Constellations Strung With a Shooting Star | Sherliam

Chapter Sixteen

[heyyyy,,, so,,, this may or may not have taken three or so weeks to churn out. haha. i'm sorry :( life got in the way and i had writer's block for a while on one specific part. it was so frustrating but it's back now!! yippie!! enjoy the chapter, and tysm <3]

The carriage's wheels clatter against the ground, occasionally bumping over a rock and tipping over the body. Inside, a better-dressed Sherlock sits across from John and Mary, who've been sappier than trees throughout the entire ride. The ravenet has always dreaded being the third wheel to couples, but this instance is that tenfold. The disastrous but fitting flirting between the two is bad enough, but paired along with the itch that Sherlock's clothes restlessly offer, the most plainly fitting word to describe it all would be unpleasant.

For the sake of his friend's happy and earned relationship, though, he'll set his frustrations aside and ignore them to the best of his ability.

However, that doesn't excuse how annoying the attire happened to be. He tried out three separate outfits that night, the first two instantly being disproved by Watson and Hudson. In the end, he had to go with a white button-down he's only worn once in the past; decorated simply with skull-shaped cufflinks. Overneath is a jacket he also has only worn once. The last time he wore either of these was when he was a teenager in France, though they still happen to fit him.

He slicked his hair back as well, with a tighter ponytail. Together, he almost looks different; one would only be able to instantly recognize him by his face, but certainly that wouldn't be anywhere near a problem for William.

Holmes hoped that he'd be riding there on his own, but his partner repeatedly insisted to see him off at the very least. That accompanied by his proclamation that he'd like to bring his fiancée home personally. So now, the detective supposes that he'd have to swallow his retorts and accept it for as it is.

"Is this it, Sherlock?" John asks, unlatching the ravenet from his thoughts. His eyes snap back to the doctor, before briefly splitting to the window. The carriage slows down, stopping in front of a gated manor among a few others. But the one directly in front of the carriage is in fact the Moriarty London estate.

"Aye," he responds, nodding his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mary's eyes widen some, darting between the man across from her and the view from the window.

"This?" She hums, expression unreadable, "Isn't this the Moriarty estate? I didn't know they had a sister." Her face newly fills with questioning, said questions on the tip of her tongue as she looks back to Sherlock for answers.

Well, she isn't brainless, after all. Perhaps Sherlock should give more credit to John and his relationship.

"They don't," Sherlock answers plainly, groaning roughly as he lifts himself off of his seat and out of the carriage. He doesn't explain any further, leaving the blonde to form her own conclusions. A part of the ravenet hopes that she doesn't accurately guess the situation, for the sake of saving prejudiced comments.

Then again, if the detective's presumption is as correct as he hopes it to be, it's ineffable that Mary will eventually know that Sherlock's partner for life is another man.

"W-well," the doctor awkwardly starts, glancing between Sherlock and his soulmate, "I wish you luck, Sherlock. Make a good impression, I beg of you. It went well last time, didn't it? Just... Act like you did during that tea party, and I'm sure it'll be fine."

Holmes snorts, rolling his eyes as he lousily sets his hands into his pockets. "Avoidin' a crowd'a women in a rose garden is incredibly different from sharing a dinner, my dear Watson." He huffs in a playful manner, almost instinctively grabbing his cigarettes. But he holds back. He did bring some with him, but he promised himself that he'd only smoke when he felt like he needed to and couldn't control the urge.