesome!
As always I would like to offer additional thanks to my beta, and own personal Sherlock, Geoff.
A few of you have asked how I can update so regularly or thanked me for it. Part of it is that I said I would, and I keep my promises. Part of it is that, at the moment, it's easier to concentrate on this than other things going on in my real life, because those other things hurt too much. I hope you enjoy the chapter. (Beta's note: And part of it is the fact that I'll only edit one chapter per week, so she is often at least one chapter ahead of what I'm editing.)
Chapter 14: Revelry
"It is my pleasure to introduce my son and his husband, as a married couple, for the first time," Evie spoke into a hand-held microphone addressing a large ballroom in the Holmes estate that was crowded with wedding guests. "I present to you Sherlock and John Holmes!" She started to applaud then and so did everyone else, as Sherlock and John made their way into the reception; it was deafening.
John was grinning on Sherlock's arm, and Sherlock was looking affectionately down at John. John glanced up and then leaned forward for another short kiss. Sherlock smiled as they pulled back and reached up to pluck more birdseeds from John's hair. They'd chosen to be pelted with birdseed as they exited the church instead of the traditional rice-a practice largely forbidden because of fear of harm to local birds. On the limo ride back to the estate John and Sherlock removed seeds from each other's hair, each giggling slightly from excitement. When they had removed most of the kernels, John cuddled into Sherlock's shoulder while the consulting detective declared that, despite common misconceptions, rice, cooked or uncooked, does not, in fact, harm birds.
Sherlock pulled out John's chair for him when they reached their table; they'd forgone the option of a head table in favour of a ten person round like their other guests. It felt more relaxed that way.
Once he was properly settled John tipped his head back and smiled at Sherlock to thank him. Sherlock bent down to steal another brief kiss. He still could not believe that John had taken his last name. It was official, Mycroft had begrudgingly seen to that. Everything from John's passport, to his driver's licence, to his medical licence now bore the name 'Holmes.'
Sherlock had never expected to bother with name changes; John had been the one to bring it up, taking Sherlock off guard.
"That seems like an awful lot of trouble for such a short marriage," Sherlock had said even as he inwardly thrilled at the idea of sharing a name with John. Sherlock had never expected to be that possessive, but sentiment did surprising, destructive things.
"Aren't you always the one talking about how the best disguises get the little details right?" John had asked and then began to mimic a lecture Sherlock had given him on pretending to be someone you weren't. "'It's not so much what you say, John, but the way you stand, how you pick up objects, the entire way you relate to the people around you.'"
Sherlock had smiled then, despite himself, flattered. "You have a good memory," Sherlock had said.
John had just laughed and replied, "If only I could get you to have the same good memory when it comes to cleaning up your experiments."
After rolling his eyes in exasperation Sherlock turned back to John. "So how would you have us combine our names then? Watson-Holmes or Holmes-Watson."
John made a face. "Everyone does that whether it's one partner or both. If other people like it that's fine, but it just seems like a cop-out to me."
Sherlock had arched his eyebrow in response. "Who should take whose name then?"
John ran a hand over his face, thinking. "We're going for realism right? I guess it would depend on who I was with. I've never been attached to the stereotype of the wife taking the husband's name."
"That makes it easier to be original," Sherlock drawled, "neither of us would be 'wives'."
John had flushed at that and refused to meet Sherlock's eyes for a minute. "Yeah, sorry. I never gave much thought to weddings before now. It's silly how many things you need to work around to make it fit if the wedding is anything but 'normal.'" John made air quotes and Sherlock had to smile when he heard the level of distain in John's voice at the word 'normal'.
"Yes, well, we wouldn't want to be 'normal' now would we?" Sherlock drawled, folding his hands in his lap.
John grinned, "Hardly."
"You still haven't answered my question," Sherlock had reminded him. "Which one of us is taking the other's name?"
John leaned back on the couch looking thoughtful. "Well I did say it would depend on who I was with so," John turned his head to look at Sherlock and gave a special little smile that Sherlock wished he could frame, "I would like to take your name, if you'll let me."
If Sherlock let him? The instant the thought was in his head he was fighting the urge to have John's towels monogrammed. Yes, he was definitely overly possessive when he was sentimental. All the more reason he was right to try to avoid sentiment in the first place. Feeling entirely too pleased with the prospect Sherlock said, "I suppose that would be tolerable," and John had laughed as if he could see right through him... and maybe he could.
At that moment Sherlock felt an incessant nudge against his ribs. Sherlock turned and observed John digging his elbow into Sherlock's side. "Welcome back," John said, sounding slightly amused, "I know your mind palace is an infinitely interesting place, Sherlock, but do try to eat your scallops before they get cold."
