A/N: I hope you read.
Her mother had been a nightmare really, her voice practically a shriek in the distance the minute her dad had given her the news, as softly as he could, which was blurting it out the minute she arrived. They both knew that she wouldn't bear it very well if it were sugar coated, the woman hated having people on their toes around her, despite the fact that people naturally felt inclined to do so. It had definitively not made things easier when Sherlock didn't exactly appear out of his bedroom, to fully explain his duties as Molly's man of honour; a fact that everyone was aware of, something her mother pointed out repeatedly to her sheer horror.
It would have definitively been easier to do it over the phone, as her mother didn't exactly deserve being kept in the dark, but she knew it wouldn't actually have been easier. Her mother was clever enough to have asked more questions as to why he was her maid of honour, of all people, and women she knew, "You certainly know better suited people for that job," her mother muttered disapprovingly, "Even I would have been a better choice, and one that people could actually understand."
"Wouldn't you say he did a good job, though?" said Mary only to receive a glower in return, causing her to shrink behind Molly.
"If he appeared, then, yes, I'd congratulate him, but considering he's locked up in his bedroom of all places – I'd rather not – if he's supposed to be the host – why on earth isn't he out greeting people?"
Molly wondered the same as a matter of fact; she couldn't quite understand why he didn't resurface, as they hadn't exactly argued either. It was a first in a very long time, she supposed, which pleased her to a certain extent, though she knew he'd find new ways of aggravating her. He'd been acting so strangely though, his expression had been an odd one at that, one that she couldn't quite understand.
His face kept popping up in her head, only causing her more headache than she already had half-awake tucked under her duvet, while Michael's arm was lazily wrapped around her, "Morning," he whispered into her ear, and she could practically hear his smile, as he gave her a kiss on the neck - his favourite spot on her.
She groaned slightly, dreading to wake up, and face the storm of whatever was coming, for she surely felt a sense of foreboding. An ill feeling in the very core of her that she couldn't exactly shake off and it was probably one of the many lies that were digging themselves through her. Her she was with Michael, properly, for the first of what seemed like weeks, and she only felt guilty.
It was ridiculous.
"Too much wine, then?" he said good-naturedly, holding her closer to him, as she soon turned to face him.
He looked handsome there he was, while she probably looked like the wreck she felt, her head heavy on her shoulders, "Probably," she muttered, her mind reeling over the fact that John had been subjected to Michael's convenient assumption that he and Sherlock were a couple, as Michael suggested John lure him out of his bedroom ("Odd of a couple to have separate bedrooms though."). She had at least told him the truth when he noticed she'd wandered off for a minute – that she'd been properly overwhelmed by all Sherlock had done – which lead the pair of them having a private conversation. A thing that Michael wasn't at all jealous of, though he wished at the time that he too could have thanked him properly, and not just publically.
"Michael – we need to talk," she said, when she noticed he was about to say something, and she'd lose her nerve if he did.
"He's not gay, then?" said Michael with a loop-sided grin, causing her to widen her eyes at him, "Not very difficult to figure out really, especially considering the amount of "no's" John uttered, and the fact that he spent most of the night practically attached to Mary, though you could have told me earlier. It's alright to have straight male friends, I know I've got a bunch of female ones – even if they're not exactly my best man - woman."
Michael hovered over her mouth with a knowing look on his face, as she grinned up at him, until she started to frown, "That's not what I actually wanted to talk about."
John lowered the newspaper a bit, before swiftly throwing it aside, as he glared at the sight of the flat, which was a mess. It wasn't exactly the best staff, as he'd tried to advice them to tidy up the chaos, but they said it wasn't a part of their contract. He doubted that, but he'd tried several times to coax Sherlock out of his bedroom to argue with them – not that he did in fact.
The man hadn't been out of his room since last night, and to be honest John was worried. He was used to Sherlock throwing tantrums really, but he wanted to know why he was hiding.
Mary and him quickly noticed that both Sherlock and Molly were in fact missing; and it wasn't exactly hard to figure out where they could be talking undisturbed.
