A Most Peculiar Man

"Sherlock was a..." his voice caught in his throat, "um.. He was a peculiar man. You can ask Mrs. Hudson, she would know, she lived downstairs from him... and I lived with him. But before that he lived all alone, within an apartment, within a room, within himself. He had no friends, he seldom spoke, and no one ever spoke to him. Because he wasn't friendly and he didn't care, because he wasn't like them. But he... um... he tried kill himself four years ago. He turned on the gas and he went to sleep, with the windows closed so he'd never wake up to his silent world and his tiny room.

"At least, he tried to, and I'm so glad he wasn't successful, I'm grateful he survived everyday, because he made me- makes me so happy. And to be honest I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. We needed each other, and without knowing it, we saved one another, in the simplest ways. Whether it was me calling him brilliant, telling him to eat or sleep, or whether it was him telling me, with pleading eyes, that he needed me for a case, practically begging me not to go on a date to stay with him and look up strange things on the internet for him. We were there for each other, when we needed it the most. And I thank whatever higher power, if they do exist, that I was able to meet him, live with him, investigate with him, and love him, despite him being a prick on most days. And now, I finally going to be able to call him my husband." John finished, smiling at Sherlock, while rubbing his thumb on the back of his hand. He could swear he saw a tear in Sherlock's eyes, but the latter would not admit it.

He was brought back to the moment, when he heard Mrs. Hudson sob, "Oh, John...". The two of them looked back at all the attendees, all of them wiping tears away, or simply pretending not to be affected. John looked at his sister, who was also crying, has been since the beginning of the ceremony, she smiled softly at him, and mouthed "Good job, Johnny.". All the while, Sherlock's attention was taken by a small sniffle from his side, where he saw Gavin Lestrade holding hands with his brother, who was handing him one of his embroidered handkerchiefs. Once Mycroft noticed Sherlock looking at him, he turned and gave a sharp nod and tight-lipped smile, the Holmes special.

Later that day, as John and Sherlock laid together in bed, gently stocking patterns on one another's skin, Sherlock spoke in his soft, low voice.

"John..."

"Yes?"

"Nothing... I'm just trying to get my mouth used to saying 'This is my husband, John Hamish Watson-Holmes'... It sounds quite nice..."

"Yeah, it does... 'This is my dear husband, William Sherlock Scott Watson-Holmes', that also sounds quite nice..."

"It certainly does..." he smiled, before yawning and settling closer to John's chest...

"Goodnight, William Sherlock Scott Watson-Holmes..."

"Goodnight, John Hamish Watson-Holmes..."