The speeches came before the entrees. First Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, who welcomed John to the family and wished them both the best in marriage. They were followed by Mycroft who gave a short speech that felt both irritated and calculating without being overly negative. Mr. Watson spoke next for both himself and his wife, offering congratulations and advice that were well meant, but it was clear he was slightly uncomfortable; like he couldn't quite wrap his head around whom his son had chosen to marry. Harry offered an exuberant speech about how her brother was so stable, so supportive, and how Sherlock was lucky to have him. Harry also added that she was lucky to have John as a brother and speculated that both she and Sherlock had kept John busy over the years.
Greg spoke last but in many ways, it was more heartfelt, because he'd been with them since the very beginning of their relationship. He stood, accepted the microphone from Harry, and just smiled at Sherlock and John for a moment before he spoke. "When I first met Sherlock Holmes I thought he was lost. Brilliant, but lost. He is a pain in the arse to deal with and he's smarter than half the Yard combined."
"Only half?" Sherlock broke in with a wry smile.
Greg glare at Sherlock Half-heartedly and said, "Learn how to take a compliment."
"Don't encourage him," Mycroft broke in, and Greg turned his Half-hearted glare on Mycroft.
"You've had your turn," Greg said, giving Mycroft's shoulder a nudge, which was easy to do because they were sitting beside one another.
Mycroft looked affronted that someone would dare to touch him and a few people chuckled.
"As I was saying," Greg began again, turning back to Sherlock and John, "Sherlock was a lost, brilliant, pain in the arse, and when John came along, something just clicked. I'd watched Sherlock work for years, and even after he was sober it didn't compare to what he was like with John. I didn't know John before he met Sherlock, but from what I could see it was like they gave each other new life. While their antics have caused a fair bit of trouble and complications over the years, their energy is infectious, and they have done a better job of keeping London safe than anyone else I know." Greg raised his glass towards the happy couple. "I can't imagine two people more suited for each other. You two are meant to be; congratulations."
Murmured congratulations filled the room as the other guests clinked glasses and joined in the toast.
Sherlock and John spun gracefully around the floor to their first dance. They'd practiced a few times in this last week, and were able to glide along perfectly in step. When John had offered to follow he remembered smiling and thinking to himself how he was always following Sherlock anyways. As they moved together on the dance floor, John was surprised how right that analogy felt. He was dizzy from spinning, his breathing elevated (more from Sherlock's nearness than exertion), and Sherlock barely had to indicate which direction they were heading next, because John felt pulled to him anyway. Running about on cases wasn't exactly dancing, but somehow, it felt as if they'd been doing this for years.
As the song faded out Sherlock tugged John close by his grip around John's waist and leaned in for a kiss. John happily reciprocated, tightening his arms around Sherlock's neck, the wet heat making all the thoughts in his head go foggy. God, it felt so good to kiss Sherlock, John swore to himself he would make the most of it while he still had the privilege. His fingers tangled in Sherlock's curls as Sherlock's fingers tightened to the point of bruising on John's hips. John had just scraped his teeth lightly over Sherlock's bottom lip when the hoots and other cacophony of their guests finally registered. John pulled back, reluctantly, and ducked his head into Sherlock's neck, embarrassed. How was it he kept forgetting exactly how many other people were in the room?
Sherlock's deep chuckle and long, elegant fingers caressing the back of his neck finally convinced John to straighten up and meet Sherlock's eyes. John had been struck by those eyes the first time he'd met Sherlock. They were a brilliant blue- grey that popped in combination with Sherlock's pale skin and dark hair. John leaned his forehead against Sherlock's and closed his eyes because he was tempted to kiss him again, and then they might never get off the dance floor.
Sherlock gave John a little squeeze before gently escorting him back to their table. Sherlock planted a brief kiss on the top of John's head before extending his hand to his mother. Evie smiled and placed her hand in Sherlock's, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor. Eli used the microphone to announce the mother/son dance, and the music began to play.
Evie was the first person Sherlock had observed to learn about multitasking. Even now she was probably as good as he was, so it was no surprise when she began to speak as they danced."I'm very happy for you Sherlock," Evie murmured, "You've chosen a good man."
As they spun Sherlock caught John's eye for a moment and a small smile tugged at his lips. "Yes," he agreed, "I have."
"For a while I was worried that you wouldn't." Sherlock noticed that she sounded relived.
"What? Choose well?" Sherlock was slightly affronted.
"Choose at all," Evie corrected. "I was afraid you were too smart for your own good." She glanced briefly at their table and sighed. "I'm still not sure about Mycroft."
Sherlock snorted derisively and he spun her. "No one is quite sure about Mycroft."
