AN: Okay – this chapter and the one after are going to be different. There will be texting intermingled – but for the most part it will be written like a normal fic. I wanted to actually focus on the wedding and give details on it and I couldn't manage that in the text format. Thanks to those who reviewed and left recommendations – you will find them in here. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes. That honour belongs to John Watson.
*STAG PARTY*
9:45
You should have come with us!
JW
9:50
You know I don't enjoy noise, crowds and idiotic behavior. Pubs are prolific in all three.
SH
9:59
Your no fun.
JW
10:02
Don't you mean "You're"?
SH
10:05
Stuff it
JW.
10:06
You're intoxicated aren't you?
SH
10:11
Nop. Well maybe a tadd.
JW
10:12
Tad only has one D. And I'm assuming you meant 'Nope'? Obviously incorrect.
SH
10:14
Smartarse.
JW
10:15
You've mentioned that before.
SH
10:18
Ive just noticed that its true in boht meanings of the wrod. You act like a smart-arse and you've got a smatr lloking arse.
JW
10:18
Was that supposed to be a compliment? Because it lost its charm amidst the third spelling error.
SH
10:23
Whats smoeothing I've ever done?
JW
10:24
What?
SH
10:26
Whats somthing I hve never done?
JW
10:27
I don't understand.
SH
10:29
Its my trun and I catn think of anyting.
JW
10:30
Your turn in what? I don't understand.
SH
10:32
Course yuo dont. You nevr understnad the most improtant things.
JW
10:33
Insults on the other hand lose their effectiveness after the first spelling error.
SH
10:35
Its nto an inslut. Jus fact
JW
10:36
Inslut? I'm keeping these texts to show you in the morning.
SH
10:37
Ooh thats a good oen! Ive nevr hired a hoker.
JW
10:38
Admirable I'm sure - though entirely irrelevant.
SH
10:40
Its for hte game!
JW
10:41
I still don't understand. And honestly I don't think I want to. Stop texting me please.
SH
10:45
Btu I want too txet you! Makse it feeel like your here. And I wnat you here.
JW
10:46
Well if you're so desperate for my company you can come home.
SH
10:55
Did yuo sned acab?
JW
10:56
No. Why?
SH
11:01
John?
SH
Eight minutes later and he still hasn't answered. Sherlock is beginning to wonder if he ought to worry. The last time one of them got into a cab drunk it didn't turn out well.
But perhaps he simply passed out drunk at the bar and Lestrade called him a cab home? It's certainly the most logical explanation, yet it doesn't quite calm the gnawing worry settling in his chest.
11:10
Your borthers a git.
JW
The worry evaporated instantly and he felt a moment's relief which resulted in a slight smile before it was replaced with irritation.
11:13
Hmoe!
JW
A sharp rap at the door follows the text by mere seconds and hardly a minute later Mrs. Hudson is opening the door to their flat, ushering in a giggling John and a stern looking Mycroft. Sherlock doesn't attempt to hide his disdain at Mycroft presence and glares openly whilst John continues giggling in the background.
Mercifully Mrs. Hudson takes charge saying "Come on upstairs John. You've got a big day tomorrow."
His grin broadens at her words and he leans on Mycroft, whispering almost conspiratorially in his ear "Sherrlock an I are gettin married tomorrow." It's comes out more in a scratchy slur however.
"So I've heard." Mycroft responds throwing Sherlock a false smile. "Congratulations."
Mrs. Hudson takes hold of John's arm, leading him upstairs whilst Sherlock extracts his violin from its case and begins to scratch away an unpleasant high-pitched melody on it.
Mycroft ignores him and saunters into the living room, seating himself in John's chair.
"I must say, it came as a surprise to me when I discovered your intention to wed Dr. Watson. Of course I knew before he did. I've contacts in the registers office."
Sherlock continues straining the bow over the strings in discordant combinations, animosity rolling off him in waves.
Seeing that Sherlock isn't going to acknowledge him Mycroft continues "I admit that I was rather disappointed to discover that I wasn't on the guest list. I'm sure it was simply an oversight, so I've taken the liberty of adding my name."
"No." Sherlock finally speaks, low and sharp. "It was not an oversight. Your exclusion was entirely purposeful. The last thing I want is you preening around the alter!" he snaps, gesturing violently with his bow.
"Sherlock you're being a child. It your wedding and I want to be there for it. I will be there for it. Whatever ridiculous fear you have of me ruining your perfect day"
He put particular, mocking emphasis on the words and threw him a derisory smile which was met with an icy glare
"Is unfounded. I live and work in the shadows Sherlock, much like yourself. You'll hardly know I'm there." And with that he stood and made his way towards the door.
"You-" Sherlock started angrily, but was cut off by Mrs. Hudson's reappearance.
"He's sleeping, but he'll have a wicked hang-over for the wedding." She says, with an air of forewarning for Sherlock
"Honestly, boys and their beer." She mutters under her breath as she exits the flat, expecting no thanks and receiving none.
