Characters owned by the BBC, Messrs. Moffat and Gatiss. Love your work, guys. I don't own anything except perhaps the notion behind this story. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental and unintentional.

Warning: M for mature adult themes, four men in love and getting married. This is the last chapter folks. I am so sorry I forgot to post it.

The reception after the wedding. Someone is taking a bow, but who and for what?

Rat, Wedding, Bow - Bow

Arriving at the Manor as a couple gave Greg pause. Damn it, but they were a couple; married, hitched, partners. He found he liked it, liked it alot, even as it gave him cause to reflect on the feelings churning through him.

"Has it only just occurred to you, my dear?" Mycroft smiled at his husband and reached to take his hand.

Greg grinned. "Trust you to know what's going through my head," he said gently.

"Of course I know. You have a smile on your face so whatever you are thinking about obviously pleases you, and you glanced at me before it appeared so it probably has to do with me, and we have just got married, so I surmised that you were thinking about us being married and that is what you were smiling about. Ergo, it has just occurred to you that we are now in fact partners, Mr Lestrade-Holmes, and that sits well with you, doesn't it, Gregory?"

Greg nodded and his grin widened. "Oh yes, Mycroft. Yes it does. Thank you, love."

"What for? Marrying you? Some might say we deserve each other."

"And you know what? They would be right. Here we are, time to shine." The chauffeur opened the door and they got out, the lights from the windows illuminating the early dusk. It was a little after four when they arrived, and light spilled out through the open door and pooled on the gravel as they crunched up to the steps. Mycroft paused before ascending and gripped Greg's arm to halt him. "What's wrong, love?" Greg asked.

"Nothing, I merely wanted a moment of quiet before I have to share you." He leaned in and gave Greg a quick kiss, hugging the man to him. Warm arms enfolded him in a hug and Greg planted a kiss on his lips, gazing into his eyes the while. Mycroft pulled back and returned the gaze. "I hope this will be everything we ever hoped for, my love." He looked worried for a moment.

"It will be everything we work to make it," Greg said. "Whatever it is, it's ours." Taking Mycroft's hand in his own and lacing their fingers together, they walked up the steps and inside to applause and cheers and whistles.

Sherlock and John were already there, and all their wedding guests were arriving behind them and they were swept up in the celebrations as Greg found himself introduced to every damn member of the Holmes clan by a proud Mrs Holmes. He was interested to note that nobody said anything untoward, they were all obviously on their best behaviour.

After what seemed an interminable time being welcomed by the Holmes elders, they were ushered to the family chapel for the blessing that Mummy had insisted on. Sherlock and John, Mycroft and Greg, Margaret Lestrade and Lavinia Holmes were the only ones present for that. They had specified they would do this in private, and the local vicar, Tony Appleton, a long-time friend of Lavinia, had agreed to give the blessing despite this being not one but two same-sex partnerships. When asked why he was prepared to do it, he had replied simply that his God, in his wisdom, had not seen fit to reject the LGBT community, but people had. Appleton was adamant that the bible said many things that simply did not happen any more and as such, unless people were going to reintroduce stoning as the penalty for adultery, he was not going to reject gays from his church. Unfortunately, the man was controversial but, in Mycroft's opinion, for the right reasons. Mycroft resolved that he would endeavour to aid the man keep his position as local vicar, should it ever be challenged. He would consider it remuneration for what he was about to do, something that would greatly comfort both his mother and Gregory's.

"We thank you, O God, for the love You have implanted in our hearts," Appleton began, smiling beatifically. "May it always inspire us to be kind in our words, considerate of feeling, and concerned for each other's needs and wishes. Help us, oh Lord, to be understanding and forgiving of human weaknesses and failings. Increase our faith and trust in You and may Your prudence guide our life and love." He turned over a leaf in his book and lighted on a passage. "It was St Paul who said that Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs, but rejoices with the truth. Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, love never gives up... Three things remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." He turned his smile to the four men in front of him. "So, dear God, in the name of your love, bless this, the partnership of Sherlock and John." Tony made the sign of the cross in the air in front of them, then did the same for Mycroft and Greg. "Bless this, the partnership of Mycroft and Gregory, with Peace and Happiness, and make their love increase for Your glory and gift them joy both here and in eternity. Amen."