"I'm serious, Sherlock," Evie scolded. "You have a brilliant mind, you use it for good things, but you're always focusing on the worst aspects of people. Their weaknesses, their lies, what it will take to manipulate the truth out of them." Evie paused looking slightly pained. "I was afraid you'd lost faith in people as a whole."
Sherlock sobered then. "People, most definitely," he began, "but never in John," he gave his mother's hand a squeeze, "and never in you or father either."
Evie smiled somewhat wryly, "I wish you included your brother in that." Sherlock rolled his eyes but Evie persisted, "He's a good man too, Sherlock."
"You know he kidnaps people, and I haven't bothered to count the number of people he's killed," Sherlock muttered childishly.
Evie raised an eyebrow briefly as if to say, 'And you haven't?' but what she actually said was, "I know, and he's still a good man."
The song had come to an end now and they were making their way back to their table, arm in arm. "I hope this marriage means we can expect you at more family functions?" Evie asked hopefully. She knew Sherlock avoided them because he thought other things were simply more interesting, but family meant a great deal to Evie, and she wanted to see more of her both her sons.
Sherlock opened his mouth to answer, but before he could John cut him off. "I'll make sure of it," John assured Evie with a smile.
Evie smile back and said, "Thank you, John."
John nodded, then stood to collect his own mother, Anne, for their mother/son dance. Neither John nor his mother were as skilled at dancing as Sherlock and his family, so they had chosen an simple waltz. This, of course made it easier to talk. "What do you think of Sherlock and his family?" John asked as they moved across the dance floor.
Anne's face was pinched for a moment as she counted her steps. "They're alright," she spared a brief glance around the room, "There's so many of them though..."
John nodded. "And Sherlock himself can be a lot to take sometimes."
Anne nodded. "Yes," she glanced around the room. "It's lovely, but it's all a bit much..."
John bit his lip for a moment thinking of all the hell they'd put Harry through when she'd come out. They were his parents, and he would always love them, but at that moment he was more than a little annoyed about how long they were taking to change. John's eyes narrowed and he said, a bit shortly, "It's not going away mother." ...except it was, he and Sherlock that is. John wasn't quite sure what to think about that; he only knew that it pained him.
Anne glanced down for a moment. "I know that," she murmured. She waited a long moment before meeting his eyes again. "I am happy for you, John."
John thought again about Harry, what she'd been through, and what she might go through again when Sherlock and he parted... He wasn't in the mood to be gracious, even if he would regret it later. "The same way you were happy for Harry?" John had spoken quietly and evenly, still, Anne looked stricken. The song was fading now and John pulled his mother close to plant a kiss on her forehead. "I love you mum, that will never change," he whispered, "I'd just like you to be close to Harry again. I'd like us all to be close."
Anne's eyes swept through the crowd until they found her daughter and she nodded. John saw the hint of tears in his mother's eyes and he gave her hand a squeeze. Changing wasn't easy, he'd had many painful reminders of that himself, but sometimes, it was necessary. Not that he thought one dance and one conversation would make everything okay...but it was another step in the right direction.
When John sat beside Sherlock again, after returning his mother to her seat, Sherlock squeezed his hand briefly under the table. He probably either knew, or had deduced what had upset John. As much as relying solely on deductions could, and had, given them both the wrong impressions in the past, John was glad not to have to explain right now. It just figured he'd fall in love with the closeness the Holmes family shared. He would like that closeness for his own family, and that only came when the lines of communication were open.
Sherlock leaned close to John, resting his forehead on John's temple. "Dinner is next, then the bouquet and garter toss," Sherlock whispered, as if reminding John of the schedule. John saw right through his husband, he almost always did. Are you okay?
John nodded. "I remember, thanks." Yes, thank you.
Their entrees turned out to be a bit more exciting than John had expected. While excellent, he was not surprised at the filet mignon with green beans and mashed potatoes that adorned his plate; he'd helped Sherlock pick out the menu. What surprised him was the unexpected entertainment.
It started with a glass and a fork. Eli balanced an extra fork across his water glass. Then he reached for another glass, then a plate, another glass, a spoon... John realized, a bit belatedly, that Eli was building a tower. Sherlock soon joined his father, building an adjoining tower. John watched half fascinated, half concerned as the towers grew in size and both men deliberately placed cups and other table paraphernalia at angles that had to be off balance before resting more weight on top of them. They must have known what they were doing because, despite appearances, each structure seemed sound. It wasn't long before everyone's cutlery and, by then empty, plates were pulled into the mix. Greg and Harry were amused. John's parents, and Mycroft looked slightly put out.
