Molly was a wreck for a week. She kept expecting to be suspended from work, but it never happened. She never went to Sherlock, and she almost didn’t talk to Tom at all. She started becoming herself again after that week, and nothing happened to her, so she assumed that whatever Magnusson wanted her to do, she was doing it.
Soon enough, it was John and Mary’s wedding day.
After the ceremony, Molly and Tom stood inside the venue. Molly was repeatedly kissing Tom’s cheek, as a way to apologize for being so silent lately. Even after Molly started to behave like she normally would after Magnusson’s visit, she and Tom still hadn’t talked much. He always had a reason to get out of the house. Business trips (as usual), shopping, visiting his parents; he was always doing something and Molly never went with him.
A photographer approached them and started taking photographs. Molly brought Tom closer to her and place her cheek against his, smiling wide for the camera. After taking several pictures, the photographer left and took pictures Mrs. Hudson and then moved on to a lonely Lestrade. Molly looked behind her, continuing to smile.
Across the room, Sherlock was standing. He had his eyes locked on Molly and Tom. She gave him a look, and he just stared. Molly turned to walk to him, but the maid of honor walked up to him and started to talk. Molly couldn’t tell what they were talking about, but she assumed he was making deductions of the men in the room for her. She looked impressed, and disturbed all at the same time. After Janine left him, he continued to stare at Molly and Tom.
“Um, Tom?” Molly said.
“Yes?” He said.
“I’ll be right back.” Molly stepped away from him and walked to Sherlock. His eyes followed her as she walked.
“Hello Molly Hooper.” Sherlock said, a faint smile on his face.
“Sherlock?” Molly said.
“Hm?” He hummed.
“Why the hell are you staring at me and my fiancée?” Molly crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at him.
“Just…observing.”
“Observing what?” Molly demanded.
“How’s your engagement, Molly?” Sherlock asked.
“It’s fine Sherlock.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! Why would you think…?” Sherlock held up his hand to stop her talking. He looked over to where John and Mary stood. They were looking at the door of the venue, where a scarred, uniformed man had just walked in. John let out a disbelieving laugh and left Mary who was smiling widely.
“It was lovely to see you Molly.” Sherlock said, and he walked away from Molly and went to stand with Mary. Molly looked after him.
~ ~ ~ ~
“Pray silence for the best man.” The master of ceremonies said. Sherlock stood up as the man stepped away from the table he, John, Mary, and the bridesmaids sat at.
Sherlock buttoned his jacket. He looked uncomfortable. After all of the guests had stopped clapping, he began to speak. “Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends, and…erm…” Sherlock paused for a moment and looked around the room. “…others.”
The room was silent. Sherlock was obviously in deep thought.
“Er…” Sherlock continued. John narrowed his eyes at him. “A-a-also…”
There was another awkward pause, and Molly looked nervously at Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. She remembered all of the worries she had about Sherlock’s best man speech. The speech itself, the telegrams; this was sure to be a train wreck, wasn’t it?
John closed his eyes and a look of realization came across his face. Molly could just barely make out the words he said quietly. “Telegrams.” Mary gave him a look and Sherlock jolted out of his blankness.
“Right, um…” Sherlock patted his pocket, and then saw the telegrams in a pile in front of him. John cleared his throat, and Sherlock cleared his right after. He looked at all of the guests and swallowed hard. “First things first. Telegrams.” He showed the cards to everyone. Then he quickly said, “Well, they’re not actually telegrams. We just call them telegrams. I don’t know why. Wedding tradition.” He picked up the first card, and then added sarcastically, “because we don’t have enough of that already, apparently.” John narrowed his eyes at him again.
Oh god, Molly thought. This really is going to be a train wreck.
“To Mr. and Mrs. Watson,” Sherlock read the first telegram. “So sorry I’m unable to be with you on your special say. Good luck and best wishes, Mike Stamford.”
“Ah.” Mary and John said in unison.
“Mike.” John said.
“To John and Mary, all good wishes for your special day. With love and many big…” He broke off all of a sudden, and then continued slowly. “…big squishy cuddles from Stella and Ted.”
John and Mary giggled. Lestrade, who was sitting next to Molly, sniggered and Molly smiled. Maybe this would be more humorous than horrific.
Sherlock read the next card. “Mary – Lots of love…” He stopped and breathed out a silent ‘oh’.
“Yeah?” John said.
“…Poppet…” Sherlock finished, loudly sounding the ‘t’.
John and Mary giggled again.
“Oodles of love and heaps of good wishes from CAM,” Sherlock read the next card. Mary’s smile faded, and she looked almost frightened. “Wish your family could have seen this.”
John attempted to comfort Mary, but she smiled reassuringly and Sherlock looked at the next card.