Mycroft shoots Sherlock a quick facsimile smile and says "I'll see you two in the morning. Ten o'clock isn't it?" Then he's gone leaving Sherlock alone with his vexation.
*WEDDING DAY*
The next morning John awakens to find a harsh sliver of light cutting through the curtains and straight into his eyes. With a groan he rolls over, covering his face with his hands.
His mouth feels dry and foul and his head is heavy and sore. Bits of memory dance in his head as he vaguely recalls knocking back innumerable shots with Lestrade and stumblingly home with a dimly familiar figure at his side.
He lets out a louder groan when he recalls that the figure was Mycroft. Just brilliant.
He tentatively peeks an eyelid open and is once again assaulted with the bright daylight. He quickly snaps it shut, letting out a sigh.
He's getting married today. Married. The thought whirls in his head as though his mind is stuck on repeat. It's almost unbelievable and if he wasn't feeling so nauseous he would probably have laughed in giddy disbelief.
Suddenly a sharp, agonizing beeping cuts through the peaceful silence of his room and reflexivity he tosses over in his bed, one hand landing on the alarm clock button responsible for it. He steadies himself as the world spins, taking a few deep breaths. Now his eyes are open and he's sitting upright, slowly adjusting. He throws the clock a glare, noting that it reads 8:30. He's got just over an hour to get ready. Bracing himself, he stands, steadying himself on the bedside table before slowly making his to the bathroom.
He emerges from his shower feeling refreshed, though still achy and a bit unsteady. He makes him way to the kitchen, still wearing his bathrobe, with a damp towel around his neck. As he reaches the bottom of the stairs he sees Sherlock sprawled on the couch, a pointed glare aimed at the wall.
"Morning." He greets, his voice scratchy and quite in the morning air. His words start Sherlock to life; and he leaps from the couch like a reanimated statue. "Ah, John. Morning. I'm sorry to inconvenience you, but we're changing the date of the wedding." He explains, before dropping a quick kiss on his sandy, damp hair.
"What?" John demands, incredulously.
"You heard me. We are rescheduling." He explains.
"Yes I heard you. I meant why?" however just as the words slipped from his mouth, he realized the answer. "It Mycroft isn't it?"
Sherlock throws him a mocking smile "Aren't you quick this morning." This was answered with a glare from John. "Will you text Lestrade and let him know? I'm thinking sometime next week."
"Absolutely not." John argues "We've already told everyone and everything is set-up. Besides Mycroft would find out the date and show up no matter when or where we rescheduled."
Sherlock lest out an icy, irritated huff "Fine." he spits the word out and stalks away to dress.
John lets out a groan and massages his still aching forehead. "Damn you, Lestrade" he grumbles under his breath, recalling Greg's insistence on playing a drinking game.
Of course he'd already downed a few himself by that time, so he couldn't be blamed for his faulted judgment.
"I hope you don't intend to wed me in your bathrobe John. I do have standards." Sherlock snips as he emerges from his room moments later, pulling on his suit jacket.
He straightens it, tugging at the sleeve and glaring in John's direction.
His vexation is palatable and he's managing it the only way he knows how; by taking it out on someone, despite the fact that John isn't at fault. The tensions hangs thick in the air, like foul smoke whilst John debates how to responds.
Sometimes when Sherlock's being stroppy he just leaves so he doesn't have to deal with him. But right now the last thing he wants is to leave Sherlock to throw a tantrum so instead he counters his jab with humour
"Actually I figured you'd were a sheet down the aisle, so it seemed fair game." he retorts, tossing the still damp towel at Sherlock. It hits him squarely in the face and John lets out a satisfied chuckle. Sherlock stiffens for a moment and then with in one fluid motion he yanks it from its perch and tosses it right back at him.
"Spousal abuse before the wedding even starts?" Sherlock quips, allowing the smallest of smile to dance around his lips as the towel makes its mark, hitting John in the face as well.
"Maybe I should go down the aisle like this?" he suggests, his voice muffled behind the plush green fabric.
"Green's not your color." Sherlock argues, walking past him and tugging it as he goes and tossing it into a corner to pick up later.
Or rather, for Mrs. Hudson to pick up later when she slips up to clean their flat, which she does almost monthly.
It doesn't take John long to dress and soon enough he and Sherlock are bounding down the steps, making last minute adjustments to their jackets.
"Oh, John!" Mrs. Hudson calls as they're heading out the door. "Wait, John dear, where are you going?"
Sherlock continues out onto the sidewalk to hail a cab while John responds, confusion "To the registrar's office."
"Not with Sherlock though?" she questions, looking oddly concerned
"Of course with Sherlock. We are getting married."
"But you shouldn't see each other before the wedding, its bad luck!" She protests.
"I'm sure we'll be fine Mrs. Hudson." He reassures, trying to hide the disbelief in his tone.
"And I'm sure you won't. Richard and I saw each other before the wedding, almost all the way up until I went down the aisle and now look we I've ended up." She argues.