Evie chuckled and leaned towards John. "They always do this," she murmured with an amused glint in her eyes. "I've stopped trying to fight the madness."
John chuckled and shook his head. "Have they ever broken anything."
Evie's eyes widened and she nodded her head enthusiastically. "Oh yes. Thank God, never each other, but there have been many causalities to our crockery. There's no stopping them, dear, just duck and shield your face if it looks like things will come tumbling down."
John pressed a hand over his mouth to try to stem his laughter. "Duly noted."
Still, John had to protest when Sherlock looked as though he was about to build a bridge between the two structure. "Sherlock!" He admonished, but he broke out into a grin when Sherlock turned and beamed at him. "I think that's enough, don't you?"
Sherlock's smiled shifted to a smirk and he murmured, "No."
John threw up his hands in surrender, laughing, as Sherlock returned to building.
Evie patted him on the shoulder. "Loving someone isn't always easy," she said glancing at her husband with a smile, "but I've found it to be more than worth it."
John looked over at Evie, suddenly curious, "How long have you and Eli been married?"
Evie thought for a moment before replying, "Fifty years next fall."
John's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "That long?"
"Well we weren't able to marry until I was 28," Evie explained, "We didn't have the money, but I'm counting from when we first became a couple because we were 'married' in every way that mattered shortly after."
John nodded feeling a slight tingle at the reminder of his own thoughts during his wedding, not three hours ago.
"We almost didn't make it to the altar," Evie continued. John turned to look at her, surprise written clearly over his features. Evie nodded, "Oh yes," another glance to her husband, "I know it doesn't look like that now, but we had an unbelievable row oh, three years before the wedding. Money was tight, we were just starting out, and Elijah was struggling with depression."
John made a sour face before he could stop himself. He'd been there for his sister throughout her addiction and he wondered if Evie had felt just as powerless as he had.
Evie seemed to understand his expression because she nodded and pressed on, "It's amazing how alone you can feel when people who claim to trust you all but come out an berate your choice of partner. We didn't have bill collectors calling us, but I was still afraid to answer my door and hear one more well-meant lecture."
This time, John grimaced. He was reminded of Harry again, and of himself while Sherlock was...away dealing with Moriarty's men. That was the kind of alone people never saw coming. You don't expect to be left in the cold by the one group of people that claims to 'always' be there for you...
Evie nodded and patted John's hand like she could hear his thoughts. Then again...she was a Holmes, maybe she could. "Once I had moved through the fear both of financial ruin and the worries of others, I was able to reach this quiet place in my mind and, for the first time in over a year, I was able to think about what I wanted without any distractions." Evie grinned ruefully. "It was so simple, I'm surprised I didn't see it before. All of your decisions in life really come down to what you can do, and what you can't do. It's really as simple as that."
John tilted his head in a silent urge for Evie to go on. "At that moment in my life I knew I wasn't about to have children with Eli, or marry him, but I also knew I couldn't leave him." Evie shrugged. "Maybe I would have eventually if things had kept on that way, I don't know. All I knew was I had a choice to make, that day, and every day after it, about where I wanted to be." She smiled then, looking at her husband, "and my answer was always 'with Eli'. The rest was just details."
John reached forward and gave Evie's hand a squeeze. "You have an amazing story, Evie."
Evie smiled and left a short kiss on the top of John's hand. "We all do, dear, in one way or another."
"No," Sherlock," John whispered, "the answer is no."
They were standing together at the edge of the dance floor, getting ready for the bouquet and garter toss. Regardless of the fact that neither had held a bouquet down the aisle, it was a tradition they had decided to keep. Only now, Sherlock was trying to corrupt it be ensuring that Mycroft and Greg ended up with the bouquet and garter, so that they would have to dance together.
"Come on, John," Sherlock was whining now. "Please, it will be fun."
John fought the urge to giggle.
"Manipulating your brother and one of our closest friends is wrong, Sherlock," John insisted.
Sherlock leaned into John, nudging him with his shoulder. "But it's fun too," he pleaded.
John looked at Greg, then at Mycroft. Then he thought about the last week, the last month, and all the various stresses this case had put him through and decided, 'What the hell?'
Sherlock must have seen John's moment of surrender, because he was already discussing tactics. "Mycroft will see this coming, he's going to try to circumvent us by not coming up for the bouquet toss. However, if I land the bouquet right in his lap, he won't be able to voice any protest."
John nodded, feeling a bit giddy. "I think Greg would stand up for the garter toss."
"Exactly," Sherlock exclaimed, resting a hand on John's shoulder, "You just have to shoot straight."
John rolled his eyes. "Like I haven't done that before."