“Um, ‘special day’…’very special day’…’love’… ‘love’… ‘love’… ‘love’… ‘lo...’; bit of a theme – you get the gist. People are basically fond.”
Okay, maybe this wasn’t going to be that humorous. Sherlock Holmes, can’t even read the gushy telegrams. Some guest laugh, and Sherlock looks around the room.
“John Watson.” He said, gesturing to John. “My friend, John Watson.” He looked down briefly, then at John. “John.”
John gave him a smile, basically telling him to get on with it.
Sherlock told everyone how John had asked him to be best man, and his reaction. He then took a stack of cards out of his pocket, looking through them and putting them on the table as he said, “Done that…”. He finally looked up at the guests, then at John.
“I’m afraid, John, I can’t congratulate you,” Sherlock said. Mary looked surprised and John looked up at Sherlock. “All emotions, and in particular love, stand opposed to the pure, cold reason I hold above all things. A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and specious and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world.”
The guest began to look uncomfortable and started muttering to one another. Molly and Lestrade looked at Sherlock in horror.
So, Molly thought. It begins.
Sherlock ignored the audience, and continued to speak. “Today we honor the death-watch beetle that is the doom of our society and, in time – one feels certain – our entire species.” The guests all stared at him, and Sherlock paused for a moment, realizing that his words were not very good. “But anyway…let’s talk about John.”
“Please.” John said quietly.
“If I burden myself with a little help-mate during my adventures,” Sherlock continued. “it is not out of sentiment or caprice – it is that he has many fine qualities of his own that he has overlooked in his obsession with me.” Greg laughed silently. “Indeed, any reputation I have for mental acuity and sharpness comes, in truth, from the extraordinary contrast John so selflessly provides.”
John heavily sighed and Mary frowned.
“It is a fact, I believe, that brides tend to favor exceptionally plain bridesmaids for their big day. There is a certain analogy there, I feel.”
The bridesmaid next to Sherlock looked up at him and the other two bridesmaids on the other side of the table looked uncomfortable. Molly hid her face in her hands. Sherlock moved on to another card and began to speak again.
“…and contrast is, after all, God’s own plan to enhance the beauty of his creation…or it would be if God were not a ludicrous fantasy designed to provide a career opportunity for the family idiot.”
Mary face-palmed and John attempted to hide behind his clasped hands. The guests begin muttering amongst themselves again and Sherlock paused for a moment and continued again.
“The point I’m trying to make is that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant, and all-round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meant. I am dismissive of the virtuous…” He looks to a vicar in the audience, then to the bridesmaid sitting next to him. “…unaware of the beautiful…” He turned to Mary and John. “…and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. So if I didn’t understand I was being asked to be best man, it is because I never expected to be anybody’s best friend. Certainly not the best friend of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing.”
Mary proudly smiled at her new husband, and several guests made appreciative “aww” sounds.
“John, I am a ridiculous man…” John smiled and nodded in agreement at Sherlock’s words. “…redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your friendship. But, as I’m apparently your best friend, I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion.” Sherlock looked down for a moment and smiled. “Actually, now I can.”
The guests murmur again, but this time, they are more approving. John and Mary smile.
“Mary,” Sherlock continued. “when I say you deserve this man, it is the highest compliment of which I am capable. John, you have endured war, and injury, and tragic loss…so sorry again about the last one…so know this: today you sit between the woman you have made your wife and the man you have saved – in short, the two people who love you most in all this world. And I know I speak for Mary as well when I say we will never let you down, and we have a life time ahead to prove that.”
Mrs. Hudson whimpered and held a tissue to her nose. Molly wiped tears from her eyes with her serviette. Other guests sniffle, and John turned to Mary.
“If I try and hug him, stop me.” He whispered to her.
“Certainly not.” Mary whispered back, patting his arm.
Sherlock moved on to his next card. “Ah, yes. Now on to some funny stories about John…” Sherlock trailed off as he looked up to see most of the guests crying. “What’s wrong? What happened? Why are you all doing that? John?” He said quickly, turning to John.
Molly smiled at him proudly, and Mrs. Hudson tearfully said, “Oh, Sherlock!”
Sherlock looked down at John. “Did I do something wrong?
John stood up. “No, you didn’t. Come here.” He pulled him into a tight hug. All of the guests applauded.
“I haven’t finished yet.” Sherlock told John.
“Yeah, I know, I know.” John released him as Sherlock held up his next card.
Sherlock talked over the applause. “So, on to some funny stories…”
“Can you – can you wait ‘till I sit down?” John asked.
Sherlock nodded and John sat down, clearing his throat.
