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When John walked down the aisle, he felt dozens of eyes on him. This wouldn’t bother him so much, if he hadn’t heard about the audience number the BBC alone expected. Probably half of the country was watching him now, in the dark blue suit he was wearing. Millions of people would see if he tripped over his feet. They would laugh at him and make reaction GIFs out of it.
He tried to go extra carefully now. Just about thirty minutes, then Sherlock would walk down these steps, hopefully smiling at him. He just had to survive this thirty minutes, then Sherlock would be here. With him at his side, John could face everything. Even Mycroft’s unending anger if he did trip.
The church was crammed with people in non-white clothes and funny hats. Yellow and white flowers decorated the seats. The floor was hidden under a red carpet.
John could glimpse Harry, who was waving at him from the first row, where Sherlock’s family would also sit. They also invited some actors and other celebrities in the hope to make the whole event less serious and more modern.
The mood still screamed more funeral than wedding for John, but whatever. This was just the way the English reacted on occasions like this and Sherlock wouldn’t like a too lively atmosphere. The ceremony was just a thing to get over it, he told John yesterday, before they parted. The fun would happen at the party after. As soon as Mycroft has gone to bed, he said, we can celebrate. He had kissed John then to show him exactly what he meant with celebration. John could not wait.
He hadn’t seen his fiance after that. Couples were supposed to be separated in the night before the wedding.
John couldn’t help but be nervous about that. How does Sherlock feel right now? Is he on his way to the church, or to the airport on his way to some obscure city in middle America?
John was slightly terrified, but Sherlock had to feel so much worse, as a prince he was taught that marrying well is the biggest duty he has. The public had noticed his every step, from his birth to the first schoolday to graduation. They never knew what to make of the youngest son. Around the summer of his fifteen year The Sun referred to him as the Freak Prince after a rumored encounter with a woman named Molly. It was said that Sherlock insulted her and the coverage was ruthless. After a few weeks however, Molly and Sherlock had become friends and the terrible title was finally dropped.
John looked around. Molly was sitting in third row and wore an adorable yellow hat and dress. She looked a bit pale, but probably not as pale as he.
John had proposed to Sherlock last November, in his flat in Baker Street. He had cooked lasagna with enough cheese to make the prince happy and then went down to one knee.
Sherlock had nearly collapsed after John’s (very romantic and teary, thank you very much) speech. They had shared a kiss, and he gave him his grandmothers ring (Mycroft was appalled) and during all of this Sherlock had asked him time and time again if he was sure.
John had never been more sure of anything in his life, even not when he signed up for medical school. That step felt natural to him, the same feeling when he proposed to Sherlock Holmes, second in line to the throne of England.
They had announced the good news two weeks later and the country went into a mayhem.
After all, a royal wedding only happened every other year and this time, it’s a gay royal wedding. John was a bit surprised that he didn’t hear any boos from the massive crowd that waited in front of the Windsor Castle, eagerly awaiting a glimpse of their second-born prince and his new husband.
They originally didn’t want to marry in a church, never considered it to be allowed. Turns out the England Church liked their connection with the Royal Family more than their middle age values. Or Mycroft threatened them with something, John didn’t want to know. No protest from both of them helped, they were to be married on the third of June 2018, in the small church at Windsor Castle.
Mycroft and his surprisingly nice wife, Elizabeth, had been married in Westminster Abbey in London. Since Mycroft was going to be the new King one day, their wedding was way more pretentious and snobbish than John would have been able to stomach. The couple had just celebrated their sixth anniversary in April with a gigantic chocolate cake. Sherlock had made several jokes about his brothers sweet tooth, then proceeded to eat most of the cake himself. Kissing his chocolate smeared mouth had been endearing.
Kissing Sherlock would be an activity John wanted to perform for the rest of his life. Their relationship wouldn’t be as restricted as Mycroft and Elizabeth’s. No heir to worry about. Of course that didn’t stop all the gossip newsletter in the world, hundreds of paparazzi and thousands of people to follow and document every move of them.
