If You Love Me, Get Clean

Chapter Thirty Nine

January 2017

Look at the stars
Look how they shine for you
And all the things you do
And you know I love you so
You know I love you so

Sherlock fidgets on his spot, glancing at the door nervously. "I know they can't see in here, and Mycroft's goons wouldn't let them dare get close enough to the building anyway, but the press is setting me on edge."

"Well, that's what happens when you become a mild celebrity."

"And whose fault is that? Mr. This-Is-Your-Living-Sherlock."

"If it wasn't for my blog you wouldn't have a career. And don't bring up your website, no one gives a shit about two hundred and forty different types of tobacco ash."

"Two hundred and forty three."

"I will trip you up in front of all these people."

"Hm. Is it too late to make Mary my best man?"

John clenches his jaw, narrowing his eyes at the room stretched out before them. "Shut up."

Sherlock laughs quietly, turning his head to catch a glimpse of Mary on the front row next to his parents. He winks at her before twisting back to his friend. "How are things at home?"

"Really?" John frowns, looking around himself as if to indicate a reminder of where they're stood. "You're asking me that now?"

"Passing the time," he shrugs. "You seemed alrightish at Christmas, bit strained, she was obviously pissed at you but saving face–"

"Yes, thank you, I'm aware."

"But that was weeks ago. Been a bit hectic, you know, with all this going on," he raises an eyebrow. "So, I ask again, how are things at home?"

John takes a long deep breath, the one he often refers to as his 'Holmes-patience-enhancer'. "It's better," he says. "I'm still on the sofa. But we're talking like we normally would, and she actually kissed me goodbye this morning when I left to meet you, then hello when she got here. So... We'll be okay. I think."

Sherlock hums. "Good. We're two very lucky men. Neither of us deserve the women who love us."

"Can't argue with you there." John looks Sherlock up and down, taking note of his tapping fingers and bouncing foot. The way his gaze doesn't settle. "You've got this," he tells him. "Don't be nervous."

"I'm not nervous," he says, shooting a glare from the corner of his eye. "I'm perfectly well."

"Sure, tell that to the state of your tie."

Sherlock's chin drops down to get a good look at the clothing item in question. His eyes narrow. "My tie is fine."

John smirks. "Distracted you for a second though, didn't it?"

"Moron. I'm definitely asking Mary to jump up here and be my best man instead."

"Don't you dare."

Sherlock shoves his hands into his pockets, then pulls them free again, then checks his watch, then moves to run a hand through his curls. John grabs his forearm to still it.

"Do not touch your hair."

"What? Why?"

"Orders from on high."

Sherlock thinks that over for a moment. "Ah. Jenny."

"Alice loves your hair," John cringes as he says it. Sherlock takes immeasurable amounts of joy from that. "I was given strict instructions to make sure you don't ruffle it before she does."