And then Eli was announcing all single persons to gather at the edge of the dance floor for the bouquet and garter toss. Sherlock scooped up a bouquet of white roses and purple orchids before planting a short, sharp kiss on John's mouth. "Wish me luck," he murmured before striding onto the dance floor.
John just smiled, leaning back against the wall and he watched. Sherlock's eyes swept the room as he approached the dance floor and, sure enough, Mycroft was still sulking at their table. Still there was a thick swath of people the bouquet would need to bypass to make it to him. Sherlock stood in the center of the floor, back straight, and bouquet tight to his chest. John saw Sherlock turn his head slightly to wink at him before tossing the bouquet in a high arch that almost brushed the ceiling. John could see the audience tense and the crowd of potential bouquet catchers crouch as they got ready to jump. The bouquet sailed high, well over the fingertips of an enthusiastic young girl (a Holmes by the look of her) who did leap for it, and soundly onto Mycroft's lap.
John had to turn away so Mycroft wouldn't see his grin. The elder Holmes couldn't have looked more surprised or more angry if he'd tried. There. Let this be payback for one kidnapping too many.
Eli was energetically calling Mycroft up to the dance floor to await the individual who caught the garter. Mycroft did as he was told, looking all the while like he'd just sucked on a lemon.
Sherlock didn't bother to turn and look at his brother. John could see from the smirk on his lips, however, that he knew his bouquet had hit home.
John stepped forward as Sherlock settled himself into a chair, readying for the garter toss. A brief glance told him where Greg was, milling amongst the crowd looking slightly less than enthusiastic... A wash of guilt took him by surprise. This had to remind Greg of his own wedding. However things had ended, John knew Greg had wanted and tried to make it work.
John knelt before Sherlock, resting his hands on Sherlock's knees for a moment as he spoke to him. "I'm not sure we should be doing this," John whispered.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "It's a bit late to be backing out now."
Sherlock did have a point there. It would be over quickly and he wasn't entirely sure there was anyone else he would inflict Mycroft upon. At least he knew Greg could handle the elder Holmes brother. Glancing up at Sherlock again John asked, "So where's the garter?"
John was concerned when he saw Sherlock's smirk. "Where a garter is traditionally kept," Sherlock murmured in reply.
John glanced down at Sherlock's thigh, then back at Sherlock. "You're in trousers?!" John hissed, "I can't get my hand all the way up there!"
Sherlock's smirk only widened. "I'm sure you'll manage," he said confidently, straightening his right leg towards John, to give him more room to work with.
John sent Sherlock a pointed look before slipping his fingers under the hem of Sherlock's right trousers leg. It was easy going, more or less, until his fingers crested Sherlock's knee. Then his fingers began scrabbling for purchase against the skin of Sherlock's thigh. John squirmed and wriggled his hands inch by inch up Sherlock's thigh until he felt lace. With a triumphant smile he tugged the garter down and off Sherlock's foot. John hadn't seen it before but he wasn't surprised that Sherlock had chosen a small circle of black lace with the necessary elastic at its center.
John turned it over in his fingers for a moment before giving Sherlock another pointed look. Sherlock gazed right back, looking completely unphased.
John stood, tested the elastic between his hand for a moment, and, with one glance over his shoulder, he shot the garter almost directly around Greg's wrist. John had to smile as the detective inspector blinked at the black lace as if trying to make sense of it.
"You always were an ace shot," Sherlock murmured in John's ear, causing the older man to jump.
"Yeah, well, with you around I have to be," John replied, turning to face his new husband.
Sherlock simply held his arm out to John. "Shall we take our seats? I believe the real show is about to begin."
Mycroft stared resolutely at a spot on the floor as Gregory knelt before him with the garter. Damn Sherlock and his childish schemes! He could feel Greg's fingers brushing his calf and only his years of experience prevented any blush from showing. How his brother's garter was going any further up his leg than his calf, he had no idea.
Greg felt like he was in an odd spot as well. While John had never shared his thoughts with Greg, he had been right. This did remind Greg of his own wedding. It was hard to ignore voices of self-doubt and regret that teased at the edges of his mind, but he pushed them aside.
One glance told Greg that Mycroft wasn't having the best of times either. Greg softened a bit when he realised the elder Holmes was probably thinking, among other things, about his weight and how high the garter would be able to get up his leg. Not that he'd ever expect someone as proud as Mycroft to admit it.
Greg spread the garter over his fingertips and set to work. It didn't take long to realize he probably wouldn't be able to get the garter higher than Mycroft's knee. So instead, Greg stopped just below the knee, lightly placed the garter, then inched his fingertips as far up Mycroft's pant leg as they could comfortably go. Glancing up Greg saw Mycroft still looking miserable, and lost in thought. Did he really not know that, at this moment, Greg was more or less groping his thigh for show? Greg stilled his fingers then, and eased back until his hands rested lightly on Mycroft's ankle.