“So,” Sherlock continued. “on to some funny stories about John…” John chuckled and Sherlock looked around at all the crying guests. “If you could all just cheer up a bit, that would be better.” The guests all started laughing. Sherlock reached into his pocket and took out his phone as he spoke. “On we go. So, for funny stories one has to look no further than John’s blog.” He held up the phone and John laughed. “The record of our time together. Of course, he does tend to romanticize things a bit, but then, you know, he’s a romantic.”
Sherlock then began to list some cases they have had. He settled for one case and told us about it. It was a locked room mystery. A guardsman was in the shower after getting of duty and was found five minutes later stabbed.
“Private Bainbridge had just come off guard duty.” Sherlock said as his story concluded. “He’d stood there for hours, plenty of people watching, nothing apparently wrong. He came off duty and within minutes was nearly dead from a wound in his stomach, but there was no weapon. Where did it go? Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you to consider this: a murderer who can walk through walls, a weapon that can vanish – but in all of this there is only one element which can be said to be truly remarkable. Would anyone like to make a guess?”
All of the guests fidgeted, and were silent as they looked at each other.
“Come on, come on,” Sherlock said. “there is actually an element of Q and A to all of this.” Sherlock cleared his throats, and the guests remained silent. After a few moments, he looked at Lestrade. “Scotland Yard. Have you got a theory?” Lestrade looked up and gave Sherlock a blank look. “Yes, you. You’re a detective –broadly speaking. Got a theory?”
“Er, um,” Lestrade stammered, thinking. “if the, uh, if the, if-if-if, if the blade was, er, propelled through the, um…” He stopped for a moment, thinking. “…grating in the air vent…maybe a-a ballista or a – or a – or a catapult. Erm, somebody tiny could-could crawl in there.” He sucked in a breath. “So, yeah, we’re loo… we’re looking for a-a-a-a dwarf.”
Sherlock stared at him blankly. “Brilliant.”
“Really?” Lestrade asked, surprised.
“No.” Sherlock said instantly. Lestrade sighed and lowered his head. “Next!”
Tom turned to Molly. “He stabbed himself.” He whispered to her, rather loudly.
“Hello?” Sherlock said, having heard Tom. “Who was that?” Tom looked round, wide-eyed. “Tom.”
Tom stood up, grimacing as his chair squeaked.
“Got a theory?” Sherlock asked.
Tom swayed nervously from foot to foot before slowly and attentively speaking. “Um… attempted suicide, with a blade made of compacted blood and bone; broke after piercing his abdomen… like a meat… dagger.”
A couple of guests sniggered. Molly showed a look of pure disbelief on her face. She reconsidered her marriage options.
Sherlock’s expression speaks volumes as well. “A meat dagger.” He repeated precisely.
“Yes.” Tom confirmed awkwardly.
“Sit. Down.” Molly whispered through gritted teeth.
“No.” Sherlock told Tom. Tom sat down and Molly attempted to smile off the embarrassment she had for her fiancée.
Sherlock continued to talk about how the one feature of interest in the entire baffling case was John, who saved a life while Sherlock was trying to solve a murder. He then told the guest about the stag night. After he finished talking about the stage night, everyone raised his or her glass for a toast, but Sherlock dropped his. It shattered to the ground and after being given another, he set it on the table, hopped over the table, and began to move round the room. He kept speaking random things, trying to keep the subject on John, but Molly could tell something was wrong.
“Weddings are great! Love a wedding.” Sherlock said.
John and Mary talked quietly to one another, looks of confusion on their faces.
“And John’s great, too!” Sherlock continued, pointing at John. “Haven’t said that enough. Barely scratched the surface. I could go on all night about the depth and complexity of his…jumpers…” John rolled his eyes in disbelief as Sherlock started pacing back and forth along the isle between tables. “…and he can cook. Does… a … thing … thing with peas …” John and Mary exchanged a puzzled look. “…once. Might not be peas. Might not be him. But he’s got a great singing voice… or somebody does.”
Sherlock let out a frustrated sigh. His teethe clenched and then he began shouting. “Ah, too many. Too many! Too Many! TOO MANY!” He took a breath. “Sorry. Too many jokes about John! Now, er… Where was I? Ah, yes. Speech!” He points at the table again, grinning at the guests. He clasped his hands together. “Speech. Let’s talk about … murder.”
John sighs and lowers his head. Mary frowns. Molly looks at him. She is positive something is wrong.
“Sorry, did I say ‘murder’?” Sherlock said. “I meant to say ‘marriage’ – but, you now, they’re quite similar procedures when you think about it. The participants tend to know each other, and it’s over when one of them’s dead.” He empathetically sounded out the ‘d’ at the end of the word.
John sighed and lowered his head again.
