Sherlock was a wreck. He hadn't slept very often in the past eleven days, and when he did, it was filled with vivid nightmares that caused him to wake up screaming and sweating. The only time that he had gotten a good night sleep was the previous night, when he decided to sleep in John's bed.
John had been back twice since the wedding, once with Mary. They had brought him a gift a few days after the wedding, as a thank-you. He told them that he would be sure to open it. When they left, he promptly blew it up in the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson wasn't pleased with that, but he simply ignored her.
The day before the Sex Holiday – no, the honeymoon, John had come to visit Sherlock one last time. There was pain and longing in John's eyes, although Sherlock was convinced that he had only imagined it. There was no way that John still loved him, no matter how much Sherlock wished.
He hadn't left the flat. The tremor in his right hand had gotten worse. He hadn't eaten very much, either. Mrs. Hudson still brought his morning tea, which he left untouched every time, unless he had knocked it over. On his one and only "good" day, if it can even be called that, Mrs. Hudson got him to eat a plate of eggs and drink a half of a cup of tea.
He threw it up after she left.
It was seven o'clock in the morning and Sherlock rolled out of bed. He had slept in John's bed again, and he had managed to get around two hours of undisturbed sleep. He trudged into the living room and grabbed his laptop, sitting down in his armchair.
He looked across at John's armchair. Sherlock stared at it longingly for quite some time before realizing that there was an envelope resting in the seat.
Sherlock practically threw himself at it, nearly knocking his laptop onto the floor.
He was stretched out between the two armchairs, one leg reaching to his chair and another tucked under him, kneeling at John's chair.
He grabbed the envelope, ripped it open, and tore the letter out.
Sherlock,
I can't thank you enough for everything that you did at my wedding. Really, I'm eternally grateful. Your best man speech moved me to tears, and Mary wouldn't stop talking about it after. Yeah, okay, Listen, Sherlock. Mary and I were discussing… The baby. She took the test, and yes, she is pregnant! Isn't
that great? A little me running around. But we were thinking things over, and I know that this
is a bit soon, but we want you to be the godfather. We know it's risky, and you cannot do experiments
on the kid. I'm afraid to say it, but I know you won't listen.
Anyway, thank you, Sherlock. You really are my best friend, and if I could redo our time
Together, I would. It was the best time of my life.
You were great. I'll miss you.
Love,
John
Sherlock read over the letter three more times. He couldn't stop smiling. John had written him a letter. And he signed it with "Love."
He got up and grabbed his laptop, placing the letter next to it on the desk. He didn't know why, but he felt compelled to update John's blog.
Turning his laptop on, he got into John's blog account and began typing, pulling on his "John" face.
"Wow! What a day! That was the best wedding ever!"
Was that too many exclamation marks? He didn't know.
"Sherlock was amazing! Love is amazing! Fluffy clouds and little birds are amazing! It was all just like so amazing! I'm going to write up all about it here! Because you all love reading my blog because I'm such a good writer!"
Is John really a good writer, though? Not many people seem to love reading his blog.
'…What comes next? What… what do I write about?' Sherlock wondered.
"Perhaps I'll write about some of the other mundane stuff I do like playing board games or eating sandwiches and drinking tea in front of the Eastenders!'"
John did always enjoy doing that. That was one thing that didn't change about John during those two years.
This was boring. He thought that he could write an entire blog post like that, but he could feel his IQ lowering by the word.
"Sorry. I can't do it any more. I was going to attempt to mimic John's style of writing for an entire blog post but life's too short. And I say that as someone who died over two years ago. Good evening everyone, this is Sherlock Holmes. John can't be with you today as he is on his Sex Holiday. Sorry, honeymoon."
John had yelled at him when he had first called it a Sex Holiday. Why wouldn't he be allowed to call it a Sex Holiday? That's what it was.
"Apparently we aren't allowed to call it Sex Holiday. Apparently we really shouldn't tell children that John and his wife have gone on Sex Holiday. They've chosen to go somewhere hot and sunny with beaches and cocktails or something. To be honest, he talks about things and I phase out. She's the same."
Was that too rude? Possibly.
