Work Text:
"By the way, Sherlock. How was your brother's wedding?" Sherlock's violin teacher asked, trying to strike up a conversation. "It was this weekend, right? I saw the announcement in the papers."
Sherlock shrugged. "I don't know. Are we done?"
His teacher had developed a tedious interest in his personal life ever since Sherlock went on his knees for him. As if he somehow sought to repay Sherlock with his hypocritical kindness. Or to allay his guilt. He was a married man and not a pedophile, or so he said. Sherlock had no interest in continuing any sort of relation with this gutless man.
Nevertheless, he was surprised the man still maintained his job after his little indiscretion. Surely Mycroft couldn't keep his meddling hands away from suppressing the potential scandal.
"What do you mean you don't know?" his teacher asked, following the movement of Sherlock's fingers on his bow, which he was wiping down perhaps a little too suggestively.
"I wasn't there."
His teacher shook himself and said, "How could you not have been at your brother's wedding?"
Sherlock suppressed a sigh. This was growing wearisome. Sherlock would rather forget all about about Mycroft and his stupid marriage to his stupid wife.
"There was no way I could have made it on time. I had my hands down my dealer's breeches."