They heard both Lavinia and Margaret intone their Amens to each side of them, then Appleton smiled and offered his congratulations to them all.

"Oddly enough, I find I am not that put off by such sentiment," Mycroft admitted as they exited the chapel. "I admit it was largely for our mothers' benefit but it was not...unmoving."

"Ah, you old romantic, you," Greg said. "Well, both our mums are happy, anyway. We didn't disappoint there."

"I find I too was not as uncomfortable with the overt expression of religious sentiment as I thought," Sherlock admitted. "As you pointed out, Greg, both our mothers are happy and I draw your attention to the fact that they now seem to be completely besotted with our vicar." They looked back to see Appleton walking along with one lady on either arm, escorting them both back to the house. Both women seemed to have their attention fixed upon him and Greg grinned.

"Wouldn't worry, lads. I think it's probably a passing phase," he suggested. "You know what they say about vicars. They marry everyone but remain single..."

The reception in the Orangery was bedecked with garlands of white flowers tied with blue and gold ribbons. Pale blue tablecloths and ivory candles graced the tables and every place was set with a small wedding favour box, tied with a blue and gold ribbon holding a tiny bunch of blue roses, the guest's name embossed in gold on the side of the box. Inside were chocolates, hand made and filled with champagne liqueur. Lady Holmes had outdone herself. The meal passed in a blur; all that John could later recall was that the food was delicious. The cake, a massive affair with a rainbow of delicate sugar roses cascading down the five tiers, had apparently been Margaret Lestrade's contribution to the proceedings. Then, of course, came the speeches.

Greg and John had decided that they would each make one, saving the Holmes brothers the bother (and the angst, John thought). Greg stood up first and cleared his throat, tapping a glass to get the guests' attention.

"Right then," he began, surveying his audience. "Bloody hell, this is worse than a press conference." That drew a laugh. "Although the good bit about this is the audience won't be asking me awkward questions later..."

"Don't bet on that, Laddie," Murray shouted from the back and another laugh erupted.

"You're John's mate, you can ask him the awkward questions," Greg shot back with a grin. "Seriously, I hate speeches, but tradition demands so here it is. I doubt there are many couples who can say they first saw each other across a crime scene but there you go, that was us. I should maybe make some quip about it being a crime that we met in the first place but I really can't. I can honestly blame Sherlock for the fact that Mycroft and I got the chance to speak to each other. We met each other properly when Mycroft visited his brother and I happened to be there at the same time. He obviously saw something in me that he liked, but I am still not sure what. I've learned not to ask. I'll just accept that I've obviously got something he wants. I think it's my police contacts, really..." Greg grinned down at Mycroft who smiled and shook his head slightly and someone tittered. "However, he is a good kisser which makes up for it. I am proud to have this man as my lifemate. He is an amazing person, he is romantic, imaginative, rich and powerful. Honestly I feel like a kept man..."

"I'll keep you, Gregory, don't worry. Having you re-homed would be such a chore..." Mycroft's interruption drew a round of laughter and threw Greg off balance. He had not been expecting that. Mycroft grinned and subsided. "My apologies for the interruption. Please, do go on," he invited, waving an imperious hand.

Oh, I will so get you later, Greg thought, flashing him a warning grin. "Thank you, My', I knew you wouldn't disappoint," Greg replied. "Right, where was I before I was so rudely interrupted? Ah, yes, being a kept man. I could get used to it though, I have to admit. Mycroft is generous by nature and loves bringing me presents, but honestly, when I said I fancied to retire to the country, I didn't expect him to buy me one of my own." Greg paused and allowed the chuckles to subside again, then his voice turned softer and more serious. "I am bound to say though that this man is everything I could ever want in a partner; kind and caring, understanding and of course, good looking. I love him, and I am so glad he loves me in return. I also get an amazing brother-in-law in the form of Sherlock. So, now I will hand you over to my other equally amazing brother-in-law, John Watson." Greg sat down and planted a kiss on Mycroft's lips as scattered applause rewarded his words.

