The One Next Door

On The Long Way Down

                  

On the morning of the wedding, Sherlock took the first shower that he had taken in a while. He wanted to look alright; he wanted to blend in as another guest, a proud friend, happy to see his mate get married. But of course, he was just the opposite. He was a distraught boyfriend, pained to see his old love get married. But no one knew that except the people he permitted to know. Sarah found out the hard way, she got the invitation in the mail, as did Jeanette, Molly, Tom and even Carl. Molly burned hers. She didn't admit it, but the morning after the invitations went out, Sherlock noticed a pile of sparkly ashes in her fire place, which she never used. He didn't question her; of course, the only reason he didn't burn his invitation as well was because it was a reminder that John was so desperately out of his reach. There was nothing he could do anymore, and every time a little spark of hope attempted to make an appearance, he looked at the invitation and reminded himself that John was gone. So Sherlock dried his hair, put on his cheap suit and clumsily tied his tie around his neck. He looked in the mirror, through the fog he saw a strong man, someone that wasn't scared to go to a wedding, who wasn't scared to formally give up all hope he had of keeping John to himself. Someone who wasn't scared about what to do next. Sherlock sighed, walking into his living room and cutting a long piece of red ribbon, staring at the painting sitting on the easel. The painting that had started it all. Sherlock filled out a little note card, To John and Mary Watson, best wishes, Sherlock Holmes, and taped it to the ribbon, trying it around the upper right hand corner of the painting in a little bow. A present, so that John could remember him once he was gone. Sherlock sighed, taking the painting up off of the easel for the first time since he painted it, and walked out the door. It was a quiet drive over. Molly had hired a cab to take them to the church, and they sat somberly in the back seat, the painting on the floor between them. Molly had bought the two a coffee machine, something Sherlock had told her John didn't have, or at least, he needed a new one. It was fancy and new, and Molly had insisted on buying it for them for 'practical reasons'. But Sherlock knew that she had gotten them the coffee maker for the same reason he was giving them the painting, so that John never forgot his life. The life he had when everyone was happy. Molly was wearing a canary yellow dress with a bow around the waist, her hair in a long braid on the side of her head, but a frown on her face. For wedding guests, the two of them looked like they were going to a funeral. Once the cab pulled up, Molly paid him the fee and got out, helping Sherlock with the painting and staring up at the church. There were people going up the stairs already, everyone in a light and jovial mood, in their best attire with smiles stretched ear to ear. Sherlock didn't recognize anyone, but then again, he had never formally met Mary either. He didn't really want to meet her anyway, meet the woman that had single handedly destroyed his life.
"We should go in I suppose." Molly decided. Sherlock nodded, taking a step forward and staring into the church. There were all sorts of decorations inside, white cloth draped across the entrances, people in all different dresses and suits mingling with waiters carrying silver platters of champagne. Everyone seemed to be in a wonderful mood, everyone except Sherlock and Molly.
"Sherlock, Molly." Sarah said, emerging from the crown in a black dress with her hair in a bun.
"Hey Sarah." Molly muttered.
"I thought black dresses were only for funerals?" Sherlock asked.
"What is this, if not a funeral?" Sarah asked.
"Don't be dramatic." Sherlock sighed.
"We both know that's not going to happen." Molly sighed. Sarah looked at them both with a sigh.
"So this is it then? The marriage of John and Mary Watson." Sarah decided, looking around the church with disgust.
"I don't quite like the sound of that." Molly admitted.
"No one does." Sarah agreed. Sherlock tuned out of their conversation, looking around for the pile of presents. It was easy to spot, all sorts of packages and parcels in white wrapping paper, over flowing on a table. Sherlock sighed, walking over and standing the painting up in the back, so that some presents covered it. He didn't really want his artwork to be very public; the one piece of art that he thought had made his life forever.
"Mr. Sherlock Holmes?" asked someone behind him. Sherlock spun around to see a waiter behind him, looking very formal.
"Yes?" Sherlock asked.
"Mr. Watson would like to see you sir, in the back." The waiter said. Sherlock sighed, looking at the ground in shame.
"Yes, alright." He agreed. The waiter led him through a couple of doors to an empty room, a dressing room by the looks of it. It was empty except for one person, John. The waiter left, closing the door behind him, leaving Sherlock and John alone for the first time since John had told Sherlock of the engagement.
"Hello Sherlock." John sighed. He was standing in front of a mirror, buttoning up his suit jacket with his silk tie draped around his shoulder.
"Hello John." Sherlock agreed, walking closer. John looked very nice, in a black suit with a yellow tie, his hair combed and his skin looking radiant.
"They asked me what color tie I wanted, when I bought the suit. I had to say yellow of course, it's our color." John admitted.
"It's not our wedding." Sherlock pointed out.
"I should be." John admitted, turning to face Sherlock with a sad look on his face. Sherlock sighed, looking upon the face of the man he loved.
"I'm afraid you won't be seeing me again, after this." Sherlock admitted.
