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“John!” Lestrade said angrily, trying to force his way into the nutty cranium of his best mate. “This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”
“Are you going to try to stop me?” John growled as he checked the clip on his Browning.
“It’s a suicide mission!” Lestrade shouted. “We’ve counted at least seven felons on the ground floor alone. Do you honestly think that you have a chance to get him out of there against those odds?”
“I’m not the one that’ll be getting him out.” John said coldly. “Your team will.”
“And your own plan is to what?” Lestrade mused. “Distract them with your one man tribute performance to Rambo? Will you be handing out popcorn and bootstraps as well?”
“Get Sherlock out.” John said darkly before leaving the perimeter of unmarked police vehicles two blocks from the building where one, Sherlock Holmes, was being questioned rather enthusiastically of his knowledge of their incredibly illegal pharmaceutical drug smuggling operation.
“Is he honestly stopping at the shops?” Clarky asked curiously as he tracked John Watson disappearing into a shop. Lestrade tried to rally his people and get the extraction team in place causing him to almost miss John exiting the shop several minutes later with several rags and glass bottles of what looked like…oh, hell…that was definitely vodka.
They watched in a sort of stunned catatonia as their jumper-wearing companion quickly readied the Molotov cocktails before pulling out a lighter, setting the damn thing on fire, and then lobbing it several feet clear of the building in question. Lestrade quickly dispatched some uniforms to local businesses to evacuate the patrons and get them to safety just in case the flames burning up the alcohol in the middle of the pavement jumped to a building.
The cacophony of shouting and shrieks from Sherlock’s captors caused enough chaos for Lestrade’s people to travel inconspicuously down a connecting alley. They got the go ahead to break in to the building from the extraction team, stating ominously that the building seemed to be emptying at a rapid pace.
Lestrade felt something heavy weigh on his heart when he lost sight of John tossing his third cocktail at a group of criminals who were wavering on the brink of either chasing after the mad bastard or away from him. Lestrade’s team followed protocol and found Sherlock looking worse for wear in a small storage room in the back of the building. He was on the verge of consciousness and they were just exiting the building with his weight carried between two uniforms when several gunshots rang out in the muggy August afternoon heat.
“John…” Sherlock gasped, almost voiceless from pain.
“I’m sure he’s fine.” Lestrade tried to sound on confident. “Causing a bit of a distraction, that’s all.”
“Wasn’t a Browning…” Sherlock murmured before dropping like a stone between his two carriers.
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“Oh thank god.” John wheezed through dry, chapped lips and painfully sore ribs where the bullet had grazed him. He’d just come out of the sedation to find Sherlock looking rather battered himself perched on the hospital chair next to his bed. “Are you alright?”
“Am I alright?” Sherlock seethed. “You’re asking if I’m fine, John? Really? I’m not the one who was a fucking idiot.”
“Sherlock…” John began.
“No, John.” Sherlock said darkly. “You don’t get to say anything. That was the most ludicrous thing that you have ever done and it won’t be happening again.”
“Don’t for a second think that I wouldn’t lay down my life for you, Sherlock.” John said fiercely. “I would do anything to save you.”
“Is that so?” Sherlock said angrily.
“Yes, it’s so.” John answered.
“Only one solution then.” Sherlock said firmly. “You’re going to marry me.”
“Excuse me?” John squeaked.
“You heard me.” Sherlock continued. “You’re going to marry me and then you’ll belong to me and I can stop you from being an idiot.”
“That’s a bit not good…” John tried.
“And I’ll belong to you,” Sherlock said, his voice cracking finally. “And you can stop me from running off without you so you won’t have to do anything like that again…I couldn’t bear it…if anything happened…”
John felt his entire chest lurch as his partner seemed to crumple under the very idea of them being separated again.
“Come here.” John gestured as he tried to shift over. Sherlock crawled carefully under the sheets to curl around him and wrap his long fingers firmly around John’s wrist and waist carefully avoiding his ribs. They rested together for several minutes before John broke the silence.
“Were you serious?” John asked gently. “Did you really ask me to marry you?”