"Thanks, Greg," John said, as he stood up. "Hm, amazing brother-in-law...well, not sure about that, at least I'm not sure when you refer to me like that. Sherlock is a given. He is amazing, I'll agree. I've seen him grow and change, and expand his horizons enormously from the person I met a few years ago." John cleared his throat, staring at Sherlock and ordering his thoughts. "He is incredible, really," John said. "I was so alone, and I owe him so much. This man is my best friend, he's everything I could wish for and more. Our future together will never be boring, that's for certain. I'm not much for speeches, but I do want to offer thanks from all of us here. For Mrs Holmes and Mrs Lestrade, our powerhouses of planning." John signalled and two waiters came forward to hand presents to the mums. "My own mum sadly isn't here to see this or I am sure she would have been in there with you both. So on behalf of all four of us, thank you so very much. This is wonderful." There was a smattering of applause. "As we all acted as each other's best men, we can thank each other in an appropriate way after the proceedings." There was another smattering of laughter and John's army mates whistled. "Settle down, lads, don't make me come back there," John said, his Captain's voice switching on. "I would also like to thank everyone and anyone who made today possible. I am bound to forget someone so please just consider yourself thanked and the cheque is in the post, promise. Thanks to the caterers, the staff, the DJ, the quartet, the whole army of people behind the scenes who never get thanked and wonder why they do the job half the time. Here's to you all. So, ladies and gentlemen, I ask you to charge your glasses please." John waited a moment and then said "It is my honour to propose the first toast." He raised his glass. "There are lots of people who cannot be here with us today. Friends and family who have passed, some who just could not manage it for whatever reason, so, would you join with me now in a toast to absent friends." Everybody stood and scraped back chairs, raised their glasses and echoed "Absent friends."

Harry Watson stood then, raised her-non-alcoholic-glass of bubbly and smiled. "Ladies and gentlemen, if I could just interrupt?" She raised her voice to be heard. "I would like to take this opportunity to say what a wonderful little brother John has been to me even although I've been a bitch and a difficult person to deal with at times. He's always been there for me and I wish him every happiness, he deserves it. So I am taking it upon myself to wish our happy couples all the best and may they have a wonderful future together. Ladies and Gents, I give you Sherlock and John, Mycroft and Greg."

"Sherlock and John, Mycroft and Greg," came the answering chant, everyone drank and then the applause and catcalls, whistles and cheers filled the room. The two couples kissed (Mycroft spending time wondering how he could get the pictures suppressed before they made their way onto social media) and then everyone resumed their seats to chat until they could escape to get ready for the evening's entertainment.

"The cake?" Mycroft murmured.

"Oh, the cake!" Greg said. "One cake, two couples, we need another knife."

"No we don't," Sherlock insisted. "We can take turns, each couple can pretend to cut it for the photo, then we can gather round and all hold it and cut properly."

"Genius," John said.

"I know." Sherlock grinned.

"Oh, my God, John. Not Karaoke, please..." Sherlock had seen the machine set up beside the disco lights coupled with sound production equipment.

"Don't worry, 'Lock. I'm sure Greg will have a go for all of us. He has a good voice. Heard him before."

"Yes, no doubt. At three in the morning and three sheets to the wind. As long as you don't expect me to sit still while you serenade me when you're drunk, John."

"No chance, I have a rotten voice."

"Just remember that when you're three sheets to the wind as well."

The room was cleared for the following dance. A quartet set up in the corner to play more sedate music for the elder guests. However, Mycroft smiled and tugged Greg into a clinch. "First couples on the dance floor," he said, firmly. "It is traditional and mummy will expect it. Sherlock, John, if you please..."

"I'm a crap dancer..." Greg began to protest but was stilled by a soft kiss.