"You know," Gregory began, breaking Mycroft's train of thought, "I think even my ex wife looked happier than this at our wedding."
Mycroft's lips tightened in an unhappy line. "This is a plan of my brother's to embarrass me," he muttered.
"Then disappoint him," Gregory replied as if the solution were simple.
"I beg your pardon?" Mycroft asked, turning to face Gregory, his eyebrows raised.
Gregory stood and offered Mycroft his hand. "Enjoy it."
Mycroft glared dubiously at Gregory's hand for a moment, before reaching forward to take it. "I lead," he insisted quietly so that no one else could hear.
Greg just smiled. "Whatever you want."
The song was slow, soft, and easy to dance to. Mycroft resolutely did not look at his brother as the lyrics registered, knowing this song had been chosen to insinuate a relationship with the detective inspector in his arms.
There I was again tonight forcing laughter, faking smiles
Same old tired, lonely place
Walls of insincerity
Shifting eyes and vacancy vanished when I saw your face
All I can say is it was enchanting to meet you
Obviously his brother meant to insinuate that Mycroft found his life of espionage unfulfilling. ridiculous.
"Mycroft," Gregory said quietly, and the elder Holmes looked down at him as they danced.
Gregory broke out into a small smile. "That's better. You look a bit less like you're plotting to kill your brother."
Mycroft let out a small huff of air. "Who say's I'm not."
Gregory just continued to smile. "I know you." Mycroft felt Gregory give his hand a squeeze. "You love your brother."
Mycroft fought the urge to glower at Gregory. There was no point in that, after all, the Detective Inspector was quite correct. Gregory had been there for him and his brother when Sherlock's addiction was at its worst, he must have known more than most how Mycroft cared fro his brother…even if he was a giant pain in the arse…
Mycroft remembered Gregory sitting next to him, waiting for Sherlock to wake up after a particularly bad overdose. There was no one else he could think of who would have sat with him like that except his parents. Mycroft managed to shield both of their parents from Sherlock's addiction. Not that they didn't know, but he hoped they were not aware of how bad things had gotten before they got better.
Even now Mycroft noticed that Gregory wasn't pushing for answers or any further conversation. He had an ability to just be with someone without feeling pressured to speak or try to fix what was beyond his control to do anything about. It was...refreshing. If Gregory hadn't become such a romantic (the word rang with distain in Mycroft's head) after his divorce, he may have made a passable employee at one point...if he ever learned how to take orders that is.
The song slowly drew to a close and they came to a stop with no unsightly flourishes such as dips or kisses. Mycroft shifted his right foot back and forth as the last notes of the song hung in the air, his face the picture of concentration. Then his eyes widened very slightly and his gaze snapped to Gregory who had a barely contained smile on his face. "Are you just now noticing?" Gregory asked, and Mycroft's face looked a bit pinched.
The garter was just below his knee. But Gregory's fingers had been...why? To save Mycroft a bit of face? There was hardly a situation Sherlock could throw at him that he couldn't handle on his own. Mycroft didn't quite know what to say, so he simply nodded and said, "Gregory," before turning and walking at a measured pace towards the bathroom, fooling no one about his intent to take off the bloody garter as soon as humanly possible.
Greg returned to the grooms table, shaking his head lightly in amusement, while Sherlock and John had a small giggle fit.
Sherlock glanced around the room over the rim of glass. There'd been some dancing and mingling while they waited for the time John and he would 'cut the cake' so to speak. Sherlock did not enjoy mingling, but he was happy to let John do so while he scanned the room, deducing their guests. His family, when he did attend family gatherings, seemed content to let him do this, so that was one thing in their favour.
Sherlock's gaze swept over the ornate French doors leading out onto the veranda. They weren't open, but if Harry's body language was anything to go by, they were about to be. She looked tired and was sweating. Not from withdrawal, she had actually been clean for some time. This looked more like general fatigue. She'd had to pick up double shifts at her job to make time for her brother's wedding and, like Sherlock she preferred her own company to that of strangers. Generally not a bad thing, unless you're an addict staring a possible relapse in the face. Sherlock had begrudgingly learned that, for his own safety, it was sometimes a good thing to stay in supportive company. In Sherlock's case this had largely been corpses mulled over at the beginning of a case, but still.
Gently setting his glass down, Sherlock made his way over to her. She had just placed her hand on the doorknob when he spoke, "You and I both know that is not a good idea."
