Sorry. After doing the caption here, I just couldn’t resist the challenge of coming up with a non-gay, non-slash version of the Sherlock Holmes — John Watson BBC Sherlock wedding. So I hope you enjoy. (I’d love to have some art for this and if I get a chance I may work on it this fall.)

We’re Not A Couple. Of Course You Are.

By J. H. Watson
~1950 words

In all fairness John Watson was justified in failing to become suspicious a bit sooner. He’d received a call from an agent about the possibility of turning his blog into a book, and the follow-up email had put him under a short deadline for the first draft. Which was why he was rather distracted when his flatmate and colleague, Sherlock Holmes started what seemed an abstruse and irrelevant conversation.

“John, would you insist upon a religious wedding?”

John continued typing in his uniquely personal, two-finger method and replied, “Hmmm?”

“Weren’t you listening?”

“Sorry, Sherlock, I wasn’t listening. I’m trying to work over here. I’ve got to get at least another two stories done tonight.”

Sherlock had been sitting in virtually silent contemplation for the last two days. Since they had had to pretend to be filing intentions for a civil partnership so Sherlock could swipe some files from a London registry for some new case. It’d made John a little nervous, but since Sherlock had sprang it on him after they’d reached the desk, John had no choice but to go along or blow the gaff.

Fortunately, the silence had allowed John to complete close to a third of the book, but he knew it was too good to last. He was at the point of writing a tricky bit where he and Sherlock had bent a few laws into pretzels and was trying to figure out how to include it without incriminating themselves, so in his later defense he was a tad preoccupied.

“I asked if you would require a church wedding.”

“Not necessarily. I don’t have a lot of people to invite and church weddings tend to be a bit expensive, not to mention tedious.”

“Exactly.”

John figured out how to avoid mentioning Sherlock questioning a suspect while John held a gun on the man and went back to pounding the keys of his computer. He said, “But I’d be willing to go with whatever my partner wanted.”

“Really?”

John shrugged. “I figure I’m not going to get a lot of say anyway and it doesn’t make any difference to me, so long as the marriage is legal. Actually, I’d prefer something small with just a few friends.”

“What a sensible attitude, John.”

“That’s me, Mr. Sensible. I just hope you’re aren’t expecting to be best man.”

“Of course not,” Sherlock replied from behind his steepled hands. A beat later he did a double-take and said, “Why not?”

“‘Cause I shudder to think what you’d consider a Bachelor Party and I wouldn’t want you insulting everyone at the reception with your toast.”

John continued typing, giving only the minimal amount of his mind necessary to conversing with Sherlock. If his brain signaled a small alert, he instantly shut it off as he sped through the break-and-entering of a shop owned by the criminal.

Sherlock settled back into his chair and his contemplation. A few seconds later, he asked, “Who would you want for best man?”

“Lestrade, I suppose. Although I’d have to have Stamford for at least a groomsman or he’d have his feelings hurt.”

“There would have to be two witnesses anyway.”

“Usually it’s the best man and the maid of honor.”

“Maid of honor. Hmmm.”

“Of course, I’ve got some definite ideas on my honeymoon.” John paused in his tapping and re-read what he’d written, erased a bit, and started retyping. Sherlock sat up straighter and grasped the arms of his chair.

“What kind of ideas?”

“Hmm?”

“What kind of definite ideas do you have regarding your honeymoon?”

“Oh, someplace warmer where we could wear as little as possible, but with excellent room service so we wouldn’t have to leave the room very often.”

Sherlock fell back into his revelries. John looked up and asked, “Why are you asking me all this? Does it have something to do with a case?”

“Yes.”

Sherlock said nothing else and after a quick glance at him, John was lost once more in his own case that had involved six thugs, two geese, three French chefs, a noted restaurant owner, an Oscar-winning actress, her agent, and a very large blue diamond.

Fourteen days later John was ambling into the kitchen after his shower when Sherlock bustled in and said, “Quickly, John. Put on a suit. Your best one preferably. And try to find a decent tie.”

“What? Why? Are we going somewhere?”

“Obviously. Now hurry!”

Since Sherlock was wearing his favourite suit and had, for once, taken some care with his hair, John turned around and dashed off to his room to comply. He entered the living room to find Sherlock waiting with their bags packed beside him, peering out the window.

“Should I bring my gun?”

“Better not. Hard to get it through security. Bring the bags. Quickly, John,” he said as he sailed past towards the front door.

John stared at the disappearing back, sighed, picked up the bags, and followed. In the taxi, he started to ask a question, but it was clear that Sherlock was lost in thought. John was sufficiently pissed at being once more left in the dark that he decided he wouldn’t give Sherlock the pleasure of explaining how John was missing the obvious. John chose to sit in joint silence.

The cab pulled up in front of a discreet government office on a very discreet street not far from where the excessively discreet Diogenes Club could be found. Sherlock ordered it to wait and gave the driver a large note. When they stepped inside, John spotted Molly Hooper dressed up in a garden party dress with a lot of ruffles. She held a small bouquet and had a spray of flowers in her hair. Beside her Mrs. Hudson, in her best floral print, was avidly talking to Stamford who was wearing a slightly-too-tight designer suit. Greg Lestrade looked up from where he was listening to what Molly was saying, gave a big smile and waved. At that moment, everyone else spotted Sherlock and John and also waved. Molly clutched her bouquet to her chest.