"Follow my lead," Mycroft said with a smile.

In truth, neither Greg nor John were bad. John was leading there though.

"All those regimental dinners, I couldn't escape learning," John explained. It had been a pleasant surprise for Sherlock, and he had to admit he wasn't often surprised. He had difficulty in allowing John to lead but he was a quick study and nothing if not graceful on his feet. They did a circuit of the floor as the audience admired them and then, formalities over with, Greg was all for grabbing a drink and left Mycroft with Lavinia while he did the drinks duty.

John and Sherlock ended up chatting to Molly and Mrs Hudson, while the disco was setting up in the orangery where the reception had been.

"Oo, dance with me, John?" Molly pleaded, when the first strains of music drifted through to the ball room. Sarah Sawyer drifted over and threw an arm around John's shoulders, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"If you're marking your card, put me down for a dance as well. Not missing this chance. Congratulations, the both of you," she said warmly, a smirk on her lips. "So, how about it, John. Can I have a dance too?"

"Well, how could I refuse two lovely ladies?" John grinned.

"Easily," Sherlock deadpanned. "Dancing is boring."

"I think I can unequivocally say that it is not boring, Sherlock. It depends on who you do it with and how you do it."

"How you do it? Jigging your hips it not dancing, John. At best it is an embarrassing display, at worst, an unmitigated disaster..."

"Speak for yourself. At least I try to make some moves..."

"Woah, you should see Doc's moves, Holmesy, he's amazing." Sherlock found himself face to face with one of John's army mates, and for the life of him, he couldn't remember the man's name. John laughed and clapped him on the back and they ended up with an arm around each other's shoulders, leaning against each other. "You know, I gotta hand it to you, Doc. He's a looker, your fella."

"Thank you, I thought so."

"Oh, so now I'm your trophy husband?" Sherlock asked mildly. John grinned.

"Of course you are. I married the best looking guy in the room."

"I think you are sadly mistaken there, John," Sherlock said gently.

"Oh, you do, do you? Calling me a liar?"

"On the contrary, John. It's just I think you'll find I am in the enviable position of having married the best looking man in the room." John blinked and then smiled, a slow grin that lit his face. There was a collective "Aww" from the girls and then John was kissing sherlock, hard and passionately. Everyone in the room disappeared and for a blissful moment it was just the two of them.

"They've got to break for air soon," someone said with a chuckle.

"Not if they're breathing through their noses." That had to be Molly.

"Well, if we're not careful, we might need a fire extinguisher."

"Or a bucket of cold water." John stuck two fingers up at that one.

"Fuck you, Murray," he murmured. "I'm John Watson-Holmes, I married a gorgeous man, I do what I like and fuck you."

Sherlock chuckled and stepped back, taking John with him. "We'll be back soon, and then you can have him for dances if you still want to risk it. We have some...family to chat to. Come on, John." Sherlock set off at a lope across the room, John trotting to keep up with his husband's longer legs. Sherlock headed out the back, grabbed his hand and swung him through the doors out onto the terrace. He headed for the darkened garden, to a wooden door in the wall. It opened onto a kitchen garden, fifteen foot brick walls all around. Sherlock did not stop there, heading through another gap in the wall and into a different part of the estate. John became aware they had gone right around to the back of the hall and were in the stable yard at the back.

"Where the hell are we going?" he asked. "It's bloody cold out here..."

"Somewhere where they won't find us, we can go to our room the back way and get changed there. I want out of this suit. Come on, John. I rather hoped to get you out of yours too."

—-

Life gets no sweeter than this, Greg thought, admiring his husband, the physical evidence of this next stage of his life. Here was the person he would grow old with, the man he would delight in being with, the man whom he would weather the ups and downs of the future chapters of his life. I should stop questioning why he wants me, and be glad that he does, he thought, watching the man chat companionably with his university friends, laughing and relaxed. For however long I've got him for, I'll love him as he deserves to be loved, wholeheartedly and honestly. At least, I can get that right this time, he considered, momentary regret for everything that had gone wrong before crossing his mind.