She turned and glared at him, angry at having been caught, and Sherlock couldn't blame her. He'd been less than accommodating for Mycroft and Lestrade. Then again, he wasn't particularly good at consoling people either. He tried to avoid all this 'caring' business as much as he could; it was messy.
Sherlock extended his hand slightly to her and said, "Dance with me."
It hadn't been a question and, with a moment of hesitation, she placed her hand in his. The dance floor was a bit crowded and, knowing their mutual dislike of crowds, he held her close. "When do you meet her?" he asked.
She bit her lip but didn't deny that she had planned a meeting with Clara, her ex. "Next weekend," she whispered, looking at the floor. "I shouldn't...Clara, I put her through so much...I've done nothing but hurt her for years..."
"You probably, shouldn't," Sherlock agreed, causing Harry to look up at him, "but you will anyway." And didn't that feel familiar? Especially lately.
Harry bit her lip, studying him, and he saw the question in her eyes. When does it get better? 'It' meaning the addiction, the cravings, and making it up to the people that you love. Sherlock hadn't bothered with the last part, but he knew his answer anyway. "It doesn't. You'll be faced with choices every day for the rest of your life, and you will have to make them."
Harry's lips pinched into an unhappy line and she nodded. It made sense. "Like your marriage?" She asked after a long silence. "It was all over your vows, making the choice to be together, or not, each day."
Sherlock glanced at John to hide the very slight tension that might be showing the slightest bit before he answered. "Yes."
They danced the rest of the song in silence and, as Harry was about to move away Sherlock stopped her by tightening his grip on her hand. "Have you been properly introduced to my mother? I think John and I might have overlooked that in our planning. We didn't have an engagment dinner."
Harry flushed a bit and stammered, "N-no but I've been at the table with everyone all this time. I mean, we have spoken-"
But Sherlock was already tugging her along and Harry, not able to think of anything else to say, was silent.
"Mummy," Sherlock began by laying a hand gently on his mother's shoulder.
Evie turned to face him. "Yes Sherlock?"
Sherlock swept his arm around Harry's waist, pulling her closer to his mother. "I don't believe I've properly introduced you to Harry, John's sister, Harriet."
"Oh, Sherlock, I've met her, we've been sitting at the same table all evening." Evie turned to look at Harry, "But I don't think I've had the chance to properly talk with you dear, it is a large table." Evie patted the currently empty seat beside her. "Have a seat."
Harry did so slightly reluctantly, looking confused.
"Don't be shy, we're family now," Evie encouraged, and Sherlock had to fight not to roll his eyes. His mother was big on making families not only from blood relations, but from people one cared about. She did all the 'caring' Mycroft and he often couldn't bring themselves to. "We have other eligible Holmes relatives, if you're looking."
Harry flushed and bit her lip. "I'm not really interested in Mycroft," she mumbled.
Evie chuckled. "No, not Mycroft, he's all wrong for you. But what about her?" Evie pointed to a tall, thin women with long black hair and light grey eyes. "Her name is Catherine, one of Sherlock's first cousins."
Harry smiled and shook her head. "She's cute but I'm trying to reconcile with my ex." Then Harry paused as if she'd just realised a woman had been pointed out to her instead of a man, maybe for the first time in her life.
Evie nodded, unaffected. "Oh, right, Clara was it? John mentioned her when he was talking about you."
Harry flushed both at being mentioned by her brother and being remembered by someone she barely knew.
Evie leaned forward a bit. "Do you mind telling me what she's like?"
Harry looked up, surprised. "Clara?"
Evie nodded. "You don't have to if you don't want to."
"That's okay," Harry said, brushing some hair back from her face. "She's lovely."
Sherlock backed away from the table as Harry began speaking with his mum. He'd barely made it five yards before he was accosted by John in a fierce hug. "I don't think anyone has done something like that for Harry in a long time," John whispered as Sherlock wound his arms around the good doctor, returning the hug. "I love you," John breathed, almost before he could stop himself, and immediately turned bright red. "I mean, thank you and-"
Sherlock cut John off by pressing his fingers lightly to John's lips. "I understand," Sherlock murmured. And he did. John had honestly meant it when he said he'd loved him, in every way but the one way Sherlock wanted most...
John seemed to calm slightly, and, brushing Sherlock's fingers away, he leaned up to press a passionate kiss to Sherlock's lips.
Soft music played in the background as the last party guests made their way back to their rooms and, as much as he had enjoyed his wedding reception, John was glad to see them go, because he was also exhausted. It had been a long day on top of almost no sleep the night before.