Molly seemed fine when she reappeared, a bit dazed, but that was quickly forgotten the minute Michael appeared by her side. It made him consciously aware of the fact that Sherlock was in fact evaluating Michael, except he seemed to hate the man for no proper reason.
Michael wasn't a prick - no criminal-master-mind – not really an idiot either - to be honest - John couldn't find one thing wrong with him, except the fact that he was very trusting, which considering Sherlock wasn't the best thing to be. But, of course maybe it was all true; maybe Sherlock was just looking out for Molly, meaning that she wasn't in fact as happy as she gave the impression of being. The fact that he couldn't spot it himself didn't exactly mean it wasn't true. However when had Sherlock ever been an expert regarding feelings?
The man had never caught on the fact that Molly had fancied him, or well he probably did, but he had terrible ways of confronting her feelings for him. Now he wondered if the opposite was true - if this time around, maybe Sherlock was the one with the feelings, and Molly – not? That Sherlock was wrong, because he was hoping to find fault in her, just so he'd have an excuse to end the engagement?
John tried getting him out the night before to talk, which was knocking persistently on his door half-shouting about the fact that they were supposedly a couple. Honestly he'd had a wine too many, so it had probably not the best way to attack the situation. The second time he turned up he tried to be a bit gentler, still receiving silence, until he on the third time when everyone had left - only heard, "Goodnight John," and he'd walked away after that.
All of this would be fine, if it hadn't been the afternoon, and Sherlock wasn't still locked inside his bedroom like a sullen teenager.
John eyed the newspaper on the floor, before he finally took to stand outside Sherlock's bedroom door once more, "Are you still in there sulking?" he said crossing his arms.
Silence followed – John groaned – "Fine – hide - since that's obviously going to do you loads of good!" He'd started to walk away the very minute the door was slammed open, and Sherlock strode out with a scowl on his face, as he spat, "No!" obviously sulking.
John gaped at him in amazement, "Right, fine - then eat – do something instead of keeping yourself up in your bedroom like some bloody teenager. I don't exactly think Molly would be impressed."
"Why on earth would I want to impress her?" said Sherlock scathingly, his back to him, as his hands were on his hips, soon turning quickly around to face him.
John could see from his face that he hadn't been sleeping properly; there were dark marks under his eyes; eyes that lacked the usual clearness that they owned, and the man was still in his robe. This entire display resembled those periods when they had no cases, and Sherlock was the very essence of bloody annoying.
"Like you weren't last night?" said John rolling his eyes.
"Why would I be interested in impressing her? I am not interested in some namby-pamby relationship with some silly pathologist who after all is engaged to a man so oblivious it makes Anderson look bright! Why would I of all people be interested in a relationship? There is no reason I would be, as I don't exactly see the point of those – cluttering up anyone's head – disillusioning them into believing that there exists something as incomprehensible as the one – soul mates – and all that nonsense!" snapped Sherlock in one breath, as he'd taken a step towards him, his eyes blazing in anger, "Don't you know me at all? How could you ever find it conceivable that I of all people would fall in love with someone, especially - her?"
John opened his mouth to interrupt, only to have Sherlock override him, continuing to speak in one breath, his hand shakily on his face, as his eyes were clenched shut, "I can understand that it happens to ordinary men, of course - men with very little understanding, who lack my mental capacity, to see that there are far more interesting things, than arranging flowers for a party, or choosing the font for an invitation – who aren't driven by their endless need of company, to get off – I don't need company!"
John shut his mouth, raising a brow at that, "I can cope quite satisfactorily on my own, without anyone's help or presence. I have managed quite nicely without any of those for years. Why would I need her? Why would I even want her? I don't want her – don't need her, and I especially don't see the point of this derogative drivel of having people be a nuisance in my flat yakking loudly over a purple cake!"
