Chapter Text
The small paneled room in The Diogenes Club has one thing besides exquisite decorations, flawless servants performing silently and unobtrusively, gorgeous lighting streaming in from floor to ceiling windows and comfy chairs; relentlessly enforced privacy. No newspaper photographers or reporters had ever made it past the door and as long as the Union Jack flew, never would. It had taken John a moment to embrace the idea of having the ceremony there. He didn't like the place all that much and he didn't want Sherlock to feel beholden to Mycroft. But since his return, Sherlock had been less hostile to his brother. Perhaps at last they could be brothers and not semi-civil enemies.
John is chatting nervously with Greg, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson. They are still on schedule but Mycroft and Sherlock are off somewhere dealing with a crisis. Fortunately one that can be handled with texts and computers rather than running through the streets. John is more than happy to run anytime after Sherlock, but he's rather hoping to soon be running on a beach or at least around a bedroom.
The door to the sitting room opens, everyone looks up, John's heart speeds up but it's only a man with a tray of glasses. John reaches for one and sips. His mouth is dry, why is he so nervous? They've loved each other for years, they've survived everything London and NSY can throw at them. John takes a deep breath and smiles. The surge of adrenaline reminds him of chasing down criminals, or shooting that blasted cabbie. Their first case. 'Oy. Sherlock Holmes makes me squishy over blowing away a serial killer who was talking the love of my life into poisoning himself just to prove who was smarter.' John looks up again, Harry has arrived, looking smart in a dark pantsuit with a green shirt. Her hair was almost as short as John's, a little more brown. She's leading in the Magistrate who is all smiles. An old friend of the Holmes family, or Mycroft at any rate. Another functionary, like the waiters, sworn to secrecy. "John, this is Lord Streetfeild, Lord Streetfeild, Dr. John Watson." Smiles and handshakes. "My dear Dr. Watson, I've read your blogs of course. So pleased to meet you." "Thank you, have some champagne, the boys have been called away..." John hopes they'd be back before he jitters himself out of his crisp blue suit. Tailored to a fair thee well by Sherlock's own tailor, feeling like a mannequin. But Sherlock's eyes had lit up when he presented himself, had complimented how the suit showed off his shoulders, draping over his chest so well. That had nearly led to a scandal in Savile Row. Hmmmmm a good idea for the title of a story. Maybe. Harry is tugging him over to a corner while Lestrade makes obsequies to Lord whosiwhatsis. "You look like a kid at Christmas, John, I'm so happy for you." Harry smiles her laugh lines framing her blue eyes.
"Harry, well, I'm glad you're here." They hug, and it's a little awkward, but their hearts are in the right place. Misunderstandings, jealousies, fears all past now. Harry's still single. Whenever John mentions Clara, Harry shudders and says "Oh, John, if only I could be bought with expensive gifts and a marriage license. Clara is much happier chasing baby dykes at the clubs and I'm happier she's there too." And she laughs. It was a hard time, but pulling her shit together to help John hang on after the Fall, gave Harry the kick in the ass she so desperately needed.
Finally, two tall men enter, one in a striped waistcoat and for Heaven's sake carrying that damned umbrella. The other takes John's breath. As usual.
Sherlock is wearing another dark suit, sharply tailored, the deep blue of his shirt doing things to those sea-changeable eyes that make John's heart speed up. John immediately blots everyone else out of the room. Deletes them as he reaches out to his love. HIS love. Sherlock takes his hand and whispers in his ear, "Even though our honeymoon might mean the fall of England, I'll be damned if I wait around any longer for nitwits who refuse to listen properly. Mycroft will sort them later." Mycroft has huffed away to speak to to Lord Streetfeild.
"Nervous?" Sherlock asks, his serious eyes belying the quirk of that lush mouth. "Excited, like we're about to go on an case. You?" John does not let go of Sherlock's hand. Here, there are no prying cameras, no gawkers. Not that he is not proud of his love for this man. But he is unwilling to let the grubby fingers of the press poke around his heart. Not today. Sherlock laughs "An adventure John, yes." He bends down to kiss John lightly, a brush of the lips, but it makes both of them breathy and pink.