"Oi, stop that right now," John stood at his elbow, watching him.

"What?" Greg took a swig of his drink to cover his discomfort.

"I can see you, wondering how long this is going to last. Don't. Believe me, been there, done that. Doesn't pay. You'll have him as long as you'll have him, no longer, and you'll not be able to alter that so don't waste time thinking about it. Just learn to enjoy each day as it comes."

Greg chuckled. "I swear some of Sherlock's deductive skills are rubbing off on you." John laughed.

"Possibly. Anyway, the man sent me to find you. He's planning something. Asked me to bring you along."

"What's he planning then?"

"Buggered if I know but I think it has violin playing involved."

"I just hope it's nothing too highbrow. We don't need Pomp and Circumstance..."

Mycroft came over and linked an arm through Greg's. "Shall we go through to the music room?" he said, tugging on his arm. "Has John told you, I and my brother have a little surprise planned."

"Both of you?" John asked. "He told me he had something up his sleeve..."

Mycroft smiled. "Yes, John, both of us."

"Never trust those two when they get together, they plot world domination," Greg warned. Mycroft laughed and guided his husband toward the open doors of a room that housed a baby grand piano and several chairs and music stands, and Sherlock, currently rosining his bow. Several people had drifted in, anticipating a show. Mycroft kissed Greg and moved him toward a seat, then took his place at the piano, adjusting his seat accordingly.

"I never knew he played," John admitted.

"Me either but maybe he kept it as a surprise."

Mycroft played a few notes and ran his fingers along the keys, the waterfall of melody hushing the chatter and allowing silence to fall.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mycroft said. "In honour of our joint wedding, Sherlock and myself considered it right and proper to offer something of our own to the festivities. Sherlock has composed a piece for piano and violin in celebration of our marriage which we will now play for you, and then we will follow it with some more music which we hope you find entertaining." Mycroft glanced up as Sherlock poised his bow and glanced back at his brother, an infinitesimal nod the only communication between them. Then Sherlock began.

The piece set off in quite a somber mood, slow and thoughtful, waves of sound that spoke of sadness, the lonely violin tempered with the deeper notes of the piano underscoring what it meant to face life alone. It spoke to John and Greg both, tugging at their memories of days and nights spent in solitude, neither of them with much hope for a better outcome, a more hopeful future. Sherlock understood that outlook, that hopelessness. It was revealed in his command of the music, notes weaving a story of their own. Gradually, though, the melody changed; a major lift, a quicker tempo, up and down across the scales until it was lighter, more joyful. His bow danced across the strings, piano notes underscoring the melody as the lilting tune swirled in John's ears evoking chases through the streets, twists and turns, a few discordant notes recalling that they didn't get on well all the time but quickly swept away with joyful harmonies and ultimately, the weighty but blissful feel of companionship and partnership. The music wound down to its close in a decreasing spiral of notes that came to rest rather like a train pulling into a station, a bird alighting on a wall, a measured slowing down to a natural halt.

There was a second or so as the audience absorbed what it had heard before applause broke out, and John and Greg among the most enthusiastic. They both rushed to embrace their partners. "Some wedding present," John said in Sherlock's ear as he hugged his partner. Sherlock grinned then pushed John away again.

"There's more..." he said, motioning for quiet, then lifted his bow and began the first notes of Pachelbel's Canon in D major. Mycroft disengaged from Greg and sat down again, coming in with the accompaniment to the somber tune as Greg took his seat again. There was a small pause and the brothers exchanged glances. Then Sherlock suddenly broke from the original and upped the tempo. John stared as his partner swung into Canon Rock, the modern take on the original. Greg laughed and clapped his approval, John joining in. Sherlock grinned, obviously loving the effect he was having. Never in his life would John have thought that his perfectionist lover would have lowered himself to play such a modern variation. When they finished it was to tumultuous applause, squeals of glee from Molly and whistles from Sarah.