Since John could remember, Sherlock was always rumored to be gay. When the medical student was just going through the process of finding out he is bisexual, the young prince -nineteen at that time- had made a short public announcement that he only loved man. It was the first time that a member of the Royal Family seemed somewhat approachable to John, and he started to observe Sherlock in the upcoming months more closely. The young man had a one-year-long relationship with another rich nobleman, Victor Trevor, who first kissed him and then publicly broke up with him. Last thing he had heard about that asshole was that he had spent all the money he gained for breaking Sherlock’s heart and was now bankrupt.
It served him right, and he suspected Mycroft had something to do with that. John would never be a fan of the poncy git, but he had his advantages, if he was not just stalking John’s every move to the bins.
John and Sherlock had met on a cold January day, a few days after Sherlock’s 21st birthday. John was then 23 and worked in a coffee shop not far away from St. Bart’s to pay for the rent of his student room. He knew that the prince was studying Chemistry at Imperial but never dared to dream about actually meeting his sort-of celebrity crush.
But there he was, with his ever-changing eyes, the ridiculous fluffy curls and his long Belstaff coat, swinging around him like a superhero. He had stormed in during John’s work hours, eyes glued to his phone and bought a coffee (black, two sugar) and a muffin. He was rather rude about it, actually, so John made a daring move and drew a smiley on the cup.
The rest, as the Daily Mail had put it, was history.
The two rapidly became friends and solved their first case on that very evening. Sherlock liked to assist Scotland Yard with their most difficult crimes and even worked as a so called Consulting Detective (“I am the only one in the world. I invented the job.“) under the name Sigerson, which amused John greatly.
Rumors about their friendship soon circulated and journalists began following John around London. He had long stopped talking to his parents, after they threw Harry out of the house, which the papers found about it. That were the worst headlines. Sherlock had apologized profoundly about that, but John also knew that this was the price he had to pay to be friends with this exceptional human being.
They had kissed after a particularly exciting case in a back street under the stars, which were so rarely seen in London. John was flustered even more than usual about Sherlock’s intelligence and told the detective so, and the prince beamed. That was when John had grabbed his head and pressed his lips on Sherlock’s.
Christ. John still couldn’t believe his bravery.
He was now sitting together with Bill, his oldest friend, on one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs next to the pulpit where the priest was waiting. Mycroft was now here too, gray eyes flickering from John to the door.
The brother never really approved of John. First, he tried to pay John to look out for Sherlock and give information back to him, and he refused. After the begin of their relationship, he threatened to end his medical career and threw Harry out of her therapy. John couldn’t really blame Mycroft for that, after the Victor Trevor catastrophe, but the crown prince went a bit too fair with the Harry threat. He had then stepped close to the older Holmes, had grabbed his collar (John was short, but strong) (Sherlock liked him working out) and told him to keep his noise out of their relationship, give Sherlock some fresh air and actually leave him in peace for a bit. The man was angry, but secretly impressed. They had a similar talk after the engagement, and another one this morning.
Bill punched him on the arm when the music started. Right, the Queen was here, Sherlock’s mother. He had to stand up now. The elderly woman nodded at him as she walked by, her husband trailing two steps behind her.
Right. John took a deep breath, trying to act normally. He could hear a car rolling in front of the church and seconds later loud cheering.
This was it.
The flower kids appeared at the entrance, and after them, Sherlock.
John’s heart stopped for a second. Sherlock looked white as a sheet, his eyes rolling to left and right. He was biting his lip and seemed ready to throw up.
Then his eyes met John’s and it was like on the first day, three years ago. A huge, relieved smile was now on Sherlock face and his skin was glowing. The prince was wearing a dark suit with no tie (Mycroft would throw a fit) and a yellow flower in his jacket. The curly hair was somewhat tamed, and he looked more gorgeous than ever before.
John broke protocol, took a step in his direction and took his hand. They fit perfectly together and John couldn’t stop the laughter falling out of his mouth. He brushed a curl from his soon to be husband’s forehead.
How could a single man be so lucky?
The priest started to speak, but all he could see and hear was Sherlock’s breathing, his sparkling eyes and wonderful smile.
“You may now kiss the groom!“