OK – my second attempt at a case fic + Rosie. This one took a long time as I found plot-hole after plot-hole. I think I've patched them all up, and I hope that you still find it enjoyable.

Following feedback, I've attempted to improve the descriptive/pictorial bits and provide a proper ending.

Pip.

Chapter 1

'I think you're taking these roads too slowly,' Sherlock opined.

'I think I'm taking them at exactly the right speed,' John replied. The roads were narrow and winding, and the black car was, at Sherlock's insistence, bigger than they strictly needed.

'You should know that British cars have their speedometers set at slightly above the accurate propulsion rate of the car,' Sherlock went on.

'And you should know that I'm more inclined to believe the car, the car manufactures, and just about anyone else rather than an impatient non-driver.'

'I'm not a non-driver!'

'I don't see you doing much of the driving now,' John muttered. He negotiated a tricky junction half way up a steep hill.

'I've explained to you that I will do the driving towards London. Just not away from it. Not unless it's for a case or something actually important like that.'

'I'm pretty sure a wedding is important.'

'Then your priorities are skewed.' Sherlock sighed, pained and conciliatory. 'I suppose, if you insist, each time we turn and face East, I will switch places with you.'

John bit his tongue in the hope that his silence would shut Sherlock the hell up.

There was a blessed three minutes of peace.

'I don't know why he has to get married so far away!'

'Because this is where Louisa and her family come from.'

'Louisa?'

'Greg's fiancé. I need to concentrate on the road for a bit so...'

'Why has he made you best man?'

'Because he likes me,' John said, shortly.

'I don't see how that's possible.'

'Thanks,' John muttered.

'No, don't be like that. I like you! I think you're great! I just don't necessarily see how you'd be to other people's tastes.'

John ground his teeth.

'What is the point of all of this anyway?' He waved his hand vaguely, as if questioning the point of the world in general. 'Lestrade and... Lucy?'

'Louisa.'

'...have been coinhabiting perfectly satisfactorily together in London. I don't see any reason why that should change! Weddings are not only a ridiculous and unnecessary expense, but also annoying things to unfairly put your friends through. Pointless dressing up and buying gifts and, in general, utterly wasteful of everyone's time.'

'You liked my wedding though?'

'Your wedding was redeemed by virtue of having a murderer at it.'

'Jesus, God!' John muttered.

'No, it was fine. Mary and I worked very hard to...'

'I swear to God, Sherlock!' John shouted. 'I'm on the point of pulling over and leaving you by the side of the road!'

There was a pained silence, but not for long before Sherlock muttered, 'Touchy.'

The respite John got was a wonderful seven minutes this time.

'How is Rosie still asleep?' Sherlock asked, peering between the seats at her.

'Her travel sickness pills make her sleepy.'

'She gets travel sick?'

'How did you not know that? She's hurled on every trip that has taken us more than half an hour! Well, the first three before I started dosing her up. Why do you think Mrs Hudson didn't lend us her nice car?'

'Because she's mean.'

'How far off are we?' he snapped.

Sherlock hit a button on the SatNav.

'Seven minutes to your destination,' it intoned.

'Thank God for that,' John said.

'She's going to be a nightmare to put to bed tonight,' Sherlock said.

John was about to hold true to his threat, but then they rounded the corner and the majestic beauty of the Great Roylott Hotel came into view. It was an old stately home, the last remaining property of the Earl of Roylott and his family, though now turned into a hotel. A luxury hotel.

They climbed up the steep hill towards it as it sat proudly on a cliff, looking over the sea and the small town of Little Roylott below.

It was truly stunning. It was made in the pale red/brown stone of the area, wide fronted with four full length, wide bay windows on either side of the door. The entrance was flanked by Doric pillars, with a wide stairway up to it and tall, glass doors. These were both flung open now, and Lestrade was standing between them with his hands in his chino pockets, looking slightly embarrassed by the opulence around him.

John had idly looked up the prices of holding a wedding at this particular hotel, and it came to several times the cost of his just to hire the room. If he'd had the option of getting married here for free, he would have leapt at the chance, even if he'd have to drag Sherlock kicking and screaming to that one too.

He glanced at Sherlock now. He was grateful that he hadn't questioned why or when he'd gratefully RSVPd to the event with the appropriate level of best wishes and a rather nice card.

They parked in the front and were instantly set upon by a valet who took the keys straight from John and a concierge insisting that he would unload the car for them and take their bags to their rooms.

It had been a while since John had been treated with such honour. On all previous occasions, he'd been aware that any that came his way was because it was rebounding off the great detective. This time, he happily accepted that this was because he was best man at the wedding of the owner of the hotel. He'd been gifted a week-long stay (something else that he hoped Sherlock wouldn't notice was unusual). Lestrade and Louisa had insisted on him having the presidential suite rather than taking it themselves, instead choosing to stay at a secondary property, a simple seaside cottage that they owned together in the town.

