John still needed a beer, and several of them, when he met with Greg Lestrade for drinks the following evening as they did on occasion. It never really heralded good news. Problems with involvement from higher up, some questionable morality and issues of good conscious-there was quite an assortment of reasons really why they might need to talk over a pint as Sherlock's PA and Detective Inspector. Still, John liked him. He respected him. It was difficult to preface any meeting as simply one between two men of a mutual acquaintance without bringing in their respective titles but John still considered him a friend and valued his input on most things dealing with Sherlock. Greg had heard and seen just about everything the strange man could put out there. John was rather sure he might still surprise him yet with this one, though.

"I'm going to tell you something and you are going to keep it a secret."

Lestrade nodded as he pulled up closer to the table, elbows up and glass in hand with his shirt collar crooked under the neck of his jacket. He looked tired but intrigued, neither of which were a surprise on a Thursday. "Alright. Fair enough," he said. He took a sip in preparation, cool foam settling on his evening stubble.

John let out a shallow breath, lips licked and jaw set in expectation for either laughter or general jest. He was well aware it sounded ridiculous but still held hope that Lestrade's profession would earn him empathy over ridicule. "Sherlock and I are married," he said.

What he got was indeed understanding but far from the response he wanted and much closer to the one he was worried about. "Congratulations," Lestrade stated with a tip of his pint. "Rather thought I'd be invited to the wedding, though."

"What?" John scowled, his eyes squinting into puffy slits as he shook his head in dismay. "No, I mean Sherlock went and committed several felonies and has in doing so made us legally married without my having known about it."

Lestrade's frown pinched only slightly with concern. "You sure about that?"

"He confessed to the crime and spent the following half hour trying to convince me of why I should be happy he took matters into his own hands."

"If he's looking for your approval then yeah, he's done it." Lestrade took another deep drink, his silver hair testament to many years of both being surprised and in fact not being surprised at all at the kinds of things Sherlock could be held responsible for.

There was laughter from the corner, the bubbly sound of a woman's giggle with the underlying base of a man's. Most of the other men and women around them showed signs of a hard day's work in their somber, almost mournful behavior but on occasion a bit of mirth pulled up through the monotony. The Pig and Whistle was probably John's favorite evening haunt when meeting old friends or sitting down with new ones. Quiet, working class, great chips, and they favored the rugby. He couldn't ask for much more and being close to walking distance if the night was nice enough made for an extended reprieve if he needed to get some air. Their stout on tap was rather good as well.

"Wouldn't take much to pull up public records and get a look at the certificate yourself. What do you need me for?" Lestrade asked, his bitter more than half gone already.

John sighed, fingers tapping in irritation on his glass. "I need a second opinion," he all but whispered, embarrassed by his own admission.

"On what? You being married to Sherlock?"

"He makes a good case," he admitted with no pride lost. "I am pissed as hell about it but it's... Obviously he's biased but he's also a genius and all this is based on very logical conclusions whereas all I can think of is Jesus Christ, I'm married to a bloke."

Lestrade nodded sagely, lips thin in thought. "You two have a lot of issues getting by without a marriage?"

"Honestly?" John shrugged, eyes downcast on the nicked surface of the table. "Maybe a bit. Mycroft pulls a string here and there but Sherlock's main concern seems to be having to rely on Mycroft at all. If Mycroft's indisposed, I'm stuck in a waiting room or denied access to his bank accounts where all our business checks are deposited. I mean, Sherlock's livelihood is my livelihood and something happening to him would be... I'd be stuck. And completely reliant on Mycroft to get my share of our shared assets. Our business isn't exactly normal and a lot of the business agreements between Sherlock and myself never make it to paper. Being married is one document that takes the place of a stack of other forms and is the only way we retain legal equality rather than having one of us recognized as dependent on the other."

"But it also means you're married."

"See, that's exactly what I keep coming back to!" John pressed his finger into the table as he jabbed at it in punctuation. It was very nice to have another voice of reason to be added to the dialogue that had passed before it. "He doesn't think it's that big a deal. It's just paperwork," he said, stronger with Greg's validation in the knowledge that it wasn't just him being stubborn on semantics.

Lestrade sat back, nodding still with a rosiness to his cheeks. "Is that the sort of thing you have to disclose when you're chatting a girl up? 'Hello, Miss. Want to come back to my place? Don't worry, my husband doesn't mind'?"

"Jesus, I don't know." John pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed as he all too easily imagined exactly what that would be like. Sherlock was a third wheel even limited to being his friend. As his husband? John foresaw a lengthy dry-spell indeed.

Greg took pity and bought the next round, setting two heady pints on the table while John did his best not to imagine the near fatal blow this was going to deal to his love life.

"Would you get a ring for yourself like Sherlock's?" the detective inspector asked, far from ready to leave the uncertain topic.

John shook his head, his glass cool against his lip as he knocked back another drink. "It's not a wedding ring," he corrected.

"No? What's it, then?"

He shrugged. "I have no idea. I kind of got distracted by the whole marriage thing. He swears its not a wedding ring, though."

"Yeah, pull the other one." Lestrade rolled his eyes as he leaned his elbow against the table, eyes scanning the tellies hung in the corner. "Happens to be married and just happens to wear a ring on his left hand? He's insulting both our intelligence with that one. Wonder what he'd think if you started wearing a ring."

John chuckled lightly, always fond of Lestrade's snarky tone when things concerned Sherlock's ignorance or oversight. He'd more than earned the right to call Sherlock out on his behavior considering how often he took the other man's abuse.

Lestrade put his glass back on the table with a heavy thunk. "Well, what's done is done. You can get yourself an annulment whenever you like but it's not going to change what Sherlock did. May as well leave it and deal with it when it becomes a problem. Honestly, it's kinda sweet. For the first time since ever, Sherlock's actually given some thought into why it matters what happens to him. Cause it affects you. Sort of... misguided but romantic when you think about it."

"Just to be clear, you just put Sherlock and romance in the same context as forced marriage," John clarified, not nearly enough alcohol in his system to not still find most of the facts more than a little unnerving.

Lestrade seemed to sober a bit himself with that, his face growing stoic as he nodded slowly and pulled up closer to the table. "Alright. Yeah, okay. Do you need me to do something about this? It's Sherlock so I guess we all get used to these sorts of things but you're right, it's not on. He shouldn't have done it. So if there's a problem... I don't know how far you'd get him on felony charges with Big Brother hanging around but you're in your right."

John shook his head, hands out and fingers splayed in defense. "No, no, no, I didn't mean-No. It's fine. I mean, it's not fine, but it's-It's nothing I need other people involved in other than maybe for a bit of moral support. Just.. keeping it in perspective is all."

"Alright, got ya. Creepy and intrusive; not romantic."

John nodded. "Thank you," he said, as he tipped his glass back and downed it all in one last, giant gulp.