"They're both perfectly acceptable friends in their own way but then they start talking and I wish I really had died."
That wasn't too bad. Right? They knew he was joking. Right?
"I am, however, quite happy that they have found each other and that they make each other happy. That's nice, isn't it. And it is very nice to have the place to myself without their meaningless chatter distracting me from more important things."
Sherlock looked around the flat. It was lonely. His original enthusiasm from opening the letter was dying down, his remembering of the current situation causing the depression to sink in again.
He sat there, staring at the screen. What did he write next? There was nothing else worthwhile to write about. The whole post was completely useless.
His good day was his most productive day; he had put together John and Mary's wedding video then. Granted, it had taken him hours upon hours to finish, and it ended up being very short. But he hadn't cared. Maybe he should post the video.
"Anyway. I decided that I'd share with you a video of the wedding. It's a video of the photos of the wedding. Sadly there are no photos of the attempted murder. If there are any attempted murders at John's next wedding, I promise to take photos.
Good evening.
Sherlock Holmes
Consulting Detective and Best Man"
He set the title to be "The Sign of Three."
Sherlock added the video to the blog post and clicked the "Post" button.
He sat there, watching the screen. John was sure to comment on it, angry that Sherlock was posting on his blog again.
In the mean time, Sherlock read over the letter a few more times. Ten minutes later, h refreshed the page. Three people had posted comments on the post. Of course theimprobableone was the first one to comment.
this post is somewhat of a curates egg as while the prose is better i do not come here to read about weddings
Sherlock frowned at the comment. He moved on to the next one, posted by Mike Stamford.
Looks like it was a brilliant day! Congratulations and sorry again I couldn't make it!
Harry commented next.
sorry john :(
Sherlock sighed. Nothing of importance had been commented on yet.
He occupied himself by searching the different ways for John's baby to be healthy. Specifically John's baby. A website told Sherlock that women should avid seafood during pregnancy, as mercury poisoning could affect the baby. John's baby. It's always been John. John's wedding, John's baby. Never Mary's.
He returned to the blog post. John had commented.
STOP POSTING ON MY BLOG! AND THERE WON'T BE ANOTHER WEDDING!
Sherlock smiled.
Does your wife know you're on the Internet when you're supposed to be enjoying your Sex Holiday with her?
What he was really saying was, "John, you are on your honeymoon and you are electing to speak to me? You're giving me attention, even if it's just a little bit. You're supposed to be giving all of your attention to Mary."
Yes. Yes, she does.
Mary had commented on the post. They were taking a break from sex, it seemed.
Two more comments came up at the same time.
LOLZZ!
Awh! Lovely!
Nothing of importance. Sherlock would have picked up his phone to text Mary about his findings, but his phone was too far away on the desk. So he posted it to the blog post instead.
Mary. I've been doing some research and you need to avoid seafood.
SHERLOCK! SHUT UP NOW!
Mary was angry. That was fine.
Sherlock's phone beeped, the ringtone for John playing. He reached over and grabbed his phone.
Sherlock. Shut. We don't want the pregnancy to go public just yet.
He texted back.
Sorry.
Sherlock responded to Mary's comment.
I've just had a text from John. I'll shut up now.
Sherlock sighed and looked over at the letter.
He noticed that something was off about it. There was something within the blank spaces on the paper. Something written there. He adjusted it so that the sun was shining on it at an angle.
Squinting his eyes and turning the paper around, he realized what John had done.
He had written a second letter to Sherlock. There was the impression of words in the blank spaces.
It read:
Sherlock.
I'm so sorry.
I miss you terribly. I had thought that I would have moved on after those two years without you.
But absence makes the heart grow fonder.
I know you probably won't make this connection on your own, so I'm going to tell you right out.
Sherlock, I love you.
I've always loved you. When you first asked me to come along with you on our first case, I was hooked.
I know you probably don't feel the same way, but I needed you to know.
Even though I married Mary, it's you that I really want. Mary's fantastic, and I'll be happy with her.
But she's not you.
Goodbye.
Love always,
John.
Tears fell from Sherlock's eyes, and he smiled.
It wasn't over.
A/N: Comments are always appreciated.