Sherlock looked very serious now, his eyes open again, "I was bored," he bit out, "I am always bored – this was only supposed to be a game – a distraction from everything else – but of course…"
His face; an angry grimace, turned into a rather lost expression, a furrow in his brows, as his blue eyes stared out into the distance, "I had to become one of those simpering fools after all – sentiment – it had to happen, and so very convenient at a time like this. I have gone throughout life, without any of these issues at hand, without having found myself in fits of passion (John sincerely doubted that) over something so insipid as this, but no – instead my mind is filled with relentless thoughts of her, I thought it was due to the situation at hand – but no –always – clinging to every fabric of my mind – my wife - fine, John, fine - you win," and with that Sherlock stormed off to the bathroom.
John sighed loudly, shaking his head, before he went to make himself a coffee.
Sherlock finally emerged in fresh clothes, looking a bit more well-rested hours later, not answering any of the questions John put to him, since he honestly wondered what he was going to do about the fact that Molly was in fact engaged – to be married - even if she was married to him.
There was that, and the fact that Sherlock could hardly expect it would end just because he confessed his feelings. Molly wouldn't exactly open her arms to a man who'd been – well – John put it as nicely as he could – an arse to her repeatedly over the years.
This fact Sherlock didn't answer, or disagree with for that matter, which left John at least with the belief that he was thinking it through.
Sherlock sat plucking at his violin, his eyes surveying the room quietly, not listening to a word he was saying. He was probably at his mind-palace at this point, oblivious as he was to every comment, "Her dress," Sherlock suddenly said, causing John to look up from his laptop.
"Sorry?" he said confused.
"She wore it to my funeral," said Sherlock with a smirk, "Obviously-," but the sentence stopped there, for the doorbell suddenly went off, "Are you expecting somebody?" he said turning to John who shook his head.
Mrs Hudson was quick on her feet downstairs, answering the doorbell, as Sherlock put his violin aside for a minute – his eyes narrowing.
The unexpected visitor was chatting with Mrs Hudson whose voice stopped, until they both heard the visitor run up the steps to their flat.
John immediately shut his laptop setting it aside, as he caught the eyes to Sherlock who'd taken to steepling his hands looking thoughtful.
The person who appeared in the doorway was the last person John had ever expected to show up really - Michael.
"Oh – hello," said John taking to look nervously at Sherlock who was smiling at Michael – a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Good evening, Michael – to what do we owe the pleasure? Was there anything amiss last night then? I sincerely hope not," said Sherlock in that all too familiar voice, that John heard him often give to his brother Mycroft – it was dripping of condescension.
Michael's face however was etched in disbelief, a tint of red in his cheeks, as he was clearly glaring at Sherlock, while one of his hands was clenched around some rolled up-papers.
John stared at the papers – it couldn't be?
"Molly told me," said Michael with a strained voice, "She told me about everything – and I offered to get your signature - thought it would be appropriate husband to fiancé. After all I'm here for your approval, aren't I?"
Sherlock blinked, while John's eyes were fixated on Michael who promptly flung the papers at Sherlock who caught them, "You blackmailed my girlfriend out of - boredom? I really hope not, honestly, considering how much she's helped you – how much she's been your friend – you wouldn't give her this - because you thought it would be funny. She apologized for you, of course, but I think I'd rather hear it myself, to be honest," said Michael with a stern face stepping inside the living room, completely ignoring John, who's eyes worriedly flickered from the man – to his mute friend who'd been all words earlier on.
Sherlock's jaw clenched, his face unreadable, "I'm sorry," he said unfurling the papers in his hands, as he quietly gestured to John who blinked stupidly for a second, before handing him a pen without argument.
"I didn't want to tell her that she could have gotten it annulled – didn't want her to think even worse of you really," said Michael with a much softer tone breathing out deeply, as Sherlock signed the paper, handing it silently to Michael who took it in his hands.
"I don't think it's such a big surprise that we don't actually want you there, Mr Holmes – please – don't bother us anymore - right – bye John," he said with a brief nod to John who gave him a half-hearted smile in return, with that Michael walked off leaving them to themselves.
The silence that followed was overwhelming, only broken when Sherlock slowly brought up his violin with a stony-faced expression, as John admitted rather gently, "You deserved that."
"I know," said Sherlock.