A/N: Hello, everyone! So, new chapter celebrating the new season! There aren't exactly spoilers, but it won't make as much sense if you haven't seen The Empty Hearse. Let me know what you think!

The ring box sat unassumingly on the table, almost hidden by a basket of rolls. And yet, the sight of it weighed heavily on the mind of John Watson. Not because he was concerned about the marriage—he loved Mary more than anything, and he was certain she loved him in return—but because of a very obvious absence in his life.

He hadn't ever really thought about it as he had chased Sherlock's coattails all over London, but he had always assumed—in the same way that one imagines that their parents will never die, and that they'll fall in love at first sight, and that the milk in the fridge has not been used for experiments; in a way that is entirely unconscious until you realize it is no longer possible—that Sherlock would be at his wedding. More than that, Sherlock would be his best man. It was the duty of the best friend to do so. And, oh, maybe he had never said it, but it was true. Sherlock Holmes had saved him from depression and PTSD, injury and danger, solitude and overwhelming lose, and a varying assortment of criminals. And then he had died.

John still dreamt about that day, though Mary's presence and the dulling influence of time had helped. He wondered, often, what Sherlock would have said to the months he spent waking up in cold sweats and passing meals. Probably something infuriating and insulting about the impracticality of sentiment and how he was disappointed John hadn't at least kept Bill when he moved out.

Sherlock had been dead for two years now and John was alright. Really, he was. But his wedding was supposed to be the best and most important day of his life and it seemed almost cruel that he could not spend it with one of the two people he knew for certain that he loved.

This dilemma had been on his mind for a while. It was one of the first things he thought of when he decided to propose. If he couldn't have Sherlock as his best man, then who? He was not particularly close to anyone else. There was Mike Stamford, true. And he considered Greg Lestrade a friend. But anytime he tried to picture his wedding, (and yeah, it's not like he sat imagining it for ages, but it had come up every so often) the image consisted of Mary, looking radiant in her white gown, on his right, and Sherlock Holmes, looking slightly confused and alarmed at all the emotion, on his left. And he would undoubtedly bewilder and frighten everyone with his speech, but John would laugh and be able to read through all the crass words and understand what Sherlock meant without even knowing that he meant them.

And he would then have to forcefully remind himself that such a situation was impossible, and watch as Sherlock vanished, abrupt and sudden as he had left John two years ago.

John had considered just forgetting the whole thing and not having a best man. To him, the idea of said best man not being Sherlock was worse than an unfilled role. But he wasn't one to advertise his pain, and he was sure the empty seat at his side would show all of his friends and family how incomplete he had felt for two years now.

It seemed this problem had no solution—and Sherlock would say there was always a solution, but John wondered bitterly if jumping off a bloody roof was his idea of an answer. He took another swig of wine.

Mary came towards the table and John quickly snatched up the little red velvet box and put it in his pocket. He'd decide later.

And then the waiter brought their champagne.