Mycroft, who likes to order things properly, "If you are ready?" They notice that the small assemblage had gathered in front of the fireplace. Lord Streetfeild flanked by a space recently vacated by Mycroft, and Lestrade, looking dashing in gray. Seated in plush chairs are Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and Harry. Mrs. Hudson has been been full of smiles and tears all day. Her boys. At last. She clasps Molly's hand.
Molly is quiet. She's overjoyed for them both, as a truly giving and loving heart would be. She loves Sherlock so his happiness makes her happy even while it breaks her heart. She drinks more champagne and smiles at Mrs. Hudson. The boys looked scrumptious. Molly looks over at Harry, she looks so much like John. A little tipsy, she smiles at Harry and Harry, smiles cautiously back. Straight women are not her thing. But Molly looks lovely, her hair piled up on her head, a deep maroon dress and bolo jacket accentuating her slender curves and ivory skin. Harry nods and looks up at the fireplace,
John and Sherlock are standing there in front of the officiant and she almost tears up they look so damned happy. Sherlock serious, eyes only for John, John watching Sherlock. Mycroft nods at Lord Streetfeild and wonders if the couple are even paying attention.
Lord Streetfeild reminds John of the Vicar at their little church back home. Sad that his parents are gone now, they won't know how happy he is. Streetfeild coughs lightly and opens a book with a few notes in it: "Friends and Family, we gather here to witness the joining of this couple in matrimony. If anyone here can show just cause why these two should not be wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace." Sherlock's head pops up, he's affronted but John squeezes his hands and smiles. Lestrade chuckles lightly.
Mycroft almost wishes someone would object, he'd love to see Sherlock get jugged for assault, but perhaps not on his wedding day. Alas.
"Hearing no objection, we may proceed. John Hamish Watson, do you take this man, Sherlock Sherrinford Holmes to be your lawfully wedded husband?" John immediately mists over. "With all my heart, I do." "And do you Sherlock Sherrinford Holmes take this man, John Hamish Watson, to be your lawfully wedded husband?" Sherlock pauses, tightens his hands around John's "With all my heart, for all my life, I do."
"May I have the rings?" Lestrade hands him two identical rings, they are black ceramic (less likely to shine in the dark and give them away if they're doing surveillance) each has the others' name inscribed inside. Streetfeild places the rings on the book and looks at the men, "The giving and receiving of rings is an outward symbol of the covenant the two of you have made with each other. I'm told you've prepared your own words?"
John pales a bit as he reaches for Sherlock's ring, he's not a public speaker for all that he can wax eloquent over the internet and he does not intend to muck this up. Looking deeply into his love's eyes he says:
"Sherlock, if I could tell you everything that you mean to me, we'd be here till the sun came up tomorrow. The best way I can tell you even part of it, is to say this; You are my country, you are my home. There was nothing and no one before, there will never be anyone or anything to capture my heart and soul as you have. With you I am complete, my heart is safe and at peace. I am yours, with all of my heart, all of my soul and every inch of my body. You are my partner and my friend. No God could have designed a more perfect partner for such an undeserving man. Will you wear my ring?"
John trembles as he holds the circle toward Sherlock's now trembling hand. Sherlock gives John his hand and can barely speak, a tear slides down. "Yes, oh please, yes, forever." John slides the ring on Sherlock's hand and smiles. Tears flowing, smiles.
Sherlock takes up John's ring, looking into John's eyes and says: "John, I cannot tell you who I was before I met you, but he was a lost man, damned and alone. I worshiped intellect alone. I never believed that love could do more than interfere. I'd never seen a love that could bless, could transform, could save. You, your faith in me." Sherlock stops, grimacing, trying to harness those powerful emotions, unleashed before them all today. "Your faith in me astonishes me every day. I am humbled by your trust, your love. I am transformed. There is nothing in my heart but you. I only have a heart because of you. If you can be as happy with me, for the rest of your days, as I am in one day I spend with you, I will count my life a success. You are my heart John. Will you wear my ring?"