“I didn’t ask, John.” Sherlock said desperately. “You have to. Please.”
“Of course, you great prat.” John said feeling his entire body flood with warmth completely unrelated to the narcotics in his system. Sherlock heaved a great broken sigh in relief finally letting the stress and adrenaline seep out of his body as exhaustion dragged him toward sleep safe once again in his doctor’s arms.
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“Mycroft?” Greg asked curiously as he strode toward John’s hospital room. “What are you doing here? And why do you have a popper?”
Mycroft curled his lips into a vague smile that most would consider sinister but his partner considered adorable. He pulled the string on the little plastic toy and streamers popped out covering the DI in crinkled strings of paper.
“There’s to be a wedding.” Mycroft said with a satisfied smirk.
“You bugged the hospital room, didn’t you?” Lestrade asked before grabbing the lapels of his government official roughly and tugging him down into a deep kiss.
“Indeed.” Mycroft said breathlessly several minutes later.
“Mummy will shite a Faberge egg.” Lestrade said with a smirk of his own.
“I wouldn’t worry over much on that subject.” Mycroft said deviously.
“Oh, really?” Lestrade asked curiously. “Come up with a plan, have you?”
“My dear Gregory, I impress even myself sometimes…” Mycroft said proudly.
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“I don’t know about this.” John said awkwardly adjusting his tie. “Does this sort of thing happen often?”
“The Board of the Directors of the hospital insisted.” Lestrade shrugged. “Something about saving children with cancer from certain death.”
“Still.” John shifted. “Why does it have to be covered by the press? Can they just send Sherlock a muffin basket or something?”
“This isn’t about Sherlock.” Lestrade reminded him. “Sherlock was tied up twiddling his thumbs while you lead the charge to recover the stolen drugs.”
“Yeah…” John shrugged. “But I was just trying to save Sherlock.”
“Just consider it a bonus.” Lestrade urged. “You deserve this.”
John sighed heavily and rubbed at the headache forming directly behind his eye sockets. He patted down the cowlicks of his hair fruitlessly before glancing around the small dressing room and frowning.
“Where’s Sherlock?” John asked curiously.
“Mycroft mentioned something about a family function that couldn’t be avoided.” Lestrade said.
“Oh, right.” John said confused.
“Ready, mate?” Lestrade asked.
“No.” John said roughly. “Let’s go.”
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“Henry!” Mrs. Holmes called from her seat in front of the entertainment system. “Did you hear? My boys are going to be on television.”
“Really, ma’am?” Henry asked politely.
“Yes!” she squealed. “They’re accompanying their aunt, that crazy hippie, to present some Good Samaritan an award from the Hospital she owns for saving some children or something.”
Henry politely turned to stare at the news coverage as the broadcast shifted to the two Holmes sons standing on either side of Mr. Holmes’s sister. He turned just in time to watch Mrs. Holmes’s features shift from giddy pride to shocked rage as one John Watson, ex-Army Doctor, stepped forward to receive recognition for bravery. As Mrs. Holmes clacked away angrily, Henry allowed a small grin to pass over his normally stoic features.
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“That was incredibly unnecessary.” John had time to whisper to his fiancé before Sherlock’s favorite aunt approached as the press packed away their cameras. Sherlock merely shrugged happily and wrapped an arm around his doctor’s waist to keep him close.
“Oh, my dear Dr. Watson.” She said with a serene smile lighting her features. “It is so very nice to meet you at last.”
“Thank you.” John said earnestly. “I’m so sorry we haven’t met sooner.”
“Oh, I don’t blame you, dear.” She waved her arm in the direction of her nephew. “I blame Sherlock. Foolish boy would lose his head if it wasn’t attached to his shoulders.”
John couldn’t help but laugh before offering his arm to accompany her out of the room. He’d been told that the group would all be going to dinner together as well. They chatted pleasantly on the ride over to the restaurant with Lestrade and Mycroft holding up the bulk of the dialogue while Sherlock avoided the glaring looks John kept trying to send his way.
They were seated with starters and wine ordered before Dr. Viola Holmes cleared her throat calling order to the group.
