Marriage and Mental Illness (Sequel to Tall Buildings and Pill Bottles)

Honeymoon?

John's POV

The airport was a full hour away from the church, and I spent the entire ride trying to glean any sort of information of where we were going. Every question I asked was just answered with his infamous crooked smile. "I'll tell you when we get to the airport," Sherlock finally answered.

I huffed, still dissatisfied with his answer. The familiar warmth of his cheek pressed into my shoulder as he curled up next to me. I encircled my arm around him, letting his head drop to my chest. I felt his hand intertwine with mine and then begin to fiddle with my fingers.

His top raven hair tickled my neck, coiling this way and that. I watched him in blissful silence as he played with my hand, the matching gold bands glinting in the light. The hour of travel passed quickly, despite the anticipation of the unknown.

The cabbie had been paid for in advance and wished us well as we stepped out of the cab. We thanked him before he finally left back for London. The airport loomed in front of us, people bustling past. Sherlock rolled our suitcase to a stop next to me.

"We're at the airport, love. Now would be as good time as any to tell me where our honeymoon is going to be," I prompted. He gave me a lazy smile, reaching for my hand. "Do you remember that night, a month or so before we got together when we ended up watching shows together?"

I nodded, remembering the night well. "We ended up talking for hours into the night, about our hopes and dreams, our lives." Neither of us had breached much into the past that night. I thought I might've kissed him that night, I just hadn't had the nerve to.

"You told me you'd never been to France. That it was the one place you'd always wanted to go, but never had. I told you that I'd been there before and that you would love it." He gave a shy smile as my mouth dropped open. "You mean to tell me, that we're going to France for our honeymoon?" I asked, turning to face him fully. His pupils were blown wide, his face soft and open.

"We'll spend a week in Paris before traveling down to the Riviera. If I remember correctly, that was a large part of why you wanted to go." Of course, he remembered correctly, he was Sherlock.

I pulled him down, crashing my lips to his. His other hand flew from the suitcase, coming to cup my cheek. I broke away, our lips still just centimeters away. "You, you are incredible. France is wonderful, anywhere is wonderful with you, but," I paused, shaking my head and smiling.

"I only ever told you that once. Just once. Over a year ago, and you remembered. Not only did you remember, but you turned that once sentence of information into our honeymoon." He smiled proudly.

"Yes, now come on, we'll miss our flight if we just stand here snogging all afternoon." I laughed as he grabbed the suitcase, and began walking inside. I followed, still in awed shock. He was so brilliant and so kind. People rarely let themselves see this side of him, the public prefers him as a high-functioning sociopath. But that isn't the case at all. It never was, and never will be.

Airport security went about as quickly and painlessly as usually. Which is to say, long and boring. Once we were through, however, it was a straight shot to the gate.

Sherlock practically fell into a seat, huffing. I took a seat next to him, setting our carry on bag in front of us. "The plane takes off at six, so we've got about half an hour left. Are you hungry? I can grab some food before we leave." Sherlock asked, glancing around at the fast food shops near us.

"Sure, love. That would be great." He left, kissing me briefly in a goodbye. It wasn't long before I heard a voice calling my name, but the voice wasn't Sherlock's. I looked up, startled. The woman I'd met in the waiting room of Sherlock's psychiatrist was standing in front of me. She'd been the one to unknowingly convince me to propose. She'd said that sometimes, people just know when it's right to propose, regardless of time. "Oh, hi! Alexis, right?" She nodded affirmingly, smiling faintly.