"Never let it be said that I never do anything for you, John." Sherlock was grinning. John cuffed him gently.

"That," he said, "was amazing. I'd have lost the bet, if anybody had asked me if I thought you would unbend enough to play something...like that. That was brilliant."

"Thank you, John." Sherlock almost looked shy. John hugged him.

"Come on, My'." Greg tugged his husband out of the room, following the sound of the loud music coming from the direction of the Orangery.

"Oh, no, really? Do we have to?"

"Yes, we do. Besides, I have something of my own planned."

"Hey, little sister, what have you done..." Strains of Billy Idol's White Wedding assaulted their ears as they walked through the doors. Mycroft's university friends bustled over and hauled him away with assurances that they would 'look after' him. Greg wondered but doubted he would come to serious harm. Besides, they knew to make sure that his husband was on the front row in a few minutes anyway. He hurried off and had a brief word with the DJ and then disappeared behind the makeshift wings of the temporary stage. He shed his jacket, and tie, rolled his sleeves to the elbow and waited for his cue.

"Okay everybody," the DJ called out. "Karaoke time. To kick us off tonight, a brave man who has just tied the knot. I give you Greg Lestrade..." The music kicked in, Greg flicked the curtain aside and raised the mic to his lips.

"Hell has gone and Heaven's here, there's nothing left for you to fear. Shake your ass, come over here. Now scream!"

Mycroft's eyes widened, and the three musketeers started clapping. Molly's eyes were even larger. Sarah was laughing and clapping. Everybody laughed at the "Grab yourself an alibi" line, which was to be expected. Greg had chosen the song deliberately. He carefully directed the "The kettle's on, so don't be long," line at John.

"Let me...entertain you," Greg sang, unfastening the top button of his shirt, his eyes on Mycroft. As he sang the line again, he unfastened another, and another until his shirt was more than half way undone. When he finished the song it was to tumultuous applause. He bowed low to his audience.

"Thanks, folks. If the day job fails I might release an album. I have just one more to sing, and then I won't inflict my voice on you again. The rest of you can embarrass yourselves to your heart's content. This one's actually for Myself and Myc, and for John and Lock too." He looked over at the DJ and signaled. A calmer and more gentle melody filled the air. Greg leaned forward and reached out, taking Mycroft's hand and drawing him close. He laced their fingers together as the first bars echoed around the dance floor and Greg smiled, raising the microphone to his lips again.

"You and I, we've been at it so long, still got the strongest fire. You and I, we still know how to talk, know how to walk that wire..." Mycroft's eyes were riveted on him, the blue gaze intense as Greg sang his heart out. John had Sherlock in his arms and, contrary to his opinion about John's moves, Sherlock's hips were swaying with his husband's as they let the music carry them.

"Cause it's us against the world, you and me against them all. If you listen to these words, know that we are standing tall..." Greg dropped a soft kiss to Mycroft's cheek. "I don't ever see the day that I won't catch you when you fall, cause it's us against the world tonight..."

John buried his face in Sherlock's shoulder. "But I didn't..." he said softly.

"Past and gone, John," Sherlock said gently. "Maybe you didn't because you couldn't. I wouldn't let you. You've saved me today, though. Today, all debts, if there are any, which I do not personally consider there to be any but knowing you, you'll disagree...all debts are paid. You've given me everything I could ever want or need. You've given me yourself."

"You've done the same."

"Yes, as I said. All debts, John." Whatever the world threw at them, they would be together to face it. Himself and John Watson, Greg and his brother. The beginning of a long and lovely friendship. No debts... Sherlock smiled.

"Us against the world..."

Thanks for the comments and the love, people. This is it. I may post an epilogue but it won't be attached to this and I have no idea when.

Look up Canon Rock, if you've never heard it. I figured it was the kind of mad thing Sherlock might pull off, despite giving the impression of being a bit of a purist where violin music is concerned. And if you can't imagine Rupert singing, then shame on you, he has a great voice. If you want to know what the wedding cake looks like, it looks similar to this, but five tiered. .