DATE AT A WEDDING
John fiddled with his tie and flattened his hair, which was still sticking up at odd angles despite the amount of gel that had been used. The red tie he gave up on at that moment, looked bright and contrasted beautifully with what he was wearing. The black tuxedo caught the light that flooded the mansion bedroom that he had been staying in and looked so dark it could have been hypnotising.
John stared at himself in the mirror and decided he needed to calm down.
This was his wedding day for Christ's sake.
Still, as Lestrade entered with a "Hello John, don't you look just fantastic," the soldier spun so fast he almost lost his balance.
The dress shirt and pants Lestrade looked extremely good in was only missing the jacket and tie he had carried with him, draped over his arm. He laughed as he caught the look on the groom's face.
"Relax, John," he said and the doctor frowned,
"Shut up," he mumbled, then decided he'd take a shot at Lestrade because this nervous energy was starting to get to him,
"Why aren't you dressed yet?" he asked, as Lestrade sat on the bed and fixed his collar, using the mirror John moved away from. The army medic felt himself flush as a smile that was far too loaded with meaning crossed the Inspector's face,
"Ask your brother in law," Lestrade finished the tie in time to see John shake his head,
"Too much information," the doctor said as he moved to the window and leant against it, rather than standing rather awkwardly in the middle of the room watching Lestrade getting dressed as he had been a moment ago.
Outside, those invited to the wedding at Holmes Manor were assembled on the rolling green lawns, visible from her westerly facing window.
There was barely a cloud in the azure sky as the light breeze moved the leaves of the giant oaks, those which lined the drive and path, leading all the way to the dais on which the wedding would take place.
John tried not to panic as he realised just how many people were invited – and how many were his family.
A comforting hand rested on his shoulder before he could get himself too worked up.
Blue eyes met grey as John turned to face his best man, "breathe," Lestrade instructed and the doctor let out a breath he wasn't aware of holding in. Lestrade nodded at nothing in particular, "I've got the rings," he said and produced them from his pocket, as he remembered and figured it might distract the doctor a bit.
The golden bands glinted in the light bathing the two of them and John wondered, noticing that his hands were shaking, how one of them would look on Sherlock.
Damn that man.
A knock on the door brought them out of their reverie and Lestrade went to answer it. John didn't hear much but when Lestrade nodded and closed the door, then went and put his jacket on, the doctor knew it was time.
On the other side of the manor, Sherlock was pacing the room agitatedly and, having chosen not to have a best man, was completely alone in the room he had abused more than a few times over the years. The old experiments lay discarded on the wall and his reflection flashed in the mirrors on the far wall, facing the window, reflecting light over the colonial style room.
The blue carpet matched the midnight blue suit he was wearing, with the purple shirt he knew John loved, and the white tie. His hair was cut short, the curls tamed until the hair grew out again, but the grey eyes remained as unchanged as ever.
The never restful mind flashed from one thought to another and he alternated between excitement and fear as he more or less had a conversation with himself,
What if he decides to leave?
But if he does?
Sherlock walked to the door leading out of his room and went to reach for the handle. May as well just stuff it all, wedding or not, and find John so they can just elope, before the detective stopped and decided he didn't want to face his mother's wrath.
Speaking of which, God knows what she had done to his poor fiancé by now.
The world's only Consulting Detective paced the carpet again and just as the sounds of a crowd clapping and cheering reached his ears, his door opened and his mother stood there, her immaculate dress only half as beautiful as she was.
Sherlock could only think how much he loathed the woman right now. If it wasn't for her, this would have been a small ceremony in the mountains somewhere on the Alps.
"Sherly, we're ready for you now," she smiled at her youngest son,
"You sure you don't want to invite a few more people?" he growled back as he straightened his jacket and put on his game face – ineffective in front of the woman he was raised by,
"Oh Sherly, stop complaining, John's positively ecstatic," she smiled fondly at the thought of her new son-in-law. She always had wanted to see one of her boys get married.
She was however surprised that it was Sherlock.
The detective motioned for his mother to walk out first and followed behind her. His polished and slightly heeled shoes clicked on the marble floor, which reflected back the light streaming in from the windows on the ceiling and to the side.
It was a character about the mansion that Sherlock had always loved – the light that the design, though Victorian, let into the house. It made it inviting and warm even on the coldest of days. Even when Sherlock realised his Father was never coming home again and missed him like never before.
Sherlock and his mother didn't feel the need to talk. The detective indulged in a thought he had kept hidden for a while now. He wished that his father had lived to see this. To see him walking down the aisle. He may not have necessarily been happy that he was not marrying a woman, but he knew that he would have been there, supportive if not over the moon with joy.
