Not a Waltz, but a Whirlwind

Sherlock watched John lead Mary away, smiling to himself. John was smiling, Mary was smiling (and very nearly in tears). It was smiles all around.

So, why did this actually hurt so bad?

He nodded slightly at Mary when she glanced back at him, but she was swept into John's arms in a way different to the one that Sherlock had been swept into. She was his wife; he was his best friend. They both loved him, in different ways.

His place was always in John's life. He was meant to be right there with him, right by his side. People lived under the idea that John was supposed to be at Sherlock's side. Sherlock let them think that, but it wasn't like that at all. He was supposed to be at John's side. That was the truth. Because he felt strange without him.

But now Mary was at John's side. It wasn't wholly unheralded. Sherlock had expected that, eventually, John would find a woman to settle down with. It was in John's nature. Like he had said, he was a romantic. He was meant to be with someone. Unlike Sherlock.

Sherlock was meant to be alone.

That was just how things were. They would never change. He had just thought that they had for a while while he and John had been so close. Of course they changed. They were destined to change. Because he was destined to be alone and John wasn't a part of that life.

And John said that things wouldn't change, but they would. Sherlock knew it very well. That's why he had been so eager to get the wedding over with, really. Rip the plaster off in fell swoop. Give away his best friend and lose the light of his life together. Simple, really, but with far too much encompassed in that simple movement, in two simple words (I do).

His entire life was coming crashing down upon his ears and all he could was smile and act like he didn't mind when he really did. It really was taking its toll. He wanted to go home and crawl into bed, get this bloody suit off and forget all about weddings and quote-unquote heartbreak.

The smile had slid off his face without his realising.

Sherlock jolted slightly, shaking himself back to reality and away from the thoughts that were oh-so-forbidden in his line of work. Sentiment. Emotion. Destruction. He didn't fall victim to those things. He could pretend for John and he could pretend for Mary and, if he could trick them, Sherlock was sure that he could delude himself into thinking that none of it mattered at all.

This little moment at the end of tSo3 where Sherlock shakes his head the slightest bit just speaks volumes to me. He's trying to shake away the emotion of all this. Seriously, I really want to hug him and he's not even real.

Couple more pieces for tSo3 that I want to write... and delving back into older stories to work on those as well. Enjoy the writing mood I'm in... I'll probably be shell-shocked after this Sunday's episode. I do not own Sherlock. Thank you!