A/N: Let me start out by saying that I am so sorry, everyone.
This chapter isn't the best, but real life has been kicking my arse in time consumption.
I hope someone enjoys it, regardless.
Hopefully I'll have an update much sooner next time!
The next couple of months were different. At times, the days would fly by and time would just disappear. At others, like today, Sherlock couldn't wait for the day to end. Thankfully, Mycroft had mostly left Sherlock out of the wedding process, relying on John to make the majority of the decisions. However, John valued Sherlock's opinion on trivial matters far too much, and it was beginning to drive the consulting detective mad. Sherlock had thus far been asked his opinions on things like location (as if he cared), the colors of the decorations (bor-ring), and even how many guests were to be invited (as if he had many friends to invite, anyway).
Now John had dragged him along to taste cakes and pick out official wedding invitations. They had already sent out "save the dates" which were ridiculous, of course, and now they were going to be sending out another reminder of what day they were to married. In Sherlock's opinion, if they hadn't wanted to write down the date the first time, the guests weren't going to want to write it down the second time they were notified.
The detective had been trying not to complain too much, to appease John, but they were about to taste the fifteenth flavor of wedding cake and he had had enough.
"Sherlock, what do you think of this one? It's a red velvet cake, quite delicious and -"
"John, I'm not going to taste any more cakes."
"But Sherlock - "
"No. If you wanted someone to taste fifty different kinds of cake, you should have brought Mycroft."
"Sherlock, I'm not marrying Mycroft."
"I'm aware."
Staring up at his fiance defiantly, John scowled as Sherlock blankly stared back down at him. The baker looked between the two, getting annoyed, and cleared her throat loudly. Both men glared at her from across the counter top before John sighed, giving in and thus giving up.
"Yes, fine, we'll take the extreme chocolate that had the sauce inside of it, with navy blue, cream, and yellow fondant."
Grinning brightly despite Sherlock's obvious contempt, the baker wrote down the order and had both men sign it.
"You'll love it, dears. And congratulations. I even custom ordered two groomsmen cake toppers that look like the two of you. The other Mr. Holmes provided your pictures in advance."
It was really too much for Sherlock to handle, so instead of getting angry at the baker, he promptly turned on his heel and stormed out of the shop. He was in the process of hailing a cab when John finally emerged from the bakery, red-faced and pissed off.
"Really, Sherlock, she's just doing her job and trying to do it well."
The detective looked down at the doctor and snorted.
"Customized cake toppers, John?"
Sherlock shook his head, stepping out into the street as a cab stopped before them. Climbing in, John gave the driver the address of the stationary shop they were to visit, with a heavy glare from his fiance.
"Get over it, Sherlock, really."
"It's ridiculous."
"And you're being a twat about it!" The doctor shot back, crossing his arms over his chest and staring out of the window.
"Pouting won't change anything, John."
"Bugger off. I'm not pouting."
"You are pouting, John, and it's not very becoming."
Whipping his head around to glare at Sherlock, John pursed his lips before going back to staring out the window angrily.
A few moments later found them getting out of the cab at the stationary shop, still not speaking to one another. The two men entered the shop and John only took ten minutes to pick out a heavy ivory-colored paper, an elegant black font, and a mixture of black and silver filigree design to decorate the rest of the invitation. Sherlock didn't speak and John never bothered asking for his opinion. Secretly satisfied, the detective led the way outside and into another cab to head over to Mycroft's estate to have the first fitting done on both of their tuxedos.
This was their last wedding activity for a while, and quite frankly, Sherlock was tremendously pleased with the thought. He wanted to marry the man he loved, not put on a spectacle for the world to see. Unfortunately, Mycroft always made events like this far too extravagant, and he was confident that the actual wedding would be a nightmare of too many flowers, family members, and pleasantries.
When they finally arrived at Mycroft's estate, John had once again stormed out and in ahead of the detective, and Sherlock was none-too-kindly allowing him to pout in silence. They entered Mycroft's office, sitting in the two available chairs in front of the desk, in total silence. Mycroft entered the room, took one look between them, and let out a tutting laugh.
"Ah, I see we've had a little domestic over the wedding plans, hmm?"