"Why not?" John asked.
"I'm leaving." Sherlock admitted.
"Where are you going?" John asked.
"I'm not sure. With no money, no job, no friends, I don't really have anywhere to go." Sherlock admitted.
"Then why don't you stay?" John asked.
"I can't do that either." Sherlock admitted. He stepped forward, taking John's yellow tie and wrapping it around his neck, pushing it under John's collar and tying it in a complicated loop around his neck.
"I told you once, that I would take a bullet for you. We both took it for granted I suppose, deciding that I'd never have the chance to prove it. Well, I'm proving it now." Sherlock sighed, tightening John's tie and letting his hands fall away. "I'm taking a bullet for you, and I will smile while doing it. Only a select number of people know that I'm already dead." Sherlock admitted.
"You don't have to be. I want you to be happy, for me." John insisted.
"Happiness is a word that sounds more like a fairytale. There is no happiness when there is only pain." Sherlock admitted.
"I know nothing of happiness either." John admitted. "Mary's thrilled, of course, nearly fainted when I asked her to marry me, but I suppose she should've seen it coming."
"Tell me you love her." Sherlock decided. John opened his mouth to protest. "Lie...if you have to. Just, tell me." Sherlock insisted. John took a deep breath, looking straight into Sherlock's eyes.
"I love her." John admitted, sounding like the very sentence was burning his throat. Sherlock nodded.
"You must love her, forget about me, forget about whatever we had. You must be happy, be happy for both of us." Sherlock begged.
"You know I can't do that." John muttered.
"Neither can I. And we both can't be miserable." Sherlock pointed out.
"Somehow we manage to be." John admitted. Sherlock smiled sadly, looking into John's hazel eyes, the same eyes that had shone with life, with love, now they looked dark and soulless.
"Please, John, my love, forget me." Sherlock begged, feeling a tear run down his cheek.
"I can never forget you Sherlock." John insisted, reaching up and brushing the tear away with his thumb. "I never want to forget you." John assured.
"I love you." Sherlock managed. "If it's my last chance to say it, I love you, and I always will."
"I love you too Sherlock. I only love Mary because I have to." John admitted. Sherlock smiled once again, wrapping his arms one last time around John. They shared the embrace, the last one they would ever have, the arms that Sherlock thought would always be around him, always there to protect him. They were sliding away. With that, Sherlock nodded, and John nodded back, his face somber.
"Goodbye John." Sherlock sighed.
"Goodbye Sherlock." John agreed. Sherlock turned around, and walked out of the dressing room, leaving the crumbled remains of his heart there as he went.
"Are you alright?" Molly muttered to Sherlock as he stood in the reception area, the crowd waiting anxiously to go into the church. Sherlock didn't respond, clenching his fists and staring over the heads of the crowd. The gang was all here, Molly, Tom, Sarah, Jeanette, and Carl, their faces slack and their smiles fake. Sherlock wasn't even trying to smile anymore. Sherlock sat alone at the back of the church, on the end of the pew. Molly insisted that he sit with her, but Sherlock refused, not telling Molly his intentions. Not telling Molly goodbye. He got his first look of Mary when she walked down the aisle, walking down in a beautiful white gown, her blonde hair flowing around her shoulders with a veil clipped to her hair. John waited at the end of the aisle for her, and even though he was smiling, Sherlock could tell that it was fake. He could tell, as John lifted her veil and said his vows, that it was all fake.
"Do you, John Watson, take Mary Morstan as you lawfully wedded wife?" the mister asked.
"I do." John agreed. A bullet sailed into Sherlock, pain rearing from the wound. But he must be strong; he must not let anyone notice.
"And do you, Mary Morstan, take John Watson as your lawfully wedded husband?" the minster asked.
"I do." Sherlock muttered, so quietly that even he could barely hear it. Another bullet pierced his skin, and a tear rolled down his cheek. This time, however, John wasn't there to wipe it away.
"You may now kiss the bride." The minster agreed, and as the church clapped, Sherlock's tear fell. He walked out of the pew, not glancing to where John and Mary were on the altar, not glancing to where Molly was wiping away her own tears, not glancing back for one final look at whatever his life had become. Because it was all gone now. So he pulled his coat around himself, glancing to the painted rays of yellow light poking out from all of the presents, and walked out into the real sunlight. Except the sunlight was covered by dark clouds, and the rain fell as soon as his tears did, but if you walked by him, you wouldn't notice. You wouldn't notice that he was a broken man, no one would notice anymore.

A/N: there might be a sequel, but I'm not sure. Alright then, since that's over, well, wow, I'd just like to say I'm sorry. This story was all happy and cheerful for like all of the chapters and these last five were like pain. But ya, that's kind of a reoccurring theme with my stories, and you all probably saw it coming. I loved this story so much, it was so much fun to write and it was just so carefree, funny, and I loved the relationship between Molly and Sherlock, a sweet girl with her sassy gay best friend, that just made this story really entertaining. So ya, I'll write the sequel very soon honestly half the reason I wrote this story was so I could write the sequel, so ya, that'll be fun. Alright then, so ends another story, and up next is a teenlock story with a little bit of a twist :)