If You Love Me, Get Clean

Chapter Thirty

May 2016

And how can I refuse?
Yeah, you rid me of the blues
Ever since you came into my life
And yeah, you're my medicine
I wanna marry you
I said l adore you

"That was embarrassing." Alice says through gritted teeth as they descend the steps, back onto the gravel in front of the church.

"It was your fault," he retorts. "If you hadn't elbowed me."

"You completely missed your line! One line! That's all you had!"

"Well, it's all a bit of nonsense anyway, isn't it?" He says with a shrug, clutching his phone in his hand at his side. Alice knows he's itching to unlock it, but he must sense he needs to give it at least five minutes before he so much as even glances at it.

"It's not nonsense to them," she argues. "Not to John."

He doesn't have a comeback for that.

They're eventually forced into photos, which both of them hate. There's only so much smiling you can do before your face starts to hurt.

"I think I'm definitely ready for cake and booze now." Alice mutters.

A brief tremor ripples through Sherlock, and she knows she's caught him right on his funny bone. He sniggers just as the photographer clicks his shutter. "Trust the month we decide to set the baby plan in motion we have an event that leads to you drinking alcohol."

"I'm not following some ridiculous regime," she says, pulling an exaggerated expression at Rosie to try and entice a smile from her for the camera. "I can already sense you're planning an itinerary."

He chuckles again. "You know me."

"Exactly. Mr. Thorough."

The photographer takes a couple more photos, and then they finally hand Rosie back to her parents, stepping away to one side.

"Can I check my phone now?" Sherlock asks.

"Just hang on a few more minutes," Alice mutters. "You can text in the car."

"Someone could be dying because I'm not texting."

"Then I'll be sure to send a condolences card."

The comment earns herself a low throaty chuckle, and he turns away from the crowd, as if laughing about potential murder victims is something best done away from the gazes of other people, regardless of whether they hear the joke or not.

She can feel his eyes on her, and when she looks up at him he puts an arm around her shoulders and draws her closer, pressing a kiss against the top of her head.

"What's that for?" She asks.

"I was just thinking," he says with a shrug of his shoulders. "If you'd said to me all those years ago that we were going to be standing in front of a church after officially being made godparents to an actual baby..."

"You'd have said 'shut up and pass me my cigarettes'?" She says, dropping her voice as low as she can make it to give off her best impression of him.

"Possibly," he concedes. "But I'd also be dead by now if it weren't for you."

Her stomach squirms at the reminder of blue lips, of doses of Naloxone, of discarded syringes. "We don't need to talk about this." She whispers, her voice catching in her throat.

"I know," he says, and he pulls her a little closer, a silent apology for the mental images he's brought up. "I know, I know. It's just..."

"What?" She asks, suddenly aware of Mary's eyes lingering on them.