Disregard the Danger [BBC Sherlock - Johnlock, Warstan & Johnlockary]

Plan for the future

Who do you want at the hen do? John said to invite Cath. Anyone else?

Cath can’t make it. I’d like to invite Harry, but I’m not sure if she’ll be out of rehab.

Maybe I should invite Lily from the clinic. Sigh. She’s nice but so dull.

Fuck “should.” This is your night. It’s all up to you.

Besides, you and I don’t need anyone else to have a brilliant time.

So true! Let’s make it just us, then.

Perfect.

Hm, that gives me an idea...

* * *

“Stag night’s in a few weeks, yeah?” She’s at Baker Street with Sherlock, waiting for John to arrive from the clinic.

Sherlock grimaces. “Indeed. I have been investigating the traditional options -- pub crawls and strip clubs, as I suppose John and the others will want --”

“Don’t.”

He frowns. “What?”

“Don’t invite a bunch of people.”

“I thought he would at least want Mike and Gary there, to give him the appearance of having a reasonable number of friends.”

“I don’t even know who Gary is."

He stares at her like she's dim. "The detective. You've met him multiple --"

She shakes her head. "No. It should just be the two of you.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Why?”

She ignores the question. “You’ll want to get him drunk. Not drunk enough to be ill -- just enough to slur his words a bit. And spend the evening alone with him. No strip clubs. Just drinks, and then come back here.”

“Why--” Sherlock starts again, frowning.

“Trust me.” She grins gleefully. She knows how to get John Watson talking about his emotions. Acting on his emotions. She’s brilliant, and she’s going to give John the best stag do ever -- Sherlock, too, for that matter.

She winks at the baffled Sherlock as John walks in, then turns and kisses the man she’s going to marry.

* * *

“How’s the program?” She asks Harry, sitting down across from her in the lounge of the rehab clinic.

“Fucking horrific,” Harry says. “I hate being sober.” She grins wryly; Mary’s not sure how seriously to take her.

“Are you angry at John?”

“Yes,” Harry says, wrinkling her nose. Then she sighs. “But I think he’s probably right -- it was the thing to do.”

Mary nods, neutrally, and bites down on the urge to say, You were driving drunk, and you’re lucky you only hurt yourself -- hell yes, it was the thing to do. Instead, she says, “How much longer are you in here?”

“Just two more weeks.”

“You can come to the wedding, then!” It’s three and a half weeks away.

“Oh, you don’t want me there,” Harry scoffs.

“Of course we do,” Mary says firmly.

“Trust me,” Harry says with a half-laugh. “John will be much happier without having to stare at his fuck-up of a sister.”