"Well Sherlock and I are different. He locks people up, not the other way around." he reassures, knowing how hypocritical it is of him to say so. Sherlock's been in jail three times since he's known him.
Twice John had to go down and bail him out and once he was sitting alongside him in the cell waiting for Mycroft to bail the both of them out. They still laugh about that one, mainly because of the look on Mycroft's face when he saw them, bloody and giggling as they walked from the cell.
But white lies are acceptable in his moral book, so he does what he needs to reassure her. Finally she assents and removes her pleading grip on his arm and he quickly climbs into the cab.
"What was that about?" Sherlock inquires as they pulled away from Baker Street.
"Just old superstition. Mrs. Hudson was worried that our marriage might be doomed because we're seeing each other before the wedding." He explains, with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"What? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Where did she get such a preposterous notion?" Sherlock scoffs in response.
"People say its bad luck for the bride to see the groom on her wedding day before she walks down the aisle. Don't ask me why." John answers with a shrug, wondering about the origin himself.
"And which of us is the bride?" Sherlock muses aloud.
"Stuff it. I'm not having that conversation." John grumbled gruffly.
In truth he had often wondered the same thing and was disturbed by the constant implication that it was him. Being called Sherlock's pet was still a bone of contention with him and he did not take kindly to being placed in the seemingly submissive role of bride/wife.
"And why not? It's a reasonable question." Sherlock counters, teasingly, prying into John irritation and trying to understand its root.
"Not its not. But if you're so hung up on it then you can be the bride." John snaps back, a bit harsher than intended.
"Me?" Sherlock questions, his tone more pensive than incredulous.
"Yep." John answers, feeling triumphant in making his point.
Sherlock falls silent and seems to consider it for a moment before nodding "Alright then."
John whips his head around to face Sherlock and found his face perfectly serious.
"What?" he demands, incredulously.
"I said 'Alright then.' I've no objection." Sherlock replies in a bored tone.
"You don't?"
"Unlike you John I feel no need to constantly prove my masculinity. I happen to have been born a man so I'm content with that. If I was born a woman I would've been content as well. My brain has no gender so it makes no difference to me."
John isn't really sure how to respond to it and opted for silently staring out the cab window instead.
"Come to think of it, there might even have been advantages to being a woman. Men make such fools of themselves." Sherlock muses aloud when John makes no response.
"Can we just drop this?" he grumbles, still nursing a slight headache. The smallest of smirks quirks Sherlock mouth "Certainly." he acquiesces.
They sit in silence for a few moments, then John feels a pair of firm hands on his shoulders, pulling him back towards Sherlock. "What're you doing?" he questions, trying to pull himself from Sherlock's grip.
Sherlock stiffens, confused by his resistance. "I thought you might feel better if you could lie down. I was trying to help you lean on me."
John confused face and sharp headache soften at Sherlock's words and he complies, shifting so he can lie against Sherlock, his head resting on Sherlock's chest. A few silent, awkward seconds tick by, with John breathing deeply, attempting to steady his nerves and regain his equilibrium after moving. Gentle hands stroke their way across his head and he starts at the affectionate gesture.
"You're testy this morning." Sherlock mutters in irritation. "I'm attempting to be comforting and affectionate."
John lets out a soft chuckle "Sorry. I'm still hung-over. And a bit nervous. Wedding and all." He explains, though he doubts Sherlock will understand. He's right of course.
"Why are you nervous about the wedding?" he inquires, gently carding his hands through John's hair. "It's just reciting a few words and signing some paper, then being assaulted with well-wishers and confetti." He attempts to reassure in his typically blasé fashion.
John lets out a wry laugh at his description. "Well to most people the wedding means a lot more than that." He argues, wondering is Sherlock can possibly understand what this means to him.
" Those 'few words' are vows that bind you for life. It's important." He murmurs quietly, stiffening against Sherlock's touch.
Sensing his disappointment Sherlock lets out a sigh. "It's different for me John. I've heard may promises and seen them broken. This is just a formality to me." He tries to explain, but John's face remains impassive. "You're angry aren't you? He murmurs softly when John still doesn't reply.
Something passes over John's face, something akin to confusion and then amusement. "Angry? Not at all." Then, strangely enough a laugh begins to bubble in his throat.
Sherlock looks on in confusion, waiting for the giggles to subside. "Why are you laughing? I thought you were disappointed in my lack of understanding."
The laughter fades and John manages and explanation "I was at first. But then I realized you're right. Look at Harry and Clara. Look at my mum and dad. Divorced. They promised to love each other for life and it just didn't happen. And people think you're being cold and callous when you say things like that, but you're not. I think you understand love better than I do sometimes. It's not about paper or vows or rings. You're right."
Sherlock listens to John with a look of mild disbelief and pride on his face. John understood. It was a blessed and rare occasion, even for John, to completely understand his line of reasoning and agree with it
. A rare occasion that was celebrated by a lengthy and heated snog for the remainder of the ride.
If convenient please review; if inconvenient review anyway.
KP