John waved at him while the concierge hurried around like a bee.

'I should probably at least unload the little girl,' he said, and he opened the door and woke Rosie up. She climbed out looking woolly and wobbly.

'Why do we have all these things anyhow,' Sherlock muttered to him, watching the bags go in. 'It's so pointless. I honestly think that your handgun and a toothbrush would have sufficed.'

'Greg!' John said, slightly too loudly as he walked away from Sherlock. 'How's everything?'

'OK I think. I mean, most of it seems to be happening around me which is leaving me a little anxious. On the other hand, I think I'd be more of a hindrance than a help.'

'It'll be fine,' John said. 'At the end of the day, turning up and saying 'I do' at the appropriate time is pretty much all you need to do.'

'Yeah. I can probably just about manage that.'

'How's Louisa holding up?'

There was the hint of a cloud passing over his face now, but he smiled it away. 'She's fine, thank you.'

'All brides get a bit stressed before their wedding,' John said.

'Oh, I know. I just feel so bad for her, having to sort all of this stuff out. I think that being back here freaks her out a little bit too. She's never really been comfortable with owning a hotel. Part of me wishes we'd just eloped to save her from it.'

'Yes, you definitely should have,' Sherlock said, mooching over.

'Thanks for coming, Sherlock,' Lestrade said. Sherlock did at least take the offered hand for a shake, but he turned to John.

'Was this optional?' he asked.

'Let's just get inside,' John said.

'How about you, Rosie?' Lestrade asked. 'Are you ready to wear your beautiful dress?'

'I am, but Daddy won't let me.'

John closed his eyes to give a short prayer for patience.

He felt substantially better when Lestrade led him into his room. It was indeed the presidential suite, and it was stunning. Lestrade gave him a small grin of pride.

The bed was a proper four-poster, made from mahogany if John was any judge. There was a proper three-piece suite and a big screen TV, should he feel the need to quieten Rosie with cartoons. There was a proper, well-polished dining table. With proper dining chairs. The ceilings were high and the windows were huge. He stepped into the massive bathroom with its whirlpool tub. There were seven, luxury bath-foams sitting in a nice line in colour order by the side of it. He looked forward to trying those. All of them. Possibly all today.

He came back to the main room to find Rosie and Sherlock boggling at it. The concierge opened John's suit-bag and hung it in the walk-in wardrobe before withdrawing with a little bow and leaving the room.

'Well,' Lestrade said. 'Is it all right for you?'

'It's amazing!' John replied.

'Room service have been instructed to bring you whatever you might need.'

'Seriously, are you sure about this?'

'Absolutely sure. I wasn't sure whether to put Rosie's bed in here, or if you'd want her in the adjoining room, so I went for both.'

Rosie took one look at the single bed in the corner of the room.

'I'm not sleeping in the little bed,' she announced. 'This one will be my bed.'

She scrambled up the four-poster.

'Not with your shoes!' John said, and he darted to remove them.

'Your room is across the way,' Lestrade told Sherlock. 'It's one of the old servant's quarters, I'm afraid, but I figured you'd want to be close to John to help with Rosie.'

Sherlock's jaw dropped. He was so shocked he didn't even seem able to answer, which was a fine and glorious thing.

'You just wanted a handgun and a toothbrush, remember?' John said.

'I'm only kidding,' Lestrade said. 'We've put you in another suite, the er… the Earl of Roylett's suite or something. It is just across the way, so it overlooks the hills rather than the sea, but I'm sure you'll make do. I'll leave you to settle in now. See you later.'

He left them alone. John found his most smug look to give to Sherlock.

'I'm sure your suite is perfectly lovely,' he said.

'I'm sure it's fine.'

'Let's see this view.' John there were three, large picture windows, one of which had a door leading onto a short balcony. John glanced at Rosie and decided to keep this closed. It was a blustery day, and the sea and the beach below were being delightfully dramatic; the sea green-grey with white horses all the way out, crashing against some of the distant boulders and running across the bay into rockpools. The sand was flat and looked excellent for building sandcastles when he got Rosie down there.

'It's a little bit wavy,' Rosie said, suspiciously.

'OK!' John said. He scooped her up from behind and thrust her into Sherlock's arms, who he then turned on the spot and propelled towards the door. 'I'll see you both later, OK?' He closed the door firmly on them.

'Well that was rude,' Sherlock said, on the other side of it.

'What shall we do now?' Rosie asked in despair, as though she had full plans laid out which relied on her staying in the room with John.

'I don't know! I've a good mind to take you out and feed you ice-cream just to show him.'

'Yes!' She said. 'We should definitely do that. So there.'