Sherlock fic: After the Wedding

[trillsabells]

Title: After the Wedding
Pairings: John/Sarah hints at Sherlock/John
Rating: PG
Summary: Three weeks ago John Watson married Sarah Sawyer. Sherlock broods. But it all ends with mice.
Notes: Sequel to The Proposal



There a plot bunnies in the world that jump up and down on your head until you write what they want. It is impossible to sleep while they are hopping. Trust me, I'm speaking as someone with a large pack on tesco Sleeping tablets beside her bed (they don't work).
It was the bunnies that made me write the three Sherlock fics I will be posting over the next few days. There will also be a video. Um... help??


Notes: This is a sequel to my previous fic The Proposal which can be found here

 

It had been three weeks since the wedding of Dr John Watson and Ms Sarah Sawyer.

 

Mr Sherlock Holmes was sat on his sofa watching… oh goodness knows what on the TV. He wasn’t really paying attention but just letting his mind race while the images flickered in the background.

 

The happy couple had sent a postcard from Lisbon. Sherlock supposed this was a hint that they had forgiven him for the little ‘incident’ at the wedding.

 

Lestrade, unable to find any cases juicy enough to distract Sherlock for more than five minutes, had taken to searching the flat every few days to make sure Sherlock hadn’t fallen back into his old habits. Sherlock was certainly capable of hiding drugs in his own flat where an entire drug squad could never find them. After all, who’d think to look inside a severed leg? But anyway, he’d been clean for months now. The last time had upset everyone so.

 

He thought back to the day eight weeks ago when John had taken him to see his new house. Sherlock hadn’t wanted to go but he’d been caseless and the woollen gloves needed to soak in the ivy oil for at least six hours, and John had been so insistent that he’d let himself be dragged along. John had stood there in the bare living room with no gunshot smiley face on the wall and asked Sherlock what he thought.

 

Well that had been a mistake.

 

Sherlock had been forced to apologise the next day and admit that as far as he was aware no particularly grisly murders had ever been committed in their spare room.

 

But on the other hand if John hadn’t wanted to know what the previous owners had gotten up to in the kitchen before they had left then he shouldn’t have asked.

 

Sherlock tutted to himself and looked up to watch the opening credits of ‘Murder She Wrote’.

 

“It was the rival ballerina,” he announced to no one then glared morosely at the empty chair on the other side of the room.

 

~

 

He heard the footsteps outside the door during ‘Flog It’ and instantly recognised them. Even if he hadn’t it wouldn’t have taken a genius like him to figure out that there had been no knock at the door and there were only a few people with the key to their flat and Mrs Hudson normally announced herself more obviously. Sherlock didn’t turn around as the door behind him opened. He didn’t react as John Watson collapsed into his usual chair the other side of the room.

 

“What are we watching?” John asked casually.

 

“Antiques show,” Sherlock said as if his heart hadn’t leapt up in his chest when the other man had walked in.

 

“Oh.”

 

They sat in silence for a moment.

 

“Does Mrs Watson know you’re here?” Sherlock regretted saying it as soon as it was out. He hadn’t meant to put quite that much venom into the word ‘Mrs’.

 

“Sarah,” John put as much loving emphasis into his wife’s name as Sherlock had dislike. “Is working late today. And I have a day off. So as long as I’m back by ten we’ll be fine.” There was a pause. “Besides it was her idea.” Another pause. John looked a bit embarrassed. “She says I’ve been a right misery guts actually.”

 

“Well that’s to be expected.”

 

John looked at Sherlock as if trying to detect any kind of humour from his last statement. Sherlock kept his face carefully straight while his mind quickly argued over whether just having John here was worth him having permission.

 

“You’re coming for Sunday lunch by the way,” John said.

 

“I might have a case on.”

 

“Then Sarah said she’d make sandwiches. For both of us.”

 

That nasty little possessive part of Sherlock’s mind, that he’d been desperately trying to keep quiet lately, clicked its heels and jumped in the air with a ‘Whoopee!’

 

Nevertheless he wouldn’t be Sherlock if he caved in to domesticality that quickly. 

 

“Far too dull for me I’m afraid.”

 

“I’ll call Mycroft. I’ll tell him you’re not eating. You know how he worries.”

 

 “You don’t have Mycroft’s number.”

 

“Yes, I do, he called just after the wedding to congratulate me.”

 

Sherlock chuckled at the idea that John might be able to get hold of Mycroft on a number his brother was using three weeks ago.

 

John jumped to his feet. “Have you got anything in? I’m starving.”

 

Sherlock didn’t say anything as John went into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

 

“Oh my God!”

 

Sherlock smiled.

 

“You bought milk!”

 

“I am perfectly capable of simple tasks like buying milk.”

 

“The whole time I lived here you never bought milk.”

 

Sherlock frowned. “I think you’ll find I did.”

 

“If you’ve got bread I think I’m going to- aargh!”

 

The sound of the bread bin being slammed shut with such force had Sherlock jumping to his feet

 

“It’s just a human tongue and a couple of cheese rolls, John. There’s no need to over react.”

 

“There’s a mouse in there.”

 

Sherlock blinked. “A mouse.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You fought a war in Afghanistan and you’re scared of a mouse.”

 

“I’m not scared of it, it was unexpected that’s all.”

 

Sherlock began to examine the wooden box. “How did it get in the bread bin?”

 

“No doubt it was lured in by the human tongue.”

 

Sherlock picked the chest off the work surface. “Well get a container from that cupboard there before it ruins my experiment. Not a cardboard one, one of the tins.”

 

“What are you going to do with it?” John hesitated, holding the can aloft as if trying to keep it out of Sherlock’s reach. “You’re not going to dissect it, are you?”

 

“I am not a monster you know.”

 

In fact they ended up finding a park to release the mouse in. Then Sherlock spotted a mugger and they chased him around for a while. Then the two men went for dinner and chatted the night away. At nine thirty John left to pick up Sarah and Sherlock went home. He collapsed on the sofa with his legs dangling over the edge and turned his attention to John’s empty chair. This time however he smiled and as he settled back and closed his eyes he muttered to himself two words that made him very happy indeed.

 

“Still mine.”

 

 

Comments

[how-to-shine.livejournal.com]

aww :) very cute - thoughh I hate the idea of John and Sarah being married, it's so wrong dammit!

[lunabunni.livejournal.com]

I'm not too keen on the idea that Sarah and John are married...but as long as Sherlock's happy, I guess it's okay :3 Cute, nicely done!

[cherish4.livejournal.com]

Awww sweet and I adore the ending!

[aelfgyfu_mead]

I can well imagine John and Sarah married—and Sarah finally sending him off to play with his friend before he drives her completely insane. I quite like the idea!

[wallhaditcoming.livejournal.com]

Yay! See, silly Sherlock, i told you it would all work out.

[trillsabells.livejournal.com]

Yes! See! Happy ending after all.

well... ish...