I found this chapter awkward and unwieldy. That's why it's up here so fast, getting this damn thing outta the way.
The wedding, when it eventually came, managed to be both exceptionally stressful and incredibly mundane all at once.
Despite all appearances of being deeply devoted and madly in love, Sherlock and John had managed to put the wedding off for a whole six months. Initially planning to have a quiet ceremony in a registrar's office, accompanied only by Greg Lestrade and Mrs Hudson, they had soon been bullied into a far more elaborate affair. No churches, of course, but a full-on 'make sure you invite everyone' three-course party.
Mycroft had started the inevitable landslide by pointing out that if the All Powerful Mummy was not invited, all hell was sure to break loose directly above their heads. That, combined with Mrs Hudson's ability to find and hit every available emotional pressure point, ensured that their original four person party quickly shifted to an all-out celebration of familial obligation- courtesy of Mycroft. It left John mildly irritated and Sherlock distinctly amused.
The ceremony itself was simple and sweet. Sherlock telling of how, while he'd never had much time for marriage and honestly still didn't, he was fairly certain that John was the only one willing to put up with him, and he was capitalising on that while he could. John spoke of how he'd never imagined he'd be half of a shotgun wedding, especially not to the human version of the Grinch. Lestrade laughed, Molly cried, and Mrs Hudson cried and laughed. Harry, being nearly two at the time, spent most of the ceremony wriggling and most of the small reception asleep. It seemed to be a sentiment that Sherlock shared.
The stressful part had come later. John, still reeling from actually being bloody married, had been introduced the Sherlock's parents at the reception. They were surprisingly… human. The Holmes parents had both given him a sound hug and a kiss on the cheek, welcoming him to the family. Remarking on how much patience this boy must possess, and isn't it funny we never met you before the wedding? Ah well, that's our Sherlock, cue indulgent laughter.
John was still trying to figure out how two people so painfully normal could possibly have produced something like Sherlock, when the weirdness started. And it was pretty bloody weird, no mistake. It would have to be, in order to be noticed above the sheer amount of ambient weirdness that was this wedding.
Sherlock's mother turned to him, "So dear, how long have you known?"
What. "Sorry? Known what exactly?" John was frowning. Though not too harshly, it didn't do to scowl at the mother of the bride.
"Oh, you know…" She raised a conspiratorial eyebrow, nodding vaguely in the direction of her son, "about Sherlock. About… how he is."
"Um." John started desperately scanning for help, hopefully in the form of Sherlock Holmes. What on Earth did that mean? How exactly was Sherlock? Rude, egotistical, conceited, exceptionally gifted and astoundingly intelligent. But none of that was exactly news, now was it. Everyone and their dog knew that.
"Um," he started again, maybe she meant the almost-kind-and-caring side of Sherlock? The side that John knew loved him, in his own way. He took a stab at it, "well, almost since the beginning, I suppose." His new mother-in-law raised her eyebrows at that, maybe he'd misjudged. She made a small, disbelieving, noise in the back of her throat. Oops.
"Hm, I find it a little hard to believe he talked so readily about it all. It's borderline illegal for a start." What the hell kind of conversation had he bumbled into?
"Oh, um is it?" Shit-shit-shit what now, what did that mean?
"Oh yes dear, didn't he mention? Oh well, we all know how those boys are when they decide to do something. And there's no harm done now. You're married after all." She smiled at him beatifically, patting him once more on the arm before sweeping away to pounce on her eldest son.
John managed to spend a few seconds wondering whether all Holmeses knew how to make a dramatic exit instinctively, or whether they learned as children.
Thoroughly confused and a little overwhelmed by the whole damn day, John started searching for his shiny new husband and their somehow constantly sticky child. He'd not been at it long when the day reached a whole new level of odd.
The whole new level of odd came over, dressed in a plum velvet suit that was at least 70 years out of date and introduced itself to John as Albus Dumbledore. John blinked, politely shaking hands. Bloody funny name, that. Surely he'd have remembered a name like that… must be part of Sherlock's lot. Anyone who could carry off a name like that would have to be.
"I just came over to congratulate you on this most surprising turn of events, Dr Watson." Right, this was firm ground, he could deal with this.
"Yes, um, thank you. Surprising for us as well, I think. You've known Sherlock long then?" He was beginning wishing he'd read the guest list properly.
"I've met him, of course. Though I knew his father much better." That smile of Mr Dumbledore's looked a little self-indulgent. "No, mostly I was wondering how young Harry was settling in and, of course, how you two are settling in with Harry."
John let a proper frown show through this time "We're fine thanks. Not that I'm totally sure what that has to do with you." He knew he was being rude but he'd never liked presumptuousness, and he still wasn't completely certain how Sherlock had ended up with Harry in the first place.
The Dumbledore man just laughed, "More than I'd like, dear boy, more than I'd like." Dear boy? Exactly how old did this guy think he was… "He's an exceptional child, and far more important than he knows. I trust you and Mr Holmes will wait until the proper time to tell the boy?"
This was getting fucking ridiculous. "What the hell are you talking abou-"
"John! There you are!" Mycroft calmly seized his elbow and began steering him back towards the head table. "It's almost time for the first dance. All I can say is that I hope you've been practising."
John half turned to get a last glimpse at the strange old man but the purple bugger had vanished.