John reaches out to touch that face, wet with happy tears, he extends his left hand, "Yes Sherlock, forever."
"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you Husband and Husband. Gentlemen you may, oh well, don't let me stop you!" and even this near stranger is in tears and laughing as the happy couple kiss.
Everyone is on their feet, cheering and clapping. Mrs. Hudson throws herself into the boys' arms and they each kiss a cheek, embracing her warmly. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." "You're a dear Mrs. Hudson." "Oh I am so pleased for you both." Molly kisses each of them on the cheek. Smiling warmly, her little fantasies have long since been dead or on life support and looking at John, glowing, Sherlock, serious but shining, she takes a big breath and lets it all go finally.
"Congratulations to you both, honestly, all the best to you both." Sherlock takes her arm and kisses her gently on the cheek, "None of this would be possible without you Molly Hooper, I will always be grateful for your friendship." John is being clapped on the back by the Magistrate and Lestrade is shaking his hand. Molly nods and kisses his cheek again before Mycroft extends his hand to his brother. Eyebrows raised, Sherlock takes his brother's hand and shakes it.
"Sherlock, I cannot say that I have looked forward to this day, because even in my wildest imaginings I could not fathom the being who could capture your attention and tolerate you. I am relieved beyond words that the one who could do both is also one of the most honorable men I have ever met." Sherlock smirks, "Praise indeed, brother. Can we expect you to follow our happy example one day?" Mycroft rolls his eyes and taps his umbrella.
"Sherlock, you are my brother and I feel most of the appropriate feelings a brother commonly has toward another sibling, but let's not go crazy shall we?"
Sherlock smiles as John slips a hand in his, their rings clinking for the first time. A servant comes around with champagne for them all, a quick toast before they head to a slightly larger venue for what the couple fervently hopes will be a brief reception. Mycroft waits for everyone to have a glass before raising his glass, "Sherlock and John, may your cases be thrilling, your lives fulfilling and your love eternal. Cheers." Everyone raises their glasses and drinks. Sherlock and John start looking at each other and while everyone files out, they are lost in each other, they've no idea the room is empty.
"You've got me now, John." Sherlock pulls him into his arms, wrapping John tight.
"Yes. And you've got me. We're lucky people." John tilts his head back, eyes half closed as Sherlock's soft lips brush his, slowly, tongues touching lightly, moving faster into a deeper kiss as John's hands go under Sherlock's jacket to feel the warmth of his back. Moaning lightly Sherlock takes John's face in both hands, starts kissing his forehead, eyes, cheeks, chin, before slipping back into John's mouth. They're pressed tightly, each moving gently as John slides his hands to Sherlock's waist, thumbs sliding over his stomach. They break apart as the door opens, Anthea, damn Mycroft, her phone in hand.
"I'm to remind you that the car is waiting and so are your guests." Anthea smiles indulgently.
"Tell Mycroft, " Sherlock growls, "That we're leaving now." John grins. "Come along husband, let's not keep our guests waiting."
Sherlock stalks out muttering, "They're not our damned guests, fucking Mycroft and his bright ideas. We could have taken an earlier flight and been in Corfu a full 12 hours earlier. But, no. Why do people care what we're doing, John? Who will be there? Anderson? That execrable DCI you chinned? Well that might be fun, I'd like to introduce him to what's brewing in the fridge right now....." Fortunately there was no one in the hall and Anthea was, well, Anthea. John grabbed his hand and whispered, "Do you want to be carried out of here by footmen larger than American Football players? Save it for the car!" Sherlock miraculously fell silent.
In the car Sherlock was too busy kissing his husband to complain about Mycroft for a full 10 minutes.