The hotel Jo had booked for her and Sherlock had given them adjoining rooms. When Jo had called to make their reservations the clerk had asked if that was what she wanted and she would never really understand why she said yes. It had, however, turned out to be an advantage and Jo made a mental note that the next time they went anywhere, they really needed adjoining rooms. The wedding was being held in Devon, and since Jo had to attend several other events besides the ceremony itself, she and Sherlock had decided to stay for the week as a sort of vacation. Surprisingly, Sherlock not only behaved himself but actually seemed to be having a good time. They took a lot of walks, slept in, ate good food, went sightseeing, and generally just behaved like normal tourists (even if they did manage to solve a case or two for the local constabulary). They kept the door between their rooms open until they went to bed and usually ordered breakfast up to one room or the other. They had had a busy string of cases right before they left and even Sherlock had to admit that the peace was a bit nice.
On the morning of the wedding Jo was still half asleep when Sherlock came in and sat on the end of the bed, giving her foot a squeeze. It was a system they had worked out soon after Jo had moved into Baker Street - if Sherlock needed to wake Jo up, he would just touch her foot; she would wake up and he wouldn't get punched in the face.
Jo sat up and smiled blearily at him. "Good morning."
"Good morning," he answered, smiling as well. "I know it's earlier than you had planned on getting up, but I was wondering if you wanted to go down for breakfast and then go for a walk."
She nodded. "Yeah okay, that sounds nice. Just let me get dressed. I'll shower when we get back." Sherlock flashed her a brilliant smile before bounding out of her room and closing the door behind him.
The hotel restaurant was actually very good, but Jo was too nervous to eat much. Sherlock frowned but didn't say anything; Jo did her best to ignore how carefully he was watching her. They walked in companionable silence, Sherlock leading them down small side streets and alleyways. Jo had no idea where they were going, but the sun was warm and they had plenty of time, so she wasn't really worried. They wandered in and out of several shops, just browsing, and Sherlock told her about some of his earliest cases. For lunch Sherlock took them to a small out of the way diner. The food was good, and Jo ate more than she had at breakfast, but she was still only picking at her meal.
"Why aren't you eating?" Sherlock finally asked, frowning at her as if she were a puzzle that wasn't behaving as it should.
Jo shrugged. "Just not hungry I suppose. You should be familiar with the sensation."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "And yet you tell me that I have to eat everyday, Doctor."
"It's one day, Sherlock," she snapped defensively. "I'm not going off food for a whole week or anything. I'll be fine." He hummed but didn't say anything else. He did, however, keep studying her.
After a few moments Sherlock spoke again. "You normally skip meals only when you're ill or nervous. You're obviously not ill, so that must mean that your nervous. The wedding?"
Jo sighed. "I'm not really fond of public speaking. Jack and Isabella are only going to have one wedding. I don't want to screw it up for them."
"But the rehearsal went fine last night," he protested kindly.
She sighed again. "Yes, but there weren't any people there, I didn't have to really go through anything, and I wasn't wearing a dress!"
"What does wearing a dress have to do with anything?" He asked, obviously confused.
She rolled her eyes. "Do you have any idea how long it's been since I wore a dress? You've been in my closet, did I even own a dress until last week?"
"I still don't see the problem," he answered, still frowning. "Dresses are quite comfortable."
Jo's eyebrows shot up. "Oh really? And how would you know? Do you wear them often?"
"It was for a case," he replied evenly - and he would have been the picture of nonchalance if it wasn't for the blush spreading across his cheeks.
She smirked at him. "Of course it was."
"It was!" He protested, some of his distress seeping into his voice.
She continued smirking even as she held her hands up in mock surrender. "Alright fine. It's not like I care if you get off on wearing women's clothing or not. I told you when I moved in that it was all fine." Sherlock sighed and realized that this was one of those arguments that he would never win, simply because Jo was being ridiculous. He still threw one of his chips at her in retaliation, though. Jo just laughed and popped it in her mouth before picking up her fork and eating her own food - her nervousness having miraculously evaporated.
After lunch the pair wandered around for a bit longer before going beck to their hotel to get ready. Jo had showered, actually blow drying and styling her hair for once, miraculously managed to get her make up right on the first try, and got dressed. It hadn't taken her nearly as long to get ready as she had expected it to, so she sat on the edge of her bed and tried to calm her nerves as she waited. It wasn't too much later that there was a knock on the door joining their two rooms and Sherlock entered. He was wearing a white dress shirt and black suit trousers of a finer cut and fabric than usual. There was a black silk tie draped over his shoulders and he held one end in each of his hands. He gazed down at the fabric as he spoke, sounding almost ashamed.
"Could you tie this for me? It never turns out quite right when I do it."
Jo smiled as she got up. "The great Sherlock Holmes - bested by a tie. I never thought that someone as obviously public school as you would be brought to his knees by a simple Half-Windsor."
"I have not been brought to my knees," Sherlock sniffed. "I simply deleted the information as it was not pertinent to my life choices. Besides, ties remind me of Mycroft."
She laughed. "Of course they do."
"What makes you think that I went to public school?" He asked, fixing his eyes on a point somewhere over his friend's left shoulder.
She rolled her eyes. "Come now Sherlock, it really is obvious. I may not be a genius, but I'm not blind."
"But why is it obvious?" He pressed.
Jo shrugged, taking the silk out of his hands. "Well several things, really. But a lot of it is in the way you carry yourself, your grooming habits, the way you dress, the way you speak - stuff like that."
"But that can be affected. I could be faking," he protested.
She nodded. "You could, but I doubt it. I live with you; I've seen you when you first wake up and when you're so tired you need help up the stairs. Even you can't fake it that well. And those are only the superficial reasons."
"What else?" He asked, sounding genuinely interested.
"Well," she began somewhat nervously, "you're obviously extremely well educated, and you could have done it yourself, but you don't really act like you did."
He tilted his head to the side. "Why not? How do I act?"
"There's your books, for example," she answered as she finished knotting his tie. "They're well used, but not particularly well kept. You value them, but you didn't have to fight to get them. You've had some of them for years, probably since before you left for Uni, and some of them are quite rare."
Sherlock smiled at her, a genuinely delighted expression that made his eyes light up. "That's actually quite brilliant." She just shrugged, her cheeks coloring slightly.
Jo took a step back and sighed. "Well, you look very nice; skinnier than usual - which I might actually hate you for at the moment."
"I don't know why you would," he answered. "I mean you look fine - more than fine actually. Good. You look good."
She laughed. "I can see why you don't get many dates with lines like that. But thank you." She looked down and smoothed her dress nervously; Sherlock still looked like he was studying her and she had to remind herself not to fidget.
Sherlock had to remind himself not to touch. Jo's dress came down to right above her knees and was black with ruching around the waist. There was a four inch wide strap on her right shoulder, but her left was bare, showing off her scar. He had seen it before, but it never ceased to fascinate him. The front was neat and puckered, and although he couldn't see it just then he knew that the back was a completely different story. The bullet had shattered on impact and the fragments had ravaged the back of her shoulder. He was slightly surprised that she was willing to wear something that showed her wound so completely, but after a second thought he recognized that she had never been particularly shy about her scars. She was wearing a pair of plain black flats that simultaneously seemed fitting and completely out of character compared to her usual trainers or boots.
After a few moments she cleared her throat and looked up at him again. "Well, I suppose we had better go. It really wouldn't do for me to be late."
"Right," he answered, pulling himself out of his thoughts. "I'll just get my jacket." He quickly retreated back to his own room to finish dressing. Jo followed him shortly after, having added a dark green cardigan, and they left - their shoulders brushing in the elevator down.