John Watson suddenly had a bad feeling. “Sherlock, what exactly is this?”

“Your wedding, John. Smile for the camera.” Sherlock smiled in the direction of the group as Lestrade held out his phone and Stamford pulled out a digital HD video camera.

Instead of smiling, John grabbed Sherlock’s coat label and pulled him back behind one of the building’s very large columns just made for discreet conversation. “What do you mean my wedding?”

“You said you’d go with whatever your partner wanted so long as it was legal. And Lestrade, of course, is your best man. Sorry about the Bachelor Party but it’d be a bit awkward under the circumstances. Best to keep the wedding small, quiet, just our friends, like you suggested.” As he spoke, Sherlock shifted his head so he could look past John’s shoulder at the street outside.

John started to run his hand through his hair when Sherlock added, “Don’t do that. You don’t have time to fix it before the ceremony.”

“Right. And who exactly am I suppose to be marrying?”

Sherlock looked back at John. “Me, of course.”

John frowned a moment as this sunk in and then said, “WHAT? I’m Not Marrying You!

“Keep your voice down, John. We don’t want that to go on the video.”

John compressed his lips for a moment and counted to five. ”I can’t marry you, even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”

“Well, yes, technically it’s called a civil partnership, but it amounts to the same thing. The same legal rights and privileges.”

“I don’t care about the rights and privileges—“

“Well, you should.” Sherlock once again shifted so he could peer around John to the street outside.

“Why?”

“Because as civil partners we can’t be made to testify against each other in a court of law. You really shouldn’t have punched that superintendent in the nose, John. He’s never forgiven you. He’s sent someone, probably Donovan, to ask some questions about that serial killer taxi driver, the Milverton affair and a few other suspicious incidents. Donovan would be very enthusiastic and thorough for her own reasons.”

“Sherlock, I’m not marrying you. Everyone already thinks we’re a couple.”

“Precisely.”

John eyes opened wide and he was silent for a moment, then he shook his head, “Sorry. No.”

“You won’t like prison, John. You don’t get to choose your cell mate and there’s no civil partnership dissolution. The superintendent retires in two years.”

Sherlock held John’s stare for several moments and then, seeing something that John didn’t want to admit, took John’s arm and said, “I’m not adverse to an ‘Open Marriage.’ And I do think we should both keep our own names. Smile, John. It’ll all be over in a few minutes.”

John shot a look at Sherlock, who was indeed smiling as they came back from around the pillar to face their friends. Mrs. Hudson was crying copiously behind a blubbery smile. Molly clutched her bouquet with trembling hands and bit her lips. Stamford beamed behind the camera. Lestrade held up what appeared to be a ring box from behind his camera phone.

“Wait. Don’t we have to both go and register our intention—“ John stopped and stared at Sherlock who had his innocent expression on his face. “Two weeks ago. That wasn’t so you could steal some information for a case, was it? You conned me into filing intentions with you.”

Sherlock smiled down at him. “Very good, John. Although I did collect some interesting information about a certain blackmailer.”

As he accepted the inevitable, John sighed and offered a small smile. He hoped everyone would take its faintness for nerves. He was certain everyone would understand nerves, especially at the thought of being married to Sherlock Holmes.

John wasn’t certain how he got through the next ten minutes. He remembered little of it later. He did recall Lestrade’s “It’s about time.” And Molly’s sniffles and wobbly, “I’m so glad it’s you.” John remembered that the Registry office was small and felt extremely crowded and hot, that he stumbled when asked if he accepted Sherlock as his life partner, the trembling of his hands as he placed a ring on Sherlock’s finger and accepted one on his own. Try as he might, John couldn’t forget the feel of Sherlock kissing him quickly on the mouth to the cheers of their friends. It was all quite surreal.

Afterwards there was a flurry of congratulations, nudging and winking by Lestrade, blushing by Stamford, and then Sherlock was ushering the others into a waiting limousine. The champagne was pouring before the car had even merged into the flow of traffic to take all the attendees to a post-wedding breakfast at Dean Street Townhouse. The last thing John heard was Mrs. Hudson calling out the window, “Have fun on your honeymoon, boys!”

“Honeymoon?” John looked at Sherlock with a quizzical expression. Sherlock led the way back to their waiting taxi. As they got in Sherlock said, “Heathrow, please.” To John he added as he dusted off the flower petals Molly had liberally tossed over the two of them, “The honeymoon will be at Vera Playa, Spain. Difficult to extradite. As you requested a luxury suite at a four-star hotel with exceptional 24-hour room service, someplace warmer, where you can wear as little as you wish. Most people wear nothing at all, John.”

Sherlock glanced at the rear view mirror and said to the driver, “And hurry.”

John looked over his shoulder and just caught a glimpse of Donovan leaping out of a police car and running into the Registry as the taxi took a right.

### End ###

I’ve gotten the bug to do a little flash fanfic for all the Hints for Season 3. This version of “Wedding” is the first. Look for “Rat” later this week. I’ve already got an idea for version #2 of “Wedding” and I’ve got a notion for something very short for “Bow.”

The problem is that I really, really have to get back working on work because I’ve got an Oct. 1 deadline. How did I have so much more time for fandom when I was younger? (Not to mention so much more money…)