Sherlock allowed a smile as he remembered his mother's reaction to his announcement of the engagement.
He could have done it a bit better, now he came to think of it.
Bursting through the front doors of the mansion after not talking to her since last Christmas, giving her a kiss on the cheek and telling her he was marrying John who was waiting outside, was perhaps not the gentlest way to tell her.
She had known they were in a relationship but he was sure that his mother was unaware of how serious they were – especially judging by the look that had been on her face – It was a mix between horror and happiness. A strange mix, he had to admit.
Although, as they walked past a sitting room in which all the furniture was made of bamboo, the walls were painted black and the carpet bright red, he realised that strange wasn't exactly a new concept to the Holmes'.
The warmth of the summer sun hit Sherlock fully as they left the mansion and stepped onto the gravelled drive. The butler was waiting with a parasol for Mrs. Holmes, but Sherlock declined. His mother fell behind him, and Sherlock led the way.
Then the strangest thing happened.
Sherlock, as the full reality of whom he was walking towards hit him, stopped thinking.
The rustle of the leaves was all he heard as he ignored the people's voices which grew louder.
The white ribbons in the trees caught in the wind and blew skywards, the shade provided by the massive oaks rippling with every step the Consulting Detective took.
Sherlock's heart literally missed a beat as he caught sight of John, a grin on his face as he laughed at something Lestrade said.
He looked perfect. He was perfect.
A silence fell as the conductor of the thirty-two piece orchestra started the wedding march. People stood and all eyes swivelled to the end of the rows and rows of chairs.
Sherlock didn't believe he could move though, until John's eyes met his. They were bright and warm and gorgeous and lovely and this was, Sherlock noted, a very incorrect sentence.
He didn't care.
He began the walk up the aisle, and there may as well have been no one else there.
John was all that mattered.
The doctor in question watched Sherlock, almost vision-like in what he was wearing, advance up the aisle. His pale complexion flushed, grey eyes almost black. Then Sherlock was standing in front of him and holding his hands. Then they had said their vows and then – dear Lord, he was Mr. John Hamish Watson-Holmes.
That was going to be a mouthful.
Before either knew what was happening, he was kissing Sherlock, and even as their lips barely brushed, it sent John completely lightheaded. The cheers and clapping were ignored by the couple as they spent what felt like eternity looking into each other's eyes.
It was Lestrade's tap on the shoulder that brought John out of it.
Lestrade laughed as Sherlock threw him the dirtiest look he could manage considering his absolute bliss. The Inspector pushed them both forward off the dais and they ran, hand in hand, as the rice bombarded them. The DI felt a warm smile on his face as he watched them clamber into the waiting limousine.
The sun was setting as the cake was cut at the reception and the grooms shoved the cake into each other's face.
Mycroft watched with much amusement as Sherlock got completely covered in it and John managed to duck with precision timing. The cake, however, landed right on Greg Lestrade and that's when the elder Holmes' amusement changed to something probably a tad inappropriate at his brother's wedding reception.
The music started up again and Mycroft moved from his position on the sidelines, to slide into a seat next to Lestrade, wiping the cake of his face and licking it off his fingers.
"Damn, Inspector," Mycroft said, his voice low as he smirked, "that's not fair,"
"What's not fair?" Lestrade asked, the innocence almost believable if he hadn't kept eye contact with Mycroft as he casually licked his thumb clean.
The man who could take down a country with a phone call was all of a sudden lost for words.
"You know, Inspector," he said, keeping his tone level, but knowing his eyes gave the game away,
"No, Mr. Holmes, I really don't" Lestrade leant forward on the table, wiping the last of the cake off his face with a napkin, "How could I?"
John tried not to find the scene transpiring between his best man and brother in law too unappetising as he looked at the chocolate cake in front of him. He had picked it himself and almost glowed when Mrs. Holmes' nod of approval was given.
"How much longer must we wait?" Sherlock asked, shooting John a glance. The Doctor looked at him with a raised eyebrow, quite enjoying the reception,
'Why so impatient?" He asked and relished the annoyance and love that flashed in Sherlock's eyes as he regarded his husband.
"You really want to know?" he asked, the bass voice teasing the words in a way that they really should not have been able to. The doctor only nodded his reply.
Sherlock leant in, "When we get out of here, and get to our hotel, John, in Paris…do you remember the last time we were in Paris?" John flushed as a wave of lust and slight embarrassment hit him like a wall,
"Remember what I did to you?" Sherlock's voice was almost low enough to be purring now and John was beginning to lose his self-control, "remember what you said?"
