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“Do you, Gregory Michael Lestrade, take William Sherlock Scott Holmes to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the registrar droned monotonously.
Greg looked down at his and Sherlock’s joined hands, eyes taking in every detail. Sherlock’s hands looked perfectly normal - pale and slender and strangely delicate - but Greg could feel the slight dampness of his palms and the gentle but distinct tremor running through them. He looked up, admiring Sherlock in his dove grey suit, his full lips and intense, pale eyes. It had been a long, occasionally difficult journey for them, but they were here, finally, and Greg felt his heart swell as he spoke, “I do.”
“And do you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, take Gregory Michael Lestrade to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
A look of annoyance flittered across Sherlock’s features, and for a moment Greg felt an iron fist take hold of his heart. When the younger man didn't speak his vow, Greg squeezed his hands gently, hoping that his face was not betraying the fear he felt; surely, surely Sherlock wouldn't back out at this stage. The whole thing had been his idea, after all.
“Really, what an idiotic question! I don't understand why you insist on asking it at this late stage in the proceedings,” Sherlock burst out suddenly, turning slightly to face the registrar. “Considering how many times you insisted on us meeting prior to today, I should have thought our devotion to each other obvious, but clearly not. We would hardly have come this far were we not committed to marriage—”
“—Sherlock, really, this is hardly the time!” Mycroft chided exasperatedly from Greg’s left, where he was standing as best man, and there was a definite murmur of, “Oh, Sherlock,” from Mrs Hudson’s direction. Greg, awash with relief, stared at the younger man in shock and a slightly hysterical laugh escaped before he could clamp down on it. He wasn't not alone, for there was more than one titter from the amassed guests, and John, standing beside Sherlock, was bright red in the face and had his left hand stuffed in his mouth, shoulders shaking violently.
The registrar looked absolutely scandalised. “In all of my years I have never, never—”
Greg cleared his throat, valiantly fighting back laughter. “Don’t mind him, he’s just nervous.”
“Really, most irregular,” the registrar huffed. “Well, if we’re all quite ready to continue,” he said, determinedly ignoring that one of the best men and half of the guests were apparently losing the plot. He glared at Sherlock and looked at Greg, as though confirming that he really wanted to marry him. “Do you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, take Gregory Michael Lestrade to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
Sherlock huffed but his eyes were locked on Greg’s, and there was a warmth in them that set Greg’s heart aflutter. “I do.”
“In that case, in the presence your witnesses and guests, I pronounce you to be married in the eyes of the law. You may kiss your husband,” the registrar declared, closing his book dramatically and taking a step back.
Greg held Sherlock’s gaze, the magnitude of the moment weighing heavily for a moment before relief crashed through him and he felt a grin splitting his face. “Come here, you mad bastard,” he said, tugging his husband forward. Sherlock’s smile was incandescent, eyes crinkling in the corners, and Greg couldn't remember ever feeling happier. “I love you.”
“Yes, yes, I love you too. Now kiss me,” Sherlock replied imperiously, and Greg, naturally, complied. Their lips met, gently to begin with, but Sherlock quickly deepened it, tongue teasing and mouth hot, and Greg knew that he was the luckiest man alive.