John smiled to himself as he remembered 'cutting the cake' with Sherlock. They'd selected a single blackberry and raspberry tart, cutting off bite sized portions for each other. As they turned to feed each other, there was no impromptu food fight, and neither tried to smash the tart into the other's face. One might call it uneventful except for the spark John felt when Sherlock's lips brushed his fingers. John ran his tongue over one of Sherlock's elegant fingertips as his hand retreated from John's mouth, prompting the younger man to pull John forward for a kiss. It was a chaste kiss considering they had blackberry and raspberry tarts in their mouths, but their audience applauded enthusiastically all the same.
Long arms slipped over his shoulder and along his chest. John smiled and leaned back into Sherlock, closing his eyes. "I was wondering where you'd got to," John murmured, turning his head to press his face into Sherlock's chest.
"Just saying goodbye to a few guests with Mummy," Sherlock replied, his breath ghosting over John's ear. "Don't nod off just yet," Sherlock continued in his deep, rumbling baritone, "I have plans for you later."
John's eyes snapped open and he cheeks flushed red. "Plans?" He whispered.
"It is our wedding night, John," Sherlock murmured, and John nodded in understanding. Right. They'd have to put on a good show.
John tipped his head back to receive a quick kiss from his husband. "Alright," he said as they parted. "Just let me help Evie put the wedding gifts away."
"John, that's what Mycroft's staff is for," Sherlock insisted, inching his fingers too close to the buttons of John's shirt for John's liking. It was probably only a bluff, but just in case, John caught Sherlock's hand in his and pressed a kiss to the younger man's fingertips.
"Yes," John pressed on, "and they'll be cleaning up this entire room tomorrow. The least I can do is move the presents out of the way." When Sherlock pouted John continued, "It's how I was raised Sherlock, I clean up after myself."
"If you insist," Sherlock huffed, surrendering.
"I do," John replied, standing and pressing a quick kiss to Sherlock's cheek before joining Evie by a table heavily laden with wedding presents. To his surprise, Sherlock followed. "Are you actually going to help?" John asked, glancing over his shoulder.
Sherlock nodded, "If by help you mean carry things up to our sitting room and deducing their contents at the same time, then yes."
John smiled and shook his head. "You'll never change."
"Nonsense, dear," Evie broke in, "Everyone changes." She gestured to her son's left hand. "The very fact that he's got a wedding ring on his finger is proof of that."
John glanced down at Sherlock's hand and nodded. "I suppose so." Although he doubted it was their wedding, because it was fake, but more the deep friendship they had forged which helped change Sherlock for the better. John would rather have Sherlock trust people, even if 'people' was only John, than not.
"Don't forget," Evie spoke again, "Mycroft will be shipping the presents to 221B after you leave for your honeymoon tomorrow, so it will be a bit crowded in your flat when you get back."
John nodded. "I'll keep Sherlock from tripping and hurting himself," he assured Evie.
Sherlock huffed an irritated breath, "I am not in the habit of tripping and falling."
John smiled over at his husband. "No but you are in the habit of deleting what most people might consider useful or interesting information, hence I could completely see you forgetting the presents will even be there."
"I suppose remembering that would be tedious," Sherlock replied causing both John and Evie to chuckle.
They set to work, stacking and arranging the presents, while Sherlock deduced them without so much as unwrapping them. "A crock pot? What are we supposed to do with that?"
"Some people do eat Sherlock," John said absentmindedly.
Sherlock gave a small snort in reply, and moved on to the next present. "A quilt? Dull."
"Sherlock!" John admonished, "It is completely practical. You know how cold the flat can get. Or maybe you don't because it's too 'dull' to remember things like that."
"Precisely, John," Sherlock said, causing John to groan slightly in frustration. Evie just smiled to herself and continued stacking presents.
Sherlock, meanwhile continued to deduce. "Oh, a new microscope! Now that will come in handy."
"Sherlock, could you deduce in your head or something?" John asked. "Some of us rather enjoy the element of surprise."
Sherlock let out a long suffering sigh, and fell silent.
Together they made short work of the gift table. They were down to the last pile of gift boxes when John he noticed a large bunch of black roses resting in a crystal vase, half hidden behind the last group of presents. The arrangement was so large John was surprised he hadn't seen it before. Then again, the black of the roses did fade into the shadows somewhat. A quick scan revealed a distinct lack of a card, which was odd. How were they going to send thanks if they didn't know who this was from?
"Hey Sherlock," John called ushering his husband over to the end of the table. "Here's something for you to deduce. Can you tell who left these for us? A bit gothic, but they're lovely roses." There was a brief pause, and the silent stillness that followed had ice running through John's veins. Carefully, quietly, John asked, "What does black mean again?"
Sherlock stepped towards him and wrapped an arm around John's waist, tugging him close. Sherlock tore his too-calm gaze away from the roses to look into John's eyes and murmur, "Death."