"Sherlock," John whispered, not sure if it was a reprimand or encouragement,
"I will have you in exactly the same position," Sherlock said, and decided that was enough as he straightened, looking pleased with himself. John was struggling to breathe evenly. That was just not fair.
Across the pavilion, near the water's edge, Mycroft and Lestrade had isolated themselves,
'What's this then?" Lestrade asked, as he swirled the wine in his glass, "Date at a wedding?"
"It may just be," Mycroft replied, chewing on the prawn with a bit more enthusiasm than Lestrade thought entirely necessary. It couldn't be that good.
"Your brother's wedding," Lestrade added, 'your brother, thorn in my side," and Mycroft chuckled softly,
"Don't let my new in-law hear you," he said, "I hear these army types are very protective of their own,"
"I dunno," Lestrade leant forward to rest his elbow on the table, "It runs in the government too, I think,"
"You don't say?" Mycroft looked up at the man he had been dating for a while now, and found he really needed to have gotten to this before the Korean crisis. It would have been more than a nice distraction.
"So is this how you normally treat your dates?" Lestrade suddenly asked, "you haven't even danced with me yet," Mycroft raised an eyebrow,
"Nowhere in your files does it imply you are capable of dancing," he said and Lestrade almost chocked on his wine,
"Bloody 'ell, Mycroft. You are such a stalker," the DI managed, when he had recovered his composure. The man who was the government, according to his younger brother, got to his feet with a broad smile,
"Yes. But I'm your stalker," he paused for a moment as if considering his next words carefully, "and I wasn't hearing any complaints last night," Lestrade put his glass down,
"You're terrible," he muttered, even as he grinned and blushed,
"Yes, I suppose I am," Mycroft agreed, taking the DI's hand and leading him out onto the wooden dance floor laid down on the sand.
As the waves crashed into the shore and Sherlock and John danced not far from them, Mycroft put an arm on Lestrade's waist,
"Shall I lead?" he asked and the man rolled his eyes,
"Not like I ever get a say," he replied and the smile he got in return was worth more than any chance to take the lead any day.
As the moon rose, full and bright over the party which was still in full swing, Sherlock ad John departed with more cheers and waves and Lestrade and Mycroft decided they would take their leave as well.
Mrs. Holmes sat at the wedding table, now empty, and watched the dancers and her family, satisfied that the wedding was an undeniable success.
"Now all I need is grandchildren," she said aloud, and spun as Mrs. Hudson, who spent the wedding observing, sat down next to her and replied,
"How are you going to manage that exactly, Mrs. Holmes?" She made eye contact with the matriarch who smiled widely,
"My dear, I've already spoken to John about it," she said and Mrs. Hudson grinned,
'You're joking," she said, laying a hand over her heart, trying not to get too excited,
"Oh no," Mrs Holmes took another sip of her wine, swirling it around her glass, "he's going to speak to Sherlock about adopting when they get back,"
"I raise my glass to you," Mrs. Hudson said, doing so with her glass of champagne,
"Thank you," Mrs Holmes tried not to look too pleased with herself as she clinked her glass with her son's landlord. She had a feeling she'd need Mrs. Hudson's help for this little plan.
As the people got more drunk and the music louder, the private chartered plane that was going to take Sherlock and John to their honeymoon destination was waiting for them, and as the newlyweds left the limo to get into the plane, John glanced back for a minute at the top of the stairs. The city spread out in front of him, glittering like a diamond in the night.
"You coming, John? Sherlock asked, walking back to where he had left the doctor, staring out at nothing in particular,
"Yeah," John said, turning around to the equally beautiful sight of Sherlock, rid of his tie and jacket, holding the curtains open for him.
John climbed the final step and waked into the plane, pulling Sherlock into an embrace, ruffling his hair, "Were going to Paris," he said, looking Sherlock in the eyes, the metal of the wedding band heavy on his left ring finger – a welcome weight.
"Yes love," Sherlock smiled, "Yes we are," he kissed him lightly, but pulled away before John could really start enjoying it,
"What's wrong?" John loved, and he noticed the glint in Sherlock's eyes,
"Oh nothing," Sherlock said, paused and then decided to continue, "You think they have handcuffs anywhere around here?"
Well that was fun :)
That's it for the Bed Of Roses series guys. Sorry it's taken sooooo long, but school holidays have only just started. I had wanted to get this up for Cookie 369's birthday but missed it a tad. Still:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY! :D
Thank you for reading guys!