Can't Stay Away (BBC Sherlock) -2-

12. The Unsolved Case

*Flashback*

I thought when Mary said we would be bonding that she meant having some one-on-one time together. Having her and Dad over at 221B, having a crucial area of the apartment laid out with wedding things to be looked over wasn't what I'd imagined. Since Dad, Mary, and even Sherlock got in on the planning, I had no choice but to be roped in too.

Dad sat in his chair, looking through things on his phone. Mary was at the dining table, with a 3D model of the reception venue near her. That was the least crazy thing about this setup. Sherlock had a bulletin board above my makeshift bed, covered in papers. They ranged in different areas: transport, catering, rehearsal, and wine, just to name a few.

Sherlock was occupied with his organized chaos on the wall while I lounged in his chair. He'd made no comments, being too preoccupied with other things. Then again, he was no Sheldon Cooper, who wouldn't let anyone sit in his spot.

"Need to work on your half of the church, Mary," Sherlock told her. "Looking a bit thin."

"Ah, orphan's lot," Mary responded. A smile was on her face. "Friends—that's all I have. Lots of friends."

"Schedule the organ music to begin precisely at eleven forty-eight."

I shook my head. "But the rehearsal's not for another two weeks. Just calm down."

"Calm? I am calm. I'm extremely calm."

"Really?"

"Rachel, don't mess with him," Mary scolded me. "Let's get back to the reception, come on." Sherlock joined Mary over at the table. She handed in an RVSP card. "John's cousin. Top table?"

Sherlock looked over the card. "Hmm. Hates you. Can't even bear to think about you."

"Seriously?" Mary looked up at him.

"Second class post, cheap card," he sniffed, scowling, "bought it at a petrol station. Look at the stamp: three attempts at licking. She's obviously unconsciously retaining saliva."

"Ah. Let's stick her by the bogs," Mary threw over her shoulder to my dad.

"Oh yes," Sherlock agreed.

My brows came together. "Do I want to know what those are?"

"They're toilets." Sherlock sat down with Mary.

I wrinkled my nose. "Sorry I said anything."

"Who else hates me?" Mary whispered. Sherlock handed her a piece of paper. "Oh, great—thanks."

"Priceless painting nicked. Looks interesting," Dad muttered. I started giggling to myself. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, I don't know, the fact that your middle name is Hamish," I sang. I remembered Mary and my dad having a brief argument about it being on the wedding invitation. "I learn this now? We've known each other for two years."

"Don't feel bad, Rachel. It took me a while to hear it," Sherlock told me.

"You stole my birth certificate," Dad retorted.

"Huh, I should have done that," I mused.

"All you would have had to do was ask, I would have told you."

"No, you wouldn't have," Sherlock and I said in unison.

"I would tell you mine if you asked," I told Dad.

"What is it, then?"

I smiled. "Avril. It's unique, like yours, but mine sounds a lot better." Dad rolled his eyes. "On another related note, does your family—sorry, our family—know about me?" I asked. "You've had more than enough time to tell them."