(Elanor's POV)
Aside from the beautiful union that had taken place between John and Mary, the only good thing about the reception was the food. Three courses came and went all too fast, with champagne, rich and saucy steak and vegetables, more champagne, and delectable, fluffy cream puffs drizzled with a sinfully sweet strawberry syrup for afters. John, Mary, Sherlock, Janine, a couple of other bridesmaids, and I sat at the top table, making idle conversation. Well, all except myself and Sherlock. We were quiet, eating our meal and pondering the reception to ourselves. People came up to the table to congratulate John and Mary (again), and offer a rare word of thanks to us for being there. Occasionally, when there was no danger of a leering spectator, Sherlock would look up and we'd make eye contact, share a smirk, and then go back to munching. It was about an hour or so later when the time came for Sherlock to deliver his Best Man speech.
Well, for the both of us to deliver our 'Best' speech. I'd been forced to contribute, and though I was mortified talking in front of a crowd of mostly people I'd never met, I would do it for John and Mary. I was sure Sherlock had adopted a similar mentality. My eye caught Dave the Cameraman lurking near a doorway, and as he raised his lens, I turned my head, raising a hand to completely block out my face. As I did this, I caught sight of the Master of Ceremonies standing with a spoon and a glass of champagne in either hand. Rapping the spoon gently against the glass so that a loud tinging called everyone's attention to the top table, the MOC said above the chatter, "Pray silence for the best man."
My stomach gave a twist of fear as Sherlock and I exchanged a quick glance before rising unsteadily. I cleared my throat, running a hand anxiously down the plait draped over my shoulder as Sherlock buttoned his jacket uncomfortably. The crowd of guests clapped appropriately, and I heard a couple of anti-encouraging whoops. I shot a glance at the flashcards flattened on the table. The words scrawled there were written in black ink, meaning Sherlock spoke. My bits were in red.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began. His eyes met mine for the briefest of seconds, as if for reassurance, before he addressed the crowd. "Family and friends. And... Erm... Others..." He came to an abrupt halt as if the words had caught in his throat. There was a painfully awkward pause.
The crowd began to grow affected by the tension. Mary rubbed her lip casually with her thumb as John pursed his lips, looking up at us. I caught Lestrade's eye. He gave me a concerned, questioning look that I shrugged imperceptibly in reply to. I fought the grimace threatening to twist my face and suddenly recalled what was supposed to happen next. This introduction was over. We needed to move on to--
"Greg." Molly said immediately as Lestrade walked into a Bart's lab, Molly's, where we were working on a post-mortem of a recent homicide. She'd handled the cranial area, so it was my turn to open up the chest cavity.
"Molly." He said in the same tone of voice.
"I've just had a thought." She said, glancing back at me. Lestrade nodded his head to me in greeting, then looked into the large metal basin Molly had tucked under her arm. His face contorted in disgust. "Is that a brain?!"
"What if John asks Sherlock to be his best man?" She asked anxiously, ignoring him and shifting her grip. I looked up from the incision I was making and let out a soft, "oh," of realisation. Obviously...
"Well he will, won't he?" Lestrade shrugged. "He's bound to."
"Exactly." Molly and I said in unison. She glanced at me again, and smiled nervously. She looked at me as if unsure of what to say, and I sighed, squinting at Lestrade, "So he'll have to make a speech. In front of people." I nodded at him, willing him to understand the ramifications. He gazed off at the opposite wall as he realised. "There'll be actual people there, actually listening."