“So, my dears.” She said confidently. “I understand that we have a wedding to organize.”
“That’s the plan.” Sherlock began. “Though John and I were considering just going to city hall and making it official rather quietly.”
“Nonsense.” His aunt chided. “We must have a celebration! It is incredibly lucky that you found someone worthy of you, Sherlock. We must celebrate that.”
“The issue,” Mycroft cut in deftly. “Is mother, of course.”
No one was able to miss the glimmer of unrestrained glee that flashed across Dr. Viola Holmes’s face.
“You leave that to me.” She said, devilishly.
They spent the rest of the meal happily. Viola and John spent most of the main course and dessert discussing their experiences providing medical care abroad. Viola had received her medical degree and left the country with Doctors Without Borders for almost eight years before returning to London before splitting her time working in the oncology unit of the hospital and sitting on the Board of Directors. She was pleasant and engaging and obviously adored her somewhat socially inept nephews. They parted with mutual affection all around. They would be seeing much of each other over the next few months. Scheming and planning weddings do take up an awful lot of time.
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Mycroft Holmes sat behind his desk checking and cross-checking his agenda before sighing heavily, sending his PA a text, and leaning back to wait for the inevitable phone call. It was precisely 17.2 seconds later that his personal line rang shrilly announcing the call he’d been dreading for weeks.
“Mother.” Mycroft answered.
“Please tell me that this is some kind of sick joke,” His mother hissed over the line.
“So pleasant to hear your voice.” He responded. “How’s the garden coming along?”
“Don’t you dare try to change the subject.” She practically shouted. “What is that dirty blue-blooded nobody trying to do?
“Charming, as always.” Mycroft said, attempting to keep his temper in check.
“You have to fix this, Mycroft.” She continued. “I don’t care what you do. Bribe him, send him away, have him killed. I don’t care, but you make that filthy gold-digger disappear.”
“I’ll do no such thing.” Mycroft answered. “Sherlock and Dr. John Watson are getting married in three weeks. This is happening.”
“Like hell it is.” She said venomously. “I forbid Sherlock to marry him. I’ll withhold his trust fund. Cut him out of the will.”
“Ah, well…no, you won’t.” Mycroft said. “You see, Father and I discussed this possibility several months ago and he seemed rather, may I say, tickled at the idea of the marriage and promised me that he would take care of ensuring your interference in Sherlock’s inheritance was categorically impossible.”
“Months!?!” She shrieked. “How long has this disgusting charade been in the works?”
“Approximately 10 months to be precise.” Mycroft answered promptly.
“And you withheld this information from me?” She said coldly. “You conspired behind my back?”
“We simply failed to include you in the planning process.” He said evenly. “The boys didn’t require your input in regards to venue, flowers, tuxedos, etc.”
“Well, let’s see how well the wedding goes when the vendors suddenly pull out.” She said angrily. “I have that kind of control over these things, you know.”
“Fortunately,” Mycroft cut in. “Another potential retaliation that we’ve taken into account. Aunt Viola has been overseeing most of the arrangements and she seems to be more than confident in her ability to retain the services of the vendors despite your attempted interference.”
Mrs. Holmes sputtered and fumed for several minutes before grasping at straws. “Well, Sherlock certainly won’t go through with the ceremony if his mother isn’t there to support the union! Therefore, I refuse to attend.”
“How quaint.” Mycroft said, finally feeling his anger and frustration slip. “Considering that you were conveniently unavailable to attend his graduation from Eton, refused to visit with Father and I during his gap-year Russia, were too busy with your girl’s trip to Santorini to attend his graduation from Cambridge, were too embarrassed to visit him when he was getting clean at the rehab clinic, and not once made an effort to visit him in London, I can’t imagine that he would be too put out if you were once again unable to put aside that massive ego and support your son in one of the happiest moments of his life.”
The other end of the phone line was filled with several aborted attempts at rebuttals before his mother cleared her throat and hissed, “How dare you.”
