22 Warstan (can it be Sherlolly wedding? But not necessarily) :)
What a challenge! I’ve never written ‘Warstan proper’ before. Thankfully, the lovely @mizjoely looked over it for me (since she’s an amazing Warstan writer). Thanks, Miz!! And thank you @mychakk for the prompt. This one was fun!
How in the name of all things good and holy did Sherlock sodding Holmes beat me to the altar? John wondered as he watched his best friend dance with his lovely wife.
Not that he was in some great hurry to get married, exactly. Although… he was six years older than the detective and not getting any younger. The detective who, for the record, had sworn off all things love and sex-related! John could personally attest to the fact that Sherlock did indeed enjoy ‘pleasures of the flesh’ as the berk had once described, because until the week before he’d slept above the very vocal couple.
Looking down at his empty glass, he mumbled, “I need another drink.” then made his way towards the bar. When he got there, he waited patiently while a balding man in his late fifties ordered the most complicated beverage since the Babylonians first fermented honey.
Finally, the man took his pink and purple monstrosity and left, grinning like a fool. John stepped up. “I need something strong,” he said. “Preferably a lot of it.”
The bartender, a pretty blonde, wasn’t paying attention, too busy glaring at the man with the complicated drink. “If you order something with fewer than six cherries, I’ll name my firstborn after you,” she finally said, turning to face him.
Mercy… She wasn’t pretty; she was beautiful. Exquisite. Stunning. “Gorgeous…” he mumbled unintentionally.
“I’m sorry?” she asked.
He quickly realised what he had done. “Ah, that was a gorgeously bad drink,” he rushed. Gorgeously bad? He shook his head. It’ll have to do.
“I know! I don’t get paid enough to experiment nor do I care to. Doesn’t he know you order the most expensive liquor at an open bar? That entire drink had a half shot of bottom shelf rum.”
John laughed, his mood immediately lifting, but suddenly a look of fear broke out on the bartender’s face.
“Shit! I… do you know him? You’re in the wedding party, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am, but no, I don’t have a clue who that was. Probably some distant relative I’ve yet to meet.” He held out his hand. “I’m John, the best man.”
The woman shook his hand, brightening slightly. “The best man? That’s a funny last name.”
John laughed. “Adorable.” Again, he’d not intended to say it out loud. What the hell’s wrong with me today? he wondered. He was way off his game.
But the woman just smiled, then held up a single finger and winked before disappearing through the door next to the bar. A minute later she reappeared holding something behind her back. “This is the really good stuff,” she whispered as she poured him a glass of Talisker.
John whistled. “No kidding,” he said as he took the glass of whiskey. Everyone was either dancing or eating, so he thought he’d take the time to chat with the woman who’d just handed him a very large, very expensive drink. “Ah, do you work for the venue or the catering company?”
“Neither actually. A friend of mine works for the caterers but he broke his leg and asked me to fill in for him. Luckily, I’ve tended bar before. Unluckily, I’d forgotten how much I hate it.” She looked toward the dancing couples as she finished with, “I’m sort of in between jobs.”
John remembered that feeling. Not too long ago he was barely making ends meet. Now he had two jobs (three if you counted part-time Sherlock-sitting). He was just about to ask about her previous employment when he was interrupted by his best friend.
“Ah, John, there you are,” Sherlock said. “I might have known I’d find you chatting with the lovely Mary here.”
“You two know each other?”
“No. We just met a couple of hours ago but she won my admiration when she told Mycroft to bugger off after referring to her as the help.”
“I didn’t know he was your brother, Sherlock. I just assumed he was some government pencil pusher with a superiority complex.”
“And you weren’t wrong in that assessment, Mary. Can I get some cool water for Molly? She’s not feeling well.”
The woman nodded.
“What’s wrong with her?” John asked.
“The champagne didn’t agree with her and she’s a bit light-headed,” Sherlock explained.
Mary handed him a glass of water. “No wonder, Sherlock. Pregnant women, especially in the first trimester, are very sensitive to certain tastes. She’s probably a bit overheated as well. You should take her outside for some fresh air. Also, some plain crackers wouldn’t go amiss.”
John was about to admonish Sherlock for not telling him about Molly’s pregnancy when he noticed the look on his face.
“Molly’s… pregnant? Sherlock whispered. He’d gone white as a sheet and his eyes were suddenly comically large.
Mary’s face fell. “Oh my God! I assumed you knew, what with being… well, who you are and all.”
“Pregnant?!” the detective said a little louder.
John saw the oncoming freak-out well before it happened, but there was no stopping it. Sherlock turned and dashed toward his new bride, shouting her name as he ran. Molly, who was sitting a few tables away from the bar, talking with Mike Stamford, tried to calm her husband, but he well and truly lost it. He picked her up - actually picked her up!- and carried her out of the building as the entire room watched.
“Bugger! I feel awful,” Mary said as the door closed, cutting the couple off from the crowd.
“Not your fault. I don’t know how he missed it. He knows… everything,” John said, then something occurred to him. “How did you know, by the way?” That was some Sherlock level deducing.
“I’m a nurse and…” She suddenly seemed a bit shy. “… I can read people, a bit.”
She nodded. “It came in handy in my former job.”
“If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you,” she said with a smirk, though, for some reason John half believed her.
“That almost seems worth it.”
Mary laughed. “Maybe.”
He really couldn’t take it anymore. She was funny and intelligent and beautiful and mysterious. Throwing caution to the wind, he asked, “What are the chances I could get your number?”
“Pretty good, I’d say.”
“What would you do if I gave it to you?” she asked.
I’d marry you, he thought, or at least he thought he thought, until he saw the surprised and, thankfully, pleased look on the woman’s face. “Oh, damn. I did it again, didn’t I?”
Biting her lip, Mary nodded. “I’m sure it’s just the Talisker,” she said, gesturing to the drink in his hand.
He had only taken one sip. Bless her! The woman wasn’t only stunning and smart, she was compassionate too. “Are you sure you want to give me your number?” he asked, wondering if he’d just ruined his chances.
“Positive,” she replied. “But I promise not to hold you to that proposal.”
She lied. They were married six months later.
Thanks again. Hope you liked it! ~Lil~