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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
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“We should be there.”
“No.”
“It’s ridiculous watching it on the bloody telly – we can’t intervene if necessary.”
John Watson made a point of sipping his tea before responding. His flatmate was as agitated as John had every seen him; John knew that he needed to be utterly calm in order the settle the younger man down. “We won’t need to intervene. You spent months going over the security plans with the Yard; the city is locked up tight. There won’t be any trouble.”
Sherlock stopped pacing and threw himself down on the couch opposite John. “Nothing is ever locked up tight, even supposing the imbeciles follow my instructions precisely – and that is as far from a given as it is possible to be. The carriage ride alone from the Abbey to Buckingham Palace is an assassin’s dream.” He leapt to his feet and started pacing again. “What sort of absurd fool of a public figure parades around in an open carriage in this day and age?”
“It’s a royal wedding, Sherlock,” John stated calmly. Sherlock’s absence from the wedding was Mycroft’s gift to the royal family and he’d enlisted John’s help in keeping his brother away. John had readily agreed; Sherlock amidst all that pomp and circumstance was a disaster just waiting to happen. “Certain traditions have to be honored.”
“Exactly,” Sherlock whirled and pointed a finger at John. “Traditions mean predictability and predictability is a criminal’s dream. Moriarity could have a field day with this spectacle.”
“Moriarity is not a problem today,” John replied. “You know that, Sherlock.”
Sherlock shook his head. “Really, John? Did you believe that absurd letter he sent to the Yard, claiming that he would make no moves today of all days? When every camera in the world is turned towards London, giving him an unparalleled chance of showcasing his prowess to the public’s eye?”
“Moriarity is insane and a sociopath,” John didn’t let himself get angry. James Moriarity was a touchy subject where Sherlock was concerned. “But he’s also an Englishman. Yes, I believed what he said about causing no trouble on the prince’s wedding day. God Save the Queen and all that.”
“That’s rubbish,” Sherlock snarled. “What a colossal waste of time and resources.”
John held back a sigh and put his teacup down. He then moved from his favorite chair to the couch and patted the cushion next to him. “Come here and actually watch the thing. The coverage is actually quite good – you’ve never seen so many hats.”
Reluctance in every step, Sherlock complied. He didn’t fling himself down, but carefully lowered himself onto the couch, ending up with his head in John’s lap. John immediately started carding his fingers through Sherlock’s dark, luxurious hair. For a few minutes, there was silence in the flat as both men concentrated on the screen.
“She’s sleeping with her milliner,” Sherlock commented idly about one of the wedding guests who was shown briefly.
John didn’t let the statement interrupt his petting. “How can you tell?”
“She’s conflicted about the hat she’s wearing,” Sherlock explained. “Notice her blush and the way she touches the brim? She’s pleased and self-conscious at the same time. Her husband, however, doesn’t look at all happy. He knows that his wife has been straying. Of course, if he knew the hat maker was a woman, he might think differently. He has the look of a man who’s participated in a threesome before.”
Laughing quietly, John didn’t bother to ask how Sherlock had made that last deduction. Sometimes, John had found, it was better not to know.
The patter of pointed comments and conjectures about the various wedding guests kept Sherlock occupied for some time. John didn’t mind, the wedding ceremony itself was over and some of the coverage was quite silly. Besides, it kept Sherlock relatively still and that was a rare occurrence; one that John was enjoying far more than the wedding spectacle that they’d been watching.
Their idle came to a halt when Sherlock sputtered and suddenly sat up. John startled; he’d actually stopped watching and instead had taken to studying Sherlock’s face, enjoying the younger man’s amusement as he made catty observations about their country’s elite.
“What?” John asked. For a second, he felt a frisson of fear. Had everyone but Sherlock been wrong and trouble actually had erupted at the wedding?
“There,” Sherlock pointed to the screen. “It seems that my brother wrangled an invite to the event of the year.”
John looked and, sure enough, the elder Holmes brother was in attendance, looking very dapper in a crisp tuxedo. All of his dieting was obvious; Mycroft cut a very fine figure. His ever-present assistant was his escort and, wonder of wonders; she did not have her cell phone out. John was amazed at that even more than at Mycroft’s presence; he’d never seen that young lady when she wasn’t constantly texting. His eyes automatically darted to her hands, halfway expecting her thumbs to still be moving, but they were still.
To John’s surprise, Sherlock started laughing.
“What?” John asked.
Sherlock relaxed back onto the couch, looking very much like the cat that had drunk the last of the cream. “I take back everything I said about the wedding. It’s worth all the trouble and every pound that’s been spent.”
John looked dubiously from the TV to his lover. “All the whining and pouting you’ve been doing all morning and you change your mind, just like that? All because Mycroft got to go?”
“No, don’t be silly, John,” Sherlock’s smile was smug and untrustworthy. “It’s not because Mycroft got to go, it’s because it’s what they say is true.”
“What’s that?” John asked.
“The telly cameras really do add weight. Mycroft looks like a stuffed toad.”
John looked at him blankly for a moment and then couldn’t help but laugh along with Sherlock. Yes, it was a good thing that Sherlock didn’t attend the wedding itself, he’d no doubt find a way to insult every important personage who was there. Besides, this way, John had his brilliant, social-niceties stunted lover all to himself.
“Come here, you,” John growled playfully at the younger man. He encouraged Sherlock back to his previous position, head on John’s lap. “And behave.”
“You like me better when I’m naughty,” Sherlock reminded John even as he obeyed.
Sherlock was right about that, as he generally was about everything. His head was swollen enough the way it was, though, and John didn’t acknowledge the comment. Instead, he settled back onto the couch and let Sherlock continue to make verbal jabs about those in attendance at the wedding.
Most people would probably consider those who were actually present at William and Kate’s wedding to be the lucky ones, but John knew that they would be wrong. In the privacy of their flat, Sherlock’s head a warm weight in his lap, John was the luckiest one of all.
~the end~