The click of his mother hanging up was more a relief than anything else. Whether she came or not was inconsequential, but he’d been determined to be honest with his mother in a way that he’d never been before out of respect for her delicate sensibilities. More than anything, he wanted his little brother to be happy. And if his mother couldn’t muster the humility to make that effort, than she could rot in that estate house for all he cared.
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“Ready?” Sherlock asked giddy as he ran his fingers over his soon-to-be husband’s tie.
“More than.” John smiled, brushing the curls out of his detective’s eyes.
A hesitant knock rang out and John walked quickly over to pull the door open.
“Mr. Holmes.” John said with a hesitant smile.
“John.” He said, firmly. “Good to see you. Are you both ready?”
“I believe so.” He answered. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“I am.” He said happily. “These moors are incredibly unique. What made you choose them?”
“It seemed appropriate.” Sherlock answered. “Being scared witless makes you focus your priorities. This is where I believe I truly made John my top priority.”
“Yes, well.” He said. “I do have someone who would like a word and who promises to be on her best behavior.”
“Mother isn’t actually someone I want to see right this second.” Sherlock said grimly.
“Just hear me out.” His mother said lightly entering the room.
“I think we’ve all heard enough of your vitriol on the subject.” Sherlock answered. “The daily emails were more than adequate for me to grasp your opinion on my marriage.”
“I know that I haven’t been as…supportive…as I could have been about your relationship.” She said, sounding like someone was digging a bullet out of her leg.
“Bit of an understatement, that.” John said quietly.
She cringed in embarrassment as she continued, “But…I do want you to be happy. And if…this…makes you happy, then I’m fine with you marrying him.”
“Don’t actually need your permission.” Sherlock answered.
“Well,” She said. “Still…”
“Am I to assume that you want to attend the ceremony?” Sherlock asked.
“That’s why I’m here.” She answered.
“On one condition.” Sherlock said.
“And what’s that?” She asked.
“Apologize to John.” Sherlock said. “He’s the best man I have ever met and you have been nothing but vindictive and nasty since you met him.”
Mrs. Holmes drew herself up with several deep breaths before turning to John and practically shuddering as she began, “Dr. Watson, I apologize for the way I’ve treated you and the things I’ve said over the past year. Can you possibly forgive my bad manners?”
“Yes, Mrs. Holmes, I can forgive you for your bad manners.” John said quietly. “But, unfortunately, you didn’t RSVP so we won’t able to include you in the dinner count. But I’ve heard there’s a Pizza Hut in the village. I’m sure they deliver.”
Sherlock came up behind his fiancé and pulled him close against his chest as he watched his mother nod meekly and turn to go join the rest of the guests leaving them alone once more.
“Have I ever told you how much I love you, Dr. Watson?” Sherlock murmured.
“I could stand to hear it a few more times, I think.” John smiled, before turning to pull Sherlock into a passionate kiss.
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The ceremony was lovely. The boys were married without a hitch and the caterers were kind enough to rustle up an extra plate of food for Mrs. Holmes. They spent the afternoon laughing with friends and soon were hustled off to the private car so that they could spend their honeymoon at a small cottage that Mycroft and Greg had rented for them as a wedding present. They arrived just as twilight transformed everything into a cascade of deep reds, blues, and purples and they were just able to make out several beehives lining the property. They dropped their bags at the entryway before melting together in a fervent kiss. They quickly agreed that “yes, naked, right now” was their desired state of existence and practically ripped off each other’s suits.
They spent their first night as husbands whispering desires and wishes and endearments into each other’s skin as they moved together in wedded bliss. After successfully consummating their union, they curled together under the duvet letting their sweat cool as they caught their breath.
“I do believe you belong to me now, Dr. Watson.” Sherlock said with a brilliant smile, playing with the white gold band on his husband’s finger.
“Likewise, Mr. Holmes.” John answered pressing a kissing to his forehead. “So, what do we do now?”
“I believe the sentiment is to live happily ever after.” Sherlock answered.
“Seems a bit pedestrian for us.” John answered cheekily.
“Maybe.” Sherlock answered. “But we do have a way of exceeding expectations. Shall we show the world how it’s done?”
“Forever.” John promised before leaning in to kiss his husband lovingly in agreement.