“In fairness, murder is a lot quicker, though. Janine!” Sherlock continued. The bridesmaid – Janine – looked over wide-eyed at Sherlock, who was now standing behind one of the male guests. “What about this one? Acceptably hot?” He grinned at Janine and continued. “More importantly, his girlfriend’s wearing brand-new uncomfortable underwear … and hasn’t bothered to pick this thread off the top of his jacket or point out the grease smudge on the back of his neck. Currently, he’s going home alone.”
Molly looked behind Sherlock to see that he was typing something into his phone behind his back. Something was definitely wrong.
“Also, he’s a comics and sci-fi geek,” Sherlock continued tell Janine. “They’re always tremendously grateful – really put the hours in.” He chuckled. “Geoff, the gents.” He looked over at Lestrade, and then jerked his head towards the door. “The loos, now, please.
“It’s Greg.” Lestrade corrected.
“The loos, please.” Sherlock repeated.
“Why?” Lestrade reached into his pocket to retrieve his mobile as it beeps a text alert.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s your turn.” Sherlock grimaced and jerked his head towards the door again.
Lestrade looked at his phone, and Molly looked at it in time to see the text Sherlock had sent him.
Lock this place down.
“Yeah, actually, now you mention it…” Lestrade stood up and walked out of the reception. Sherlock put his own phone back into his pocket.
“Sherlock,” John spoke up. “any chance of a – an end date for this speech? Gotta cut the cake.”
Sherlock smiled widely and danced down the isle. This is just getting freaky. Molly thought.
“Oh! Ladies and gentlemen,” Sherlock said. “can’t stand it when I finally get the chance to speak for once, Vatican Cameos.”
John straightened up in his chair as he heard the last two words. Molly didn’t know what they meant, but she was sure that it was not good. Mary whispered, panicked, to John who calmly whispered back as he put his hand over hers to silence her. Sherlock turned back to the guests.
Sherlock slapped himself hard on the right cheek. “No!” He slapped himself on the left cheek just as hard. He pointed his index fingers on both hands upwards. “No! Not you! Not you!”
He calms down and lowers his hands so that his index fingers are pointing towards John.
“You.” Sherlock continued, walking towards him and only pointing with one hand. “It’s always you. John Watson, you keep me right.”
John stood up. “What do I do?”
Sherlock said something to him quietly so the guests wouldn’t hear him. He then drew in a sharp breath through his nose and turned to the guests with a manic grin on his face.
“Sorry. Off-piste a bit. Back now. Phew!” Sherlock clapped his hands together and looked down at the floor. “Let’s play a game. “He raised his eyes and lowered his head a bit more. “Let’s play Murder.”
John sat down again. Sherlock prowled forward as his eyes flickered around the room, staring at each of the guests.
“Sherlock.” Mrs. Hudson said disapprovingly.
Sherlock steepled his hands in front of his chin, ignoring Mrs. Hudson. “Imagine someone’s going to get murdered at a wedding. Who exactly would you pick?”
“I think you’re a popular choice at the moment, dear.” Mrs. Hudson informed him.
“If someone could move Mrs. Hudson’s glass just slightly out of reach, that would be lovely.” Sherlock said, gesturing behind him. “More importantly, who could you only kill at a wedding? Most people you can kill any old place. As a mental exercise, I’ve often planned the murder of friends and colleagues.” Sherlock rubbed his hands together, like a villain would do, as he continued to pace. He gestured to John. “Now John, I’d poison.”
Mary looked nervously at her husband.
“Sloppy eater – dead easy. I’ve given him chemicals and compounds – that way, he’s never even noticed. He missed a whole Wednesday once, didn’t have a clue. Lestrade’s so easy to kill, it’s a miracle no one’s succumbed to the temptation. I’ve got a pair of keys to my brother’s house – I could easily break in there and asphyxiate him.” Sherlock gestured strangling with his hands, then realizes he may have gone to far. “…if, if the whim arose.”
Tom turned to Molly and said quietly, “He’s pissed, isn’t he?”
Molly, without looking round, stabbed the back of Tom’s hand with a plastic fork. He cried out in pain and grabs his hand.
After a few minutes of Sherlock rambling, he finally called for a toast and took off, running out of the reception. John kissed Mary and ran out as well. She followed a few seconds later.
Molly wanted more than anything to follow Sherlock. She wanted to find out what was happening. She wanted to help him in anyway that she could. Molly isn’t a detective though. She’d just a pathologist, and with John available, Sherlock probably wouldn’t even let her help.
She would just have to wait until the party after the reception to speak to him.
Most of the dialog belongs to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss! The next chapter will take place at the wedding as well and most of it will be written by me. I just felt like I should write in some of the funny parts of Sherlock's speech, and the times that she got angry at Tom. xD
Anyways! Thank you so much for reading this, and sticking with it this far! You are all seriously fantastic and I really appreciate all of your support!
Vote, comment, and follow me for more! :D xxx
–OH